“I don’t know why it is,” George explained that night as they sat before the fire and talked, “but all of a sudden the lads here thought they could take more than their share, and hold back what was meant for the city and my people. When I gently reminded them of their obligation to me, they actually said they wished t’be free of my rule.” He shook his head. “I came here fast enough and dealt with their ringleader and principals.”
Alanna, knowing quite well that George collected the ears—and sometimes the rest—of those who disobeyed his orders, hid a grin under her hand. She had no sympathy with thieves in the ordinary way, and none at all from any who underestimated George. “If it’s all cleared up, why are you still here?”
“I thought to see if I can ferret out more discontent,” he replied. “I also wished to have these rogues see I exist, and how I work. Mayhap I’m too aloof from my folk in the other towns and cities of Tortall, stayin’ as I do in the capital.” He looked at her frankly. “I’ve little to keep me there now.”
“Don’t, George,” she whispered, feeling uncomfortable.
“All right, I won’t,” he said amiably. Silence stretched between them until Alanna broke it.
“Who is this man Joesh? Is he new? I don’t remember him.”
George grinned as he settled more comfortably into his deep chair. “Joesh? He’s no rogue. He’s the Falcon of Shang, and a friend of Rispah’s. I trust him to keep his mouth shut, or he’d not be here.”
Alanna sat up, startled. “Another Shang warrior?” Unlike Jon, she’d never gotten the chance to see one of the legendary fighters in action. Whenever one had made a brief visit to the palace, she had been absent or involved in duties. To actually test herself against a man trained to fight from childhood. . . .
George saw the thoughtful gleam in her eyes and shook his head. “Nay, lass, you’ll not be challengin’ him under my roof. I’ve no wish to see you killed by accident. These Shang lads are far quicker than the best knight ever lived, and you’ll have to trust my word for that. Besides, I intend that you rest from bein’ a knight whilst you’re here.”
“I’ve done nothing but rest from being a knight since I was made one,” Alanna remarked bitterly as she sank back into her chair. “I’m probably getting rusty.”
“Not you, lass.” George laughed. “Never you.”
Alanna was not to find out if she was as good as Joesh; when she arose in the morning, the Falcon had left. George gave her no explanation for the man’s departure, but she knew he had probably requested that Joesh go. She felt a twinge of regret for the chance missed, but only a small one. Life in House Azik was restful, and thoughts of challenging strangers to contests of arms were alien. George and his people went out of their way to keep her and Coram entertained, treating Alanna with a care and consideration she had never known, either as a page or a squire, or as the Woman Who Rides Like a Man.
On one crisp fall day Rispah took her to the markets of Port Caynn, where Alanna purchased two dresses, feminine underclothing and shoes, and a pretty shawl, using some of the monies Sir Myles sent as her allowance. Jonathan’s taunts about her lack of femininity had stung and stuck, and the look in George’s eyes when she appeared in a soft lilac wool dress went far toward healing those wounds.
George, in particular, was attentive to her needs and whims, taking time to walk with her on the beach, spending long evenings in games of chess, or just talking. Before, they had lived their lives under the scrutiny of the inhabitants of palace and city; now it was strange to be alone together, with only the household to know they were in Port Caynn at all. And if George was wooing her again, as he had done in the past, he was going about it very carefully.
“If he is courting me, I wish he wouldn’t be so subtle about it,” she confided to Faithful one night, after the thief had shown her to her bedroom. “But maybe he isn’t. Maybe he thinks I’m unfeminine too.” Without warning, a tear trickled down her cheek, and she sniffed.
You’re feeling sorry for yourself, Faithful replied without sympathy. You provoked Jonathan into saying the things he did. You know how proud he is. If you hadn’t pushed him, he probably would never have even thought you were unfeminine.
Beet-red with rage, Alanna hurled a pillow at the cat, missing him completely. “You’re as bad as Coram!” she yelled, forgetting where she was. “If it’s all my fault, why do either of you bother to stay with me? Why don’t you go and give Jonathan the benefit of your advice. I’m sure he’d appreciate it much more than I do!” She seized the door handle, intending to slam out of the room, and halted. The door was open, and George leaned against the frame, his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest.
“It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” she snapped.
“I don’t doubt that,” he agreed, his voice soft. “On the other hand, if you’d yelled a wee bit louder, perhaps Jonathan himself could’ve heard he had two unexpected allies here in Port Caynn.” Reaching out, he touched her cheek with a gentle hand. “Lass—will you not tell me what passed in the desert?”
Alanna pulled away from his touch, unwanted tears trickling down her cheeks. “I can’t, George,” she whispered. “Don’t ask me to—please.”
He sighed. “Very well, then.” Turning, he walked away, his feet making no noise at all on the stone floor. Alanna closed the door and let the tears fall, crying herself to sleep.
She slept late the next morning, breaking the habits she had set as a page, and awaking not long before noon. Still tired and bleary-eyed, she padded downstairs. The sound of George’s voice coming from his study turned her away from the kitchen: thinking to turn his eavesdropping trick back on him, she crept to a spot where she could hear everything.
“She’s that beautiful,” George was remarking thoughtfully.
“One of your tall and shapely blondes,” Marek’s voice replied with enthusiasm. “Queenly, with lips a man would think were on the Goddess herself.”
“Ye’re certain the prince returns her regard?” The low rumble was Coram’s, making Alanna start with surprise. Why was Coram sitting in on a conference between George and Marek?
“Why, man, he’s with her every moment of the day, treatin’ her like they was betrothed,” was Marek’s reply. Realizing what they must be talking about, Alanna put her hand to her suddenly painful throat. “And their Majesties seem to approve. When Princess Josiane’s not with him, she’s got her head together with the queen, plannin’ the weddin’, doubtless.”
“But he hasn’t asked her yet,” George pointed out.
“The betting went from even odds to her favor the day I returned here,” Marek answered. “Stefan at the palace stables says she couldn’t’ve laid seige to him better if he was a castle and she was the General of all the king’s armies. The minute he returned from that mysterious trip away he had, they was introduced; and he’s not left Josiane’s side since.”
“We’ll want to keep this from the lass,” Coram said worriedly. “She’s been half-crazy since their fight; I don’t want to think of what she’d do if she heard this.”
Alanna slipped away from the door, biting a trembling lip. So Jonathan had found a replacement for her, and fairly quickly. She ran out onto the terrace, staring at the sea below. While she had been moping and making her friends unhappy and considering an apology, he had been dancing and flirting with an unknown but beautiful princess. He had not been serious about marrying her after all, and she had been acting the fool.
“How much did you hear?” George stepped onto the terrace, his eyes serious.
Alanna flashed a falsely bright smile at him. “Hear? Was I supposed to have heard something?”
He put an arm around her shoulders. “Lass, I’m not blind or stupid. You overheard Coram an’ Marek an’ me talkin’ about Jon’s latest conquest. I can tell when you’re about, did you know that? It’s the only glimpse the Sight gives me of you.”
Alanna started, surprised out of her misery. “I forgot you had the Sight.”
“When it comes to you or anyone else with the Gift, it’s well-nigh useless, since those with the Gift are veiled from those with the Sight. In any case, it’s not as strong with me as it is with my mother. Still, I can feel you near me, and so I know you were eavesdroppin’.” When she said nothing, he went on, “Will you tell me now what passed between you and Jon in the desert?”
Alanna’s shoulders drooped, and she let him steer her to a seat on the terrace wall. He sat beside her, hugging her shoulders as she said quietly, “We had a fight.” Slowly, haltingly, she told him all the details, not sparing herself. “Perhaps I was being falsely proud,” she admitted when she was done. “Perhaps it wouldn’t have done me any harm to go along with him and not make a fuss about asking me first. I didn’t like the things he was saying, but I didn’t want to chase him away, either.”
“You’re askin’ the wrong man.” George’s voice was oddly hoarse. For the first time since she had begun talking, Alanna looked up and met his eyes. The thief swung her around to face him, resting his large hands on her shoulders. “I’m glad he showed you that nobles are a proud, ungrateful lot, thinkin’ of no one but themselves.”
“I’m a noble,” she whispered, unable to look away from his hungry eyes.
“No. You’re my own sweet lass, and all the woman I could ever want.” He kissed her, pulling her close. Alanna struggled for a second, surprised, then relaxed, enjoying the kiss and the feeling of being held tightly and protectively. George pulled away, watching her face closely. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea than Prince Jonathan,” he told her softly. “And this particular fish loves you with all his crooked heart.”
Alanna snuggled close, lifting her face to his again. “I’m glad,” she said honestly. “I need to be loved right now. Kiss me again, please.”
“Oh, no,” George said, drawing in a ragged breath. “If I kiss you again now, one thing will lead to another, and this isn’t the proper place for that sort of carryin’-on.”
“Then take me to a place that is,” she suggested. When he hesitated, she added, “I know what I’m doing, George. And it’s not just because Jon found someone else. This should’ve happened between us a long time ago.”
He stood, clearing his throat. “Well, then.” Suddenly he laughed. “Come with me, darlin’ girl.”
If Coram noticed that she had moved her things into George’s room, he either said nothing or voiced his opinions to Rispah alone. Certainly he seemed happy that Alanna had left her fury and her self-pity behind. Rispah gave Alanna a big, lusty wink the first time she caught the young knight leaving George’s chambers, and the thieves made no remarks at all. The only change in House Azik was in moods: people whistled at their chores; Marek teased the maids, and Rispah and Coram acted like teenagers in love.
Only one thing marred those autumn weeks in the house on Dog Lane: a growing feeling of power, radiating from Corus. At first Alanna ignored it, thinking it to be part of her depression. The sensation persisted, until she mentioned it to George. He reminded her that the only one in Corus who could focus that kind of power was Thom, and she sent message after message to her twin. If Thom wasn’t the cause of the magic, he would know who (or what) was; but the young sorcerer never answered her letters. When she tried to communicate with him through the fire burning in George’s hearth, two days before All Hallow, she found only a gathering cloud she could not penetrate.
“What do you see?” George asked softly as she stared at purple flames.
Magic, Faithful answered when Alanna gave no sign of hearing George’s query. All around the city. And no way to get through to Thom, whether he’s causing it or not.
George looked at the cat—he couldn’t become accustomed to those occasions when he could understand Faithful—and grimaced. “Any way to find out if it’s for harm?”
“I don’t sense evil in it.” Alanna sounded as if she was thinking aloud. “And Thom wouldn’t thank me for riding into the city and disrupting one of his experiments.”
If that’s what it is, Faithful commented.
Alanna stared at the flames for a while longer. Suddenly, shaking her head to clear it, she clapped her hands, ending the spell with the command, “So mote it be!”
“You’ll wait?” George asked, his eyes kindly. Alanna nodded. He reached down and helped her to her feet. “Then you may as well be comfortable while you wait,” he grinned as he swept her off her feet and dumped her into bed.
All Hallow dawned bleak and stormy. The waves battered the cliffs below the house, and the winds blew away anything not already fastened down. Alanna arose to find George gone, summoned to the city on a matter of business. His note said he hoped to be back by nightfall, but if he was kept too late he would stay at the Dancing Dove in Corus, rather than risk the return trip after dark. She wasn’t to wait up, and she wasn’t to worry. If she was good, he would bring her a surprise—and not stolen, either! Alanna grinned at this last, recognizing the joke behind many gifts George had given her and Jon in the years they had known each other. For a second the thought of Jon made her grim; but she soon brightened. George obviously loved her, and she had responded to her friend’s love like a flower opening in the sun. Never before had she been coddled and treated like something precious. Jon had always treated her as a comrade, except when they were making love. She usually liked the way the prince handled her, but a small, treacherous part of her longed for the gentle courtesy he gave noble ladies. Now George gave her that courtesy, as well as treating her like a comrade, and she liked the mixture.
Toward noon exhaustion hit her like a sledgehammer. She was barely able to make it to her bed before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When she awoke, it was pitch-dark, and the wind howled outside the shuttered windows. She reached out and ordered the branch of candles beside her bed to light, something she had done without thinking since becoming a shaman for the Bazhir. There was no flame in answer to her command, and when she looked inside, searching for her Gift, she found just a trace of magic. Only then did she discover the ember-stone was flickering with increasing urgency, and that the crystal sword was humming in its sheath as it had not in weeks.
While she slept, something had come and leeched away her Gift.
Lighting candles with a spill from the banked fire, she headed for the library. Some extensive books of magic were there, and she had promised herself a look at them. Now seemed like an excellent time.
There was no sign of Faithful as she padded through the quiet halls. Marek and the other men had gone with George. Rispah and Coram would probably be in Rispah’s chambers; and Rispah’s woman friend, Harra, retired early. The servants had gone home for the night. Alanna felt all alone, odd and detached. She knew she ought to care that someone had tapped her Gift, but she couldn’t.
It was nearly midnight when she closed the last volume, rubbing her eyes tiredly. As she had suspected, the only one with the power and the closeness to Alanna needed for such a tapping was her twin. She should have been angry, but her emotions felt dead. And she was getting sleepy again.
Suddenly she heard—and didn’t hear—a boom, a crash that made even her dull senses quiver with alarm. The crystal sword shrieked and fell silent. Somewhere Faithful let out an anguished howl. Seconds later the door burst open, and the cat hurled himself onto Alanna’s chest. She soothed him, caressing his fur and holding his shivering body close. It was fully an hour before he relaxed enough to let go of her tunic and settle onto her lap.
It’s over, whatever it was, he yowled as he yawned. He did the spell he needed all that power for.
Alanna took him back to her bedchamber. No one else was stirring, so she and Faithful were the only ones able to feel whatever had happened. “We might as well forget it,” she advised the cat as she hung the crystal sword on its hook. “I doubt Thom will give us an explanation.”
To her surprise, when George returned the next day he brought a note from the young sorcerer. Thom had w
ritten:
Dearest Alanna,
Perhaps this letter should have come to you sooner, but it was only when your friend George demanded an explanation that I realized you might be affected by my recent work. On All Hallow I will be attempting some experiments—all very arcane and esoteric, with no meaning for anyone but a Master, I promise you. The work is quite delicate and requires plenty of power. To get it, I’ll be tapping you, since you never use more than a small part of your Gift. I know you won’t mind. If I’ve caused you any inconvenience or worry, please forgive me.
Your loving brother
Thom
“Well, I mind!” George snapped when she told him. “I could feel the city shake when he did his precious ‘experiments’! Doesn’t your twin have any regard for us lesser folk?”
Alanna had sent a blistering letter to her brother that morning, telling him the same thing. Now she grinned and shook her head. “He learned to be secretive in the Mithran Cloisters,” she said. “If he can’t be bothered to consult with me beforehand, he certainly won’t care about other Gifted people. Let’s just be thankful he’s doing experiments, instead of being up to real harm.”
Thom’s reply to her angry letter arrived before the week was out and extended his deepest apologies to his sister. With her Gift restoring itself, Alanna decided to let that be the end of the whole affair. She doubted that Thom would ever borrow her magic again without her consent. Obviously there were no other ill effects of his All Hallow’s experiments.
When the first snows fell, early in December, Alanna greeted their coming with dismay. George laughed as she unpacked her heavy clothing and covered herself with layers of silk and wool. She shrugged off his teasing, having endured its like from her friends for years. Now more than ever she missed the desert, and infrequent letters from Halef Seif only made her longing sharper. Recognizing her mood, George went to great trouble to find things to amuse and divert her; but in the week after Mid-Winter Festival ended, she spent an entire day poring over maps in the library.
The Woman Who Rides Like a Man Page 13
