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House nor Name nor God, until he die, I die, or these words be given back to me.
    "By the White God Ever Merciful, I swear to have____as mine to house and horse and arm in my service as befits an armiger and to keep them in their age; a blow struck them is a blow struck me, and their deeds are my deeds, save as they break my peace."
    —Tanagan Armiger's Oath
    I rode to Caer Gloran among the ala. There was an hour of the long twilight of midsummer left, and Marchel wanted to make the most of it. Most of the armigers were friendly at once. It was some time before I realized how lucky I was to have met these people first in battle. Although few of them were heirs to land, they were almost all of noble blood. They were already, after only two years together, very proud of their skills and position. I learned later that many of them had been sent to the king by their clans as hostages or pledges of support.
    Urdo had received them all alike in honor, seen to it that they were appropriately trained, and given them position as his armigers. Most of them were fierce when crossed and slow to accept any outsider until proven. I was lucky to have proved myself to them with no baiting necessary.
    As soon as Urdo left me they came up and spoke to me with no need of introductions.
    They named themselves to me with their father's names or their land names without even a thought. Some of them even that first night gave their own names, as family do, or those who fight together and may die together. Many of them thought that I must belong to another of the king's alae. I rapidly learned from their talk that he had three already and soon the whole country would have them at every stronghold and the Jarns would be sent back across the Narrow Seas where they belonged. Their horses snorted at Apple, and he snorted back, making friends and finding his place among them.
    In much the same way, the armigers asked me ?who I was and how I came to have a fine warhorse, and how I knew how to ride him. They thought me trained because I had fought, although at that time I knew nothing of true lancework beyond tilting at a target. I could not have taken my place in a charge. One of them, older than most, named himself to me the son of Cathvan and said he had known Apple before he was given to my father at the coronation. He was one of the king's horse trainers. The five-year-old he was riding that day was now battle-hardened and ready to be gifted to a lord. He showed some regret at this thought. I knew how hard it was to train a warhorse, having done some of the work myself of saddle-breaking a colt. I had never really thought where all the horses the king had given to those who swore to him had come from. I had given it no thought beyond the old songs of the Emperor Emrys winning a thousand horses for a song in the land of giants, and the even older stories my nurse had told me about the white horses born of the wave that came thundering up the beach to stand whole in the breaking surf draped in seaweed to be caught by heroes.
    I told them all my errand, and they dealt with the news exactly as I might have best wished, looking grave and saying that what was done was done, but we would be avenged.
    They were for the most part very young, no more than a few years older than I was, though they were battle-seasoned and seemed to me men and women grown. Few of them were women. Besides Marchel, there were only four other women in that ala of sixty. Lancework needs great strength in the shoulders. I looked at Marchel in time to see her mount by straddling her horse's lowered neck and having him toss her back into the saddle. She did this with Page 18

    unself-conscious grace, but I saw many envious glances, and one or two attempts to copy her that left the riders lying in the mud or sprawled awkwardly across their horses' rumps behind the saddle.
    Marchel gave us a riding order—most of us were to ride on the road, four abreast, which was usual; scouts and