“I—er—‘happened to overhear’—”
“You eavesdropped again,” Alanna said sternly.
“As I was saying, I happened to overhear that he’s to teach you Gifted ones sorcery,” Gary went on. “Also, the King wants him to find out who sent us the Sweating Sickness—not that they’ll try something like that again, not with Duke Roger here. Every sorcerer in the Eastern Lands would think twice before taking him on.”
“He’s that good?” Alanna asked thoughtfully.
“He’s that good.”
Duke Roger was coming toward them, one arm around Jonathan’s shoulders. “So you’re going to train your Gift? I’ll enjoy teaching you, Cousin!” He held a hand out to Gary. “Young Gareth of Naxen, isn’t it? You’ve grown since I saw you last.”
Gary shook the older man’s hand heartily. “Everyone says that, sir. Even my father says it, and he sees me nearly every day.”
Roger chuckled at this. “I don’t doubt your father’s right” His voice was a light tenor, the most musical voice Alanna had ever heard in her life. She was staring at the Duke without shame when he turned to her. “And this young one? I’d remember eyes—and hair—like yours, I’m sure.”
“Duke Roger of Conté, may I present Alan of Trebond?” Jonathan said formally.
“Trebond?” the Duke smiled as Alanna bowed. “I’ve heard of your father. He’s a noted scholar, is he not?’
Alanna was quivering all over—like a nervous horse, she chided herself. She linked her hands behind her back before answering, “I believe so, your Grace.”
“Oh, please!” he protested. “Just ‘Lord Roger’ is fine, and I’d do away with that, if I didn’t think it would shock Duke Gareth. ‘Your Grace’ makes me feel old.”
Jonathan expected one of Alan’s pert answers and looked expectantly at his friend. To his surprise Alan looked thoughtful rather than charmed.
“How long are you here, Cousin?” Jonathan asked, drawing attention away from Alan’s odd silence.
“My uncle says he wants me to stay here for a while,” Roger replied, looking down at the Prince. “’Make your home with us’ was the phrase he used.” The Duke shrugged his wide shoulders. “I think my wandering days are over.”
Jonathan grinned. “I can’t see why you’ve been avoiding us, anyway.”
“Not avoiding you,” Roger corrected him. “Educating myself. The difference is considerable. Now, would you be so kind as to take me to their Majesties? I think it’s time I greeted them.”
Alanna watched the Prince and his cousin go, frowning. She shook herself, trying to shed a cloak of uneasiness.
Gary looked at her. “Are you falling sick with something, youngster?”
Alanna hunched her shoulders impatiently. “I’ve never been sick in my life.”
“Then what’s wrong? He was being friendly, and if you were a dog your hackles would’ve been up.”
“I’m not a dog,” she said crossly. “Why should he be friendly with me? I’ve never seen him before.”
“But he’ll have heard of you. You helped heal Jon—now what?” There was a strange look in Alan’s eyes. If Gary hadn’t known his friend better, he’d have sworn that look was one of fear.
“I don’t like grownups taking an interest in me,” Alanna replied. She was afraid. “I don’t like people nosing in my affairs, especially sorcerers. Come on—we’ll be late for dinner.”
Gary followed, more confused than ever by Alan’s response. Was he hiding something? It was a question for him to ponder on a rainy day.
Shortly after Roger’s arrival, each page or squire was summoned to an interview with the King’s nephew: he tested them all for the Gift. Gossip said he would find it even if a boy tried to hide it.
Alanna was one of the last to be called. Clenching sweaty hands, she entered Duke Roger’s study. The Duke of Conté was lazing in a tall-backed chair, turning a jeweled wizard’s rod between his fingers. He glimmered in a many-colored tunic and red-purple hose; if Alanna admired anything about him, it was Roger’s taste in clothes.
He smiled. “Alan of Trebond.” He gestured to the chair facing his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Alanna sat carefully, folding her hands in her lap. Every nerve in her body was on the alert. She hadn’t gotten this far to be caught
“I understand you used your Gift to heal my cousin of the Sweating Sickness.”
“Sir Myles directed me, sir.”
“It must have required a good deal of power on your part, though. You took a great risk.”
“My village healing woman had trained me, sir. And I was exhausted for days after.” She watched his face. He seemed to accept that Myles had done the thinking and she had supplied the power, so Myles hadn’t talked about that night. She liked that.
“Well, at least I don’t have to ask you any useless questions. We already know you have the Gift, and in abundance. And you learned from your village healing woman?”
“Yes, sir. My father didn’t know we were trained, though. He didn’t want us learning any sorcery—he’d throw a fit if he thought I was learning it here.”
“Then we won’t tell him. You say ‘we.’ Tell me about your brother. I understand you’re twins?” Roger’s bright eyes never left hers. Alanna frowned and rubbed her forehead. Suddenly she had a headache.
“He’s in the City of the Gods, sir. Father sent him to be a priest, but I think he plans to take up sorcery.”
Roger smiled. “A noteworthy ambition. What is his name?”
“Thom, sir.” Why was he staring at her so?
The man looked at the jeweled rod in his hands. “My cousin speaks highly of you, Alan of Trebond.”
“We’re friends, your Grace.” She discovered she couldn’t look away from him.
“My uncle-in-law, Duke Gareth, also speaks highly of you. You are a most worthy young man by all accounts.”
Alanna blushed with shame. If they knew the truth, they wouldn’t speak well of her. “Your Grace is very kind.” She wished he would let her go. She had never had such a fierce headache.
Roger sighed. Suddenly Alanna could look away from him, and the pain in her head lessened. “I am not often kind, Alan.” He tapped his rod against his hand for a moment. Finally he said, “I think I learned what I needed to. Report to me in my solarium Monday after breakfast. You may go.”
Alanna bowed and left gratefully, her head still pounding. She felt exhausted and a little nauseous. Coram appeared at her side, a worried frown on his face.
“Well?” he demanded.
Alanna didn’t ask how he knew. It was almost impossible to keep anything from the palace servants.
She rubbed her temples. “Maybe I’m crazy—but why do I feel like more went on in there than just his asking me questions?”
“Because maybe it did.” Coram pulled her into an empty room. “I heard the Duke of Conté can catch yer will and make it his own,” the man whispered. “They say he’ll reach into yer mind, make ye say what he wants t’ hear—unless ye’re defended. Unless there’s a wall in ye he can’t reach over.”
“Well, I don’t know that kind of magic,” she snapped, the headache making her cross. “But he didn’t learn anything from me I didn’t want to tell him. I’m sure of it.”
“Then yer magic’s stronger than his,” Coram said. “Or ye’re protected by the gods.”
This was too much for Alanna. She laughed and gave Coram a shove. “You’ve been nipping at Cook’s wine! Protection from the gods! Making me say what I don’t want to say! Go on with you!”
Coram opened the door. “Laugh if ye want.” He shrugged. “I’m only an ignorant old freeman, listenin’ to stories by the fire. But if it’s all so funny, why do ye look as if someone pulled ye through a currycomb?”
There was no answer to that, and Alanna didn’t even try to invent one.
One fall evening Stefan the hostler gave her a note.
“You’ve been looking for a horse,” i
t read. “I have one. Come to the city first chance you get. George.”
A horse! A real horse, the kind of horse a warrior ought to have! Alanna scribbled sums on a sheet of paper. After careful figuring she decided she could buy a horse—if it was the right horse. Wistfully she said farewell to sweets for a long time—but a real horse would be worth it. She was tired of riding palace horses, and Chubby was getting old. The pony deserved a rest.
She knew very little about horse buying. With such a large purchase, Alanna wanted an expert opinion. Who could she ask? With wrestling in the afternoons as her worst subject, it meant she could take free time only in the morning. Coram had guard duty in the morning, so that let him out. Also, Coram didn’t know about George, and Alanna didn’t want him to know. For some reason, she suspected the old soldier would not approve of the thief. Gary was also unavailable—he was restricted to the palace for one of his numerous pranks.
She nibbled her thumb. Who could she introduce to George?
Alanna needed two steps to match one of Jonathan’s. This made the walk into the city brisk, but their pace was suited to the crisp fall day. Alanna watched her friend, thinking. The Prince, just fifteen in August, was growing again. Already he measured five feet seven inches. His voice was beginning to boom and crack, too, just as Gary’s and Raoul’s had last year. Soon Alanna would have to start faking the voice change herself. We’re all growing up, she thought, and sighed.
Jonathan heard the sigh and looked down at her. “I’m glad to help pick your horse,” he commented, “but why all the secrecy? You never told me you had relatives in the city.”
Alanna made a face. “I had to tell Duke Gareth something. You see, the man we’re meeting—he’s not a relative. He’s a friend. Thanks for coming with me, Jonathan.”
He tousled her hair. “I’d do anything to get out of Reports in Council. It’s the spring planting today—that always puts me to sleep.”
Alanna led him into the Dancing Dove. Old Solom was asleep on one of his tables. Alanna roused him with a friendly slap on the back.
“Wake up, you old drunk. Is George around?”
Solom peered at her. “Why, it’s Master Alan. But not Master Gary?”
“Master Gary won’t be around till Midwinter Festival,” she told him.
“At his tricks again, eh?” Solom shook his white head with appreciation. “He be a lively one. I’ll get his Majesty.” He hobbled up the stairs.
Jonathan was looking around. “’His Majesty’?” he whispered. “And how does this man know Gary?”
“Oh, Gary comes with me all the time.” Alanna avoided the other question by following Solom. Jonathan had no choice but to go along.
George was finishing breakfast when the innkeeper showed them in. Staring at Jonathan, he rose. Finally he bowed, his grin mocking. “Solom, go back to sleep,” he ordered. When the older man was out of earshot, the thief murmured, “Your Highness—I’m honored.” He looked sharply at Alanna. “And it seems I’ve misjudged you once again, youngling. I’ll not do that a third time, be assured.”
Alanna turned pink. “I just brought him along for fun,” she muttered.
“What’s going on?” Jonathan wanted to know, fixing Alanna with a bright eye.
“You didn’t tell him?” George asked.
Alanna shook her head. “Prince Jonathan, this is my friend, George.”
“Alan’s not tellin’ you that my work doesn’t always mean stayin’ right with the law,” George explained. “But come, lads. You’ll be wantin’ to see the beast.”
He led them down another stair to a door that opened behind the inn. Seeing Alanna’s curious look, George said, “It pays to have at least two doors—even three.” He pointed to the roof. Two shuttered windows looked out over the roof of the one-story kitchen. A ladder was even placed against the kitchen wall to make it easier to reach George’s rooms.
“Aren’t you worried about thieves?” Jonathan asked. When his companions broke out laughing, the Prince frowned thoughtfully.
“So Gary kissed Lady Roxanne?” George inquired. “I’d’ve kissed a sweeter armful, myself.”
“It was a bet,” Alanna explained.
“For ten nobles, I’d still have kissed someone prettier,” George replied.
“How’d you know about that bet?” Jonathan wanted to know. “It was a secret.”
“I’ve friends in the palace,” George said. “There isn’t much you can keep from your servants, Highness.”
Jonathan opened his mouth to ask something else, but Alanna distracted George with a burst of questions about her friends at the Dancing Dove. So the Prince kept quiet through the short walk, thinking an idea through.
They turned into a small alley. George stopped and unlocked a tall gate. They entered a stableyard, George locking the gate behind them.
Alanna gasped. Her eye had been caught by a beautiful young mare. The horse’s coat was gold, offset by a flowing white mane and tail. Gently Alanna caressed the mare’s nose. The creature whickered softly, rubbing against her hand.
“George, she’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.” Suddenly Alanna remembered this might not be the horse George had in mind. “George—she is the one you brought me to see?”
George bit back a smile, seeing the dismay in Alan’s violet eyes. “Aye, lad, she’s the one.”
“She’s perfect.” Alanna and the mare watched each other, spellbound.
Jonathan stepped into the stall. He ran expert hands over the mare’s legs and shoulders, petting her absently. Finally he looked at George.
“She’s stolen,” he accused.
George dug his hands into his breeches’ pockets, grinning. “Highness, would I do such a thing?”
“I hope you didn’t steal her, George,” Alanna murmured.
“I’ve a bill of sale. I don’t balk at stealin’ a proper horse, young sprout, but I knew you would.” George handed a paper to Jonathan, who examined it carefully.
“It’s legal,” the Prince said at last, returning it to George.
“How much, George?” Alanna wanted to know.
The thief looked at the page, his hazel eyes guarded. “Eight for the mare, two for the tack—ten gold nobles and she’s yours.” His tone dared Jon to argue. The Prince didn’t take the dare.
Alanna never hesitated, although it was the largest amount she had paid in her life. She counted the money into her friend’s hand and returned to admiring the horse—her horse. “We’re going a long way, you and I,” she whispered to the mare. The horse butted her gently, as if agreeing.
George took down a plain leather saddle and bridle. “Here you go.”
“George, if you ever want my life, you can have it,” Alanna said quietly, meaning every word. “What’s her name?”
“She hasn’t one. The Bazhir who sold her didn’t dare name such a noble lady.”
“I’ll call her Moonlight. D’you like that, girl?”
The mare tossed her head. Alanna laughed and set to work saddling her horse.
Jonathan drew George away from the stall. “That’s not a third of what you paid for that mare.”
George’s voice was low. “Would you have me deny the lad his heart’s desire? He’s been riding that pony all year when the poor beast should be at pasture and Alan on a horse. That care-for-naught he calls Father will never get him a proper mount Call it a birthday gift, if you will. I’d give her to the boy outright, if he’d take her.”
Jonathan grinned ruefully. He had had his own experience with his small friend’s pride. “I can’t let you take a loss of at least twenty gold nobles. Besides—I owe Alan my life.” He looked sharply at the man. “I suppose you know about that, too.”
“I may,” the thief admitted.
Jonathan drew a sapphire ring off his finger. “That should more than cover the price of the mare.”
George turned the gem over in his long fingers. “It does indeed,” he said slowly, and made a rapid decision
. “You’ve no proper horse of your own, I hear. Not a chief mount, a horse you’ll ride above all others. You might have an eye to this.” He opened a closed stall. Inside stood a great stallion, as black as Jonathan’s hair. “The ring would also cover his price, Highness. I don’t take charity.”
Jon hesitated, biting his lip. “Are you trying to buy me off, King of the Thieves?”
George smiled. “If the lad didn’t tell you, how’d you guess?”
“I sit on my father’s Council, remember. I’ve heard about you.”
George smoothed a hand over the stallion’s nose. “I’ve no wish to buy your silence. This is a sale, right and straight. When I bought the mare, I couldn’t let this one go. The dealer was a filthy old Bazhir. These two in his string were like gems in garbage. I figured the lad would want the mare, and I can always find a buyer for this fellow.”
Jonathan examined the stallion. He was more restless than Moonlight, but he quieted under the Prince’s firm hand. “You have an eye for horseflesh, George.”
“I like horses,” the man admitted. “I’ve a chestnut mare of my own, as pretty as you please. I’d be flattered if you’d have a look at her, sometime.”
“I’d like that.” Jonathan looked at George thoughtfully. Suddenly he smiled and offered his hand. “Thank you. A good horse can mean a man’s life.”
George took the offered hand, his eyes searching Jon’s for hidden motives. “You honor my taste, Highness.”
“I’m Jonathan—to my friends. Kings and princes should be friendly, don’t you agree?”
George laughed, but there was respect in his gaze. “I agree—Jonathan. And never fear I’ll use that friendship. My game of wits is with my Lord Provost—no one else.”
“I hope so”—Jon grinned—“or Alan, Gary and I are in a lot of trouble.”
“George,” Alanna said. The other two looked at her. Her face was bewildered. “I—I don’t understand,” she stammered. “Why do this for me? You went to a lot of trouble. Why?”
George looked at her for a long moment. Finally he replied, “And why do you find it so hard to think someone might like you and want to do things for you? That’s the way of friendship, lad.”
Alanna Page 9
