Lioness Rampant (Song of the Lioness)

by Tamora Pierce

  “My wife would greet you properly, Lady Alanna, Master Smythesson, but she has only recently come from childbed, and she is resting. Our sixth,” he explained with a smile. “A girl.” He accepted their congratulations with a bow, adding, “Excuse the bustle—our bags didn’t come until this afternoon.”

  He led them into the house. “I’m happy to assist Myles’s daughter. If it weren’t for him, I’d be just another nobleman, administering my estates, worrying about how I stood with the king, and scheming to get into power at court. My wife handles the fief—better than I ever could—and the only kings I bother with are hundreds of years gone. I owe that to Myles. He was the best teacher I had. What an incredible mind!”

  Alanna picked up Faithful, who was trading sharp words with a dog in the hall. “You were one of Myles’s students?”

  “For six years.” He showed them into a room that was lit only by the dying sun. “I suppose it’s too dark.” He began a futile search for flint and steel. “I tell the maids I keep demons in here so they won’t disturb anything. Unfortunately, I don’t get my candles lit.”

  Alanna laughed. Now he reminded her of Myles. Pointing at the hearth logs, she sent her Gift out in a burst of violet until they caught flame. With quick gestures she shooed flames to the branches of candles.

  Show-off, Faithful grumbled.

  Alanna looked at him in surprise. “I am not. This is handier.”

  A year ago you would have taken forever to do it the hard way, the cat pointed out.

  Alanna blushed. “A year ago I was different.”

  “Do they always chat like this?” Nahom Jendrai asked Coram.

  “Often enough.” The older man gave him the map.

  Jendrai stretched the parchment out on a table, studying it for several minutes. Finally Alanna said, “Should we go and come back when you’ve had a chance to work on it?”

  He glanced up, startled—clearly he’d forgotten they were there. “No, of course not. I can tell you what it says. Please, come closer.” Alanna and Coram gathered around the desk, Faithful perched on the knight’s shoulder.

  Jendrai’s finger traveled over the map’s surface. “Here are the Eastern Lands, the Inland Sea, a bit of the Southern Lands. That’s to locate the reader—this map isn’t for everyday geography. Much is left out. There are cities, nations, roads—a hundred things not shown. Only the points of interest are here, at the eastern end of the Great Inland Sea.

  “The mountains—these jagged lines—show the Roof of the World, east of Sarain. This valley lies inside the Roof’s western edge, north of where Port Udayapur is now. At the valley’s northern end are two passes, Lumuhu and Chitral. This star marks Chitral Pass.” He tapped the silvery star embossed into the map. “Translated, the writing says, ‘In Chitral’s hidden chamber, guarded by the being whose essence is Time, the Dominion Jewel is kept for those with the will to strive. Take it at your risk, for the saving of a troubled land.’”

  “The Dominion Jewel,” Coram whispered.

  Alanna shivered. “Fairy stories,” she scoffed.

  “Ye were impressed by those stories in yer day, Miss,” retorted Coram. “Yer brother always wanted the tale of Giamo the Tyrant. Ye liked t’hear about Norrin and Anj’la.” He looked at Nahom. “The Jewel is real?”

  “Very real,” the scholar replied. “In Maren we remember the changes made by King Norrin and Queen Anj’la, two centuries ago. Our wealth and peace are their legacy. We have had no wars or famines or plagues since their day.” He rapped the table to ward off the evils he’d mentioned. “If you have a chance to visit the capital city, you might examine the stonework on the Great Temple of Mithros and on the ceremonial doors of the palace. The same motif is repeated over and over: Norrin’s symbol, a snow-capped mountain, Anj’la’s, a willow branch, and the Dominion Jewel between them. Marenites know what we owe to them and the Jewel.”

  “But it’s been used for evil, too,” Coram reminded Jendrai softly.

  “Indeed.” The younger man’s face darkened. “Giamo stole the Jewel to build his Gallan Empire. With it he conquered parts of Tusaine, Tortall, and Scanra.” Alanna saw Tusaine armies camped along the Drell River, as they had when she was a squire. She swallowed; her memories of the Tusaine War were unpleasant. “Someone stole it from Giamo’s heir. His empire devoured itself, four hundred years ago.

  “Fairy stories are important,” Jendrai told Alanna. “Legends teach us and guide scholars in searching out the truth of history.” He smoothed the map before folding it. “It would be the adventure of a lifetime to find the Dominion Jewel.”

  Faithful and Alanna looked at each other. The cat’s ears had pricked forward at adventure. The knight thought it over. If I win it and return home bringing the Dominion Jewel for the glory of Tortall, no one can suggest that I got my shield with magic and trickery. Instead of being his Majesty’s most talked-of knight, I’ll be the honored vassal who brought a prize to honor his reign. Another voice in her mind whispered, The Roof of the World! Did I ever meet anyone who’d been that far in his lifetime? It’s a place to go. Someplace new. The Goddess said my path would be interesting.

  Nahom sighed and put the map away. “Seldom do I regret my family and my duty to them. This is one of those times. I would love to go seeking such a thing. What land wouldn’t prosper with the Jewel in its ruler’s hands?” He gave the map to Alanna.

  “How does it work?” Alanna asked. She fingered the ember-stone at her neck. “Do you have to be a sorcerer to wield it?”

  “Giamo was no sorcerer,” Coram pointed out. “Look at the damage he did.”

  “Norrin wasn’t Gifted, either, although Anj’la knew herb-lore and healing magic,” added Jendrai, scanning a scroll rack. “Here.” He pulled out one, blew the dust from it (making Faithful sneeze), and unrolled it on the table. “This is in High Gaulish—do you read it?” Alanna and Coram shook their heads. “Here’s the section I want. A rough translation is, ‘Said Jewel worketh its power in two fashions. In the hands of the un-Gifted, it exerteth natural benefices, knitting its power with the Earth’s own for as far as its ruler’s holdeth sway.’” Stopping, he explained. “The Jewel only works for those who are rulers or conquerors by nature. It also explains why the Jewel was often better used by a commoner than by someone royal-born. Just because you’re born to be a king doesn’t mean you have the will for it.”

  “Where was I … ‘In the hand of one Gifted, one who understandeth the devices of sorcery, the Jewel may be more directly used, in healing and war, for fertility and death. A knowledgeable ruler, knowing fully the creation of magical formulae, may create new land from ocean deeps, or return the breath of a dead child. With its wielder’s knowledge and the will to rule, the Jewel maketh possible all things.’”

  “That’s scary,” Alanna whispered. “What could Roger have done with the Dominion Jewel?”

  Coram said, “Thank the gods we’ll never learn.”

  Outside the air was raw, a reminder that winter was not done. Alanna shivered, walking briskly to keep up with Coram. Faithful trotted in front, sniffing the night wind. Alanna thought wistfully about the Bazhir lands—winter came to them as chilly rains, not snow and ice. She preferred the desert winter; she was afraid of cold weather, in a way she couldn’t understand.

  They weren’t far from the inn when Coram spoke. “What will ye do?” Realizing she’d been thinking of something else, he explained, “The Jewel, my lady.”

  “I think we should find it.”

  “Knowin’ how ye like the cold, I didn’t think ye’d fancy the Roof.”

  Alanna made a face. “You’re right. Still, if that’s where the Jewel is—”

  Faithful hissed, We have company.

  Coram glanced around. “Rogues.” His voice was loud enough for Alanna to hear, no louder. “Wantin’ to take our purses, doubtless.”

  Alanna glanced to the corner ahead, where five men in dark clothing blocked their escape. She drew Lightning: It shimme
red faintly. “Why so many of them for two of us?”

  “Four more on yer right,” Coram hissed. “Because they’ve little else to do?” Out came his broadsword.

  Of the thieves, two held swords, two more carried short axs, three had iron-shod staffs. Alanna guessed that the others had knives. “Let us by,” she ordered. “You don’t want the trouble it’ll take you to get our money.” She made the sign George taught her, the one to give her safe passage among rogues.

  One of them stepped forward, his sword up. “Be ye Alanna of Trebond in Tortall? Her as claims she’s a true knight?”

  Coram bristled. “Ye’ll find she’s knight enough if ye step just a bit closer.”

  “Our business ain’t with ye, master,” someone else barked. “Leave now, else ye be hurt.”

  “I’ll leave if ye do the same—or when ye’re dead. It’s all the same to me.” Coram shifted his stance, planting himself firmly.

  Alanna looked at the one who’d spoken first. “I’m Alanna of Trebond and Olau.”

  “We bring ye regards from him known as Claw, back in Tortall. He bids us tell ye mourn for yer lover now, whilst ye have breath. George Cooper will be dead afore summer, but we’re to send ye t’the Black God first!”

  He threw himself at Alanna, the swordsmen and staffmen following with a yell. Alanna moved until she and Coram were back to back, meeting the speaker’s charge and knocking his weapon aside. He came at her again with a backhand chop, and she knew he’d had little training. It wasn’t enough compared to hers. She brought Lightning down across his chest, cutting deeply. He fell, and she looked for her next foe.

  There was little room to maneuver, little chance to counter single opponents. The thieves understood simultaneous attack. Alanna and Coram blocked automatically, searching for anything that could be turned to their advantage. Hesitation now would mean death.

  One of the staffmen swung and missed—she ran him through. Coram shouted fiercely, and someone screamed. When a swordsman looked to see the screamer’s fate, Alanna slashed his leg. He dropped with a cry. A knife fighter rushed to pick up the fallen sword.

  A black lump dropped from a roof, clinging to one man’s scalp. Trying to dislodge Faithful, the thief fell into an ax’s downswing. He lost his life. A second later the axman was down, a victim of Alanna’s rapid side-cut. She could hear Coram gasping. Sweat dripped into her eyes.

  Alanna’s left arm stung. She reversed Lightning in a crescent, killing the man who’d wounded her. She was bleeding, but she didn’t dare stop to bind the cut.

  Faithful launched himself again, yowling fiercely. Coram shouted and was down, bleeding from the thigh. Alanna swung to stand over him, her brain coldly taking charge. Later she’d remember that sweat stung in her eyes, that her arm hurt, that she was scared for Coram. Now she blocked and cut like a machine, looking everywhere at once.

  For a moment Lightning was caught under an ax blade. Trying to free her sword, Alanna was knocked down by a staff. Cursing, she rolled to her feet. Before she had her balance, two thieves leaped on her, forcing her down.

  One gripped her arms, yanking them behind her back. Alanna bit her lip to keep from screaming. She’d always been afraid this would happen. Disarmed, in the clutch of a stronger opponent, she was trapped. The second rogue grinned at her, reaching for her tunic.

  The street echoed with an animal roar. Something shot into the man in front of Alanna: He rammed into a nearby wall and was still. Liam hit the ground on both feet, spun and kicked back into an attacker. The man seemed to leap backward, sprawling yards away. The Dragon shifted, his leg furling up and out, streaking toward Alanna. She froze, and Liam’s kick struck the man gripping her. She was free.

  Liam grinned, then whirled to face the last killers. They fought and died, the street echoing with the Dragon’s cry. Alanna’s hands worked as she watched, cutting up her tunic for a bandage. Kneeling by Coram, she examined his bleeding thigh.

  “It’s not bad,” Coram assured her through clenched teeth. “I’ve had worse. He’s a sight, isn’t he?”

  Alanna nodded as she tied the bandage over the wound, pressing to stop the bleeding. The stories she’d heard about Shang came nowhere near the truth. The Dragon went from blow to kick in a blur. When he struck a man, that man went down and stayed down.

  “Ye’re bleedin’,” Coram rasped, holding her arm. “Ye must have it seen to.”

  Alanna barely heard him. Awed by Liam, she whispered, “I’ll never be that good.”

  Coram snorted. “I’ve news for your ladyship.” He sat up, replacing her hands on the bandage with one of his own. “Ye’re just as quick, with a sword in yer hand.”

  Silence returned. Those of their attackers who were able had fled. The ones who remained were either too badly hurt to run or were dead.

  The Dragon came to Alanna and Coram, examining a tear in his sleeve. “You’re all right?” He looked worriedly at Alanna, who was beginning to feel dizzy and a little sick. Coram reached up, and Liam helped him to his feet. “I was coming back from the home of a friend, and I heard the noise. Don’t you know enough to stay out of trouble?”

  Faithful came out of the shadows, his tail switching irritably. We do, the man and I. She doesn’t.

  Liam glanced down at the cat, frowning. “Did …? No.” He caught Alanna as she faltered and dropped in a faint.

  “It didn’t look like a bad wound,” Coram said, taking Alanna’s left hand and examining the cut running across her forearm. Then he swore, seeing the wound reached up the back of her arm to the shoulder. Alanna’s shirtsleeve was thick with blood. “I’ll tear a bandage,” he ordered Liam, pulling off his tunic. “We’d best take her to the inn fast—Windfeld can fetch a healer.” Quickly he reduced the garment to strips and formed a bandage for the knight’s arm. Once it was in place, he set off down the street.

  “Does she often do this?” the Dragon asked, following with Alanna.

  “She’s worn herself out other ways before this, silly lass. She’s quick t’tell ye when to stop, but she never thinks maybe she should listen to her own advice.”

  When they reached the Wandering Bard, Windfeld took over. In the space of a few minutes a healer was seeing to Alanna while another stitched Coram’s thigh. Liam went to the kitchen and returned with a mug of tea for Coram. The man-at-arms took one sniff and coughed.

  “What’ve I ever done to ye?” he demanded.

  Liam grinned. “It smells better than it tastes. Drink it—I’ve had to myself. Shang taught us all manner of herb-lore, in case we get caught with no healer near.”

  Coram shrugged and obeyed, choking as the stuff went down. He felt better almost immediately. “Whatever it is, it works. I don’t want t’know what it is,” he said quickly when Liam opened his mouth.

  “It’s only herbs. Your lady gets the same, when she wakes up. Now—who were those men?”

  “Messengers, of a kind. From an enemy of—of a friend of hers.” Coram blushed. Liam raised an eyebrow, but the older man shook his head. He was not going to tell an almost-stranger, not even this one, the whole truth. “Someone who knew that if she was killed, it’d hurt Cooper—her friend.”

  Liam yawned and stretched. Coram was envious. The redheaded man looked as if he’d been exercising hard, not fighting. “Well, this Cooper’s unhurt, and the two of you will heal.”

  Coram got up stiffly and offered Liam his hand. “We owe ye our lives. We won’t forget.”

  Liam returned his grip. “You’d’ve managed, I think. I just speeded things along.”

  2

  THE ROAD EAST

  SHE SUPPOSED SHE WAS SLEEPING. HER TWIN BROTHER, the sorcerer Thom, stood before a tomb with his hands upraised. His Gift, violet-colored like her own, glittered around him. Thom was pale, sick-looking. The door to the tomb began to open.

  Thom looked at her. “I don’t have enough power to shut it. I need your Gift. And I need that.” He reached for the ember-stone at her throat. She clung to it. “No
, Thom! The Goddess gave it to me. I’ll never take it off!”

  “Calm down.” The voice was male, warm. “Keep your trinket.”

  She dreamed again. George Cooper sat at Myles’s desk, staring moodily at a painting. With surprise she saw it was a miniature of her in gold-washed chain mail, her lioness shield at her feet. Did he have it painted from his description of her?

  There were silver threads in his dark hair. “But you aren’t even thirty!” she protested.

  He didn’t hear. “Who will you be, my darlin’?” he asked the painting.

  The door flew open. Jonathan entered, looking as if he had been in a fight. “I hear the Earth cracking,” he whispered.

  Her eyes flew open. “Coram!” she yelled, scared because she felt so weak. She was in bed.

  “He’s sleeping.” Liam stood beside her, a steaming mug in his hands. “He didn’t lose as much blood as you, but he still tires fast.”

  Alanna sat up. Outside rain fell; somewhere closer a fire crackled. If only her head would stop spinning! “How’d you get to be assistant nurse?”

  He winked at her. “Coram trusts me. Don’t you?”

  In spite of herself, Alanna smiled. “Not a bit.”

  Liam shook his head. “So young, and so cynical. Drink this.”

  Coram would have warned her about the brew, had he been there. As it was, she took a good swallow before she even noticed the smell. It was nasty, bitter stuff with herbs in it. Her stomach tried to heave. With an act of will Alanna made it stay put. Closing her eyes, she went back to sleep.

  Liam was by the fire when she woke again. Faithful curled beside him, purring—the big man plainly had the cat’s approval. The scent of meat cooking rose from downstairs, making Alanna’s mouth water. She was hungry!