She explained what she meant and dispatched the other riders to spread out across the field. The object of the game was for a dragon and its rider to hover over the field and "catch" one of the people on foot- carefully, Sara emphasized. The "prey" then had to be carried to a holding pen-a red flag stuck in the ground-and rider and prey exchanged places. Cobalt played games master.
The young squires took to the game immediately. Shouts and laughter filled the chilly air. The dragons enjoyed it, too, and dipped and swooped after their running quarry and roared their frustration when someone escaped their clutches. The racket drew other knights and squires, who came to watch. Some brought their dragons until there were so many in the field, Sara was afraid the dragons would hurt themselves. She divided them into teams.
There were a few bumps and bruises and a cracked head, but no one was seriously hurt in the melee, and while the dragons and riders gained valuable practice maneuvering close to the ground, Sara was able to observe her recruits and learn something about them.
Derrick, she saw, was the natural leader of the group. He encouraged the others and kept them going with his example and his optimism.
Saunder was as tough as dragon hide and had a quiet cunning that let him stay back until the right moment, then he urged his dragon on and caught his prey more often than not.
Jacson laughed his way through the game, cracking jokes and hurling good-natured insults at everyone.
Red-haired Kelena bulled her way into the thickest skirmishes and gave way to no one. As fast as a sprinter, she could not be caught on the ground until she decided it was her turn to ride. Marika, although not a good runner, was probably the best rider. She pulled a few stunts in the saddle that left Sara gasping.
When the game broke up, the Sixth Talon regathered, laughing and joking among themselves. Sara was pleased. She released the dragons and led the riders back toward the tents for a well-earned meal.
They had no sooner entered their own section of the Red Quarter when they heard a scream of pain coming from Massard's tent. Another scream and another shattered the quiet, and as one group, Sara and the squires raced for the tent.
12
"Where are they?0" bellowed a hoarse voice. "Tell me now!"
Behind Sara, the five squires slowed perceptively as soon as they realized the one in pain was not their vaunted leader. Knowing him as they did, they had no wish to become his next target.
A faint crack, then another screech of pain, met Sara at the tent's entrance. She threw back the tent flap and strode inside.
A large, truculent-looking man lifted his head and glared at her.
Sara felt her heart contract. She knew that face. It was heavier, more florid, and red-veined from drinking, but she knew it. At one time this knight had been at Storm's Keep. She tensed, waiting for the recognition to burn in his eyes and the denouncement she knew must come. Yet it did not.
He glowered at her furiously, shook the whip in his hand, and shouted, "What do you want?"
Something whimpered on the ground.
Sara spotted a small goblin cowering at Massard's feet. He raised a whip and brought it down across the goblin's back with vicious force. The goblin screamed again and groveled at his feet.
Goblins were not Sara's favorite creatures. She hated their ugly faces and the way they stole from the dead. But she hated injustice more. She took one step forward, plucked the whip out of Massard's hand, and said in a level voice, "If you are looking for your talon, we were at the practice fields doing our training rides."
Massard looked flabbergasted at her audacity.
"Who are you?"
"Knight Warrior Sara Conby. I have been assigned to you as second-in-command."
The man rubbed the stubble on his jaw. He looked dreadful and smelled worse. Sara doubted his clothes had been changed or washed in days. His eyes were bloodshot, and his graying hair was a gully dwarf's nest.
The goblin, seeing the whip out of Massard's hand, scampered behind Sara. "No hit," he whined. "Message. I only have message."
"Why didn't you say so? Get on with it, you pea-brained street refuse!" roared Massard. "Do something right."
"Knight Warrior Conby is to join the general for dinner tonight at sunset," the goblin blubbered, bobbing his head. "At general's quarters."
"The general, huh," Massard grunted at Sara. "Already boot-licking, I see." He hurled a boot at the cowering goblin. "Well, get out of here, you worthless filth. The next time I want an answer out of you, you'd better give it to me, or I'll use something more persuasive than a whip."
The goblin squealed and bolted out of the tent. The five young people stood at attention and watched it all, wide-eyed.
"You can't very well beat something out of him if he doesn't know it," Sara said reasonably. Her consternation faded somewhat as she realized he did not recognize her. In its place grew intense contempt.
"As for you," he snarled, ignoring her remark, "I should write you up for dereliction. You failed to report to me in a timely manner and-"
"Dereliction," Jacson cried, stepping forward impulsively. "When you were-"
Derrick clamped a hand over his arm and hauled him back into line. "Sir," he said in the same calm manner Sara used. "Knight Warrior Conby did report to you, and when she saw that you were… unavailable, she took us on our assigned training." His emphasis on the word "assigned" was not lost on the officer.
Massard knew he would have some explaining to do if he disciplined his new junior officer officially. The man subsided to something closer to his usual bad temper. "Bring me some ale," he growled, and he sagged onto the edge of his cot.
"Would you rather have some hot water and a meal?" Sara suggested. "The squires must attend to their duties, and I would like to know my responsibilities."
"Get me the ale, woman, and shut your infernal chatter!"
Sara's lips tightened to a thin line. She sketched a salute and left Massard to his own foul company. She found the others studying her in amazement.
"Why did you do that?" Kelena asked her.
"Do what?"
"Stop Massard from beating the goblin. He has a terrible temper. He could have turned that whip on you."
Sara lifted her chin. "A knight does not abuse his power by inflicting cruelty and pain on the innocent. It is one thing to whip a goblin who has stolen from you or attacked you. It is another to beat him for something he does not know. It is a matter of justice."
She gave the recruits a minute or two to absorb that. "All right, now. Jacson, run to the nearest tavern and get the knight officer his ale."
The irrepressible young man grinned. "If he stays drunk enough, maybe he'll stay out of our way."
Sara ignored that. It was too close to the wish she had, that if he stayed drunk enough, he may not recognize her. But she knew he had to sober up eventually. The knights were shorthanded, but not so much that they would tolerate an officer who was perpetually drunk. Massard had to be fulfilling his responsibilities somehow.
"Meanwhile," she said, "let's get something to eat and a pot of hot water. I would really like some tea." They went to their tasks, grateful to leave Massard to nurse his hangover alone.
Sara soon learned the knights in Neraka had no central mess hall. There was a supply building where the recruits and knights could get the basics. Beyond that, they were responsible for feeding themselves. They could eat in the city, which Saunder pointed out was too expensive on a squire's pay. They could use a communal kitchen set up in their quarter, or they could cook over campfires outside their tents. Everyone had a small brazier in his tent and supplied his own pots and pans. Sara decided she would have to do a little scrounging.