Disciple, Part I: For Want of a Piglet Read online

  “I’m sorry,” I told him, rolling down his hose over the lingering bruises, “I didn’t mean to be so sloppy.”

  He managed a smile. “Still better than limping and slowing us all down, m’lady.”

  Puck, poor Puck, had a wound on his flank but Anders knew how to use a simple blood-stop charm and had already seen to it. I put my hand on the scabs and merely cleansed it to be sure it would heal quickly. For a moment, I glimpsed an entirely different dance of kir in the pony’s heavy muscle. His skin shivered under my hand as it lingered there, remembering how Puck had spooked last night when the lamia charged. An echo of my own fear raised gooseflesh on my arm.

  “Careful, he doesn’t like that,” Anders said, taking my hand from the pony’s flank. “He’s still a bit skittish after the bite.”

  I glanced up at him, mind far away, and I felt a blush rise on my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Puck,” I whispered, and turned away.

  “Are we ready?” Kiefan asked, striding down the half-assembled line with one hand on his sword. “Do we have all the ponies? And will we not let them bolt next time? There are pageboys in the castle with a better grip.”

  Ilya’s face went white. “M’lord, I’m sorry,” he blurted, dropping to one knee as Kiefan passed. “I let the fount distract me, m’lord. It won’t happen again.”

  Kiefan stopped to hear the apology, then looked to me with a sharp glare like those he’d used on the first day.

  It was a cold knife through my chest. I’d run. After all the orders to stay together, I’d bolted like a foolish pony. And Bjorn had suffered for it. He was dead now, when he’d been pointing out signs of elk and naming birdcalls this morning.

  My eyes brimmed with tears that knocked loose at a blink. My failure, when I’d been charged with their care. I tried to whisper, “It won’t happen again.”

  It didn’t quite get out. Kiefan stepped closer, brows raised.

  The lamia’s green eyes as it pounced filled my mind. It wasn’t half as bad as the blood spraying loose while Bjorn screamed. I focused on Kiefan’s eyes and told him, “It will not happen again.”

  His head cocked, but then he acknowledged it with a nod, turned and gestured to Ulf and Boristan at the front. We walked on, past the burbling kir fount and its happy twinkle, up the steep hillside beyond the pond.

  After the horrors of the surgery during the disaster at Ansehen, my master had taught me a trick of my Blessing. Something like a charm, a self-healing. While my feet moved and my hands held Puck’s bridle — I’d taken him from Anders without a word — I dragged up each panic-fueled moment of the ambush and studied it. There were lessons in each one. Kir patterns, anatomy, physiology. Details about the lamia, such as the faint stripes on their forelegs. I looked at each bit of information and named it.

  Once studied and put away, like blankets in trunks, those memories would behave themselves and come when called. Only when called. Though in dreams they slipped from their trunks, sometimes.

  It was best done while lying in bed, but I had to keep up. Puck was very patient with me even though I kept leaning on him. I wasn’t entirely aware of the others, but it seemed that they checked on me, concerned, and Ther Boristan said something about this happening to physicians. He walked with me, after that.

  When I closed my eyes for a long moment, letting it all slide away, and then looked over at him, Boristan’s brows rose. “Are you with us?”

  I nodded. “Thank you. I needed to put it away.”

  Even though I had topped off with kir, I was tired. And that night there was little sleep to be had. The lamia stalked around our camp, keeping the horses jittery, for hours after dark fell. When the near half-moon Shepherd and his four Flock finally vanished behind clouds and it began snowing, the lamia left us in peace.

  The morning passed in silence; for hours, nobody wanted to speak. But then Anders grew impatient when we had to turn at a steep, rocky hillside and look for a gentler slope to climb up. Even in the afternoon sun, the snow underfoot wasn’t melting and I know the chill was getting into my fur-lined boots by then, if not everybody else’s.

  “At this pace we’ll miss the jousting tournament, if not the Solstice,” he declared, throwing his hands up. “I’ll lose my title by forfeit — and I’d rather be unhorsed by a green squire than that!”

  Ilya called back over his shoulder, “You won me three crescents last year, Sir Anders.”

  Anders gestured back. “You’ll win a dozen when I make it three years in a row.”

  “Nobody’s ever done it, m’lord.”

  “Just you tell everyone you heard me swear I’d do it.”

  “Are you swearing, then?”

  “By the Father’s bloody —” Anders’ volume dropped off suddenly when he remembered me, beside him. “— sword?”

  I chuckled, knowing what he’d meant to say. “I’ve heard worse than that, sir.”

  “A maiden’s heard worse than ‘by the Father’s bloody balls?’” He feigned outrage. “I’d never think physicians were so coarse.”

  “I might have even met some bloody balls while working the surgery.”

  He chuckled. “It’s amazing where you find bloodstains after a fight like Ansehen.”

  “You’re the tournament champion, then? Twice over?”

  Anders dipped a quick bow. “At your service, m’lady.”

  “I hadn’t realized it was you. I never saw your face, and everyone called you the Green Knight.” Those cool, clear days at the beginning of the Hunter’s Moon came back easily; the knight in the dark green tabard who unhorsed every opponent he faced, then fought them to a yield on foot. Repeat champions were rare, at the great joust — knights came from all over the kingdom to compete. They made their reputations, and their whole careers, in just a few days.

  “The Green Knight?” Anders frowned. “Everyone in the pavilion knows my name.”

  Oh. “I’ve never been to that side of the field, m’lord.” The tall, flag-bedecked pavilions at the joust were for the lords and ladies. I had been enjoying a rare day off with my family on the peasants’ side of the field.

  He smirked, caught in another mistake with me. “You’ve taken so easily to noble rank, m’lady, that I forgot. I hope you found the tournament thrilling?”

  “We cheered ourselves hoarse,” I said. “There are few days off, for apprentices, and it was thrilling indeed. Though I winced whenever a knight took that tumble off his horse and feared he’d break his neck. It must be harrowing to be a knight’s wife at the joust. Save for yours.”

  It was a fair joke, and we both chuckled at it. Anders drifted a little closer, as we walked, and said, “No lady for a simple knight errant, though.”

  I found that hard to swallow; a handsome knight and twice champion, unwed? “A betrothed?”

  He still shook his head. “What father would want a son with only a sword and a horse to his name? I’m sure you’ve done better yourself.”

  That touched a nerve. “No, I’m not wed. Or betrothed, not anymore.”

  “Anymore? What man would decline the apprentice of the Elect? Not only a fool, he’s blind as well.” Anders’ eyes narrowed with a sly smile. “There must be a story there. A love story?”

  I only shook my head and said nothing. When I last saw my father, we’d argued about my betrothal again. And then he had died at Ansehen, taken by fever when he should’ve been safe from swords and arrows. I would never make peace with him on how the betrothal had fallen apart. That fight haunted me still.

  Anders’ smile faded. “Did I offend? I didn’t mean to.”

  “No, it’s nothing you said.” I clutched my cloak shut with one hand, to keep from fidgeting, and nearly tripped on a twisted little pine. The trees weren’t much more than bushes now, the forest giving way to heath. My feet were cold and starting to dampen, too, from the snow soaking in.

  Anders tried to touch my shoulder, getting closer still. “You’re troubled. Don’t say you aren’t.”

  It
was kind of him, but I shook him off and angled away. “My feet are cold.”

  He chuckled again. “If you need warming, just say the word.”

  That only soured me further. I quickened my stride and headed up the line past Acorn and Ilya and Boristan. At the front, Kiefan led. Ulf scouted the forest ahead, as he often did. I fell into Kiefan’s pace at a polite distance, focusing on the rocks and fallen branches we had to navigate. No path to follow, up here. It had ended at the kir fount. This was barely a game trail through the brush.

  The corner of my eye caught Kiefan looking at me, sidelong. After a time, he said, “Sir Anders has that effect on people.”

  “Does he think of anything but foolishness?”

  Kiefan shrugged. “Not from what I hear. This is the most time I’ve spent with the man, in truth.”

  It was a day to learn oddities, it seemed. “You don’t know the man, but trusted him enough for this mission?”

  “The saints named him, as they did me. Putting all else aside, Sir Anders is one of our best knights. It rankles many, you can believe that.”

  That made me think of their sparring on Saint-day. The prince of Wodenberg had three Blessings, I had heard — speed, anticipation, and strength — and was the only disciple so blessed. Anders had only the first two. “He bested you in your skirmish.”

  “True. Rare that I meet a knight who can, though I think I saw a weakness in his guard… well, in any case, little time for sword training of late. Or reading.” Pausing, he looked at me afresh and asked, “What of your reading? If there’s some part of that Arceal you have questions about, I’m sure you can quote it to me.”

  I smiled and he echoed it. “True, I can. And there are a few parts I meant to ask about.”

  Chapter 6

  I woke, even in the bedroll sausage-row, from the chill cutting through my blanket and cloak when the wind spun up to a howl. There was nothing to see but blue-white snow all around, and that was driving into my eyes. There had been no trees when we made camp, and the roofing tarp was far lower this time; when I sat up to rub my eyes, my head brushed the oilskin.

  The wind shifted the snow away. I peered toward where the campfire had been and saw only shadows and blizzard. The ponies, tethered near the lean-to and wearing their blankets, were one mass huddled together against the storm. No sign of the fire, so what light there was had to be some sort of dawn.

  As I watched, another form emerged from the driving snow. Kiefan crawled under the tarp on all fours, shedding flakes as he went. To me, “Good morning,” and he shook Ilya by the shoulder. Sleepy noises came from under Ilya’s fur-lined hood and blanket.

  “Time for your watch, near as I can tell,” Kiefan said. While Ilya muttered his way awake, Kiefan added, “If you’re going out, don’t go further than the other side.” He indicated the tall bush that the upper edge of the tarp was tied to. The lower edge had been staked to the rocky ground. “Anyone gets lost in this and we’ll need all Qadeem’s wits to find them.”

  Ilya rolled over and lifted himself up on his hands. “Snowing?”

  “And the fire died. You’ll need a charm to get it going, if at all. Wake us at the usual time, or your best guess, and we’ll see how the storm looks then.”

  “Can’t walk in this, m’lord,” Ilya commented as he crawled out of the sausage-row.

  Kiefan spread out the bedroll that Ilya left behind, over the sleeping neighbors, and climbed into the spot before the wind stole all its warmth. When he pulled the ends around himself, I helped him get his feet covered. He shot me a tired smile before he pulled his hood deep over his head. “Maybe we’ll get a little extra sleep out of this.”

  We did. The storm whistled and howled long after light came. We ate trail bread and used one of the heating charms we’d brought to melt a pot of snow to drink. We’d save the water from the fount until we needed it. We huddled around the heating charm until its kir ran out.

  Then in half the time I’d ever seen a storm end, the blizzard was picked up and carried off by a stiff, icy blade of wind. The tarp rattled under the blast, smacking me through my bedroll and cloak. Sunlight glowed on the oilskin. The wind eased.

  The sun was high and winking through fast-moving clouds as we struck camp — nearly noon, and Ulf urged us to be quick. The snow was ankle deep, powdery, and carried on the persistent breeze. I walked alongside Acorn, my hood up, mittens on, cloak pinned shut to my waist. Once out in the sun and walking, I warmed up and the day was clear and beautiful, in truth, though the breeze kicked up to a wind and threw snow in our faces every so often.

  We stopped early to rest, and I was glad to. I brushed snow off a rock and sat to catch my breath. Without trees, the snow was a brilliant sheet laid over the slopes around us. I shaded my eyes and tried to look back, but we’d come around the shoulder of a hill and the valley was gone. Ahead a lumpy expanse of white rose until a sharp line of blue sky took over. In some places dark rock jutted, too vertical for snow to cling to. High up, the peaks loomed around us.

  Kiefan checked on Puck and Anders, and in walking back paused to look up with me. “Ulf tells me that is Himmelbaum,” he said, pointing back toward a snowy peak. Northeasterly, ahead of us still, “That’s Starknadel. The pass goes over his flank.”

  “And where is this?” I pointed at my feet.

  “The eastern side of Himmelbaum. Ready to walk?”

  “It feel that we only just stopped.”

  “Ulf says we need to cross the valley while the wind is low. And this is as low as it gets.”

  My cloak swirled around my legs and the breeze pulled open the gaps between my cloak pins. We crunched across miles of snow, and if it was a valley I could hardly tell. The white hid all clues, and the sun washed out any lingering details when he emerged from the clouds. When I saw Ulf, his hawk’s eyes were irised down to pinpricks of black. He scouted out a crevice in the rock, one with a ring of stones and a little ash still inside. It was deep enough for us and the horses, and sheltered enough that the snow hadn’t filled it in.

  “I wanted to be sure we found this camp,” Ulf said. “In the spring, the snow melts a bit here and we hunt mountain sheep before they shed their winter coats. They supplied the pelts.” He put a gloved hand to the lining of his hood.

  “Glad that we did, it’s a good site,” Kiefan said, and coughed. “Glad we found it early, I was nearly forced to call another rest stop.”

  “Saps a man’s strength, this cold,” Ulf told him, patting him on the shoulder. “Call a rest whenever you need to, m’lord. And take a sip of kir, that’s why we filled all the skins.”

  The morning sun had gotten a few rays in underneath the leading edge of the storm, then disappeared. We’d retreated to the safety of the crevice, out of the rising wind. The ponies seemed just as happy to have Ilya and Anders unload the baggage again. Blankets on, they idly licked the green lichen off the rocks while we kept the fire going with the last of Boristan’s firewood.

  We talked about hot summer days while the blizzard screamed.

  Kiefan said that in the summer Dame Aleksandra, captain of the King’s Guard, drilled him with sword and shield, in full mail and padded gambeson until sweat blinded him. “She called for cups of pickle brine,” he said. “I thought she’d gone mad, but one taste and I downed the cup. Then I begged for more.”

  Ilya talked of the forge in the castle’s barn-yard and pumping its bellows while the smith heated iron. Anders had a story about chasing a mischievous colt for miles in the middle of the Summer Moon.

  When they came to me, I had no summer story worthy. The men expected I would tell them something about picking flowers in sunny fields on lazy summer days, and I got a good laugh from that. The laugh made me dizzy and then I started coughing. Ilya passed me the skin of fount water and I took a sip. The kir eased the cough and the creeping chill.

  Ulf had brought a pack of cards and we played several games, brushing stray snowflakes away and coughing now and then. Boristan left t
o relieve himself and when he returned he was red in the face, breathing a bit hard for just a short walk and back.

  “Do you feel ill?” I asked. “Feverish?”

  He laughed. “I’m too cold to feel feverish.”

  Still, I put my hands on his face. “A little, perhaps.”

  “Your hands are cold.”

  True enough. I rubbed them together and put my mittens back on. The fire died in the afternoon but it was too soon for another of the heating charms. We kept playing cards until the shadows deepened. The blizzard raged on, and the snow outside grew deep. The wind skirled along the mouth of the crevice and carved the bank’s inside slope into a smooth wave.

  Once it was dark, Boristan triggered a heating charm to thaw out trail biscuits and heat some water to make bergamot tea. I was surprised they’d brought a little box of it in the baggage, but it was comforting to wrap my hands around a warm mug and sip.

  Though we hadn’t walked at all, I was still tired enough to sleep. The stone was just as cold as the previous night. We huddled close, and didn’t bother making anyone stay up on watch.

  When light returned, the snow had slowed. It was even falling almost straight down. Ulf went out to climb higher for a look, and came back a long while later with bleeding hands. “Slipped on the rock,” he said while I dug out a cleansing charm from my medicine bag. “The clouds are breaking up, so let’s head out.”

  The charm was bound to a wooden cameo of Mother Love. Ulf cupped his hands under it and I focused on the kir knotted up inside it. I imagined squeezing the knot and felt it give. The cameo glowed faintly and the kir dripped onto Ulf’s wounds, banishing putrefaction from the flesh. My master had told me I would understand the why of that, someday; for now, I did it for knowing cleansed wounds healed faster.

  “Thank you, m’lady. Just bandage them up and all’s well. Save your kir.”

  I crashed into Acorn’s rump before I realized we had stopped, bounced off, and landed on my butt in the knee-deep snow. The jostle set off another round of coughing, and that knocked my sore head around too much. I’d meant to get up, but the throbbing convinced me to stay down.