Lioness Rampant

by Tamora Pierce

Liam helped with the tray. “Your tender feelings?” he joked. “You haven’t any.”

  Alanna watched as they set out the food. Clearly they’d become friends, which was good if Liam pursued her (as he clearly meant to). Coram was difficult if he didn’t approve of her romances. His feelings had made for an uncomfortable week in George’s Port Caynn house, until the two men came to a truce (it helped that Coram had fallen in love with George’s cousin Rispah).

  She watched the Dragon, remembering what she’d seen of his fighting. What was he like with sword or axe? If he was as fast with weapons as he was unarmed, he’d be almost unstoppable. She was good with sword and axe and bow, but take away her weapons and she was in trouble.

  How can he want me? she asked herself, puzzled. He could have any woman—why pick one who’s not even very feminine? She took the tray he gave her, blushing when their hands touched. Well, that’s part of it, she thought as she spooned up soup. Sheer physical attraction.

  Once the servants cleared the dishes, the three settled back to talk. “Coram showed me your map,” Liam informed her. “He tells me you’re bound for the Roof of the World.”

  “Coram’s been very talkative,” she said dryly.

  The older man flushed. “Liam’s been about these parts a bit, Miss. If he can advise us on the road to take, so much the better!”

  Alanna turned to Liam. “Well?”

  “You should avoid Sarain.”

  “Is their civil war so bad?”

  Peeling an orange, he nodded. “Do you know anything about the Saren?”

  “Some,” she replied, bristling at the hint she was ignorant. “I had an excellent education.”

  He looked doubtful. “Nobles rarely know as much as they think they do—not about the real world. Who rules Sarain?”

  Alanna scowled. She had not thought Liam might have a side she didn’t like, but this older-and-wiser-head approach got under her skin. “The jin Wilima—their title is warlord, not king. The current one is—uhm—Adigun, the third jin Wilima ruler. Two years ago rebels tried to overthrow him and crown Dusan zhir Anduo in his place. Zhir Anduo’s descended from their former kings, the zhirit Kaufain.”

  Coram gave the Dragon an elbow in the ribs. “So there.”

  “You are educated,” chuckled Liam.

  Alanna glared at both men. “My adoptive father keeps up with things. He says zhir Anduo’s rebels won’t unseat their Warlord.”

  “That was true once.” Liam poked the fire and added another log. “Jin Wilima bought mercenaries last spring. They destroyed towns, crops—people.” His eyes turned icy green. “The K’mir rebelled against both sides.”

  “The K’mir are tribesmen, like our Bazhir,” explained Coram.

  “Jin Wilima married one—her name was Kalasin.” Liam scratched Faithful’s upturned chin. “The most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “What happened to her?” Alanna sat up, hugging her knees, intrigued by this glimpse of an alien society.

  Liam shook his head. It was Coram who answered quietly, “Killed herself last summer. Her daughter Thayet’s as lovely as she was, they say.”

  “But Thayet isn’t the heir,” Liam said. “The throne’s up for whoever can take it, and the K’mir promise to fight the winner.”

  Alanna thought it over. “Can we avoid passing through Sarain?”

  “Get a boat out of Fortress Jirokan at the border,” Liam told her. “Take it down the Shappa, then a coastal runner to Udayapur—”

  Alanna blanched. “No boats!” The handful of times she’d been in one, she had been disgracefully sick.

  Coram grinned. “I told ye, lad.”

  The Dragon smoothed his mustache. “Then take the Shappa Road to the Inland Sea, and the Coast Road east. The war’s in the mountains and highlands, not down by their coast.”

  Alanna struggled with a yawn. Liam rose. “Past your bedtime, little girl. I’ll ride with you as far as the Saren border, whichever way you choose.”

  Alanna consulted Coram with a look; he nodded his approval. “We’ll be glad to have your company.” She added, “I always wanted to learn Shang fighting—the unarmed kind.”

  Liam shook his head. “You’re too old.”

  Alanna glared at him. “First you call me ‘little girl’ and then you say I’m too old. Make up your mind.”

  “And then she’ll go to a great deal of effort t’prove ye wrong,” Coram joked as the opened he door for Liam. Returning to his knight-mistress, he drew his chair over to the bed. “I like him. He won’t let ye run him ragged.”

  Alanna fidgeted with her blankets. “You don’t look ragged to me.”

  “I put on a brave front,” he teased. More seriously, he went on, “Have ye decided which road we’ll take?”

  “I like going straight through Sarain. We can deal with bandits, one way or another.”

  Startled, Coram asked, “Ye’ll use yer Gift?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  The man shrugged. “I don’t know. I had the thought ye didn’t care to mix fightin’ and magic.”

  “I don’t care to get either of us killed, if it comes to that. We can avoid the armies, if any of them are in the highlands this time of year. That way, we come to the Roof just five days’ ride from Chitral Pass. If we take the Coast Road, we’ll be two weeks riding north from Udayapur. That’s an extra nine days in those mountains in May or June.” Alanna shivered.

  Coram thought it over, then met her eyes. “Not t’mention ye think a ride through the Saren highlands will be more interestin’.”

  Alanna grinned. “There’s that.” She smothered a yawn. “Do me a favor, Coram?”

  “It depends.” Long experience with her had made him wary.

  “Tell me a story of the Dominion Jewel, please,” she suggested. “I’ve forgotten most of them.”

  He sat back. “A tale, then? Ye haven’t asked me for one of them in years. Which one? Ah. Miache was a Carthaki waterfront thief, three hundred years ago. The Gallans hired her t’steal the Jewel from their own king, that was descended from Giamo—a great-great grandson, he was. Them that hired Miache wanted t’rule in his place.

  “Miache stole the Jewel, right enough—and she kept it. She ran for the River Drell, the same that’s our border with Galla and Tusaine and Maren. She might’ve borne it home to Carthak, too, but for Zefrem the Bear. He was a mercenary, and a good one, headin’ south on the river when he pulled Miache out of it. Before long they were lovers. She was a pretty thing, with hair like moonglow and a heart of pure ice. Zefrem cracked that heart some, though.

  “When they came t’the city of Tyra, the Carthaki navy was attackin’. The local folk were starvin’. Their nobles had run; their rulin’ duke was crazy. The only thing keepin’ Carthak out was the walls, and they couldn’t hold against Carthaki siege engines.” Faithful jumped up on the bed and curled up beside Alanna while Coram poured himself a tankard of ale. He took a good swallow and continued.

  “Zefrem, now, was never a man for a losin’ fight, let alone one already lost. And Miache—she’d watch her own mother starve unless there was somethin’ in it for her. All who knew them said it had t’be the Dominion Jewel that brought them t’stay in Tyra. They didn’t even know how to use it, but it seems the Jewel used them.

  “Zefrem took command, trainin’ the men who were left and buildin’ catapults to throw fireballs at the ships. Miache and the city’s swimmers, some of them younglings, they’d swim out t’harry the Carthaki navy. They even sank some of the barges full of men and catapults. Miracles started happenin’—birds found nestin’, when the city had none. Schools of fish appearin’ in canals under the city, where no fish’d been before. Men and their families began to move into the city even durin’ the war, t’make their homes and t’fight for Tyra. They didn’t know why they came. It was the Jewel, callin’ them.

  “They saved Tyra, Miache and Zefrem and the Dominion Jewel. The city was a pirate’s nest when they came, a sinkhole
fit only for cutthroats and thieves. They made it a lawful tradin’ city where a man’s word was a bindin’ contract. The man and woman vanished, and the Jewel came next to Norrin, but Tyra still prospers. That was three hundred years gone.”

  Alanna sighed when Coram finished, moved by his tale and the matter-of-fact way he’d told it.

  He got up and stretched. “Anything else?”

  “Coram, thank you. For everything—for bringing me up, and helping me...”

  “There, now,” he scolded gently. “Don’t go all sentimental. Ye’ll embarrass us both.” Surprisingly, he bent and kissed her forehead. “Good night, yer ladyship.”

  Experience had taught Alanna how long injuries took to heal and how far she could push herself during the recovery process. She hated to stay in bed any longer than necessary. Each hour there meant more work to return to peak condition. The day after she awoke, she was outside, going through sword exercises using Coram’s broadsword. She was careful not to overdo or to rush, but she was persistent.

  To the boys who loitered in the courtyard, she was a godsend. They jeered, at first. But once they saw that the lady knew how to use a sword, they grabbed sticks and imitated her. She paid them no attention. If she did, they would turn shy and run, afraid other boys would laugh. Instead, she pretended to be absorbed, and her imitators grew bolder. Their number increased. By her third day’s exercise, ten of them followed her movements. So preoccupied were the boys that they didn’t notice right away when Alanna began to correct a stance or a grip.

  Liam watched. So did Coram. “She did the same for the Bazhir lads,” he told the Dragon with pride. “She even taught our tribe’s shamans, and her learnin’ to be a shaman alongside them. Not bad for a noble, is it?”

  Liam smoothed his mustache as he watched. “She’s serious about learning Shang fighting?”

  Coram nodded. “Perhaps I should’ve brought her to Shang when I saw how it was with her. But she was Trebond. I never heard of a noble comin’ to ye without bein’ thrown off by their families—and none of them were lasses.”

  “You did right,” Liam said. “She’s happy as the one lady knight in the Eastern Lands, your Lioness.”

  Coram made a face. “She’s not my Lioness. Cooper’s, perhaps, or Prince Jonathan’s, but not mine.”

  “Yours,” repeated Liam. “Yours, and Myles of Olau’s, and her brother’s. Cooper’s, too. The Prince’s certainly.” He grinned. “Maybe even mine. Who knows?”

  Five days after she began working out, Alanna put down Coram’s sword with a grin. The boys couldn’t understand why she was so glad to finish an exercise; for them the glory of fencing lay in the defeat of an opponent. Alanna knew she’d finished the hardest of her exercises with no mistakes, using a heavier sword than Lightning. Her body had complained only a few times, not very loudly. She was healed, and they could be on the road again!

  Someone put Lightning’s jewel-studded hilt into her hand. Puzzled, she looked up to see Liam.

  “Now you’re warmed up, let’s see what you can do,” he said.

  It didn’t sink in right away. “What?”

  “A match,” he explained patiently. “Swords alone. No kicks or punches. No tricks. I want to see how good you are.”

  Alanna shrugged. Moving into the center of the yard, she took a sideways “guard” stance. She fixed on the Dragon as he took a similar position. He’s bigger and faster, she calculated. He’s more experienced, and his blade’s heavier. If the stories are true, he’s trained to be as good with either hand. Great Merciful Mother, what have I gotten myself into!

  She moved to the side just a bit. Liam’s blade arced up and down with blinding speed.

  Alanna swung Lightning up, blocked Liam’s sword, then broke away. The Dragon came in with a side cut; she parried and darted back, circling warily. He spun and hacked: blocking his powerful swing made her shoulder ache. Stepping back, she assumed the two-handed guard position. He cut down and in; she responded, Lightning moving as rapidly as his blade.

  By now they had an audience. Word had spread through the inn; Alanna’s boys were joined by servants, guests, hostlers, and passersby. The boys had the best seats; they watched their heroes intently. Faithful sat by Coram’s feet, his eyes slitted against the sun’s glare. He’d fetched Alanna’s companion, knowing Coram would want to see this.

  The exchange stretched out in strikes, blocks, and parries, neither opponent gaining an advantage. Since Liam had ruled out the unarmed tactics that would give him the victory, Alanna could show him the full range of her skill. Coram beamed in pride: with sword—or, he would bet, with axe or longbow—Alanna matched the Shang Dragon. How many knights could make that claim?

  Both Liam and Alanna were sweating heavily; her wound began to ache. Throughout the exchange she had studied the Dragon’s style as she knew he had studied hers, searching for any flaw. Now she blocked swiftly, parried his return cut, blocked him again—and came up into a split-second opening, barring his sword arm with her shoulder as Lightning snaked up to kiss his throat.

  They froze in place for a moment. Then Liam grinned. “You’re good.” He lowered his blade as Alanna stepped back. “I haven’t lost to a swordsman in years.”

  The boys circled them to offer water and towels. Alanna drank deeply from a waterskin, pouring some onto her face. “Why didn’t you hit me, or kick me?” she panted. “You’d’ve won.”

  “That wasn’t the point.” The Dragon dumped a waterskin over his head with a grateful sigh. “Are you the best in Tortall?”

  “I don’t know.” She smiled gratefully at the boy who’d given her the water. “There may be some commoners better than me—I only fought knights.” Alanna wiped her face with a sigh. “Against Duke Gareth of Naxen—Gareth the Elder, not the Younger—I can win one out of three bouts. He’s the best. Alex—Alexander of Tirragen. He beat me once.” That memory hurt: Alex had nearly killed her. Her recent scar pulled as she dried her arms, and she bit back a yelp. “Thank you—I think.”

  They left Berat the next day, Alanna and Faithful on Moonlight, Coram on his bay Anvil, their packhorse Bother, and Liam astride a big-boned grey he called Drifter. The weather was sunny, and the breezes hinted that spring was on its way. They spent the night in a sheltered hollow, out of the wind. Settling into her bedroll, Alanna thought she could hear the forest waking up after the winter rains. Spring was her favorite time of year. She wondered when it came to the Roof of the World.

  She rose an hour before dawn to exercise. Liam was already awake, preparing to do the same thing. They came to a silent agreement and found a clearing a little distance away, where they wouldn’t disturb Coram. Faithful trotted after them, to perch on a rock where he could see everything.

  She’d exercised for so long that her body knew what was expected. Habit took over, so she could keep an eye on Liam. The Dragon went through intricate routines, slow the first time, fast the second. He punched and blocked with his arms. He kicked from standing positions. Then while leaping, he flipped back and forth with a tumbler’s ease that looked odd on his heavily muscled frame. By the time he finished, he’d exercised every part of his body.

  Once that was done, he wiped his face on his arm and looked at Alanna. “Come here.”

  Warily she obeyed. Taking Alanna’s hand, Liam shaped it into a thumb-over-fingers fist. “Always hit with the first two knuckles,” he explained. “It’ll get easier if you practice on every flat surface you find—dirt, rock, a wall, whatever. That’s how you build enough callus to protect those two knuckles.” He held up his hands, showing her what he meant.

  Liam then guided Alanna through a different punch from the one she’d learned as a page. Her fist started palm up at her waist, turning as she punched until it hit the target palm down. She punched until her right arm was sore, then switched hands.

  The man circled, watching. Often he adjusted her feet or repositioned her shoulders. Once he rapped her stomach hard: “Keep those muscles tight!” A
lanna blushed: he’d caught her forgetting something she already knew.

  “Picture an opponent right where your punch ends—aim for the bottom of his rib cage,” Liam explained. “On me that’s the same as where my ribs end, but you aim higher. Otherwise you’ll hit most folk on the knees.” Alanna glared at him, then tried again. Later he added high and low punches, then arm blocks. “Practice till it hurts,” he said when they were finished. “You know that from fencing. You do it so much that by the time you need it, you don’t have to think. The punch or the block just happens.”

  Alanna nodded, exhausted.

  This was your idea, Faithful reminded her as she trudged to the stream to wash. As she rolled up her sleeves—nothing could make her take an outdoor bath at this time of year!—the cat added, When will you learn to leave well enough alone?

  Alanna sighed. “When I want to stop learning, I guess.”

  Coram was awake when she returned. “It’s your turn to fix breakfast,” he reminded Alanna, adding softly, “Gods help us.” Picking up his gear, he joined Liam at the stream.

  Alanna ignored his comment and started to work. Liam was the first to return from the stream. He sat by the fire, watching her movements with suspicion.

  “Do you put yourself through this often?” Alanna filled Liam’s bowl with porridge and handed it to him.

  The Dragon sorted through his breakfast with a spoon. “Every morning, plus whatever else I fit in later. You clean your armor and weapons regularly, and you do your own exercises.”

  “I don’t half kill myself. It isn’t burnt or anything,” she snapped, meaning the porridge. “I know how to cook!”

  “Shang discipline is stricter than a knight’s.” He tasted his food, shuddered, and continued to eat.

  “Is it worth it?” she demanded. She was stung by his attitude toward her cooking and by the idea that anyone might think themselves better than a proven knight.

  He looked at her. “If something happens to my weapons, I can still protect myself and anyone else who comes along.”