“’Fingers!” Alanna cried, startled. “What in the Name of the Mother are you doing here?”
The second man—one she had known only slightly from her days in the Court of the Rogue—looked up as well. The thief Alanna had known for years as “Lightfingers” grimaced.
“He said we weren’t t’let you know we was here,” he grumbled. “We was t’find out what’d happened to you, and if you was safe.”
“Doubtless you will explain in your own time, Alanna,” Halef remarked gently.
Red with embarrassment, Alanna faced him. “The master of these men is one of my oldest and greatest friends.”
“Who might their master be, that he sends spies to us rather than messengers who declare their intent openly?”
Alanna sighed. “He’s the master of the Court of the Rogue, the King of the Thieves in Tortall. If you knew him, you’d know he always sends spies rather than messengers.” She turned back to ’Fingers. “Why on earth is he looking for me? Surely he knows I’m all right.”
’Fingers shook his head. “I’m not the one t’question his Majesty,” he informed Alanna. “Not of late in particular, when he’s turned that testy. We knew we’d be caught, but—” He shrugged. “’Twas better far than stayin’ in Corus, when George is in a temper.”
Alanna smiled. “I’ve never seen George in a temper, but he’s formidable enough the rest of the time. Halef Seif, Ali Mukhtab, don’t hold these two responsible for their master’s orders. Disobeying George—the King of the Thieves—well, if you’re a thief it’s something you just don’t do.”
Removing his pipe from his mouth, Ali Mukhtab said, “I have heard of this George Cooper. As you say, he is a hard man to cross.”
“Surely these two haven’t seen anything the Bazhir wouldn’t want them to see,” Alanna pointed out.
“It is your will that they be released?” Halef Seif asked the Voice. Ali Mukhtab nodded, and Gammal knelt to cut the ropes binding the captives. “Listen to me,” Halef told them sternly. “You return to your King of Thieves unmarked and unharmed, but for a little rough handling. His next spies I will return to him with slit nostrils.” He nodded to Gammal. “Feed them and send them on their way. Make certain they are well on the road to the North before you return to us.”
“Tell George I’m well and content,” Alanna added as ’Fingers and his companion rose awkwardly. “I just need to live my own life for a while.”
Lightfingers nodded. “I’ll tell him, but I doubt he’ll like it.”
His companion looked around at the Bazhir. “He may have to,” he remarked dryly. They were hurried from the tent, the warriors following.
Alanna discovered Halef Seif and Ali Mukhtab were looking at her. At a gesture from the headman, she sat. Halef drew up his own pipe stand and sat as well, while a young tribesman who had stayed behind poured wine for each of them.
“Are there other such friends who will come seeking you, Alanna?” Ali Mukhtab wanted to know.
She shook her head. “George is a law to himself.”
“How did you come to know such a one?” The Voice gave Halef a light from his pipe.
“We met when I first arrived in Corus, disguised as a boy,” she replied. “He became my friend—”
“So he could steal in the palace,” Halef suggested dryly.
“Not at all. I never would’ve helped him to steal. As it was, he taught me knife-fighting, how to climb walls without a ladder—” She grinned. “All manner of useful things. And he got Moonlight for me.”
The Voice’s eyes were sharp. “He must be close to you, this—”
“George Cooper,” she supplied. “He’s my best friend in the world, next to Prince Jonathan.”
“This friend goes to great risk, sending messengers south to find you.”
Alanna blushed. “George worries about me,” she mumbled.
George loves you, Faithful yowled.
“Hush,” she snapped, seeing the two men look at her cat. Sometimes people could understand Faithful; she didn’t want this to be one of those times. She rose, nearly tripping over her burnoose. “If that’s everything—”
“For now,” the headman nodded, barely hiding a smile behind his hand.
The incident was soon forgotten, and shortly afterward Alanna decided to approach Ibn Nazzir on behalf of Kara, Kourrem, and Ishak. She had not crossed verbal swords with the shaman in days, and she hoped his rage had cooled. Leaving her weapons and her cool burnoose behind, wearing a sleeveless tunic and breeches (so the old man could see clearly she was unarmed), Alanna went to beard him in his tent at noon.
As always Faithful accompanied her, a coal-black, complaining shadow. This is a fool’s errand, he warned her as they approached the shaman’s home. He will scream and call you names, and probably he’ll try some spell he knows nothing about.
“I have to try,” Alanna muttered as she stepped onto the wide bare spot before the tent that served the tribe as temple and the shaman’s home. She stood a discreet distance from the covered opening and spread her hands wide so all could see they were empty. “Akhnan Ibn Nazzir! I have come to you in peace, with open—”
The ground before her exploded, knocking her and Faithful down and showering them both with dirt and sand.
I told you so, Faithful remarked disgustedly as he began to wash.
Alanna got to her feet, brushing herself off as she fought to hold on to her temper. “That was stupid!” she yelled. “Someone might have been hurt, and it wouldn’t have been me! I came to you willing to make peace—”
“You will make nothing among us but war and famine!” came the muffled scream from the tent. “You corrupt Halef Seif with lust; your vile words have bewitched the Voice of the Tribes!”
“Men and women can be friends without lust!” Alanna yelled back. “The only person who’s bewitched around here is you, bewitched by your own jealousy and stupidity!” She stopped to wipe sweat off her forehead, trembling with anger. Her tolerance for fools had always been slight, and she was losing the little she had.
Still the old man refused to come out, although the exchange was drawing the rest of the village. “You carry the eye of a demon around your throat!”
Alanna put her hand to her throat and touched the ember-stone. “It is not the eye of a demon!” she cried with fury. “It is a token given me by the Great Mother Goddess, from Her own hand!” Those listening drew back, awed and frightened. The Mother was as well known and worshipped here as she was in the North; none of them would use Her name lightly. Those who followed the shaman began to wonder if they had made a very bad mistake.
“I want an apology for your insult to my Goddess!” she yelled, her voice getting hoarse. “I demand it right now! Come out and make it!”
There, she thought with satisfaction, balancing on the balls of her feet. That ought to settle the old coward.
Faithful was facing the shaman’s tent, his ears pricked forward. Suddenly his tail began to twitch. He’s not going to apologize, he warned as the tent flap stirred. He’s going to—
But Alanna could feel it as well as the cat. There was just time for her to throw up defensive walls as yellow flame roared from the tent, surrounding her and Faithful. She flinched as it struck, holding her mind fixed on her own spell. Angry—with Ibn Nazzir’s ignorance and lack of control, a bystander could have been hurt or killed—she seized the last bit of fire and threw it back. The tiny flame rushed into the shaman’s tent and chased the old man outside before vanishing.
Alanna glared at Ibn Nazzir, thinking rapidly. He was wearing the crystal sword; the sight of it sent cold fear down her back. Not only was she concerned about anything that reminded her of Roger of Conté, she knew the shaman had been a rider once. Doubtless he could use a sword. Unless she was mistaken, she was more than his match as a sorceress, but his fencing skills were a dangerous unknown, particularly since she was unarmed.
“You insult the Goddess who shows me favor,” she said when
she had his attention. “You attacked me twice without provocation and without fair warning. I’ve been more than patient with you. Tell me why I shouldn’t demand your life, as is my right as a member of this tribe.”
Akhnan Ibn Nazzir drew the crystal sword and rushed Alanna with a yell.
She dodged and circled away, deaf to the furious shouts from the tribesmen at the shaman’s disregard for honor. Ibn Nazzir, at the end of his sanity, was also deaf to them. His mouth set in a crazy grin, he rushed Alanna again, wielding that deadly blade with both hands.
The woman knight ducked away, moving easily on the packed dirt. She could feel the crystal sword humming each time it sliced past her. The sound made her slightly ill: It was as if Duke Roger were nearby, directing the sword in its quest for her life. Empty-handed, intent on the shaman’s moves, she wove and danced away as he slashed at her.
Ibn Nazzir was not the opponent Duke Roger had been. His swings were often wild; he was badly balanced and slow. It was the sword Alanna feared; she had a feeling the old man would not have been as good as he was now without it. Gripping the ember-stone, she whispered a wall-building spell.
Violet fire sprang into being, whirling to encircle Ibn Nazzir. He shrieked and swept the sword around him; the wall vanished. He charged; Alanna jumped, kicking him to the ground. With a roll she was on him, wrestling for the sword. The humming was louder, drowning out all other sound. Invisible fingers gripped her throat even as she saw the shaman start to turn gray.
“Stop it!” she yelled, trying to make herself heard. With a corner of her mind she gripped the magical fingers, holding them away from her. “You don’t have the strength; you’re using your own life-force!”
He knocked her onto her back. Alanna clung to the sword’s hilt; at this range he couldn’t miss once he got the blade free. They struggled, drops of sweat falling onto her face from him. He was turning grayer, and there were blue lines around his mouth and nostrils.
Everything went black. The cloud that suddenly enfolded Alanna cut off all air and feeling. She fought, drawing on reserves of strength that had been built up over years of work and subterfuge. Slowly her own violet fire shoved the blackness away, sparking and flaring where it touched the crystal blade. In the distance she heard a cry.
The blackness was gone. Akhnan Ibn Nazzir collapsed against her, his eyes wide and staring in death.
Gammal and Halef pulled the old man off her, and Ishak helped her to her feet. Alanna swayed with exhaustion; Kara and Kourrem hurried forward to support her on either side. Ali Mukhtab looked up from his examination of Ibn Nazzir’s body, his dark eyes puzzled. “There is no mark on him, yet he is dead. What caused it?”
Alanna rubbed her eyes. She had expended much of her strength, physical and magical. Just now she only wanted to go to her tent and lie down. “He was using power he didn’t have,” she rasped finally. “He wasn’t that good a sorcerer. He tapped his own life-force because he wanted me dead.” Looking at her right hand, she was stunned to realize she held the crystal sword. “If he could’ve lasted, maybe he would’ve won. But I lasted. I usually do,” she added bitterly. “I’m sorry I brought trouble to you.” She started to turn away.
“One moment.” Halef’s voice was kind but firm. She looked back to see him pointing at the shaman’s tent. “This is your home now.”
Alanna braced her free hand on Kourrem’s shoulder. “I don’t understand.”
Ali Mukhtab rose to stand beside the headman. “Halef Seif is right. You have slain the old shaman. You must now take his place until you teach a new shaman, or until one slays you.”
It was too much. “That’s crazy!” Alanna shouted, her voice cracking with weariness. “I’m not—I’m a knight! I’ve never taught sorcery—”
“Would you leave us defenseless against the shamans of the hillmen?” Halef asked quietly. Alanna closed her mouth, remembering the Bazhir tales of the hill-sorcerers. “That is the law. That is our custom.” He opened the door flap of the shaman’s tent. “This is your home now, Woman Who Rides Like a Man.”
For a moment Alanna’s violet eyes met those of the Voice and of the headman fiercely. She did not want to spend time bound to one place; she was searching for adventure! Another wave of exhaustion swept her, and she looked away. Faithful sat expectantly before the open door, waiting.
“I don’t care if it’s home or a grave-digger’s hut,” she sighed. “I just want a place to lie down.” With Kara and Kourrem supporting her, still clutching the crystal sword, she entered the shaman’s tent.
4
STUDIES IN SORCERY
ONE OF ALANNA’S FIRST ACTS AS SHAMAN OF THE Bloody Hawk was to approach Ali Mukhtab and Halef Seif about training replacements: Kara, Kourrem, and Ishak. “Ishak knows some magic,” she told them. “And all three must’ve developed some control, or this village wouldn’t be here still. It doesn’t take much learning to be a shaman, and they would be better than Ibn Nazzir ever was.”
The men thought her proposal over for long moments, their faces unreadable. Alanna tried to keep from fidgeting. Where would she find other likely candidates, if she couldn’t train these three? Also, giving the outcasts shaman status would go a long way toward redressing the wrong Ibn Nazzir had done them, to her way of thinking.
“To make girls shamans is a new thing,” Ali Mukhtab said at last. “But this tribe has done many things that are new since the coming of the Woman Who Rides Like a Man.”
“Our shaman now is also a woman,” Halef added, smiling just a little.
“You like this, then?” Mukhtab asked. The headman’s smile broadened. “I think it will be very interesting to watch. Certainly the young ones will obey this shaman.”
Mukhtab nodded. “It will be done,” he told Alanna. “May the gods smile on you.”
Alanna levered herself to her feet. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m probably going to need the gods smiling on me.”
The three were waiting for her when she returned to the tent. Alanna looked around, satisfied. The place looked very different from the way it had the afternoon she had first lurched inside. Brass and silver shone softly in the lamplight. The carpets glowed in their original deep colors. The hangings that separated the temple from the living area were spotless. It’s actually pleasant to come home to, she thought.
“You asked us to wait for you here,” Kourrem, ever forthright, told her. “You talked with the headman and the Voice. Are we in trouble?”
Alanna shook her head, accepting the date wine Ishak poured for her. “We were talking about you, yes,” she replied. “But you aren’t in trouble. I wanted their permission to train you as shamans. They said I could.”
For a moment three pairs of eyes—the girls’ dark brown, the boy’s brownish gray—stared at her. Kourrem started to cry.
“I thought you didn’t wish to talk about magic, ever,” Ishak reminded her, puzzled.
Kara had joined Kourrem, upsetting Alanna. “Girls, stop that. I didn’t mean to make you cry; drink some of this wine.” She told Ishak, “I said that without knowing the girls hadn’t been trained at all, and you only a little. Kourrem, Kara, please don’t cry. Yes, I’m sick of magic; but someone has to teach you three, and I’m her. Listen to me.” She sat down on a pillow with a sigh. The girls were reduced to sniffles; she had everyone’s attention. “While I was a page, then a squire, in the palace, there was a man—the king’s nephew, my prince’s cousin. Duke Roger was the greatest sorcerer in the Eastern Lands. He was handsome, well-liked, charming. I felt I was the only person in the world who knew he meant my prince no good, that he caused accidents that nearly killed Jonathan. I think he had me kidnapped by the enemy when we fought Tusaine. Then, when I took the Ordeal of Knighthood two moons ago, I learned he had used his sorcery to blind everyone—including me, in a way—to his plans. He wanted to kill the queen. I accused him before the king and the entire Court. Roger demanded a trial by combat.”
She drew a deep breath. This was p
ainful. “We fought. He—cut through—” She blushed, unsure of what to say. “I had disguised myself as a boy—” She waved her hands around her chest area, turning redder than before.
Quick-witted Kourrem saved her. “You mean you bound your chest so it was flat, and he cut through the binding.”
Alanna nodded. “When he found out—when everyone found out—that I was a girl, he went crazy. He attacked with a sword and with magic, but he didn’t attack just me. His sorcery would’ve killed the king, or Jonathan. I had to stop him, so I killed him. Ever since then, I’ve felt magic—any kind of magic—is too easily used for evil.” She drew a deep breath. “But ignoring magic is worse. It’s like this crystal sword.” She touched the blade she now wore at her waist. “I ignored it, and Ibn Nazzir was able to turn it against me. I have to keep it for myself, and master it, so it can never be used against me again. That’s what you three must learn to do with your magic, or it will turn on you.” She rubbed her nose, embarrassed. She was not one for speeches. She was just realizing that she had let herself in for a large number of them. “We start in the morning. You’d best get your sleep.”
The next minute she was drowning in gleeful teenagers who insisted on hugging and kissing her. She shooed them out and closed the tent flap for the night, shaking her head. “This training will be good for them,” she told Faithful as she prepared to go to bed.
The cat watched her, his tail twitching lazily. It will be good for you, too, he commented. It might even make an adult of you, but I doubt that.
Alanna glared at him as she wound herself into her blankets. “I’m glad I have you to keep me humble,” she muttered as she readied herself for sleep.
I’m glad you do, too, Faithful replied, settling himself by her nose.
The tomb was dark and still. Behind her the door was sealed shut by a slab of rock the palace servants had placed there. Before her, on a granite block, lay the body of Duke Roger of Conté. He looked as if he slept, well preserved by the arts of the Black God’s priests. His black velvet tunic hid the shoulder wound and the thrust through his chest that had ended her duel with him. There was no sound in the tomb. He was dead.
The Woman Who Rides Like a Man Page 5