A sound—crashing! A wolf's snarl! Wheeling the chestnut, Alanna yelled for help. After an answering triumphant shout, she spurred into the clearing where the shout seemed to come from and halted. Duke Roger knelt in the snow, his spear fixed in the body of a giant grey wolf. He grinned when he saw Alanna. "A few moments earlier, and you might have had him, Alan."
Alanna dismounted, ready to give the Duke a hand. "I don't grudge you the kill, sir. Are you certain that's Demon Grey?"
Roger shrugged. "How many wolves of this size and description can there be?" he asked.
A low snarl struck Alanna's ears. Her horse reared and bolted with a whinny of terror, taking her spear with him. Alanna froze, swearing under her breath and peering closely at the surrounding trees. Then she saw it: a larger wolf than the one Roger had killed was slinking toward her, its belly flat on the snow. Its left eye was missing; the other glittered with grim purpose.
The wolf charged. Alanna drew Lightning, hoping to spear the huge animal before it leaped. The crust on the snow beneath her broke. She stumbled, Lightning opening a slash in the wolf's side before flying out of her hand. Furious at being wounded, the wolf whirled and charged again.
There was no time to retrieve her sword. Alanna gripped her dagger and, aiming for his blind side, threw herself onto the giant animal's back. Girl and wolf rolled over in the snow, a blur of grey and tan flashing with the white of the wolf's teeth and the copper of Alanna's hair.
Roger looked up; the clearing was ringed with hunters. Myles gripped Jonathan's shoulder, holding the younger man back. The Prince's eyes were terrible with fear for his friend.
Alanna did not see the reinforcements. She saw nothing but the wolf, who was doing his best to fling her off his back. She held on desperately, striking again and again with her knife. Suddenly the wolf shuddered and howled; her blade had entered his side. He fell, his paws twitching. She had stabbed him to the heart.
She let Jonathan pull her free of the wolf's body. "Are you insane?" he whispered, hugging her tightly for a moment.
"It attacked me." Alanna pushed Jon away gently, holding the ember-stone for comfort. Suddenly the colors, the sounds, even the smells in the clearing were very sharp. She was startled to see a bright orange glow around Roger. Even more odd was the fact that the same orange fire was fading from the bodies of the two wolves. Alanna looked at them and at Roger, puzzled. What was she seeing? The color of Roger's magic was orange. What had that to do with the wolves?
A huntsman was examining the wolf she had just killed. "'Tis Demon Grey," he told the King positively. "I shot out this eye myself three weeks past. That would be his mate," he added, nodding to the wolf claimed by Roger's spear.
"Are you all right?" Myles asked Alanna, worried by the strange look on her face.
Alanna released the ember-stone. All traces of orange fire, in Roger or in the wolves, was gone. "Am I?" she asked, not thinking about what she said. "I'm not sure."
THAT night Alanna waited until she and Faithful were alone in her room and Jonathan was out at a party before she took the ember-stone from beneath her shirt. The cat watched her, his tail twitching, as she looked around for a suitable object to experiment on. Finally she placed an old shirt in front of the hearth. After putting the stone on a table within reach, she concentrated on the shirt. Reaching toward it, she recited the Spell for Transforming. The spell was a hard one, requiring power and concentration, but she had both in plenty these days. Her weakness of the summer was gone, and the reserves of her Gift were greater than ever. She even wondered if she didn't enjoy using magic sometimes.
Purple fire flowed from her fingers into the shirt. It twitched and twisted, its outline slowly straightening and turning brown. Sweat rolled down Alanna's cheeks as she ended the spell. The shirt made a final struggle to stay a shirt before turning into a log of firewood. With a flick of her fingers, Alanna magically threw the log onto the fire. As it crackled and started to burn, she grabbed the ember-stone.
The log, the air between her and the hearth, even her fingertips glowed a brilliant violet. Slowly the color faded, and she put the Goddess's token down. Faithful walked over and rubbed against her legs, meowing, until she bent and picked him up, petting him absently.
"I don't think I've ever held it when magic was being used before," she whispered to the cat. "I always kept it hidden in Roger's class. I was afraid he'd guess something was strange about it. I wonder if it will always show me when there's sorcery around?"
When did you see magic used before? Faithful asked.
"This afternoon," she whispered. "The color of Roger's Gift was on him and the two wolves." She began to pace, still holding her pet. "And what's the answer to that? What could he gain from magicking Demon Grey and his mate?"
Faithful hooked his claws into her tunic and climbed up onto her shoulder, perching there. Who did Demon Grey try to kill?
"Me," Alanna whispered. "He tried to kill me."
THE SPRING flew by, and Alanna's seventeenth birthday arrived. She rose and dressed before dawn that morning, then made her way to the underground levels and the Chapel of the Ordeal. It was deserted, except for the caretakers; priests came here only during the Midwinter Festival when would-be knights undertook the Ordeal. For two hours she sat and stared at the Chamber's iron door, thinking, Only a year and a half. Just eighteen months between me and what's in there. It's not enough time!
Evidently Faithful judged that she had been there long enough. He left her with her thoughts, reappearing with Jonathan on his heels. The Prince took one look at Alanna's white face and dragged her out of the Chapel, closing the door firmly.
"Brooding about it only makes it worse," he told her kindly. "Why think about it at all? When the time comes, you'll go in there if you're ready or not. There's nothing you can do to prevent it, so come have some breakfast."
At lunch she received small gifts from Jon, Myles and George, and her friends drank her health. It was hard to believe she'd had six birthdays since coming to the palace. It was hard to believe so much had happened to her.
That night she slipped away early. She was too restless to socialize, and too nervous to sleep. The cause could have been the sight of Jonathan dancing with Lady Delia. From all the signs, the Prince planned to spend the night with the beautiful, green-eyed woman. Alanna didn't want to be there when they left together.
Thinking of Delia sent her to the wooden chest she kept at the foot of her bed, locked and magically protected. Opening it, she drew out her pretty clothes—a lace-trimmed chemise, delicate silk stockings, tiny leather slippers, a purple silk dress. She even took out the black wig she normally wore in public: there weren't enough violet-eyed redheds around to warrant her leaving her rooms without some kind of disguise.
She dressed and admired herself in the mirror. She wasn't a beauty like Delia, but she wasn't a hag, either. Defiantly she picked up a cloak and threw it over her shoulders. There was no law that said she had to be a boy on her seventeenth birthday, and Faithful wasn't there just then to advise caution. Touching the ember-stone and feeling the charm to ward off pregnancy beside it, Alanna grinned. She'd never do anything to get herself pregnant, of that she was certain. Still, she couldn't help but think of....
Amused that she was silly enough to wonder what sex was like, Alanna peered out her door. The hallway was clear, and she was going for a walk in the gardens! What if Jonathan was with Delia? She was free and independent, and that was the important thing!
She felt bold and wonderful, strolling through the luxurious palace gardens by herself. Finding an isolated bench, she put her cloak aside and sat down. The moon was full, and she relaxed in its soft silver glow, turning her face up to it. A night for lovers, she thought, then bit her lip. She had no lover, and she didn't want one.
She left her cloak and walked through the rose gardens, inhaling the heavy scent of the blooming flowers. From here she could see the long terrace, where she had left Jonathan and Delia. Glancing
at it she could see a man standing there now; he was watching her. Suddenly he went inside, and she lost her spirit of adventure. She didn't want one of her gallant friends coming out here to romance her; life was complicated enough!
He was waiting for her beside the bench where she had left her cloak.
"Hullo," he said casually, holding the garment up. "I think this is yours."
Alanna slid the wig from her hair. "How did you know it was me, Jonathan?"
He came forward, taking one of her hands in his. "I guessed. And then I saw how you walked, and I was sure."
Alanna made a face. "Mistress Cooper tries to cure me of walking like a boy, but it doesn't seem to take."
Jonathan lifted the gold charm off her throat, examining it. "What's this?" he asked. His voice was soft and warm.
Alanna was thankful for the darkness that kept him from seeing her blush. "It's a charm to—keep me from having children," she stammered. "Mistress Cooper gave it to me a—a long time ago."
Jon chuckled. "Have you ever tried it out?" he asked, putting his free arm around her. Alanna braced herself against his chest, trying to ignore the silly fluttering in her stomach or the heat running through her body.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked gruffly.
"This." Swiftly he kissed her again and again. Alanna felt giddy and was grateful that his tight hold kept her from falling. She was scared. She suddenly realized she wanted to be the one in his bed tonight.
Jonathan stopped kissing her, only to start unlacing her bodice.
Alanna shoved him away, terrified. "No!" she gasped, grabbing her laces. "I was crazy to think—Jonathan, please!"
The Prince realized she was trembling, her hands shaking too badly for her to lace herself. He shook his head and did the work for her.
"You're fighting what has to be," he said, "and you know it as well as I do."
"I—I know no such thing," she stammered. "I promised myself once that I'd never love a man! Maybe I almost broke that promise just now because of moonlight and silliness—"
"Stop it," he told her sternly. He made her look up at him. "We belong to each other. Is that silliness? Surely you've realized all along this had to happen." When she did not answer, he sighed. "Go away, before I change my mind."
Alanna ran. Once inside her room, she bolted the door, undressed and threw her clothes into a corner. This was what came of wearing a dress! Men got ideas when a person wore skirts! George vowed love to you without ever seeing you in skirts, a reasonable part of her mind said, but Alanna kicked that thought away. She paced nervously, snapping her fingers. Where was Faithful? She didn't want to be alone when Jonathan came back to his room. Suddenly her knees weakened, and she sat on her bed. Of course Jonathan wouldn't come back. He'd go to Delia now. He didn't want Alanna; he just wanted a girl to have fun with.
Oh? said that nasty, reasonable corner of her mind. Then why did he say what he did? Why did he say you belonged with him?
Hadn't the Goddess told her to learn to love? Did she love Jonathan?
A sound in the other room startled her. He hadn't gone to Delia! He was preparing for bed in his own room, moving quietly so he wouldn't disturb her. He hadn't been looking just for amusement!
Alanna's lips quivered. She wanted Jonathan's love. To be honest, she had wanted that love for a long time.
She rapped on the door between their rooms. "Jon?"
He opened the door. His eyes were bright as he looked at her. Alanna swallowed. "I'm scared. Help me, please."
Jonathan's voice was rough as he said, "I'm scared, too. At least we can be scared together."
8: Fears
ALANNA was happy that summer. During the day she had lessons and duties—fewer lessons now and more duties, because she was entering her last year as a squire. She had Myles to advise her when Coram wrote with a particularly difficult problem at Trebond. She went to Mistress Cooper to talk and to learn more about a woman's life. At night, Jonathan taught her about loving. She was sorry to see the leaves begin to change color: somehow she knew her quiet, happy time was not going to last much longer.
DELIA of Eldorne paced in front of Duke Roger's chair, her green eyes glinting with anger. "I don't understand it!" she snapped for the tenth time. "I had him here—" She held out a slender white hand, palm up, before clenching it into a fist. "And now I suppose I'm to consider myself privileged if he dances with me once at a party!" She threw herself to her knees in front of Roger's chair, looking up at him prettily. "Master, forgive me," she begged. "I did everything you told me to. He just—" She stopped and looked downward, fluttering her heavy lashes.
Roger smiled and reached out, stroking her flowing, dark hair. "Don't fret, pretty one," he told her. "That young man is proving very slippery indeed. Fortunately, I have other plans ready to be put into action."
"Other plans?" Delia breathed, her eyes wide. "Master, can I help? Can I do anything to assist you? Only tell me!"
Roger looked off into the distance, still stroking the kneeling girl's hair. "There is nothing you can do for me just now," he remarked absently. "The next move on the board is mine." He looked down at her again, his eyes unreadable. "But you must hold yourself ready. If all goes wrong, I will need your help more than ever."
"Nothing could go wrong!" Delia protested violently. "Not when you have planned it!"
Duke Roger of Conte smiled again. "Perhaps you are right, my dear," he remarked. "I hope so. In the meantime, be a good child and wait. Give Jonathan to understand that, while he is no longer attentive to you, your affections remain his."
"And your other plans?" Delia whispered.
The sorcerer tugged his beard. "You will see," he promised her. "I cannot move carelessly—not yet—but I think you know me well enough to be able to detect what I am doing." He laughed outright. "No one else will be able to—I've made sure of that!"
AND in October a fever went through the Eastern Lands, as sicknesses often did. Few died, although many were ill, and the Queen was one of the sickest. Lianne had never been strong, and the fever refused to give her up easily. She recovered at last, but she did not get completely well.
During the Queen's illness Alanna and Jonathan were separated for the first time since Alanna's birthday, as Jonathan sat vigil by his mother's bedside day and night. Their love affair was not the same after that—Jon was too worried about his mother's health. He was not the only one. Alanna did not like to see the Queen picking at her food and losing weight she did not have to lose. Lianne also developed a cough that refused to go away, despite Duke Baird's best care.
"Myles," Alanna began one December night as they were playing chess, "does the Queen's weakness look—right to you?"
"It looks like it's killing her." Myles frowned. "Is that supposed to look 'right' to me?"
Alanna examined a knight thoughtfully. "Duke Baird's the finest healer in Tortall. Why can't he help the Queen?"
Myles looked sharply at her. "This isn't just idle conversation, is it? What's bothering you?"
Alanna nibbled her thumbnail. "I don't like it," she admitted. "I saw how much Duke Baird can do at the Drell. He's blessed by the gods. A fever, a cough—Duke Baird can heal those things in a moment. But now he can't. The only other time I saw him this helpless was during the Sweating Sickness." She moved a pawn forward one square. "There are some people who think the Sweating Sickness was caused by a sorcerer. You were one of them, remember?"
"Do you think there's a connection?" Myles asked.
"I don't know what to think," Alanna replied. Then she shook her head. "Yes, I do, and I'm going to say it. Too many bad things happen to Jonathan or to people close to him. I think—"
"Alan, the Queen was never very strong," Myles reminded her. "The Sweating Sickness ruined her health. Her weakness now is probably natural. Think carefully before you make any accusations, please." Myles drew a deep breath.
"The enemy you will make is too powerful for you to accuse without evidenc
e—and plenty of it."
Alanna looked Myles in the eye. "You suspect him, too."
Myles sighed and tugged his beard. "I have no proof, Alan. He's too clever to be easily caught. All I have—all you have—is coincidence. You cannot accuse a man of high treason on coincidence."
"Demon Grey and his mate weren't coincidences." After weeks of wrestling with herself on the matter, Alanna told her friend about discovering that her token could show her when sorcery had been used. She even let Myles hold it. He examined it briefly and returned it to her. "How did you get this?" Alanna told him about that meeting in the forest, omitting only that the Goddess had spoken to her as a girl. Men were sometimes chosen by the Mother, and she couldn't bring herself to tell Myles she had lied about her identity for years. The knight listened, his face expressionless. When she finished, he asked, "Is there anything else you think I should know?"
After keeping her suspicions bottled up for so long, Alanna let them spill out. "Duke Gareth's horse had a burr fixed in its saddle blanket when it threw the Duke. And the man who saddled the horse disappeared that same day. The night I was kidnapped by the Tusaine? I talked with Duke Roger. He wanted me to be his friend. He said if I was his friend, I'd live to a ripe old age. I told him I wanted my friends to have the same, and I didn't think that was what he wanted. He left, and the fog came up. You remember the fog and that Faithful couldn't be wakened? Isn't it strange that everything happened after he visited me and that the one being that could've helped me—my cat—was knocked out magically? The Tusaines were ready for me, Myles. They used special chains on me. Not only that, but they had heard about me, and I wasn't to be released. Who told them so much about me? Jem—Jemis? I don't think he knew I had anything more than a healing Gift. And didn't you ever wonder why the first major attack launched by the enemy separated Jonathan from all the others?"
"You have no proof," Myles replied steadily.
Tortall 1 - Song Of The Lioness #2 - In The Hand of the Goddess Page 10