The Woman Who Rides Like a Man

by Tamora Pierce

  Jonathan stirred and sat up, rubbing the blue scar. “I am the Voice of the Tribes,” he rasped. “Ali Mukhtab, who was the Voice, has passed on. I remain.” He stood, leaning on Alanna’s shoulder, and the watchers below cheered until their throats hurt. Men came forward and took Mukhtab’s body as Alanna rubbed away the tears flooding down her cheeks.

  “He isn’t gone,” Jonathan told her. “He’s here, inside me. They’re all here—all the Voices.” He looked up at a nearby man. “It won’t be so bad, Amman Kemail. I am not wise, but I can always learn.”

  The big headman smiled thinly. “In your moment of becoming, we were each with you—” His eyes flicked to Alanna. “All save the Woman Who Rides Like a Man. You will do, Jonathan of Conté.”

  They gripped each other’s arms. “If I succeed, I will owe it to the Bazhir and not to myself,” Jon replied.

  Halef Seif approached, bowing deeply to the prince who had become their Voice. “It is time for our people to rejoice in a seemly fashion,” the Bloody Hawk headman remarked. “Ali Mukhtab is delivered from his pain, and the Voice of the Tribes continues. Let us burn his abandoned shell, and send him to the gods with love. Come down to the village. We will remember Ali Mukhtab, and we will drink to our hope for peace.”

  “What was it like?” Alanna asked Jon. They were curled up together, Faithful lodged between them on top of the blankets. Dawn was slipping sunlight through the tent flap.

  For a long time he was silent. “It was the worst thing that ever happened to me,” he said at last. “Even worse than the place between life and death, when you saved me from the Sweating Sickness. Worse than fighting the Ysandir, in the Black City. It was as if—” He drew a deep breath. “As if thousands of people were screaming inside my head, each wanting to be heard first. As if I were all of those people, only everything bad in our lives hurt more, because the feeling was multiplied. I lived all the lives of all the Voices; there have been four hundred and fifteen of us, Alanna. And I saw my own death. I was a chain. All my links were pulling apart. I lost Jonathan for a while; I was everyone but Jonathan.”

  “No wonder you screamed,” she whispered, holding him as close as the cat between them would permit.

  “But the things I could see.” He had forgotten her now, remembering. “I could see the magic Faithful gave Ali Mukhtab to keep him alive. I could see the palaces we once had, on the other side of the Inland Sea. I could see us fleeing the Ysandir, and building Persopolis. I could feel the wind in our face as we rode the sands, free from all kings. I could see the gods as they watch us live our lives. The Mother is beautiful,” he said, his sapphire eyes shining with awe. “The most perfect woman, and not a woman at all. Mithros was so bright, the Black God without brightness, yet radiating peace. I could never do it again. But I will never forget that I’m One, and Many. When my life becomes too confining, and when I feel I have no freedom, I can look into myself, and be someone else. I can go somewhere else.” He turned and kissed her deeply, then added, “Alanna, for the first time since I was named, I am free.”

  When she left Jonathan’s tent the next morning, Alanna found Halef Seif seated on the edge of the tribe’s well, as if waiting for someone. He rose and walked with her as she went to the corral, watching as she got out combs and began to curry Moonlight. Finally he spoke. “The Voice of the Tribes must return to his home soon.”

  Bending down to reach her mare’s hocks, Alanna grunted, “He was lucky to be able to get away this long.”

  “It will be good to have a Voice who is the son of the Northern king, even as it is good to have a shaman who is the Woman Who Rides Like a Man.”

  Alanna glared at the headman from under Moonlight’s neck. “You haven’t been so formal with me since I first joined the tribe,” she accused. “What’s on your mind, Halef Seif?” When he hesitated, she added, “I thought you, of all people, would be honest with me.”

  “Will you leave the tribe now?” he asked. “Will you be returning with him, to live in his house and be his wife?”

  Alanna swallowed hard; this was being honest with a vengeance! “I don’t know,” she admitted, busying herself with the mare’s tail. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I haven’t come to a decision.”

  “He ordered his horses for today,” the headman said implacably. “Surely he expects you to accompany him, if you will be his bride.” Seeing Alanna turn pale, he added, “He ordered that your horse be prepared, too.”

  Alanna felt the beginnings of irritation. “He had no right to do that. I haven’t given him my answer yet.”

  “Perhaps he believes he knows what your answer will be.”

  Alanna put her combs away. “I’d better talk to him.” She slipped beneath the rope that enclosed the horses, and glanced up at Halef Seif. “No one is to ready Moonlight for a journey until I say so.” She strode off, telling herself that Jonathan was tired, and had probably forgotten to ask her if she planned to go with him when he left today. For that matter, she remembered, he hadn’t even mentioned he was leaving.

  Relax, her sensible self remarked as she entered the prince’s tent. Becoming the Voice would probably drive less important matters from his head—and he dare not stay here much longer.

  Jonathan was conferring with Myles and Coram. Already a boy from the tribe was packing his things. The prince smiled at her. “My love, I’ve instructed Kara and Kourrem to pack for you,” he announced. “If we leave after twilight, we should have several hours of cool riding—”

  “May I speak with you alone, Jonathan? I know Coram and Myles will excuse us.”

  Seeing the scowl on her face, Coram needed no further urging. He left. Myles looked from Alanna to Jon, plainly worried. “It’s all right, Myles,” the prince assured him. “We’ll be ready in an hour or so.”

  Myles stopped beside Alanna. “Don’t say anything you might regret,” he cautioned.

  “I won’t.” Alanna gripped the ember-stone at her throat, telling herself that what she had just heard was rooted in a simple misunderstanding, one that would be made right. Myles sighed and walked out, closing the tent flap after him.

  “You didn’t mention you were planning to leave today.” In making an effort to keep her temper, Alanna sounded clipped and terse.

  “I thought you knew.” Jonathan was rolling up a map, not looking at her. “If I had been with anyone but Myles, my parents would have torn up the countryside looking for me by now. I must get back.”

  “I did not say I was returning with you, and you didn’t ask me before you ordered people to do my packing.”

  “I assumed we’d begin preparations for the wedding. I didn’t think you would want to wait.”

  “I haven’t told you yes,” Alanna reminded him, her voice tense.

  He looked at her, startled. “But—I know how you feel about me.”

  “Being married to you is a great responsibility. I need more time to think about it.”

  “More time!” He’s actually amused, Alanna thought, her anger mounting. “Be serious. After all these years, I’d think your answer is plain.”

  She had clenched her jaw so tightly it hurt to open it. “Not to me.”

  Jonathan slapped the rolled-up parchment onto the table, his patience nearing an end. “Stop it, Alanna. I’ve made enough allowance for maidenly shyness from you—”

  “Maidenly shyness!” she yelled. “Since when have I shown maidenly shyness!”

  “Keep your voice down!” he snapped. “Do you want the whole tribe to hear? What’s gotten into you, anyway? I thought it was all settled.”

  “I said I wanted time to think!” Although her voice was quieter, her snapping violet eyes revealed her undiminished fury.

  Jonathan’s smile was full of masculine superiority. “That’s what all women say when a man proposes.”

  “Do they indeed?” Alanna snapped. “And you’re such an expert on marriage proposals, I suppose!”

  “As much as you are,” he snapped back.
<
br />   “When I say I want time to think, I want time to think!”

  Jonathan sighed wearily. “All right, you’ve had time to think. What’s your answer?”

  “That I need more time to think!”

  Jon stared at her for a moment, color mounting into his cheeks. “This is ridiculous!” he cried. “All right, I should’ve remembered you don’t like people making plans without your say-so, but I thought everything was settled—”

  “It isn’t! How dare you take my acceptance for granted?”

  “Well, you certainly didn’t give me a reason to believe you’d refuse, did you?” he demanded, his hands clenched with anger. “Think carefully before you annoy me further, Alanna of Trebond! There are women who would do anything to marry me—”

  “Then why didn’t you ask one of them?” Alanna said. “You know what your problem is, Jonathan? You’ve been spoiled by all those fine Court ladies. It never entered your mind that I might say no!”

  “And who would you take instead of me, O Woman Who Rides Like a Man?” he demanded. “I suppose George Cooper’s more to your taste—”

  “George!” she gasped, surprised at his new angle of attack.

  “Do you think I’m blind? I’ve seen the way he looks at you!”

  “What about all those women at the palace and the way they look at you?” Alanna demanded. “And I know you’ve had affairs with some of them! They’ve made you into a conceited—”

  “At least they’re women, Lady Alanna!” he said. “And they know how to act like women!”

  Silence stretched between them, as Alanna fought to keep from either slapping him or from bursting into tears. Finally she hissed, “I refuse to marry you.”

  Jonathan was now white with rage. “And I think I’m well out of a potential disaster!”

  “Obviously!” she retorted. “Find yourself someone more feminine, Jonathan of Conté!” She hurled herself out of the tent.

  Kara and Kourrem looked up from their packing, startled, as she marched into her own home. “I’m not leaving!” she snapped. “Next time someone tells you I am, check with me first!”

  They bowed and hurried from the tent, their eyes wide above their face veils. Alanna threw herself onto her sleeping mat and gave way to furious tears.

  Tears led to a long, exhausted sleep. When she awoke, it was dark. Jonathan and Myles were gone.

  “Jonathan.” Queen Lianne beckoned to her son. Jonathan obeyed the summons, trying to erase the frown that had creased his forehead since his return from the desert over a week ago. He could hear courtiers whispering now about his unusual surliness.

  Let them talk, he thought savagely as he bowed before his mother’s throne. What do I care?

  His mother gestured for a willowy blonde to come forward. “Prince Jonathan,” the queen said as the blonde sank into a deep curtsy, “may I make Princess Josiane known to you? Josiane is the second daughter of the king of the Copper Isles; she has come to stay with us for a time. Her mother and I were good friends as girls. Josiane, my son, Jonathan.”

  Josiane looked up at him from her curtsy, her blue eyes huge with admiration. “Prince Jonathan,” she said, her voice soft and husky. “It is an honor to meet the man who fought so bravely in the Tusaine War.”

  Jonathan took Josiane’s hand and raised her to her feet, lightly kissing her fingertips. “I was just a boy then, Princess,” he reminded her. She said nothing, her full mouth curved in a smile. “Would you care to dance?”

  “I would love to.” She moved gracefully out onto the floor at his side as Jonathan noted with satisfaction that she was tall (the top of her head level with his eyes), slender, and milky-skinned. She’ll do, he thought with grim satisfaction. She’ll help me prove to that—female in the south that I never want anything to do with her again!

  8

  THE KING OF

  THE THIEVES

  HOUSE AZIK, DOG LANE, IN THE CITY OF PORT Caynn, was one of many large residences set off from one another by high walls. It looked like a respectable merchant’s home.

  “That a Trebond should come to the point of associatin’ with thieves—with the worst of them all—” Coram grumbled as he tugged the bellrope.

  “The thief is my best friend,” Alanna reminded him tartly. “And he doesn’t take me for granted.”

  She had tried to concentrate on tribal affairs after her fight with Jon, but her attention wandered constantly. It had been Coram’s decision to accompany her when she decided at last to visit George; Alanna could only wish that he had decided to keep his tongue between his teeth when he did so. Coram had never approved of her friendship with George.

  A brown-eyed, brunet young man peered out of the porter’s door and yelped. Swiftly unbarring the large gate, Marek Swiftknife, George’s second-in-command and perennial rival, let them in. “Quickly!” he hissed. “Before you’re recognized!”

  Once inside the courtyard, Alanna and Coram dismounted. Marek rebarred the gate and gripped Alanna’s hand, his sharply cut, handsome face alight with glee. “It’s still a jolt, seein’ you with your chest unbound,” he explained, ignoring Coram’s warning growl. “And it’s good t’see you, what with his Majesty sulkin’ about, makin’ life miserable for us all.” He showed them into the house as he asked, “Where’d you get your skin so tan?”

  “We’ve been in the desert,” Alanna explained as Marek showed them into the house. “We’re Bazhir now.”

  Marek shook his head. “If it isn’t one thing with you—”

  “Guests?” A buxom redhead came out of the shadows at the back of the main hall. “Who’s come at this early hour?” Seeing Alanna, she laughed. “Well met, youngling. My cousin’s goin’ to be glad t’see you.”

  A hard elbow met Alanna’s ribs painfully. “Introduce me,” Coram growled into his knight-mistress’s ear.

  Grinning, Alanna said, “Rispah, this is Coram Smythesson. Coram was my first teacher; now he’s my companion. Rispah is George’s cousin and queen of the Ladies of the Rogue,” she added impishly.

  Coram bowed over Rispah’s hand. “How can I think ill of th’ Rogue when such lasses are part of it?”

  Rispah smiled. “I’m glad a strong-lookin’ soldier like you don’t wish to think ill of us,” she replied, her husky voice a purr.

  Shocked, Alanna realized they were flirting. Even more surprising was her realization that Coram was a fine figure of a man, big belly and all. He’s not even very old, she remembered. He’s only forty or so. Plenty of soldiers wait that long to marry, till the itch is out of their feet. . . .

  Feeling Alanna and Faithful watching with interest, Coram let go of Rispah’s hand, blushing slightly.

  He likes your coming here better now, Faithful commented from his perch on Alanna’s shoulder.

  A door slammed upstairs, and a male voice yelled, “Rispah! I asked for charts of the Merchants’ Guild-House t’be sent up with my breakfast—”

  “You have visitors, cousin!” Rispah called, winking at Alanna. “Right noble guests, if I’m any judge!”

  Alanna put Faithful down on the floor, feeling uncertain and strange. What if George wanted nothing to do with her?

  The tall thief rushed down the stairs and grabbed her, swinging her around as he laughed. “And I’ve been thinkin’ you forgot me,” he said, placing her on her feet once more. “Just look at you! Tan and fit and wearin’ the clothes of a Bazhir—”

  Alanna looked up into his friendly hazel eyes and broke into tears.

  Rispah took Coram’s arm with a smile. “I’ll show you t’ your rooms,” she said. “We’ll be certain you and Lady Alanna have all you need.”

  After a worried glance at Alanna, who was sobbing into George’s shirt, Coram shook his head and followed Rispah. The King of the Thieves looked down at Faithful, who watched them with unblinking purple eyes from his seat on the floor. “You, too,” he said, jerking a thumb in the direction Coram and Rispah had taken. “Scat.”

  She won’t tell
you anything, you know, Faithful remarked as he obeyed.

  “Will you not?” George asked Alanna, who was trying to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her burnoose. He produced a large handkerchief from his breeches pocket and held it to her small nose. “Blow,” he ordered.

  Alanna took the handkerchief from him and blew her nose, then wiped her streaming face. “How long have you been able to understand Faithful?” she asked, her voice still choked.

  “I understand him only when he wishes me to. Now, what’re you cryin’ for?” When she shook her head, he probed further, “Did somethin’ happen while you were in the desert?”

  “Yes,” she said reluctantly, “but it had nothing to do with the Bazhir. They treat me with respect.”

  George’s eyes widened. “You had a fight with Jonathan.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “He hinted to me when he was ready t’leave for the South that he was planning t’pop the question.” Hope grew in the man’s face. “Are you tellin’ me you refused him?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice was forlorn.

  George crushed her in a second massive hug. “And you shan’t,” he whispered. “Come. Take breakfast with me, and tell me what the Bazhir tribes are like.”

  Sniffing, Alanna stepped away when he released her, and followed him upstairs. “I can’t believe you don’t know all about them,” she accused. “You’ve got eyes and ears everywhere else. Besides, surely Lightfingers and his friend gave you a full report.”

  George grinned as he ushered her into his private rooms. “Ah, don’t be holdin’ my natural fears for your safety against me. Besides, the lads saw nothin’ worth reportin’.”

  “All right.” Alanna sighed as he closed the door. “What would you like to know?”

  It was an unusual company that George had assembled in House Azik. In addition to Rispah and Marek, there were three other rogues from Corus: two large and muscular brothers named Orem and Shem, and one small, whippy man called Ercole. Another man was also present, Joesh. Alanna didn’t know him. He was dark and handsome, slender, with wide shoulders and a walk that indicated almost perfect balance to Alanna’s trained eye. She had no idea why he was there; but the other men, as well as Rispah’s big female companion Harra, were present to help George deal with insubordination in Port Caynn.