That was when our stables almost burned, and I didn’t pay his letter the attention I ought. Said she went as a lad for years, as page and squire, till she was knighted. Sir Myles wrote me of the lass he adopted a year past. “Don’t joke with me, lad,” Windfeld began. “Not a knight like this’un,” the boy announced. “They’s a knight in th’yards-a Tortall knight!” “Y’want t’hurry, master,” the boy puffed, excited.

He’d just begun his own meal when a stable boy charged in. The common room of the Wandering Bard was deserted except for the innkeeper, Windfeld, who was resting after the noon rush. The man-at-arms, who’d drawn level with them, grinned. “The shield’s covered because I don’t want it to get all over dust. “Be sensible, Faithful,” was the tart reply. Is that why you left your shield covered? To most, his utterances sounded like those of any cat to the few he chose, he spoke as plainly as a human. The cat swiveled his head, looking up at the knight. They set off in the direction of the inn, picking their way through the crowds with ease. It was he who asked directions to the inn called the Wandering Bard while the knight looked with interest at the streets around them. There were no grins for him-he was a burly, dark-haired commoner with no-nonsense eyes. The man-at-arms was dressed like the knight.

Before him, in a cup fixed to his mare’s saddle, rode a black cat. His eyes were an odd purple shade that drew stares his face determined. With the burnoose’s hood pushed back, everyone could see that the knight’s hair was copper, cut so it brushed his shoulders. Most nobles dressed richly, but this knight wore well-traveled leather, covered with a white burnoose like those worn by the Bazhir of the Tortallan desert. The man-at-arms gave a tug on their packhorse’s lead rein, and the small party moved through the gates into the city. The guards, liking his reaction, fell silent. Hearing them, the knight favored them with a broad grin. They wondered aloud if the youngster could hold his lance, let alone unseat an opponent with it. The guards hid their smiles as they looked the noble over-in size the beardless youth could as well have been a squire, with only a shield to reveal his higher rank. O N A M ARCH AFTERNOON A KNIGHT AND A MAN-at-arms reached the gate of the Marenite city of Berat.

Lioness Rampant by Tamora Pierce