Burrich lifted his eyes and regarded me sternly. "My, my. Positively chatty tonight, aren't we?"

I lowered my eyes from his. "You live down here," I pointed out sullenly: "You aren't a stray pup."

"I'm not a prince's bastard, either," he said tersely. "You'll live in the keep now, Fitz, and that's all."

I dared to look at him. He was speaking to his fingers again.

"I'd rather I was a stray pup," I made bold to say. And then all my fears broke my voice as I added, "You wouldn't let them do this to a stray pup, changing everything all at once. When they gave the bloodhound puppy to Lord Grimbsy, you sent your old shirt with it so it would have something that smelled of home until it settled in."

"Well," he said, "I didn't… come here, Fitz. Come here, boy."

And puppylike, I went to him, the only master I had, and he thumped me lightly on the back and rumpled up my hair, very much as if I had been a hound.

"Don't be scared, now. There's nothing to be afraid of. And, anyway," he said, and I heard him relenting, "they've only told us that you're to have a room up at the keep. No one's said that you've got to sleep in it every night. Some nights, if things are a bit too quiet for you, you can find your way down here. Ey, Fitz? Does that sound right to you?"

"I suppose so," I muttered.

Change rained fast and furious on me for the next fortnight. Burrich had me up at dawn, and I was tubbed and scrubbed, the hair cut back from my eyes and the rest bound down my back in a tail such as I had seen on the older men of the keep. He told me to dress in the best clothing I had, then clicked his tongue over how small it had become on me. With a shrug he said it would have to do.

Then it was into the stables, where he showed me the mare that now was mine. She was gray, with a hint of dapple in her coat. Her mane and tail, nose and stockings were blackened as if she'd gotten into soot. And that, too, was her name. She was a placid beast, well shaped and well cared for. A less challenging mount would be hard to imagine. Boyish, I had hoped for at least a spirited gelding. But Sooty was my mount instead. I tried to conceal my disappointment, but Burrich must have sensed it. "You don't think she's much, do you? Well, how much of a horse did you have yesterday, Fitz, that you'd turn up your nose at a willing, healthy beast like Sooty? She's with foal by that nasty bay stallion of Lord Temperance, so see you treat her gently. Cob's had her training until now; he'd hoped to make a chase horse out of her. But I decided she'd suit you better. He's a bit put out over it, but I've promised him he can start over with the foal."

Burrich had adapted an old saddle for me, vowing that regardless of what the King might say, I'd have to show myself a horseman before he'd let a new one be made for me. Sooty stepped out smoothly and answered the reins and my knees promptly. Cob had done wonderfully with her. Her temperament and mind reminded me of a quiet pond. If she had thoughts, they were not about what we were doing, and Burrich was watching me too closely for me to risk trying to know her mind. So I rode her blind, talking to her only through my knees and the reins and the shifting of my weight. The physical effort of it exhausted me long before my first lesson was over, and Burrich knew it. But that did not mean he excused me from cleaning and feeding her, and then cleaning my saddle and tack. Every tangle was out of her mane, and the old leather shone with oil before I was allowed to go to the kitchens and eat, myself.

But as I darted away to the kitchen's back door, Burrich's hand fell on my shoulder.

"No more of that for you," he told me firmly. "That's fine for men-at-arms and gardeners and such. But there's a hall where the high folk, and their special servants, eat. And that is where you eat now."

And so saying, he propelled me into a dim room dominated by a long table, with another, higher table at the head of it. There were all manner of foods set out upon it, and folk busy at various stages of their meals. For when the King and Queen and Princes were absent from the high table, as was the case today, no one stood upon formalities.

Burrich nudged me to a place on the left side of the table, above the midpoint but not by much. He himself ate on the same side, but lower. I was hungry, and no one was staring hard enough to unnerve me, so I made short work of a largish meal. Food pilfered directly from the kitchen had been hotter and fresher. But such matters do not count for much to a growing boy, and I ate well after my empty morning.

My stomach full, I was thinking of a certain sandy embankment, warmed by the afternoon sun and replete with rabbit holes, where the hound pups and I often spent sleepy afternoons. I started to rise from the table, but immediately there was a boy behind me, saying, "Master?"

I looked around to see who he was speaking to, but everyone else was busy at trenchers. He was taller than I was, and older by several summers, so I stared up at him in amazement when he looked me in the eye and repeated, "Master? Have you finished eating?"

I bobbed my head in a nod, too surprised to speak.

"Then you're to come with me. Hod's sent me. You're expected for weapons practice on the court this afternoon. If Burrich is finished with you, that is."

Burrich suddenly appeared by my side and astonished me by going down on one knee beside me. He tugged my jerkin straight and smoothed my hair back as he spoke.

"As finished as I'm likely to be for a while. Well, don't look so startled, Fitz. Did you think the King was not a man of his word? Wipe your mouth and be on your way. Hod is a sterner master than I am; tardiness will not be tolerated on the weapons court. Hurry along with Brant, now."

I obeyed him with a sinking heart. As I followed the boy from the hall I tried to imagine a master stricter than Burrich. It was a frightening idea.

Once outside the hall, the boy quickly dropped his fine manners. "What's your name?" he demanded as he led me down the graveled pathway to the armory and the practice courts that fronted it.

I shrugged and glanced aside, pretending a sudden interest in the shrubbery that bordered the path.

Brant snorted knowingly. "Well, they got to call you something. What's old game-leg Burrich call you?"

The boy's obvious disdain for Burrich so surprised me that I blurted out, "Fitz. He calls me Fitz."

"Fitz?" He snickered. "Yeah, he would. Direct spoken is the old gimper."

"A boar savaged his leg," I explained. This boy spoke as if Burrich's limp were something foolish he did for show. For some reason, I felt stung by his mockery.

"I know that!" He snorted disdainfully. "Ripped him right down to the bone. Big old tusker, was going to take Chiv down, until Burrich got in the way. Got Burrich instead, and half a dozen of the hounds, is what I hear." We went through an opening in an ivy-covered wall, and the exercise courts suddenly spread out before us. "Chiv had gone in thinking he just had to finish the pig, when up it jumped and came after him. Snapped the Prince's lance turning on him, too, is what I hear."

I'd been following at the boy's heels, hanging on his words, when he suddenly rounded on me. I was so startled I all but fell, scrambling backward. The older boy laughed at me. "Guess it must have been Burrich's year for taking on Chivalry's fortunes, hey? That's what I hear the men saying. That Burrich took Chivalry's death and changed it into a lame leg for himself, and that he took on Chiv's bastard, and made a pet of him. What I'd like to know is, how come you're to have arms training all of a sudden? Yes, and a horse, too, from what I hear?"

There was something more than jealousy in his tone. I have since come to know that many men always see another's good fortune as a slight to themselves. I felt his rising hostility as if I'd entered a dog's territory unannounced. But a dog I could have touched minds with and reassured of my intentions. With Brant there was only the hostility, like a storm rising. I wondered if he was going to hit me, and if he expected me to fight back or retreat. I had nearly decided to run when a portly figure dressed all in gray appeared behind Brant and took a firm grip on the back of his neck.