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

by Tamora Pierce

  Alanna, in her nightshirt, popped into bed as Coram doused the candles.

  "Coram?" she said when he had settled under his own blankets.

  "Aye?"

  "D'you think anyone else has—guessed—that I'm not a boy?"

  The man yawned. "Unlikely. Ye've taken too much care with yer disguise. Now, go to sleep. Or at least let me get some. The dawn watch'll be the death of me."

  Alanna was up, dressed and packed when Coram came for her the next morning. He handed her a roll and a glass of milk. "Drink and eat," he ordered her sternly. "Did ye get any sleep last night?"

  She grinned sheepishly. "I don't think so."

  "Well, behave yerself and don't gulp that milk. He won't leave without ye."

  Coram was right. Myles was awaiting her in the courtyard, dressed for riding. The very thought of Myles riding made Alanna stare. Somehow she had never envisioned the older man on a horse. Then she scolded herself mentally. Myles had had to pass all the tests she did. How could he have been knighted otherwise?

  She enjoyed the day-long ride to Barony Olau. Myles had plenty of stories to tell, and it was nice to forget palace discipline. The sun was beginning to sink in the west when they turned off the Great Road. Unlike Trebond, Barony Olau was no fortress built to fight off mountain bandits and raiders from Scanra. Myles's home was set in a long valley and surrounded by acres covered with brown stubble. Toward the hills Alanna could see rows of trees.

  "My people are farmers," Myles explained, seeing the direction of her gaze. "Barony apples are the finest in Tortall—if I do say so myself."

  "It's a lot different from Trebond," Alanna replied. She stroked Moonlight's neck—for Moonlight's comfort or her own, she wasn't sure.

  The rooms Myles gave her were small and comfortable. The floors were covered with bright rugs. A fire burned in the hearth, and the windows didn't let any drafts chill the air. Alanna thought of her own home again and sighed.

  The servants were polite and well-spoken. When she explained her love of privacy to the man Myles sent to wait on her, he bowed and replied, "As the young master wishes." She did not know the man went immediately to Myles and relayed her wishes, or that Myles sat up very late thinking.

  Over breakfast the next day Myles asked, "Are you up to the ruins? We'll have to go on foot—the ground's too uneven for horses."

  She was more than eager to get started. After gulping her breakfast, Alanna rushed to change clothes. She donned thick stockings, heavy breeches, a warm shirt and a sturdy coat before pulling on her most comfortable boots. As an afterthought, she thrust a pair of gloves into her coat pocket. Alanna did not like the cold, and the days were turning crisp.

  When she joined Myles, she found he was dressed like she was. "No, Ranulf," he was telling his major domo. "No servants." He chuckled. "I think you'd have trouble getting anyone to go with us."

  Ranulf nodded. "You're right enough there, my lord. You'll return before dark? I'll have even more trouble getting a search party out for you once the sun's down."

  "Well before dark," the knight promised. "We're off then."

  Alanna waited until they were away from the castle before asking, "Why don't your servants like the ruins?"

  "My people claim they're haunted," he said. "But I doubt it. I've explored them for years without seeing a single ghost."

  "Why explore them so much?"

  "I'm writing a paper about the place," was the reply. "I want to show how the house was laid out, who lived there, how they lived. I'm almost finished. He tugged his beard. "I doubt many will read it, but the work gives me satisfaction."

  Alanna shook her head. She was no scholar. "Why bring me here?" she asked, to change the subject.

  "Because I was compelled," Myles answered.

  She stopped dead. "You were what?"

  "I was compelled," he said patiently. "For seven nights in a row I had the same dream. You and I were exploring the ruins, dressed exactly as we are now. When I asked Gareth to let you accompany me, the dreams stopped."

  "Oh."

  "Oh, indeed." They started forward again. "I'm an everyday man. I like my books and my brandy and my friends. I like everything in its place, and I like to know today where I'll be tomorrow. When the gods brush my life—they brush everyone's life at some point—I get nervous. There's no accounting for what the gods want."

  The woods opened up, and Alanna halted. The ruins lay before them. In some places the walls were taller than she was. They were built with marble, and the stone gleamed as if it had been carved the day before. A gate made of heavy black wood dangled half-off its bronze hinges.

  "Shall we go in?" Myles asked. He led the way through the gates. Alanna stopped just inside, scratching her itching nose and looking around. The remains of the stone walls stretched before them in neat rows, forming buildings and rooms inside the buildings.

  Myles pointed, his finger describing a large area walled by stones. "I think this was the main house. See the door?" The knight tapped a slab of black wood leaning against a wall. "It's six centuries old, at least." He moved ahead confidently. "I believe this was the kitchen," he went on as Alanna followed. "When I was younger, I found cooking implements here. I'll show them to you when we get back."

  "What are they made of?" she asked.

  Myles rubbed his nose. "It looks like bronze or copper, but it polishes to a higher shine than new metal. I think it's the coating they were dipped in. The Old Ones treated everything with it—metal, wood, paper. Anything that might show age. They were terrified of aging."

  Alanna stared at him. "Sir?"

  "No, lad, I didn't pull that out of thin air." Myles grinned. "I can read their writing. From what I have read, they feared aging more than anything."

  Alanna began to explore, keeping a sharp eye on the ground. A glint at the edge of a marble block caught her attention. It was a spearhead. She rubbed it until it shone. Looking around, she saw brackets carved in the stone blocks lying nearby. Those brackets would easily fit spears, swords, axes—

  "Myles!" she called. "I think I found the armory!"

  The man came over. "I agree. And you made another find." He examined the spearhead. "I'm interested in cooking gear, not weapons. You'll probably find more of these. You're a sharp fellow, Alan."

  In the corner of the armory Alanna discovered a great piece of stone lying on the ground. Unlike the blocks that formed the walls, this slab was jet black. A metal handle was set in one side. Alanna rubbed it with her shirtsleeve.

  "What makes you say that?" she asked, squinting at the edges of the slab.

  "How many thirteen-year-old boys could come to a place like this and figure out where the armory was?"

  She tugged at the handle. The stone didn't move. "Myles, you seem to think I'm special. I'm not, really." She tugged again, with both hands this time.

  "It won't move," he said. "Mithros knows I tried often enough. I think it's just the armory door."

  Alanna braced her feet firmly and gripped the handle. "Maybe if you'd give me a hand—" she muttered, tugging with all her strength. Myles was coming to help her when there was a groan of mechanisms long unused. Alanna jumped out of the way as the great slab slid toward her. It uncovered a stairway, leading down into darkness.

  Alanna turned, sweaty and triumphant, to find Myles looking at her oddly. "Drat it, Myles, I just put my back into it!" she cried. "Any other boy could've done it!"

  "I was sixteen when I last tried to move that thing," Myles told her slowly. "I had a friend with me, one of the local lads who was my servant. He's the blacksmith now, and he was no weakling then. We couldn't budge it."

  "Well—maybe there was dirt in the gears, and a rain washed it away, or something," she said crossly. She started down the steps. "Aren't you coming?"

  "Don't be foolish, Alan," Myles cautioned. "We don't have a torch. That tunnel could lead anywhere. You won't get far without light."

  She grinned up at him. "Ah, but you forget. I do hav
e light." She held up a hand, concentrating on her palm. Sweat formed on her upper lip as she felt the magic uncurl inside her. Something else uncurled in the tunnel, but she ignored it for the heat building on her palm. When she opened her eyes, her hand was glowing with a bright violet shine. "Come on," she called, trotting off down the passage.

  "Alan, I order you to come back here!" Myles shouted.

  "I'll be right back!" she called. She could feel a strangeness around her—no, two strangenesses. One frightened her. It was black and ghostlike, hovering just outside the light shed by her magic. The other called her with a high, singing voice she couldn't have ignored even if she wanted to. Her nose tickled, and she sneezed several times. The singing filled her mind, drowning out Myles's voice.

  Her light struck something that broke it into a hundred bright fragments. She didn't notice the darkness closing in behind her as she picked up something that glittered beautifully. It was a crystal, attached to the hilt of a sword. Long and light, the blade was encased in a battered dark sheath. Alanna's hand trembled as she lifted it.

  "Myles!" she shouted. "Guess what I found!"

  "Get back here!" he yelled. She looked up, alarmed. There was fear in Myles's voice. "A storm's coming up—and if it's natural, I'm a priest!"

  Suddenly the light of Alanna's magic went completely out. Darkness swirled around her in long tentacles that tightened on her body. She opened her mouth to scream for Myles, and no sound emerged. She fought to breathe and fought to throw her magic into the stifling blackness, but nothing happened. She tried to shove it away with her arms and legs and found the blackness had bound her tight. It was squeezing her ribs, forcing the air from her lungs. Alanna gasped for breath. The darkness filled her mouth and nose. Brilliant lights burst in her head, and she struggled like a crazy person. Nothing affected the darkness. Her struggles got weaker and weaker. She tried to fight even harder, but it was hopeless. She was dying, and she knew it.

  For the first time in her life, Alanna stopped fighting. She had used up all her air, all her strength, all her magic. She was weaponless. The darkness was entering her brain, and she was dying. With an inner sigh—almost one of relief—she accepted that fact. As her knees buckled, Alanna took the knowledge of her own death and made it part of her.

  The crystal on the sword blazed, its light penetrating the darkness in her brain. Suddenly the fearful grip on her body and mind relaxed. She drew in a lungful of air, shocked to find that she still could. She opened her eyes and closed them, nearly blinded by the blazing crystal.

  Somewhere outside Myles was calling for her, his voice nearly drowned out by approaching thunder. Alanna used the crystal's light to guide her back to the entrance of the tunnel, feeling the blackness in full retreat before her. Still shaky, she scrambled to the surface. As she entered the upper air, the crystal went dark once more.

  Alanna glanced at the sky. Black clouds boiled overhead; lightning was already striking a few leagues away. Myles seized her arm and pulled her from the tunnel entrance just as the slab ground over it once more. Alanna stared at it, wondering just what was going on. She had accepted death. Why wasn't she dead?

  "No time to ponder it!" Myles yelled in her ear. "Let's go!"

  They headed for the castle at a run, Myles half-carrying a bewildered Alanna. The high wind whipped twigs and branches into their faces, and within moments they were drenched by the sudden onslaught of rain.

  Inside the castle, Barony servants steered them to hot baths and dry clothes. Alanna bathed and changed, still not believing she was alive. Picking up the sword, she went to find her friend.

  Myles was awaiting her in his morning room. A room like this would never have been found in a fortress like Trebond: the huge windows overlooking the valley were too vulnerable to enemy archers. Here at peaceful Olau, Myles could see his fields, the distant village, even the Great Road on a clear day. Now he sat in a deep chair, watching the rain streaming down the glass. A steaming pitcher and two mugs were at his side.

  "Have a toddy," he said, handing a filled mug to her. "You look as if you need it." Alanna stared at the steaming liquid, trying to remember what she was supposed to do with it. "Drink up, lad," Myles urged gently. He drained his own mug and refilled it, watching her.

  Alanna sat carefully in a chair, staring out the window. Finally she raised the mug to her lips and sipped. The hot liquid sent ripples of fire running through her. Perhaps she was alive, after all. She took another large swallow, and another.

  "I thought I was dead," she said at last. "I guess not." She handed him the sword. "Here. I found this in the tunnel."

  Myles examined the sword carefully without taking it from the scabbard. He ran his fingers along the sheath, rubbed the metal fittings with his thumb and squinted at a candle-flame through the crystal. "What happened?" he asked as he looked the sword over.

  She told him in a few brief words, watching every movement of his face.

  "Is the crystal magic?" he asked finally.

  "I don't know. My magic doesn't make it work. It only—it only came to life when I quit fighting to stay alive."

  "I see," he murmured. "You accepted death—and the stone saved your life."

  This didn't make sense to Alanna, so she ignored it. "Aren't you going to draw the blade?"

  Myles looked out the window thoughtfully. "Storm's letting up," he observed.

  Alanna shifted impatiently in her chair. "Well?"

  "No—I'm not. You are." Myles held the sword out to her.

  "I can't!" she protested. "They're your ruins. It belongs to you."

  Myles shook his head. "You haven't been paying attention. I was compelled to bring you here. You opened the passage when I've tried to do it for years, and failed. Something happened down there, and the sword protected you. And don't forget the storm. I can take a hint, Alan."

  "It belongs to you," she protested, almost tearfully.

  "It never belonged to me." He thrust it at her. "Let's see what she looks like, lad."

  Reluctantly Alanna stood and took the sword. The hilt fit her hand as if made for her. She closed her eyes and drew the sword.

  Nothing happened. She glanced at Myles, embarrassed. Her friend was grinning at her.

  "I feel silly," she admitted.

  "After what happened this morning, I was expecting something dramatic, myself. Well?"

  Alanna hefted the blade. It was thinner than a broadsword, and lighter, with a broadsword's double edge. The metal was lightweight, with a silver sheen. She lightly touched a thumb to one edge and cut herself. Grinning with delight, she tried a few passes. It felt wonderful in her hand.

  "What will you call her?" Myles asked.

  She didn't question Myles's calling the blade a "her." "Seeing's how it brought such a reaction from—from—"

  "From whatever guards the ruins?" the knight suggested.

  "I guess that was it. Anyway, seeing's how it brought on a storm and all so fast—how about 'Lightning'?"

  Myles raised his mug in a toast. "To Alan and Lightning. May you never meet a better blade."

  Alanna drained her own mug. "Uh—Myles?" she stammered, sliding her blade into its sheath.

  "Hm?" The knight was not deceived by her innocent tone.

  "I—I would rather nobody else knew about—well, what happened. Could—could we just say I picked Lightning from your armory?"

  "You'll tell Jonathan, won't you?"

  "Of course. But—I don't want anyone else to know. If that's all right with you."

  "Certainly, lad. As you wish." Myles refilled his mug, wondering what—or whom—Alan was afraid of.

  ALANNA expected people to notice Lightning—she would have been hurt if they hadn't. Even Duke Gareth asked about it, as did Captain Sklaw. "Not enough weight," the Captain grunted when he first lifted it. When he tested the edge, the look on his face changed to one of respect. "It'll do," he said finally. Alanna had to be content with that. Everyone accepted the idea that Lightning
was a gift from Sir Myles, though Alanna told Jonathan the truth, privately. The Prince was fascinated by her experience and asked a good many questions. He even tried his own magic on Lightning, attempting to make the crystal glow. Nothing happened, and the Prince finally gave up, saying the exercise was giving him a headache.

  Alanna told Coram the truth as well. She felt she owed it to her old comrade. Coram said nothing, but he would not touch the sword either.

  When George asked to see Alanna's new blade, she handed it over willingly. To her surprise, the thief yelped and dropped the weapon. He made her pick it up.

  "It's filled with magic, and of a kind I've never encountered," he said. "You tell me 'twas simply hangin' in Sir Myles's armory?"

  Alanna opened her mouth to lie, then closed it. When she spoke, it was the true story she gave. George heard her out, shaking his head in wonder. "You accepted something?" he remarked. "You?"

  "I didn't have any choice," she snapped. "I was going to die whether I wanted to or not. But when I stopped fighting it—"

  "When you accepted it."

  "Will you stop dithering about accepting things, George? Anyway, that's when the crystal worked. And I haven't been able to make it work since.

  "Hmph. Well, I'm glad you escaped—and I'm gladder still that Lightning is strapped to your waist." George nodded at the sword. "A magic blade—whether you can work the magic or no—may well come in handy."

  Someone else noticed that Lightning was not all she seemed. When Alanna walked into her sorcery class for the first time after her return from Olau, Duke Roger smiled at her. "I hear you have a new sword, young Alan. May I see it?"

  Alanna hesitated. She did not want to hand her sword over to Duke Roger, and she had no reason on earth for feeling that way. Reluctantly she unclipped the sheath from her belt. She could feel Jonathan watching her suspiciously, wondering what was taking her so long.

  "It's just a blade Sir Myles had around," she said. "I don't think—"

  "I've made a lifelong study of the art of sword-smithing," Roger told her. He held out a hand. "Let's see."