Alex knelt beside her, his face tense. "Alan, I'll never forgive myself—"
She smiled tightly, beginning to feel sick. "It's all right. We just got a little carried away. With my Gift I'll be fine in a couple of days."
Alex looked at Myles. "Sir Myles, I didn't—"
"The Provost is looking for you," Myles replied, his sharp eyes never leaving Alex's face. "I believe he has a border patrol ready. It must have been hard on you, cooped up this winter while everyone else got duties."
Alex stood. "If there's anything I can do—"
Alanna nodded, sweat standing out on her forehead. "I'll let you know right away."
Alex hurried out, and Myles crossed to Alanna. "Just lie still," he told her. "I'll get a healer—and some servants. We'll have to carry you out, I'm afraid."
"What brought you here?" Alanna whispered. "No one knew..."
Myles nodded to the cat bumping Alanna's good hand. "Faithful brought me. He was very forceful! I'm glad I listened. Alan, Alex was trying to kill you."
Alanna shook her head, the effort bringing on a wave of nausea. "He's been my friend for years."
He didn't look so very friendly when we walked in, Faithful told her.
Alanna grimaced. "I don't want to hear any more about it." But in her mind a voice was saying, He hasn't been a close friend in years—not since he became Duke Roger's squire. She sighed and put the thought away to go over later, when her head wasn't spinning. Until she had proof she had to keep her suspicions to herself.
4: A Cry of War
THE APRIL rains poured down outside the Dancing Dove as Alanna examined the scrap of dirty paper George had given her, wishing it would go away. "There's no chance of a mistake?" she asked her friend.
"None," the thief replied. "I've received the same reports from the castles where the troops are hid and from the Rogue in Tusaine's capital. Duke Hilam, King Ain's brother, sees himself as a conqueror. He's mobilized all their armies, and the spearhead points right at the Drell River. With the mountain passes open..." He shrugged. "I give it two more weeks before they're locked onto the river's right bank. The fort there won't hold out much more than a week once Duke Hilam attacks."
Alanna looked at the tiny map. "What a stupid place to fight a war," she whispered. "It's enclosed by mountains. Neither side will have room to turn. The mountains will slow down reinforcements, supplies. And we're going to be doing a lot of fighting in the river." She folded the map up and stuck it in her shirt. "Thanks, George."
"I just wish I had good news." The thief's fingers touched her chin gently, making her look up. Alanna blushed. He hadn't kissed her since Jon's birthday almost a year ago; but he let her know—with little touches, with softness in his eyes when he looked at her—that he was stalking her. Jonathan looked at Delia in much the same way. That Alanna got such attention from George terrified her.
"I have to leave," she said, gathering up her cloak.
"All right, then." He opened the door for her.
"Let me know what's done."
Alanna couldn't help but grin. "Don't be silly. You'll probably know before me." She hurried out into the rainy night.
She found Myles of Olau in his chambers, translating some ancient document. Faithful was curled up before the knight's fire, having told Alanna he preferred napping before a warm hearth to trotting to the City in the rain. He greeted Alanna now by leaping onto her shoulder.
The moment Myles saw her face he put his translating aside. "What's wrong?"
Alanna pulled the folded map from beneath her shirt, watching Myles's face as she opened it. "You have some friends in the City," she replied softly. "A young burglar named Marek. An old man who forges called Scholar." She smiled. "They say you're a good drinking companion. I could've told them that." Myles opened his mouth to speak, but Alanna shook her head. "I'm not asking you to admit anything. I'm telling you I know Marek and Scholar and their friends. I'm friends with the man who rules them."
"The Rogue himself?" Myles whispered. "How?"
"It's too long a story, but I've known him and the others for years. Last summer I told George—the Rogue—that we were having trouble getting good information from Tusaine. He offered to help." Alanna handed the map to her friend. "He gave me this today. The little red arrows are Tusaine legions—"
Myles counted them. "Twenty." He whistled. "At one hundred men per legion—two thousand foot soldiers."
"The blue arrows are units, ten armed knights each."
"One hundred and fifty in all." Myles looked at the map, rubbing his forehead wearily. "They're quartered in these castles and towns?"
Alanna nodded. "And look what they're circled around."
"The Drell River Valley." Myles looked at Alanna. "How much do you trust the Rogue?"
"I trust him with my life. I trust him with Jon's life."
Myles rose. "Duke Gareth and the King must see this immediately. I'll be certain your name and that of your source don't come into the discussion."
"One more thing, Myles. George says the mountain passes from Tusaine into the Drell Valley are open."
"Then we've very little time, and we're not prepared." Myles shook his shaggy head. "Gareth and I tried to convince Roald that Hilam would do this. If we were dealing only with King Ain, there'd be no trouble. He just wants to be left in his pleasure gardens with his wives. But Hilam—"
"Has notions?" Alanna suggested.
MYLES' information had an immediate effect on the palace. Every high-ranking nobleman was summoned to the War Chamber to confer all the next day and late into the night. Messengers and carrier pigeons went out from the castle in droves as the halls buzzed with gossip. Alanna could only wait. Jonathan was included in the discussions, but his squire was not.
She was reading in her rooms late the next night when the Prince returned at last. He shook his head when she gestured toward a chair. "I'm for bed," he said. "I just wanted you to know it's war. Father's sent out the Call to Muster. The initial force—that's us—rides in five days."
Alanna's heart drummed uncomfortably. Like it or not, she would be in her first battle before she turned sixteen. "Who's commanding?" she asked.
"Uncle Gareth," was the reply. "Get your sleep. You'll need it."
AFTER several days of gathering arms and supplies and outfitting men from nearby towns and villages, the initial force was ready. Three days after the Call to Muster went out, the force assembled in military formation on the wide grass-covered hill between the palace and the Temple District, awaiting review by the King and Duke Gareth. Alanna, stationed just behind Jonathan, surveyed the ranks of men when Duke Gareth wasn't looking. We've done pretty well for not being prepared, she was thinking with pride, when a horse's whinny split the spring air.
Duke Gareth's chestnut, a big, good-natured animal, was pawing the air and rolling his eyes as he screamed. The puzzled Duke was fighting to get the gelding under control when his saddle slipped to the side. Gareth of Naxen fell heavily, dangerously close to his horse's thrashing hooves.
"Hold your formation!" Jonathan roared as a dozen men started forward. King Roald already had the chestnut's reins in his hand, and his servants were at the fallen man's side. Jon planted himself solidly in front of Gary, who was going to ride to his father anyway. "I said, hold formation!"
The big knight glared at his cousin in helpless fury; for a second Alanna was afraid he might hit Jon. The Prince ignored the threat, adding softly, "What can you do for him that isn't already being done? We're an army, Sir Gareth; let's try and act like one!"
For a moment the tension between them held. Then Duke Gareth's son nodded grimly and returned to his place in the ranks of knights.
Duke Baird, chief of the palace healers, was already beside Gary's father. Duke Gareth's face was white, and he was biting his lip in obvious pain. Alanna let her hands tighten on her reins until Moonlight fidgeted nervously. She could see the strange angle of Duke Gareth's left leg. When she heard shortly aft
erward that the Duke's leg was broken in three places and that the King would be appointing a new commander-in-chief, her feeling of doom grew. It was all too neat; so neat that she decided to miss the announcement of the new commander and pay a visit to the stables.
Handing Moonlight an apple, she whistled a brief tune. There was a noise in the hayloft, and her old friend Stefan climbed down the ladder, carrying a blanket.
"Thought ye'd be by," the hostler grunted. "Ye've a real nose fer trouble, ain't ye?"
Alanna grinned stiffly at George's man. "What makes you think I didn't come to cosset my horse?"
"Then why whistle me up?" the potbellied hostler wanted to know. "Except to chat, which ye do now an' then. Except now ye're wonderin' how Duke Gareth's beast, what's gentler even than yer own, happened t' throw his Grace this mornin'."
"Well, yes," Alanna admitted.
Stefan opened the folded blanket. "Mayhap I'm wrong. An' then again, mayhap this's why." He showed her a large prickly burr stuck firmly in the blanket's weave. Alanna worked it loose with difficulty. "They's a cruel scratch in th' poor beast's back where it was," Stefan went on. "An' who cinched his Grace's saddle so loose? They be so many new folk here for th' army, I don't see all as I should."
"Then none of the regular hostlers saddled Duke Gareth's horse?"
Stefan shook his head. "'Twas a newcomer. An' mayhap he was that afeared for his life when Duke Gareth was throwed, an' mayhap not. He's gone."
Alanna mulled this over, handing the blanket back to Stefan. "Thanks for keeping this for me," she said finally.
The hostler shrugged. "I knew ye'd be askin'," he said frankly. "Best be careful, though. Us of th' Rogue knows what happens to them as asks too many questions. By the bye—have ye heard who leads in Duke Gareth's place?"
Alanna shook her head.
"His Grace, th' Duke of Conte." Stefan chewed on a straw, his pale blue eyes fixed on Alanna. "Interestin', havin' a sorcerer-general, eh?"
"Very," Alanna said dryly, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach. She turned to go.
"Squire Alan," Stefan added, "ye might be lookin' in th' Lesser Library when ye go back. Ye've got a visitor."
Alanna hurried into the palace, the burr pricking her hand. She was surprised to find the Lesser Library occupied by a hooded monk. Getting the news from Stefan, she had expected to find someone very different.
"Excuse me," she began.
The "monk" drew back his hood and held his fingers to his lips, grinning mischievously. With an exasperated noise Alanna slammed the door and locked it behind her.
"Are you out of your mind?" she asked George in a harsh whisper. "Some of my Lord Provost's men do know what you look like!"
"Upset for my safety?" the thief chuckled. "I'm touched."
"You're touched in the head," Alanna snapped. "Anyway, since you're here, why are you here?"
"I thought you mightn't get the chance to come down to the city before you rode out, and I wanted a word with you. But you were wanting to ask me somethin'."
Alanna showed him the burr. "Stefan found this in Duke Gareth's saddle blanket. He says a new man saddled the Duke's horse, then vanished."
"And you suspect foul play," George prodded.
"Of course I do. But it just doesn't make sense. Why should Tusaine go to the trouble of stopping Duke Gareth from leading the army? That won't keep us from marching the day after tomorrow."
George shook his head. "You're thinkin' like a warrior. Think like a plotter. There might be reasons closer to home as to why Duke Gareth fell from his beast."
"Closer to home?" Alanna asked.
"Who benefits?" George wanted to know. "And stop thinkin' of fightin': start thinkin' of power. Who gains the most power from his Grace's 'accident'?"
Alanna, about to retort that no one gained, remembered the man King Roald had appointed to Duke Gareth's place. Suddenly she swayed, feeling ill.
"Not a commander you'll be trustin' in the field, is he?" the thief asked softly.
Alanna was trembling. "I have to think about this."
George nodded. "Think on it all you may please," he said. "And watch where he places Jonathan and those loyal to Jonathan." He smoothed a hand over her coppery hair. "Would that I didn't have to stay here and keep my own in line. I mislike sendin' you there with no one to help, but there's nothin' for it. I'd be a dead Rogue if I turned my back on my folk for as long as you'll be gone. A week or two, maybe. But not a month and more."
Alanna smiled at him, wishing he could go with her. Things were always clearer when George was around. "I'll be all right," she said with false assurance. "Faithful will be with me, and if things get bad I'll go to Myles. He's smart enough for three of us."
George smiled down at her, his hazel eyes still worried. "That he is. 'Twill have to do. Watch for more accidents."
"I don't think he wants to hurt me," Alanna demurred. "Just learn my secret."
"I believe he wants you out of the way before he goes further with his plans."
Alanna had to laugh. "What threat could I possibly be to him? No, I'm not as suspicious as you are, George. It must come from your line of work."
Sensing she wanted to change the subject, George shrugged. "Mayhap when Jon is king I'll be givin' up my work."
Alanna stared at him. "You're joking, surely." The tall thief sank into a chair, watching her intently. "I'm thinkin' of turnin' respectable and takin' me a wife."
Alanna gave an ungentlemanly snort. "I like that!"
He never looked away from her. "Things look different as a man gets older."
Alanna sat on a table, swinging her feet. "I'm just having trouble seeing you turn decent citizen. Who will you give your collection of ears to? And what trade will you take up? Jewel-selling? Returning what you stole, for a fee, of course?"
"I'm in no hurry. King Roald is a young man still. You see," he went on, "I'm waitin' for my chosen bride to grow up. She couldn't be some citizen's daughter, could she? She must be a free soul who knows my past, who doesn't care for what's proper and what's not. Someone who wouldn't scream when she opened my treasure chest and found the collection you mentioned."
Alanna wiped sweating palms on her tunic. She had a feeling she knew what he was leading up to, and she wished he would stop. "Good luck, George. I don't think a woman like that exists."
George stood. Gripping her shoulders, he pulled her off the table. "I've already found her, and you know it well."
Alanna glared up into his face. "You think highly of yourself!" she snapped. "I'm the daughter of a noble—"
He laughed softly. "Does that truly stand between us, Alanna? If you loved, would you care about birth or wealth?"
"Like must wed like," Alanna whispered. She wanted to run, hard and fast, and she couldn't. If he was no sorcerer, what was this spell he was weaving around her?
"There are more important things than birth. What good will a well-born husband be when you take up your shield?"
"No husband at all will do me the most good. I don't plan to marry, and I certainly don't plan to fall in love."
"So you say now. I'm a patient man, lass. If need be, I'll wait years. And I'll not speak of this to you again. I only wanted you to know I'm yours to command." He grinned.
Alanna tried to push away. Her heart was thumping rapidly and she felt giddy. She couldn't let this go any further. "We can go on being friends like before?"
"Friends, and good ones, I trust. Confess it, lass, you'd miss me sorely, were I not about."
Alanna made the mistake of looking up into his laughing eyes. That was the problem, right there: she was not nearly ready for what she saw in his face. She looked down, afraid. "I—I won't let it ruin our friendship, George," she whispered.
"And I won't speak of it again till you ask it. Look at me, Alanna."
Alanna looked up. George kissed her, pulling her close. His mouth was warm and comforting. Alanna had not forgotten the last time, and she had discovered tha
t she liked his kisses. Relaxing, she let her friend hold her tightly.
George pushed her away. Two spots of color burned in his cheeks. "This goes too far," he rasped. "I only—I only wanted you to know how I feel, before you go marchin' off to some battlefield."
Alanna blushed. "You pick a funny way to say goodbye, George."
He lifted a quizzical eyebrow. "Do I? Sweethearts all over the realm say goodbye in just this fashion." He kissed her once more, firmly, then went to the door, pulling up his hood.
"George?" she called softly as he released the lock. "I'll be back—and we're still friends."
He nodded and left, leaving her with far more than a loose saddle and a burr to think about.
THE next day Duke Roger called a meeting of his commanders. This time Alanna was present. She was relieved to learn that Gary and Raoul would be among the knights in Jonathan's personal unit, and still more relieved to know that Alex and Geoffrey would be with Roger at the fort. She and Alex were friendly once more, but she had never forgotten their "duel."
She did not feel so easy when she saw where Duke Roger planned to position Jonathan's command.
The Duke stood before a large detailed map of the Drell Valley. In the center, where the fields lining the river were the widest, blue crosses clustered along the right bank indicated the Tusaine troop camp.
"As you can see," Roger told them, pointing to the crosses, "the enemy is in place across the river from Fort Drell." Roger indicated the square on the left bank that represented the fort. "The bulk of our army will be stationed here, around and within the Fort. Lord Imrah of Legann's command will be concentrated above the fort, to the bend of the river below the Drell Falls. Below the fort Earl Hamrath of King's Reach will hold the bank down to the rapids at the end of the valley. Since the cliffs and the rapids are impassable at this time of year, we anticipate little trouble for Hamrath's men.
"At the falls themselves"—Roger's finger moved north once more, picking out the upper end of the valley—"we have an interesting situation. The river here is broad and shallow, although the current is quite strong. A determined enemy could cross, although there is no room on the right bank for a proper camp because of the cliffs. Raiders would have to escape the notice of every lookout above the fort; but, with a foggy night and cunning, there is a danger. I have decided to place Prince Jonathan and his knights just below the falls. Imrah of Legann is within call if trouble arises, and for footsoldiers I am sending the present garrison of Fort Drell. They are a little battle-worn, but they are brave men. Of course we should see any enemy movement well in advance of an attempt to cross, so I feel this gives my young cousin an excellent command post without placing him in undue danger."
Tortall 1 - Song Of The Lioness #2 - In The Hand of the Goddess Page 5