A Generous Host

Rachel descended the stairs of the tower and came out into the courtyard. Art, Cador's manservant and squire, was waiting there in battle dress. He stood at the head of Cador's own army, a small and paltry crew of commoners. The greater part of them were waiting below the ramparts with longbows cradled in their arms. Should Lady Rachel of Losk's saviors try to storm the castle today, the arrows would be their first obstacle. Now she could hear Cador answering those knights. "You come to my home with insults, though I've been kind to you," he said, mirth barely concealed. Rachel made her way to and up the stairs as he argued with Odo of Treserre.

_He's grown old in the time since I've been away, _she thought. She remembered him young and powerful, kneeling before her father's seat and offering the banners of the knights of Unton who had insulted him. Now she reckoned he was fifty, no less skilled with the sword but a touch slower in body and mind. Only a touch. It would have been he who organized this mission, though he was assuredly too humble to lead it or to take credit for it.

She reached the rampart and went to where Cador stood atop the gate. Below she saw ten knights in armor, their colors all assorted like autumn leaves. When she appeared from behind the crenellation relief and confusion came over them. "My lords!" she said, her voice sweet as honey. "You are so good to worry for me, and to brave danger for my sake. But please, Sir Cador speaks true. He's not the villain you've been told of. Please, come inside, and you'll hear the whole tale." She lay one hand delicately and chastely on Cador's black-painted breastplate. Sir Graeme of Hewes said a word to his brother in arms, Wystan of Salle. She could guess it: they were angry that they had come so far only to see this fool of a girl deceived.

"Lady Rachel," said Odo. His gray and heavy brows frowned. Under his arm was his famous horned helmet. "I'm happy to see you." He was standing beside a man she did not know by his face but could guess by reputation. It could only be Sir John Osteler, nephew to the king and most trusted blade of his realm. Only Osteler could have rallied such a band as this.

The smile she returned to him was broad and gleaming. "Sir Odo! I've missed your face," she said.

Cador looked down at her. They did not need to exchange words to take counsel from one another. "The lady is generous," he said to the men who had come to kill him. "I am not so forgiving, or naive, but I'll honor her request. My man Art is inside. Give him your swords and he will be the hostage in your camp, to prove that you will not violate my hospitality and I will not harm my guests. Do we have a deal?"

The knights gathered together to discuss in low voices. Then they parted, with John Osteler stepping forward as their messenger. "We're in agreement," he said.

Cador wore a wolf's smile. "Excellent," he said.