"You think I left any of this to chance, dear one? I had a long time to plan. You see, I wasn't quite dead when they buried me." She opened her mouth to deny it, but he shook his head. "If we had time, I would explain a powerful working called 'Sorcerer's Sleep.' For your purposes, I was dead. For my own—" His face was bleak, terrifying. Then he waved the mood away.
"I planned carefully because you, sweet Lioness, too often escape me—you and my kingly cousin. He studied well, better than when I was his teacher. Where he got power that smells of the desert, I suppose I shall never know.
"You saved yourself from my Gate, but you're tired. Come within my reach—" He smiled and picked up a blade lying beside him; it was bloodstained. "I need only lop off a small part of you, as I did Si-cham. That bit will give me a tie to your inner self, and thus a clear road to Jonathan and the sorcery he wields." Alanna paled and faltered back a step.
Roger put down the knife to walk to the rim of the Gate. "You've grown so prudent, it may be you won't allow me that easy a way. Tell me, then—how long can Jonathan last?"
"Forever!" Alanna threw it at him like a challenge.
"Perhaps." He stepped onto the Gate as the energy whipping through the design tugged at his robe. Silver glittered against black; the Gate's design was duplicated on his clothes. "If Jonathan musters no other sorcery against me—and all those who might make a difference are accounted for—I need only to wait." He came forward until he stood at the Gate's center. "The Earth has her own means of dealing with unbearable pressure. She sheds it, redistributes it, expends it in small tremors. When she can do nothing else, she convulses—and continues to do so, until the pressure is gone. Even the gods cannot stop such an earthquake. Jonathan holds the land, but the pressure of my spell remains. How long, do you think, until that inescapable convulsion begins?"
Alanna felt cold and alone. "You'll be just as dead," she croaked.
His smile was frightening. "Indeed, I hope so."
She gripped her sword, measuring her strength against his. "Why'd you tell me any of this?"
"Because, lady knight, you will share it with me. Did you think I would end it without you?" He chuckled. "I'll tell you a secret. Years ago, when I was your age, just finding the limits of my power, I took up jewelry making. To each thing I made, I attached a bit of my Gift, to mark it as mine. Necklaces, rings—sword hilts. I even forged swords, to create a masterpiece of a weapon. Why you had to corrupt my design is beyond me."
"It was warped."
"You would think so." He reached out, red fire eddying around his fingers. Voice soft, he said, "With silver and stone I made thee; With Gift and blood I bound thee; With my name I call thee!"
Lightning jumped, straining toward Roger. If she had still carried his original sword, instead of melding it with Lightning for a whole blade, she never could have kept hold of it. As it was, enough of the crystal blade and its hilt remained to wrench her arms as Alanna gripped it. Her cold eyes met his.
"It will come to me eventually," he said. "And you will follow."
All her muscles knotted; the scars on her palms broke and bled. She dug in her heels and held. What can I do? she thought, despairing. Can't I make even one decision he hasn't anticipated? What does he think I'll do?
The cold part of herself that stood aloof from everything whispered, He expects you to fight. So—stop fighting.
With a teeth-baring effort, Alanna levered the sword back and let go. The effect was like loosing a bolt from a crossbow. Released from her pull, the sword shrieked as it flew, making her clap her hands over tortured ears. Roger didn't break his calling spell. He didn't even seem to know what she'd done until Lightning buried itself in his chest.
Roger grabbed the hilt. Amazingly, he laughed. He laughed until his dying lungs ran out of air. The silver design on his robes dripped and ran to the floor. His eyes closed, and he fell. Flames sprouted from the Gate into the stone, devouring the body of Roger of Conté.
BURI found her there. With the help of the King's Own, she brought a fainting Alanna to the surface on a stretcher. Revived by the warmer air at the ground level, Alanna got Buri to help her walk to the Hall of Crowns. She was sickened by the bodies in evidence everywhere: clearly the assault had been heavier than anyone had expected. Men of the Palace Guard admitted them to the Hall with deep bows, and Buri waited silently as Alanna took in the scene before her.
Between quake and uprising, the Hall was in ruins. The City Doors hung from their hinges; the stone risers had buckled and collapsed in sections. Pieces of roof and arches had fallen, dragging banners and garlands down to litter the floor in a mockery of a holiday. Survivors hunted in the rubble, freeing the trapped and pulling out the dead. These were placed on the main aisle for burial. Only later would the bodies in Tirragen or Eldorne colors be separated, to be burned on Traitor's Hill.
The Provost limped over, brushing heavy silver hair back from a sweat-streaked face. "Not as bad as it looks," he said in his terse way. "More of them dead than us. They weren't expectin' much opposition." His ice-blue eyes caught Alanna's and held them. "You take care of your end of things?"
She grinned wolfishly. He grinned back. Buri was interested to note more than a slight resemblance between them at that moment. "Indeed I did."
The Provost put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Good." Pausing, he added, "Your—friend. Cooper. He did well today." Favoring a wounded leg, he returned to help the searchers.
Eleni, looking worn and old, bandaged her bruised and wounded son. Seeing Alanna, George winked and blew her a kiss. When his mother scolded him for moving, he silenced her with a hug. Thayet, seeing the direction of his look, waved tiredly. She sat with her head on a noblewoman's shoulder, a shattered sword on her lap. Her new friend was as exhausted and battered as she.
Rispah fussed over Coram nearby. She also kept a sharp eye on Delia, who was bound and gagged with strips of what looked like someone's petticoat. Noting Alanna's look, Rispah grinned. "My lady here thought she'd knife his Majesty while the fightin' was thickest and the menfolk all occupied," she explained. "She didn't know I figured her game."
Gary, sporting bandages of his own, kissed Alanna swiftly. "Father had a heart attack," he said quietly. "He'll be all right, thanks to Duke Baird. They're at the infirmary now—Baird and Father and Myles. Myles fought two of them, single-handed." Gary smiled tiredly. "They were huge. I don't know what possessed him. But he killed one, and George finished the other."
"As a mercy to the poor man," George explained as he joined them. "After Myles hurt him so." He cupped Alanna's face, his grave hazel eyes searching out her own. He nodded, liking what he saw, and kissed her gently. "I'd watch out for Myles—he's that fierce when he's angry. Didn't even want to go and get his wounds stitched. Lucky Duke Baird insisted. We can't have Myles terrorizin' the prisoners." Softly he added, "He's fine, lass."
"The ladies saved us all," Gary went on. He indicated Thayet, Eleni, Buri, and Rispah. "They kept the archers from killing his Majesty. We're proud of them—of you." He glanced at Alanna and looked away again, his eyes troubled. "Jon—the King—told us what you did, in the catacombs. He saw it all, somehow."
Alanna faced the altar. Jonathan sat at its base, leaning against the stone. His face was drawn. She was shocked to see white threads in his hair where none had been that morning. The Jewel was in his lap. He stirred; Geoffrey of Meron gave him a cup of water. The altar itself had been cleared to make room for the body of Liam Ironarm.
Did I know? she asked herself. Did I suspect? There was no way to tell. She climbed the altar steps to look at the Dragon alone.
Eight arrows were piled beside him; his knuckles and wounds were neatly bandaged. Her eyes burned, but she was cried out. Helplessly she plucked at his sleeve, wishing she could bring him back. Crying would have helped.
"He and George saved my life—they saved us all." Jonathan dragged himself up to lean on the altar. "You'd just gotten to Roger when Tirragen soldiers att
acked me in force. Myles was down by them, Duke Baird, Raoul, Duke Gareth. They're all right. I guess Raoul will have a limp to show for it. Coram and Gary were drawn away. I was—helpless." He grimaced.
"You did more than enough." Her broken voice was hardly audible.
"But I couldn't do anything else. George and Liam kept me from being—interrupted." Alanna shuddered, knowing the land would have shaken itself to pieces if Jon's concentration had broken. "Two archers got clear. Liam took the arrows meant for me. He didn't even falter, until the last." Jonathan's eyes met hers. "It isn't much consolation, I know, but—they'll sing about the Dragon's last fight for centuries." After a moment he added, "I'm sorry."
She tried to walk away; her weakened knees faltered. George caught her instantly.
"It was the death he wanted," the King said. "We'll honor him, always."
Alanna nodded dumbly. Jon reached for her: there was a flash, and a tiny ball of reddish-purple fire leaped from his fingers to her own bloody ones. Gently he took her hand and kissed it. "We did it, King's Champion. Tortall is safe."
EPILOGUE
HERALDS went out to explain to the people what had happened on Coronation Day. There would be no weeks of celebration that year. Tortall needed time to mourn, repair, and rebuild. Instead the new King planned a festival to mark the first year of his reign, on the anniversary of Coronation Day. Afterward he would travel through his kingdom, the first such royal journey since his grandfather's day.
Those found guilty by the Courts of Law of taking part in the rebellion lost their lands and wealth; they and their families were sent into exile. For Delia, the only living ringleader, the Courts decreed life imprisonment. The sentences for all should have been death—the laws on treason were strict—but Jonathan would not begin his rule with executions. He granted more pardons in the first week of his official reign than had King Roald in all of his.
A WEEK after the funerals, the King found his Champion in the catacombs, seated on a bench and gazing at the blackened Gate of Idramm. Lightning stood there, thrust into the center of the design. The blade was streaked with soot, the jewels of its hilt cracked and blackened. Jonathan gripped the sword, trying to free it without success.
"It's all right," Alanna told him. "I don't want it. There are other swords, and I like Lightning right where it is."
Jon released the weapon and looked at his filthy hands. "Good."
"I'm just thinking. Will you please get away from the Gate? You make me nervous."
The King shrugged and came to sit beside her. "What's on your mind?"
She hesitated a moment before saying, "Would you—mind, if I went to the Bloody Hawk for a while? I just need time to think, and I'd like a rest." She smiled. "I've had a busy year."
"Take all the time you want," Jon assured her. "I know where to find you if there's need."
ALANNA to George Cooper, Baron of Pirate's Swoop, written in late July:
…So Jon has put you to work finding the last of the coronation rebels. I'm not surprised. It is very quiet here. Tell Myles I have enough sleep at last. I miss you…
She entered into the daily routine of the tribe, hunting lions with the young men and hearing the legends of the Bazhir from the shamans. She took her turn at sentry duty, enjoying the quiet and the clearness of the stars. Shortly after her arrival Alanna saw a new constellation at the foot of the cluster called "The Goddess." She never found out who named it, but everywhere she traveled in later years she always heard it called "The Cat."
Young people came from all over to meet the Woman Who Rides Like a Man. Most were youths, but an occasional girl visited as well. Many of the boys were headed north, to join the King's Own. The girls planned to try their own fortunes, most of them as fighters.
IN THE second week of October, Thayet and Buri came to the Bloody Hawk escorted by a squad of the King's Own. Alanna was glad to see them, now that the edge had worn off her grief for Thom, Liam, and Faithful. It wasn't long before Alanna began to wonder if Thayet had come to talk about a particular subject. Whatever it was, she couldn't bring herself to discuss it for days. Instead she talked about the school she'd begun with the help of Myles, Eleni, Gary, and George; or the Midwinter weddings for Myles and Coram; and Alanna's doings. She met Alanna's friends in the tribe and tried her hand at weaving.
Buri joined the girls who shocked the elders by studying warrior arts. When she showed them K'miri trick riding, she drew the young men, uniting the two groups in their eagerness to learn. "I'm glad we came," Thayet told Alanna a week after her arrival. They sat in front of Alanna's tent after the evening meal. From the central fire they could hear Buri teaching her friends a rude song about city dwellers. "She misses the excitement of the road," the Princess added. "She's a lot like you that way."
Alanna massaged her palms with a wry smile. "If that's so, she'll find other things to challenge her. She won't be able to help it." She paused, then decided to see what was up. "You aren't here because you wanted to give Buri a holiday, Thayet. And it's a long ride just to say 'hello.'"
The Princess looked away. "Jonathan—admires the Bazhir. He let me read their history. He thinks the K'mir, the Doi, and the Bazhir may be descended from one race. Though the Bazhir are more cousins than in the direct line—"
"Thayet." Alanna sighed.
The other woman knotted her handkerchief. "He wanted me to know everything about you, and about it being over. He said I should have the story straight." Her voice was soft. "But I have to wonder, because you and he are so close, still—"
Alanna took the handkerchief away before her friend could damage it. "We always were close, long before we were lovers. I imagine we'll always be close, but not in the same way. We're friends. And I'm his Champion."
"But everyone seems to think—When you come back—"
"Everyone?" Alanna wanted to know. "I think someone doesn't think that at all, or he wouldn't spend so much time with you."
Thayet whispered, "If I hadn't come to Tortall—"
Alanna drew a design in the sand. "Nonsense. I wanted you to be safe; we all did. And I knew you'd make a better Queen than I would."
"What?" yelped the Princess.
"Jonathan needs someone who will treat him like a person, not just a King," Alanna explained. "I can't. I'm his vassal, for all I'm his friend. You were born and reared to be royalty. It doesn't frighten you. You won't let him turn into a prig. You won't let him be smug." She hesitated, then said, "I was hoping by now you'd like him."
"But you're my friend!" Thayet wailed. "I can't take your man!"
Alanna hugged her. "He isn't my man. He's yours, if you love him and he loves you. I want you both to be happy. I'd prefer you were happy with each other."
Thayet sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I probably look like a hag."
Alanna grinned. "Don't fish for compliments. It isn't becoming."
A watery chuckle was her answer. "I was so happy at not having to go through a marriage of state."
"Well, that was before you met Jon, so that's all right."
Now that she didn't have to worry about upsetting her friend, Thayet wanted to hear about Jonathan when he was younger. When that subject was exhausted, she told Alanna of the changes they hoped to make in Tortall. Buri arrived. When Thayet stopped for breath, the K'mir said, "Glad it's not me she's talking to, for a change. People in love are boring." Thayet made a face at her companion.
Much later, as she and Alanna lay in their bedrolls, Thayet whispered, "Alanna? Is there someone for you?"
Alanna blinked, suddenly watery eyed. "I don't know."
"He'd be very unconventional, I know." Thayet sighed. "Most men—"
"Would panic if they thought of marrying a lady knight," Alanna finished. "Someone like that would bore me silly. I've been very lucky with men." She fingered the ember at her throat, wondering where George was.
"Then you'll be lucky again."
The next morning Alanna was performing her Shang exercises
when she heard a sentry's warning whistle. It was answered by two others, and then a whistle sounded to mean "No danger." She picked up her sword, wanting to check anyway, when a woman behind her said, "It's me they're whistling about."
Alanna spun and stepped back into a fighting stance. The wiry female, now in front of her, raised her hands to show they were empty. Her tightly curled hair was more grey than chestnut; her eyes were pale in a tan, weathered face. On her gloves was the Shang globe surmounted by a bristling cat. "The reflexes are all right," the Wildcat said, her voice light and dry. "Do you expect an attack even now?"
Alanna lowered her sword. "I've had an interesting year."
"Hunh." Liam's master examined her carefully. "So you were his last pupil. He thought you could be one of us, for all that you're too old." Alanna looked away, afraid she might cry. "Come up on the ridge with me. I'm just passing through. You can see me off."
"You've come a way to just pass through,' " Alanna said, her emotions under control again. She followed the Wildcat up to a ridge that commanded a view of the southern road. The older woman stopped to stare across the desert, lines deepening at the corners of her eyes. "I want to tell you I'm sorry—about Liam. I wish I could have prevented it."
The Wildcat waved her explanation away. "You have to understand Shang, Lady Knight. We all know we risk early death. And he guessed, or suspected. He wrote me from Corus, the day before he was killed. If he got lucky, I was to forget it. If he didn't, I was to give you this."
She put a folded and sealed parchment into Alanna's hands. Alanna saw the older woman's eyes brim with tears. The Wildcat gave her a tiny smile. "I love him more'n my own sons. It's good to know he used his death well."
Opening the parchment with hands that shook, Alanna read:
Kitten, Knowing you, you think it's your fault I got killed when I did. You're thinking, if you hadn't dragged me along… Forget it. Remember the Doi woman, Mi-chi, saying I knew my fate? Years ago a Doi told me I'd know when it was the Black God's time for me. I think this is it. If I'm wrong, and I live, the Wildcat will bum this letter anyway, so you won't find out that I wrote this.
Song of the Lioness #4 - Lioness Rampant Page 21
