Tortall 1 - Song Of The Lioness #2 - In The Hand of the Goddess

by Tamora Pierce

  The cat switched his tail. Cover her up well, he advised George. She gets cold easily.

  The thief laughed and obeyed before joining Gary, Raoul and Jonathan downstairs.

  GEORGE returned Alanna to the palace just after sunset, where the ritual of Midwinter and of the Ordeal caught her up at last, leaving her only enough time to worry about doing everything properly. She ate lightly; if Myles hadn't stood over her for every bite, she would have eaten nothing at all. Then she changed into the white garments she would wear in the Chamber of the Ordeal. Shortly after the eighth hour was cried, Jonathan and Gary came to escort her to the baths.

  As Alanna splashed in the unheated water, her friends waited in a nearby chamber, talking quietly.

  "I wish this was over," Jonathan announced, listening to Alanna.

  Gary looked at Jonathan's face and poured his cousin a glass of wine. "Relax, will you? We survived the Ordeal."

  "Barely." Jonathan drained his glass.

  "Barely, perhaps, but we survived. She will, too. And remember this: we're taught that the magic of the Chamber can't be influenced by anything. When she passes the Ordeal, no one will be able to say she didn't earn her shield, whether she's a girl or not."

  Alanna emerged from the bath, dried and dressed. She was a little pale, Gary noticed, but otherwise calm. "Are you prepared to be instructed?" he asked formally.

  Alanna licked dry lips. This was where it began. "I am," she whispered.

  "If you survive the Ordeal of Knighthood," Jonathan said, using the words required by the ritual, "you will be a Knight of the Realm. You will be sworn to protect those weaker than you, to obey your overlord, to live in a way that honors your kingdom and your gods."

  "To wear the shield of a knight is an important thing," Gary went on. "It means you may not ignore a cry for help. It means that rich and poor, young and old, male and female may look to you for rescue, and you cannot deny them"

  "You are bound to uphold the law," Jonathan said. "You may not look away from wrongdoing. You may not help anyone to break the law of the land, and you must prevent the breaking of the law at all times, in all cases."

  "You are bound to your honor and your word," Gary reminded her. "Act in such a way that when you face the Dark God you need not be ashamed."

  "You have learned the laws of Chivalry," Jonathan continued. "Keep them in your heart. Use them as your guides when things are their darkest. They will not fail you if you interpret them with humanity and kindness. A knight is gentle. A knight's first duty is to understand."

  Alanna listened carefully. None of this was new, but tonight it had more meaning than it ever had before. Tonight she would hold vigil in the chapel outside the Chamber of the Ordeal—the first step toward proving herself finally worthy of a knight's shield. And tomorrow?

  I'll think about tomorrow tomorrow, she told herself firmly.

  Gary and Jon took her to the Chapel of the Ordeal, stopping only to remind her that she could not utter a sound between that point and the time when she stepped out of the Chamber the next day. Gary patted her on the shoulder, and Jonathan kissed her cheek. Then they were gone, and she was alone in the Chapel, looking at the heavy iron door leading to the Chamber. Four years ago she had knelt here beside Jonathan, watching his face and wondering what he was thinking. Now it was her turn, and she still had no idea of what his thoughts had been that night. Was his heart beating too fast, as hers did now? Had he been scared? This not being able to talk was hard. There was nothing a would-be knight could do but think.

  After a while her thoughts drifted. Coram had arrived two nights ago. They had remained up for the better part of the night while he gave her his last report as steward of Trebond. Now young Armen had the dubious joy of that post, and Alanna's old friend was looking forward to being on the road with her. She was proud that her first teacher had been impressed by how far she had come in four years. Alanna refused his compliments, pointing out that if she had done well, it was because he had taught her well. The remainder of the night had been spent poring over maps, deciding where they would go in search of adventure. Alanna smiled a little sadly to herself.

  Funny, she thought. It used to be I couldn't wait to go. And now that the time to leave is here, I only want to stay. Why can't I be happy—or at least, why can't I make up my mind?

  Where was Thom? He had planned to be at the palace by Midwinter Festival, but so far there was no sign of him. Had he forgotten her in pursuit of some weird old spell? In some ways he reminded her of their father, who had spent much of his life in a scholarly dream.

  She let her thoughts roam. Touching the ember-stone she remembered the dark night she had met the Great Goddess. Why had the Mother given her the stone? Was it a weapon, or a keep-

  She thought of Jonathan. Marrying him wouldn't be so bad, someday, she realized. Yet that was impossible; he had to marry for the good of Tortall. And certainly she didn't want to marry now; she had too much to do!

  Duke Roger. So many strange things had happened over the years that forced her to wonder what he was doing. And yet she had never pursued her suspicions very far—why not? Was she simply jealous of Jonathan's colorful relative and of the hold Roger had over people? Or did she have real cause to think he meant her prince ill? The Goddess had tried to warn her, in a very subtle way. Did the gods want Alanna to confront Roger?

  And with what? she thought rebelliously. I have no proof against him, and no way to obtain proof. I would lose everything—honor, reputation, friends, perhaps even my life—if I accused Roger without solid evidence in my hands. I hope the gods don't think I'm that reckless—or that stupid!

  Suddenly she blinked. Light was touching the high windows of the Chapel, and dark-robed priests were filing into the room. One touched her shoulder, pointing to the heavy iron door. It was time for the Ordeal.

  Alanna got up stiffly, wincing at the pain in her knees. Where had the night gone? Rubbing her shoulders and grimacing, she followed the silent priest to the front of the Chapel. Her attention fixed on the men unbarring the door of the Chamber, until that was all she saw. Her heart pounding furiously, her mouth dry, she did not realize that behind her the Chapel was filling with her friends. Silently the door to the Chamber of the Ordeal swung open. Swallowing hard, Alanna braced her shoulders and walked inside. Swiftly the priests closed the door, leaving her in total darkness, just as she had so often dreamed.

  She blinked, letting her eyes get used to the light inside the Chamber. Oddly enough, there was light, although there were no torches or windows. It was ghostly, but it was there. Hope flared up in her heart. Perhaps she would be all right.

  She was in a small stone room. It was completely bare of furnishings or fixtures. There were no doors or windows, no way anything could enter, and Alanna was beginning to wonder if this were some kind of joke when the first blast of icy wind knocked her to her knees. Alanna hugged herself, her teeth chattering, her clothes no protection at all. I wish I was dressed for this, she thought, forcing down the panic that washed over her whenever she was too cold.

  The harsh wind whipped through her, forcing her down again every time she tried to stand, numbing her hands and feet. Alanna tried to move about, slapping herself to get warm, but the wind pushed her flat against the floor, making it almost impossible to move. She fought it with all her strength, her lower lip gripped between her teeth. She even forgot her fear; the only important thing now was to stay alive.

  Suddenly she heard voices. The wind stopped as abruptly as it began.

  The voices rose, begging Alanna to help them, to rescue them from the Dark God. She recognized them: her father, Big Thor, boys who had died during the Sweating Sickness, men who were killed fighting Tusaine. Tears rolled down her cheeks; she wanted to help them, but there was just no way that she could. They belonged to the Dark God now. As much as she hated it, she was helpless.

  The voices stopped.

  Alanna stood, slowly, feeling herself tremble. What next?


  Something in the corner behind her clicked. Alanna spun and quickly bit her fist to keep from screaming. She must not cry out! But how was she expected to stay silent when a spider the size of a horse advanced on her? She hated spiders!

  Backing into a corner, she gritted her teeth together so hard they hurt. The spider came on, clicking hungrily. It brushed her with a long, hairy foreleg....

  And then she was drowning, just as she nearly had drowned when she was five and again last winter, when someone salted the ice on the skating pond. Not for the first time she wondered if she had been meant to drown beneath that weakened ice. She could not forget that Alex had been there once again, and Alex had challenged her to skate. Odd thoughts to have when you're drowning, I suppose, she mused as she fought her way up. Her strength was running out, and even the discovery that she couldn't reach the surface resulted in nothing more than exhausted dismay.

  No, she thought. I won't cry out. I'll die if I have to, but I won't cry out.

  The ocean was gone. Alanna knelt on the Chamber floor, taking huge breaths of air as silently as she could and wondered what would happen next. Her skin and clothes were completely dry.

  Nothing happened. Alanna waited, not quite cringing, afraid that whatever this demon-place threw at her would be worse than anything that had gone before. Finally she began to pace, rubbing her arms. She was still very cold. Cold, being helpless against death, spiders, drowning; the Chamber made her live vividly with everything she most feared. Was that what the Ordeal was about, making would-be knights face their fears?

  She sneezed and looked up. The air was humming with power, and a pale blotch was spreading against one stone wall. It was filled with colors and shapes, but they did not resolve into the picture they seemed to form. Alanna narrowed her eyes to see if they would come into focus, but the picture remained hazy. Something told her it was important—even vital—for her to see that vision clearly, no matter what the cost. She strained against the haze, reaching out toward the wall. Her hands hit something solid, almost clothlike, keeping her from the vision. Alanna gritted her teeth and gripped the invisible stuff in her hands, feeling fine threads cut into her palms as she tried to tear a hole through which she could see. Sweat poured down her cheeks, and she forgot how cold she was as her fingers found some invisible opening. She tugged hard, the sinews in her arms cramping with the effort.

  A barrier in front of her—magical or real, she had no way of knowing—gave way, and she fell forward onto her knees. The picture on the wall was clear, too clear.

  A triumphant, smiling Roger stood beside Jonathan's bed. Alanna's Prince lay on it, his hands crossed on his chest, and a crown on his head. Jon was whiter than marble, the white of death. Laughing soundlessly, Roger took the crown from Jonathan's head and put it on his own.

  Alanna threw herself at the picture, opening her mouth to scream. Only at the last moment did she remember to remain silent; she bit her lip to keep her mouth closed. Her mind continued to scream No! as she beat her fists raw on the invisible wall that kept her away from Duke Roger. At last she dropped to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  No! she thought, clenching her bruised and bloody hands. It won't happen! I won't let it happen! I will never let Jonathan die!

  Slowly the Chamber door opened. She stumbled out, her hands torn and bloody, her mouth a thin, tight line. Jon and Myles hurried forward to help her out of the Chapel, Faithful and Coram following. The Prince put healing salve on her hands and bandaged them before the men put her to bed.

  Alanna looked at him, her eyelids already heavy. "It won't happen, Jon. I promise it won't."

  Jonathan wiped the sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead. "I know it won't," he whispered. "Now, sleep. It's over."

  "It's not over," she wanted to say, but she was too tired. Her eyes shut, and she slept soundly, without dreams. She had not spoken—or screamed—at all.

  THE Ceremony of Knighthood at sunset was brief. The real ceremony, the Ordeal, was over, and this was just a formality. Alanna knelt before the King and gave her oath of fealty, swearing to defend the crown and Tortall all her life. In turn, the King touched his sword to Alanna's shoulders and head, saying gently, "I dub thee Sir Alan, Knight of the Realm of Tortall. Serve honorably and well."

  Alanna stood. It was strange. She didn't feel any different, except tired and shaken, but now she was a knight.

  A slender, red-bearded man stepped out of the crowd, beckoning Coram forward. Thom grinned at his startled twin. "Your Majesties," he said politely, bowing to the King and Queen, "I am Thom, Lord of Trebond, and a Master of the Mithran Light. I beg leave, by right of my relationship to Sir Alan, to present him with his shield." He gestured toward the large, leather-covered object Coram bore.

  The King inclined his head, refusing to stare at the very young Master as his Court was doing. "You have the right, Lord Thom."

  Thom removed the shield cover, revealing a black tower on a red field: the Trebond arms. Taking it from Coram, Alanna settled it on her left arm. It was light and strong, and she could feel the protecting spells on it. She bowed to her brother and to the King and Queen, then glanced around, startled by the sound of cheers. They were cheering her! She shook her head, blushing. They had cheered when Jonathan was knighted, of course, but this was something else. He was the heir, and an heir who was a knight was far more powerful than an heir who wasn't. But she had found a place in their hearts, and they cheered her because they loved her.

  Thom went with her to her room to put the shield away. He greeted Faithful solemnly as Alanna placed the shield on her bed in order to look it over. "I thought you weren't going to be here after all," she observed, touching the shield with a bandaged hand. "This is beautiful."

  "I was held up because I wanted to make it secretly. Watch this." Smiling slightly, he passed his hand over the shield's face. Alanna stared as the black tower faded, leaving instead a great gold cat on its hind legs.

  "What is it?" she asked as the cat faded and the tower reappeared. Thom helped her put the cover on the shield and hang it in her dressing room with her other arms.

  "It's a lioness rampant, of course. For when you reveal what you really are. Let's go to dinner; I'm starved."

  Alanna led the way to the banquet hall, thinking. A lioness rampant. I like it.

  10: To Duel the Sorcerer

  THE second feast of the Midwinter Festival had begun, with nearly every noble of Roald's Court present. Thom excused himself to Alanna with a wink and went to sit with Duke Roger, who showed no sign of bad feeling toward a younger and maybe stronger, sorcerer. Alanna watched them talk for a few moments before turning her attention to other people there. The Queen had made a rare appearance. It was the first time Alanna had seen Jonathan's mother in public since her illness more than a year before. Lianne seemed to be holding her own for a while, but slowly she turned very pale. From her seat among the other knights, Alanna could see beads of sweat on Lianne's face, and the Queen's fingers trembled as she tried to raise her wine glass. When she began to cough, Duke Baird rushed to her, his face tense and worried.

  Remembering her vision in the Chamber of the Ordeal, Alanna grabbed the ember-stone at her throat. She bit her lower lip; as she had feared, Queen Lianne was glowing a faint but steady orange.

  Suddenly Alanna was filled with the need to act, and to act now. If Roger had placed magic of any kind on the Queen, there would have to be physical evidence of some kind, somewhere. Even the most powerful sorcerer had to have a real object as the focus of his thoughts.

  Alanna waited until the feast was in full swing before excusing herself, promising her friends she would only be gone a few moments. Now was the time, while Roger's attention was fully occupied with Thom and the questions her brother represented. The King would not rise for another hour at least. Alanna planned to use that hour.

  Feeling as if she had gained a new life and a sharper way of looking at things in the Chamber of the Ordeal,
she hurried back to her chamber. Most of her belongings were packed, since she would be moving in the morning to her own rooms. Faithful, exiled from the feast, was waiting for her.

  You are taking a risk, the cat said as Alanna searched her trunk for the new lock-picks George had given her. If he catches you, you will be very dead.

  "Then he mustn't catch me. Agreed?" Alanna shoved the leather envelope holding the picks into her tunic. "Come on. You stand guard."

  Faithful trotted along as she took the back halls that led to Roger's rooms. There must be insanity in my family, too.

  Alanna grinned but did not answer. Roger's suite of rooms was located very conveniently for Alanna's purposes. A small flight of stairs twisted up and away from the hall, ending with Roger's outer door. While Faithful stood guard at the foot of the steps, Alanna set to work, hidden from view by the turn in the wall.

  Carefully she inserted the first pick into the lock. It flared and melted. Alanna quickly dropped it, swearing silently at her own stupidity. Of course Roger would put guarding-spells on his doors. She eyed the lock resentfully, deciding what to do next. It would take too long to try a spell that would lift the guards, and she was in a hurry. There was another way....

  Placing her bandaged hands on the lock, Alanna drew a deep breath. Fiercely she shoved her magic into the lock, literally exploding Roger's spell. After her eyes cleared from the blinding flash that resulted, Alanna wearily tried another lock-pick. It took the work of only a second before she heard the tumblers fall into place. The door swung open, and she whistled softly for Faithful. The cat ran swiftly inside; Alanna closed the door behind them.

  There was no point in searching the main rooms. What she was looking for would not be here. People came and went in these rooms every day; Roger wouldn't leave anything important there. In the rear of the suite, however, was a closed door that led to Roger's workroom. It too was locked.

  Using her ember-stone as a guide, Alanna could see orange fire gleaming around the door. She had expected that. As with the front door, she had no time to figure out which spell would lift the guards, even if she knew the right spell, which she doubted. The guards on this door would be far more powerful than those on the main door.