The Song Of The Lioness Quartet #1 - Alanna - The First Adventure

by Tamora Pierce

There was no answer to that, and Alanna didn't even try to invent one.

  ONE fall evening Stefan the hostler gave her a note.

  "You've been looking for a horse," it read. "I have one. Come to the city first chance you get. George." A horse! A real horse, the kind of horse a warrior ought to have! Alanna scribbled sums on a sheet of paper. After careful figuring she decided she could buy a horse—if it was the right horse. Wistfully she said farewell to sweets for a long time—but a real horse would be worth it. She was tired of riding palace horses, and Chubby was getting old. The pony deserved a rest.

  She knew very little about horse-buying. With such a large purchase, Alanna wanted an expert opinion. Who could she ask? With wrestling in the afternoons as her worst subject, it meant she could take free time only in the morning. Coram had guard duty in the morning, so that let him out. Also, Coram didn't know about George, and Alanna didn't want him to know. For some reason, she suspected the old soldier would not approve of the thief. Gary was also unavailable—he was restricted to the palace for one of his numerous pranks.

  She nibbled her thumb. Whom could she introduce to George?

  ALANNA needed two steps to match one of Jonathan's. This made the walk into the city brisk, but their pace was suited to the crisp fall day. Alanna watched her friend, thinking. The Prince, just fifteen in August, was growing again. Already he measured five feet seven inches. His voice was beginning to boom and crack, too, just as Gary's and Raoul's had last year. Soon Alanna would have to start faking the voice-change herself. We're all growing up, she thought, and sighed.

  Jonathan heard the sigh and looked down at her. "I'm glad to help pick your horse," he commented, "but why all the secrecy? You never told me you had relatives in the city."

  Alanna made a face. "I had to tell Duke Gareth something. You see, the man we're meeting—he's not a relative. He's a friend. Thanks for coming with me, Jonathan."

  He tousled her hair. "I'd do anything to get out of Reports in Council. It's the spring planting today—that always puts me to sleep."

  Alanna led him into the Dancing Dove. Old Solom was asleep on one of his tables. Alanna roused him with a friendly slap on the back.

  "Wake up, you old drunk. Is George around?"

  Solom peered at her. "Why, it's Master Alan. But not Master Gary?"

  "Master Gary won't be around till Midwinter Festival," she told him.

  "At his tricks again, eh?" Solom shook his white head with appreciation. "He be a lively one. I'll get his Majesty." He hobbled up the stairs.

  Jonathan was looking around. " 'His Majesty'?" he whispered. "And how does this man know Gary?"

  "Oh, Gary comes with me all the time." Alanna avoided the other question by following Solom. Jonathan had no choice but to go along.

  George was finishing breakfast when the innkeeper showed them in. Staring at Jonathan, he rose. Finally he bowed, his grin mocking. "Solom, go back to sleep," he ordered. When the older man was out of earshot, the thief murmured, "Your Highness—I'm honored." He looked sharply at Alanna. "And it seems I've misjudged you once again, youngling. I'll not do that a third time, be assured."

  Alanna turned pink. "I just brought him along for fun," she muttered.

  "What's going on?" Jonathan wanted to know, fixing Alanna with a bright eye.

  "You didn't tell him?" George asked. Alanna shook her head. "Prince Jonathan, this is my friend, George."

  "Alan's not tellin' you that my work doesn't always mean stayin' right with the law," George explained. "But come, lads. You'll be wantin' to see the beast."

  He led them down another stair to a door that opened behind the inn. Seeing Alanna's curious look, George said, "It pays to have at least two doors—even three." He pointed to the roof. Two shuttered windows looked out over the roof of the one-story kitchen. A ladder was even placed against the kitchen wall to make it easier to reach George's rooms.

  "Aren't you worried about thieves?" Jonathan asked. When his companions broke out laughing, the Prince frowned thoughtfully.

  "So Gary kissed Lady Roxanne?" George inquired. "I'd've kissed a sweeter armful, myself."

  "It was a bet," Alanna explained.

  "For ten nobles, I'd still have kissed someone prettier," George replied.

  "How'd you know about that bet?" Jonathan wanted to know. "It was a secret."

  "I've friends in the palace," George said. "There isn't much you can keep from your servants, Highness."

  Jonathan opened his mouth to ask something else, but Alanna distracted George with a burst of questions about her friends at the Dancing Dove. So the Prince kept quiet through the short walk, thinking an idea through.

  They turned into a small alley. George stopped and unlocked a tall gate. They entered a stableyard, George locking the gate behind them.

  Alanna gasped. Her eye had been caught by a beautiful young mare. The horse's coat was gold, offset by a flowing white mane and tail. Gently Alanna caressed the mare's nose. The creature whickered softly, rubbing against her hand.

  "George, she's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen." Suddenly Alanna remembered this might not be the horse George had in mind. "George—she is the one you brought me to see?"

  George bit back a smile, seeing the dismay in Alan's violet eyes. "Aye, lad, she's the one."

  "She's perfect." Alanna and the mare watched each other, spellbound.

  Jonathan stepped into the stall. He ran expert hands over the mare's legs and shoulders, petting her absently. Finally he looked at George.

  "She's stolen," he accused.

  George dug his hands into his breeches' pockets, grinning. "Highness, would I do such a thing?"

  "I hope you didn't steal her, George," Alanna murmured.

  "I've a bill of sale. I don't balk at stealin' a proper horse, young sprout, but I knew you would." George handed a paper to Jonathan, who examined it carefully.

  "It's legal," the Prince said at last, returning it to George.

  "How much, George?" Alanna wanted to know.

  The thief looked at the page, his hazel eyes guarded. "Eight for the mare, two for the tack—ten gold nobles and she's yours." His tone dared Jon to argue. The Prince didn't take the dare.

  Alanna never hesitated, although it was the largest amount she had paid in her life. She counted the money into her friend's hand and returned to admiring the horse—her horse. "We're going a long way, you and I," she whispered to the mare. The horse butted her gently, as if agreeing.

  George took down a plain leather saddle and bridle. "Here you go."

  "George, if you ever want my life, you can have it," Alanna said quietly, meaning every word. "What's her name?"

  "She hasn't one. The Bazhir who sold her didn't dare name such a noble lady."

  "I'll call her Moonlight. D'you like that, girl?"

  The mare tossed her head. Alanna laughed and set to work saddling her horse.

  Jonathan drew George away from the stall. "That's not a third of what you paid for that mare."

  George's voice was low. "Would you have me deny the lad his heart's desire? He's been riding that pony all year when the poor beast should be at pasture and Alan on a horse. That care-for-naught he calls Father will never get him a proper mount. Call it a birthday gift, if you will. I'd give her to the boy outright, if he'd take her."

  Jonathan grinned ruefully. He had had his own experience with his small friend's pride. "I can't let you take a loss of at least twenty gold nobles. Besides—I owe Alan my life." He looked sharply at the man. "I suppose you know about that, too."

  "I may," the thief admitted.

  Jonathan drew a sapphire ring off his finger. "That should more than cover the price of the mare."

  George turned the gem over in his long fingers. "It does indeed," he said slowly, and made a rapid decision. "You've no proper horse of your own, I hear. Not a chief mount, a horse you'll ride above all others. You might have an eye to this."

  He opened a closed stall. Inside stood a gre
at stallion, as black as Jonathan's hair. "The ring would also cover his price, Highness. I don't take charity."

  Jon hesitated, biting his lip. "Are you trying to buy me off, King of the Thieves?"

  George smiled. "If the lad didn't tell you, how'd you guess?"

  "I sit on my father's Council, remember. I've heard about you."

  George smoothed a hand over the stallion's nose. "I've no wish to buy your silence. This is a sale, right and straight. When I bought the mare, I couldn't let this one go. The dealer was a filthy old Bazhir. These two in his string were like gems in garbage. I figured the lad would want the mare, and I can always find a buyer for this fellow."

  Jonathan examined the stallion. He was more restless than Moonlight, but he quieted under the Prince's firm hand. "You have an eye for horseflesh, George."

  "I like horses," the man admitted. "I've a chestnut mare of my own, as pretty as you please. I'd be flattered if you'd have a look at her, sometime."

  "I'd like that." Jonathan looked at George thoughtfully. Suddenly he smiled and offered his hand. "Thank you. A good horse can mean a man's life."

  George took the offered hand, his eyes searching Jon's for hidden motives. "You honor my taste, Highness."

  "I'm Jonathan—to my friends. Kings and princes should be friendly, don't you agree?"

  George laughed, but there was respect in his gaze. "I agree—Jonathan. And never fear I'll use that friendship. My game of wits is with my Lord Provost—no one else."

  "I hope so"—-Jon grinned—"or Alan, Gary and I are in a lot of trouble."

  "George," Alanna said. The other two looked at her. Her face was bewildered. "I—I don't understand," she stammered. "Why do this for me? You went to a lot of trouble. Why?"

  George looked at her for a long moment. Finally he replied, "And why do you find it so hard to think someone might like you and want to do things for you? That's the way of friendship, lad."

  Alanna shook her head. "But I haven't done anything for you."

  "That's not how it works," the thief said drily.

  This was confusing, and Alanna said so. George laughed and took them to lunch.

  SHORTLY after this the four youngest pages—Alanna, a new boy named Geoffrey of Meron, Douglass of Veldine and Sacherell of Wellam—were ordered to one of the indoor practice courts, instead of the staff-yards. Awaiting them were Duke Gareth, Coram, and Captain Aram Sklaw, head of the Palace Guard. The Captain, a hard-bitten old mercenary with a patch over his missing eye, looked the boys over.

  "Hmph!" he snorted. "Not a promising one in the lot!" He pointed a thick finger at Geoffrey. "You—you look like a dreamer to me. Blood makes you sick, eh? You'd rather read than fight. Huh!" He eyed Douglass. "Aye, you like your food, don't you? Hang around the kitchens, I wager, begging from Cook." He squinted at Alanna. "You? You're not big enough for bird feed. You won't be able even to lift a sword, let alone swing it." Alanna started to argue and remembered Duke Gareth's presence. She stored that remark for later—she'd show Sklaw! The mercenary turned to Sacherell. "I've seen you on the courts. Lazy, that's what you are, and slow to boot." He stood at attention before the Duke. "With your Grace's permission, I'd like to be excused."

  Duke Gareth's smile did not quite fit under the hand he used to hide it. "You ask to be excused every time, Aram, and yet you manage to turn out creditable swordsmen—every time." He looked at the boys, his thin face stern once more. "You are going to learn the art of fencing." Alanna gulped with alarm—Duke Gareth always made her nervous. "No, don't look at me like that, Alan—I don't waste my time on beginners. I don't have enough for the more promising students as it is. Captain Sklaw and Guardsman Smythesson will be your teachers. You'll learn how to forge a sword, how to draw it, how to hold it. For the next few months you'll eat, sleep and study with your sword on. If it leaves your side, you get an overnight vigil in the Sun's Chapel. This is not wrestling or tilting. You might go all your lives without wrestling, when you are knights. However, you may safely bet you'll have to defend yourself—or someone else—with a sword at least once before you die. If any of you give the Guardsman or the Captain cause to complain, you'll talk to me. I know how much you boys enjoy our little chats." The Duke nodded to the men. "Gentlemen, they're yours." He walked from the room.

  Sklaw looked at them and snorted. "Before you likely looking lads touch a blade, you'll make one. Guardsman Smythesson will instruct you there, poor man. I leave them to you," he told Coram, and walked out after the Duke.

  Coram sighed, his face grim. "Well, lads—let's be off to the forge."

  It was the beginning of a long, hard winter. After the practice swords were made to Coram's satisfaction, Sklaw took over. He instructed them in the stances and passes that were such an important part of fencing. He taught them how to get a sword from its sheath quickly—a feat that looked much easier than it was. Always Sklaw hovered nearby, criticizing, growling, complaining. The boys learned to do everything while wearing their practice swords, because there was no telling where Sklaw would turn up. The only place it was safe to take the blade off was in one's room, when one was bathing—and even then the door had to be locked. Alanna made sure her door was locked.

  Sklaw singled her out for special treatment, perhaps because she was the smallest of the group. She did nothing right, or even better than last time. She was clumsy; she was lazy; she didn't practice because where were her muscles? She was a midget; she had been dropped on her head at birth; she would never be a full-fledged knight, only a "Lord," fit to do nothing but sit at home and write poetry. Alanna took the abuse and practiced doggedly, trying to deafen herself to the old villain's talk.

  "How d'you expect me to be confident if you're bellowing at me all the time about how bad I am!" she yelled at him once.

  Sklaw grinned without humor. "Well, laddie, if you've let an old buzzard like me hurt your confidence, you couldn't have had much in the first place."

  Alanna bit her lip rather than answer him back, after that.

  Spring came, and Duke Gareth returned to their class.

  "We're trying something new today, girls," the Guard Captain growled as the Duke of Naxen took a seat. He tossed two sets of padded practice armor at Geoffrey and Douglass. "Meron. Veldine. Let's see if you can use what you've learned on the move."

  The two boys put on the padding and assumed the "guard" position. "Begin!" Sklaw barked.

  After a few moments Alanna closed her eyes. She had seen Duke Gareth fencing with Alex, who was the best swordsman among the squires. This was a mockery of that kind of fencing. Geoffrey would lurch forward and swing his sword at Douglass. Douglass would hurry to block the swing, stumble back, then lurch forward to try a swing at Geoffrey. After a while Duke Gareth called a halt. Between them, he and Sklaw went over the duel, showing each boy how he could place his feet better, how he could move quickly without stumbling, how he could improve his balance. Finally they were permitted to strip off their now sweat-soaked padding.

  "Wellam. Trebond." Sklaw shoved two fresh suits of padding at them. "If you can do as well, I'll be much surprised."

  Alanna assumed the "guard" position, feeling her knees trembling. It was like taking any other kind of test, only ten times worse. A knight lived or died by his swordsmanship. Without a mastery of swordplay, she would be no knight, have no great adventures. Suddenly Sacherell, who was a friend and a sometimes-companion, looked like a menacing ogre—a tall, bulky, menacing ogre.

  "Begin!" Sklaw ordered. Alanna stumbled backwards as she tried to avoid Sacherell's lunge. Recovering her balance, she brought her sword up just in time to block Sacherell's down-coming swing. She stumbled again and recovered only in time to block another swing—and another—and another. She stumbled and blocked, without making any swings of her own and without really getting her footing. The boy lunged forward suddenly, his sword-point headed straight for Alanna's throat. She tripped and fell over her own feet, dropping her sword. When she looked up, Sacherell was sta
nding over her, his sword in the "kill" position at her throat. She closed her eyes as Sklaw let out a full-throated roar of laughter.

  THAT night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Over and over she "fought" the duel with Sacherell in her mind. What had gone wrong?

  She heard Coram moving around in his room, getting ready to take up the predawn watch. When he left the chambers, she went with him, a small, silent shadow. Wordlessly she accompanied him down to the kitchens, sitting beside him as he flirted with a sleepy scullery maid and ate his breakfast. Still silent, she followed him up to his post on the castle walls. Together they watched the sky over the Royal Forest go from grey to red-orange as dawn came.

  At last Coram remarked, "Sleep at all?" Alanna shook her head.

  "I've seen worse."

  "You were there?"

  "Aye."

  Alanna closed her eyes and shivered. The humiliation for Coram would have been terrible, and that made her own humiliation worse. It was bad enough to look like an idiot in front of her friends and Duke Gareth. But Coram was the man who had taught her how to use a dagger as a weapon, to shoot an arrow, to ride her pony. Coram had encouraged her all this way, had made himself a wall between her and the people who might have discovered who she really was. She had failed Coram, and he had seen it.

  "I don't understand it," she whispered finally. "It—it was like—my body wouldn't do anything I told it to. My mind was saying, 'Do this! Do that! Do something!' And my body just wasn't connected. Sacherell—"

  "Sacherell was well enough." Coram yawned. "He's a bit of a natural. Ye're just not a natural with a sword, Master Alan. Some are born to it, like me. I never knew aught else, and I never wanted to. Now, some—some never learn the sword at all, and they don't survive their first real fight. And then there's some—"

  "Yes?" Alanna asked, grasping at this straw. She was obviously not born to the sword, and she had no plans for dying in her first fight.

  "Some learn the sword. They work all the extra minutes they have. They don't let a piece of metal—or Aram Sklaw—beat them."