Song of the Lioness #4 - Lioness Rampant

by Tamora Pierce

"You'd be helpless, if your Gift was taken," he challenged.

  "Of course not!"

  "How do you know!"

  That silenced her. She didn't know. All her life she'd had magic, even when she'd tried to ignore it. "I can't help being Gifted," she replied at last. "I tried to fight it, when I was a page. Then the Sweating Sickness came and a lot of people died. Prince Jonathan would have died, too, if I hadn't used my Gift."

  "I just told you what we're taught."

  She wished she could see his face. "Tell me—where would your great Shang masters be without healers and their magic? Where would you be?" He didn't answer, so she went on. "My Gift brings Coram pleasure—how else could he see Rispah?"

  "Maybe the lady doesn't want to be spied on." There was a dangerous rumble in his voice.

  "Nonsense! She agreed to it. Would you like to see the letter?" Alanna demanded sharply, her temper rising. "My tribe would've fallen to hill-men, without my Gift and the Gifts of my students. I use my magic to heal, to pay back for some of the lives I take. What do you do to repay?"

  "Whatever it is I do, Lady Pry, I do it with my own two hands!" She started to get up, and Liam held her back. "Alanna, wait! I didn't mean—I have a temper."

  "So do I," she snapped. She let him pull her down beside him again.

  "Shang allows healers to work on us, it's true. The students are Giftless. Not so much because the masters think people use it for a crutch as because they know training a Gift takes the student's attention away from other things. When you follow Shang, you follow only Shang—if you're to succeed." He stroked Alanna's hair. "Don't scowl so, kitten. You've got me shaking in my boots."

  "I can't change what I am," she told him, cooling off. "I never asked to be half witch and half warrior."

  "I know." The Dragon sighed. "Listen. I got heated up because I'm—because I'm afraid of magic."

  Was he teasing? She was in no mood for it! "You aren't afraid of anything."

  "Everyone's afraid of something.''' He had a point, and she knew it. "I fear dying for nothing. I fear being sick—my grandda took a wound and rotted to death." She patted his arm in sympathy but didn't interrupt. "I hate being helpless. Then what's the good of being Dragon?"

  "Or a Lioness," she whispered.

  He nodded. "But I'm also afraid of the Gift—I don't even let healers use magic on me. Some folk are afraid of spiders—with me, it's that."

  Alanna shuddered; she hated spiders with a passion! "I never heard of someone fearing magic, not like that. Disliking it, yes."

  "Well, I'm afraid of it."

  She fingered the stone at her throat. "Liam?"

  "What?"

  "How…" She felt herself blush and was grateful for the dark. "How can we be—well, anything—if you fear my Gift?"

  He put his arms around her, gathering her close. "I want to try anyway. What about you?"

  "I don't know you very well at all," she whispered, half complaining. "You don't know me."

  He was smiling. "That's the fun of it, kitten." He kissed her gently, then passionately, and Alanna surrendered. Any misgivings she had were put away for thought at another, less interesting, time.

  LIAM WAS shaking her gently. From the other side of their banked camp-fire she heard Coram's snore. "Let's go," the Dragon whispered. "Go where?" she yawned. "You won't learn Shang fighting in bed." She started to protest, and thought the better of it. Even at this hour she wanted his good opinion. Never mind that her arms felt as if they weighed triple what they usually did. He'd probably felt worse and still had gone about his morning routine. This was my idea, she prodded herself. Stifling a moan—Coram at least would have his sleep!—she obeyed.

  FORTRESS Jirokan was a well-fortified town, with a tent city outside its walls. Coram pointed at the river where a barge filled with people made its way downstream. "They're fleein' the Saren War," he explained to Alanna as they rode toward the town gates. "Like as not their farms were burned or looted. Now they hope Maren'll grant a place for them to start again. The boats take them south. The King's too smart to keep all these rootless folk in one spot." The Dragon nodded in the direction of the tent city. Now that she was closer, Alanna saw furniture piled in the mud and a wide variety of animals: cows, dogs, goats, horses, pigs, and chickens. People dressed in tattered, dirty clothes stared at the travelers on the road. "These camps are trouble. They breed thieves and killers. South Maren has room to feed them and land for new farms."

  Alanna was silent as they entered the city and made for the inn Liam recommended. There was nothing she or Liam could do for the Saren refugees. Poverty was an illness she couldn't cure; a civil war could not be stopped by just one knight. That's something Liam and I have in common, she told herself. I don't like feeling helpless, either.

  The inn was the Mongrel Cur; it lived up to Liam's recommendation. She spent the afternoon bathing, washing her hair, mending her clothes—simply relaxing. She wrote to Myles, Halef Seif, and Thom, although it would be weeks before she could hear from them. At last cooking smells called her to the common room and her dinner.

  Liam suggested that they avoid notice in this restless town: he would not wear Shang insignia, and she and Coram should leave in their rooms anything to suggest that Alanna was a knight. That suited Alanna, who wanted to spend her time in Jirokan quietly. She dressed in boy's clothes, but to be safe, tucked a dagger at the small of her back. Whistling cheerfully, she slung Faithful over a shoulder and went downstairs.

  Liarn and Coram had waited for her. As soon as she joined them, the waiters brought their food. A charmed serving girl bore Faithful away "to see what we might get a handsome fellow like you." The cat shamelessly played up to his admirer.

  Marenite Guardsmen and their women arrived to begin a night of drinking as the travelers finished their meal. Ignoring the soldiers, Coram and Liam played chess; Alanna divided her attention between the game and the Guards. Faithful rejoined them, his stomach full after his kitchen excursion.

  The biggest of the Guards was a sergeant who looked as ill-tempered as he behaved. Clearly his men knew he was in a foul mood; they kept away from him. His lady, however, was bored by his sulks and didn't care who knew it. Alanna watched as the lady tried to tease her sergeant into a better frame of mind. When this tactic failed, her eye began to rove until she saw Liam. Until that point Alanna had no personal involvement in the woman's behavior. Forgetting that she was dressed like a boy—and that in the ill-lit room it would be hard to see the feminine shape under her clothes—she glared a warning. The lady didn't notice.

  The sergeant wasn't aware that his companion's attention had strayed. "Back in a minute, darlin'," he belched. Getting up, he made for the privy.

  The moment the huge Guard was out of sight, his lady came to Alanna's table. It was Liam's turn to move: his attention was locked onto the chessboard. Coram saw the expression on his knight-mistress's face. He looked up to see the reason for Alanna's scowl and grinned.

  "So quiet ye lads are," the woman purred as she put a hand on Liam's shoulder. The Dragon glanced up, surprised. "Don't ye care for female—companions?"

  Alanna rose and hissed, "Where I come from, it's considered polite to keep to the man you're with."

  Startled, the woman glanced at her: she hadn't noticed anyone but the big fellow. Why did this youth interfere? "What—the boy's in love wiv' ye, then?" she asked Liam. Liam chuckled and looked the woman over.

  Coram clapped a hand over Alanna's mouth, pushing her into her seat. "She can't see ye're a girl!" he whispered into her ear. "Liam can take care of himself!"

  Coram took his hand away too soon. Alanna snapped, "What're you looking for, Liam, fleas?" Her guardian sighed and corked his knight-mistress up again.

  The lady ran scarlet nails through Liam's hair.

  "Lads're no fun, and this one don't look like he knows much. Now me, I appreciate a man."

  Liam grinned at her as a muffled yell burst from Alanna. Coram put his lips close to the st
ruggling knight's ear. "D'ye want him t'think ye're jealous? Ye're givin' a fair imitation of it."

  His words nettled Alanna. She didn't want Liam Ironarm thinking any such thing! She quieted, and Coram loosened his grip. "I just don't like people who're so obvious!" she whispered back, knowing she was jealous.

  A roar of fury split the air—the sergeant had returned. Anyone who thought he might be in the middle when battle lines were drawn moved, quickly. The lady backed away from Liam.

  Alanna saw the Dragon's eyes turn a pale green before he turned to face the enraged Guard. "This isn't what you think," he said quietly.

  The sergeant wasn't interested. "On your feet!" He grabbed the Dragon's tunic.

  Liam grasped the sergeant's wrist. "Forget this. I'm Liam Ironarm, the Shang Dragon—you'll get hurt."

  The other man laughed. "Expect me t'think a Shang warrior'd sit with us ordinary folk?" His muscles bulged as he tried to lever his victim up.

  Liam's hands tightened. For a second nothing happened, then the bigger man howled in pain. Liam stood, and the Guard was forced to back away, unable to break his hold. Finally the Dragon released him. "The next time you're told someone is Shang, pay attention." He faced Alanna and Coram. "This place is too lively for me."

  The sergeant threw himself at Liam's back. Alanna started to her feet, reaching for her knife; Coram tugged her down.

  Liam dropped and twisted, boosting the bigger man over his shoulder. The Guard crashed into a table, to the fury of its occupants. He threw them aside with a curse and charged Liam. The Dragon pivoted, driving his left foot out into his attacker's belly, then his chin. The sergeant dropped like a stone.

  Two of the Guards rushed to help their comrade. Liam kicked a sword out of one Guard's hand and flipped the other onto a table, then waited for the next attack—none came. He picked up the sergeant, asking, "Anything broken?"

  "Hunh?" The Marenite was dazed.

  Professionally, the Dragon checked his victim, then let him slide back to the floor. "You'll live." He glanced at the others, who seemed well enough, then beckoned to Alanna and Coram. "Let's find someplace quieter."

  The crowd backed away as they made for the door. Alanna peered back: the troublesome lady knelt by her sergeant, cooing to him. Grinning, she followed her friends.

  MIDNIGHT found Alanna and Liam seated on a wall overlooking the Shappa River. Coram had left in search of a card or dice game; Faithful went to meet a lady cat yowling in her master's garden. Alanna and Liam had visited the tent city to question the refugees about conditions in Sarain. Now they listened to the river and the distant howl of a wolf.

  "I like how you fought back there," Alanna said sleepily. "No mess, no broken bones, no dead. Nice."

  "I'm glad they took the hint," yawned Liam.

  "Traveling with you is fun." She hesitated, then asked, "Did Coram tell you why we're bound for the Roof of the World?"

  "He said you had a map for some treasure. It makes no sense, risking your lives for gold that might or mightn't be there. But you have no better plans—"

  "It isn't gold," she interrupted quietly. "It's the Dominion Jewel. I want to find it and bring it home, for the glory of Tortall."

  He smoothed his mustache, as he often did when he was thinking. "Not to mention that the deed would prove you're worthy of your shield." He jumped down and held his hands up to her. She slid into his grasp, and they kissed. "Gifted one, when it comes to a hero's deed, you don't think small."

  "Liam?" She tried not to plead. "What're you doing next?"

  "Riding with you and Coram, I expect."

  IT WAS barely dawn. Liam was dressed when he woke Alanna. "You want to learn Shang, you keep Shang hours! Up!" He reached for the water pitcher. She tumbled out of bed. "I'm up!"

  "The stableyard, five minutes," he commanded. He slammed the door behind him. Alanna lurched to her feet.

  You're ruining my rest, Faithful grumbled. Alanna dashed cold water on her face. "Good!" Dressing, she wailed, "Why did I pick a man who's a grouch in the morning?"

  THE MARENITE Guardsmen said they were crazy to enter Sarain, but they let Alanna's party through. The difference between the nations was soon clear: healthy Marenite farms gave way to burned-out homesteads. Often they found the leavings of refugees who'd camped on the Great Road before crossing into Maren. The road was deserted.

  Alanna worked at her lessons. Liam grew less gruff at exercise time when he saw she practiced longer than she had to and complained less than most beginners. He taught her only a few hand blows, the arm blocks, and two kicks. But in these he drilled her endlessly, watching for the tiniest flaw. At night they shared a bedroll, with Coram's unspoken approval.

  The first evidence of fighting lay by the road, four days' ride into Sarain, in a meadow beside the road. Here the dead had been piled up and left, until only skeletons remained.

  Faithful came along as Alanna went to the mound's edge. Whoever left the dead made no attempt to separate the enemies: K'miri armor, lacquered bright red, blue, or green, shone against rusted lowland metal. Bone hands still clutched weapons. Kneeling, Alanna slid a lowland sword out of the pile.

  "Heavy fighting," she murmured, showing her cat the nicked and scored blade. "Some archery at first, but close quarters after. An ambush?"

  "A world of difference between a good king and a bad one." The voice was Liam's. He crouched beside them, taking the sword to inspect it. "In five years Adigun jin Wilima has destroyed the work of generations."

  "It looks as if he really tried," Alanna said. Was this what might happen in Tortall if Jonathan died without an heir or someone tried to take the throne? Would the Dominion Jewel prevent this kind of civil war?

  "They deserved better." Liam touched a K'miri arm guard decorated with a sunburst pattern. His eyes were a stormy blue-grey. Turning abruptly, he rejoined Coram and the horses.

  Alanna stayed, arranging twigs into a pyramid.

  The Jewel doesn't create great kings, but it helps those who are to prosper, Faithful told her. Never forget, though, it won't stop a king who wants to build an empire, starting with the conquest of his neighbors. It'll help him, too.

  "All good weapons can be turned against you." Alanna drew a piece of cord from a pocket, fashioning it into a knotted loop. Carefully she lowered it until the loop encircled the pyramid. She stood, dusting off her hands. "I suppose this will upset Liam. D'you think I made a mistake, being his lover when he's afraid of the Gift?"

  Faithful retreated, knowing what she had in mind. It doesn't matter what I think. You'll do what you want to—you always have.

  Reaching toward the cord-encircled sticks, she beckoned. Flames bit into the pile. Alanna touched the ember to see her spell: now the dead were covered by a purple haze sprouting flames. Her cord was a circle of power that kept the fire from spreading. Releasing the ember, she saw the fire of her Gift vanish. The flames were real; they mounted higher and higher among the bones and trappings.

  Liam said nothing when she joined the men, but he was pale and sweating. He really is afraid of magic, she realized. The knowledge depressed her: it confirmed the end of their romance at its beginning. Someday she would have to leave him—no love would last when he feared part of her. They all rode on, watching the land, listening for any out-of-place sound. The mound of bones had made them nervous.

  "I'd druther we was jumped. Get it over with," Coram grumbled softly. He and Alanna unpacked after stopping for the night; Liam had gone to hunt fresh food. Food was not a problem yet: knowing conditions ahead, they'd gotten extra provisions at the Mongrel Cur.

  "I know what you mean," Alanna sighed. "Where are the armies?"

  "Bedded down for the night, I hope." It was Liam, returning with a string of fish. "All the same, let's stand watches. I smell woodsmoke." He gave the fish to Alanna, whose turn it was to cook.

  Coram built a fire, keeping it small and smokeless. They cooked and ate in silence, listening. The meal over, Faithful went out to pro
wl; the humans worked on personal tasks. Alanna was beginning to relax when the cat scrambled into their circle.

  People, he hissed. Women and infants. On the other side of the ridge!

  Putting their work aside, they buckled on sword belts. Coram indicated silently that he would guard the horses. Liam and Alanna made for the ridge, moving noiselessly through brush and trees. When they reached the top, Liam signaled Alanna to go to cover. She frowned: having grown away from a squire's obedience, resuming it even a little came hard. She also knew to bow to Liam's extra years on the road.

  The people were below, following the stream. Alanna tried for a better look, wondering if she could get closer.

  A voice growled, "Tell the big one to drop his blade, or I put a bolt through you."

  3: The Warlord's Daughter

  Allana didn't have to repeat it--Liam heard. Rising from his crouch, he let his weapon fall. Alanna put Lightning down. To have Liam caught because a girl-child had the drop on her was humiliating. She was supposed to be able to take care of herself!

  "Amazing," Alanna's captor said. "We go hunting for game, and we find you instead."

  Alanna heard Coram swear in the distance. "Coram, are you all right?" she yelled.

  "Some lass is aimin' a crossbow at me," was the response. "Only my dignity's hurt, so far."

  Alanna's guard called, "Thayet?"

  "I'm all right, Buri." The voice was female, deep, and clear.

  Black eyes locked on Alanna. "Start walking," Buri ordered.

  "I won't leave my sword in the dirt," Alanna snapped.

  The stocky girl stooped to grab Lightning, her crossbow sight never moving from Alanna's chest. "Now go," she commanded. "Hands in the air."

  "Shame your mother didn't drown you at birth," Alanna muttered, obeying.

  "What makes you think she didn't?"

  Awaiting them were refugees; their belongings overburdened a donkey. The group itself was small: two teenaged girls, two boys aged ten or so, and a girl nearly the same age. One of the teenagers carried a baby.