Alanna: The First Adventure

2 THE NEW PAGE

DUKE GARETH OF NAXEN WAS TALL AND THIN, with dull brown hair that fell into his muddy brown eyes. Though he was plain looking, there was something commanding about him all the same.

“Alan of Trebond, hm?” His voice was thin and nasal. He frowned as he opened the seal on Alanna’s letter. “I trust you will do better here than your sire. He was always at his books.”

Alanna swallowed hard. The Duke made her nervous. “He still is, sir.”

The Duke looked at her sharply, not sure if she was being pert. “Hmph. So I would suppose.” He smiled and nodded at Alanna’s servingman. “Coram Smythesson. It’s been a long time since the Battle of Joyous Forest.”

Coram bowed, grinning. “I didn’t think yer Lordship’d remember. That was twenty years ago, and me but a lad myself.”

“I don’t forget it when a man saves my life. Welcome to the palace. You will like it here—though you, boy, will work hard.” Duke Gareth turned his attention back to Alanna. “Sit down, both of you.” They obeyed. “You’re here, Alan of Trebond, to learn what it is to be a knight and a noble of Tortall. It’s not easy. You must learn to defend the weak, to obey your overlord, to champion the cause of right. Someday you may even be able to tell what right is.” It was impossible to tell if he was joking, and Alanna decided not to ask.

“Until you are fourteen, you will be a page,” the Duke went on. “You will wait on table at the evening meal. You will run errands for any lord or lady who asks you. Half your day will be spent learning fighting arts. The other half you will spend with books, in the hope that we can teach you how to think.

“If your masters think you are ready, you will be made squire when you are fourteen. Perhaps a knight will choose you as his body squire. If so, you’ll tend your master’s belongings, run his errands, protect his interests. Your other lessons will continue—they’ll be harder, of course.

“When you are eighteen, you’ll undergo the Ordeal of Knighthood. If you survive, you will be a Knight of Tortall. Not everyone survives.” He held up his left hand, revealing a missing finger. “I lost this in the Chamber of the Ordeal.” He sighed.

“Don’t worry about the Ordeal now. You have eight years to think about it. For the present, you will live in the pages’ wing. Coram rooms with you, but I hope he’ll be able to serve the palace guard in his free time.”

Coram nodded. “I’d like that, yer Grace.”

Duke Gareth smiled thinly. “Excellent. We can use a man of your ability.” He looked at Alanna once again. “One of the older pages will sponsor you and show you how things are done. You’ll be in his charge until you are familiar with the palace and your duties. If you are obedient and work hard, you won’t see me often. Misbehave, and you’ll learn how harsh I can be. When you prove yourself worthy, you will be granted free time to go into the city. And make no mistake—you’ll earn every privilege you get three times over. You are here to learn chivalry, not to have a good time. Timon”—Alanna realized the servingman had been in the room all along—“take them to their room. Make sure the boy is properly clothed. Also, a guardsman’s uniform for Master Smythesson.” The Duke measured Alanna with his eyes. “I expect you to begin serving at dinner in five days. You’ll wait on me. Have you any questions?”

It took all her strength to say, “No, your Lordship.”

“A duke is called ‘your Grace.’” The older man smiled and held his right hand out to her. “It is a hard life, but you’ll get used to it.”

Alanna kissed his hand timidly. “Yes, your Grace.” She and the two men bowed and left the Duke’s presence.

The pages’ wing stretched along the west side of the palace, standing near the walls that overlooked the city. Here Timon showed Alanna and Coram two small rooms, where they would live during Alanna’s time as a page. Someone had already placed their baggage inside the door.

Their next stop was with the palace tailors. Realizing they would measure her for her page’s uniform, Alanna felt sick. Her mind whirled with visions of being forced to strip, of being caught and sent home in disgrace before she had even had a chance to start.

Instead a scowling old man whipped a knotted cord around her shoulders and hips, calling out the number of knots it took to circle Alanna to his assistant. Then he laid the cord along the length of her right arm and then her right leg. He sent the anxious-looking apprentice scurrying into a storeroom while he measured Coram in the same rapid style. The apprentice returned with an armful of clothing. He was instantly sent after boots and shoes while the grumpy old tailor shook out a gold tunic and held it up to Alanna. The bright garment could have easily fitted a much larger youngster.

Coram fought to hide a grin. “Isn’t it a wee bit big?”

The tailor glared at the servingman. “Boys grow,” he barked, shoving the whole pile of boots and clothes into Alanna’s arms. “It’s their natures.” He turned his scowl on Alanna. “You rip ’em, you mend ’em,” he said. “Don’t let me see you for at least three months.”

Alanna followed Coram and Timon out, her knees weak with relief. Her secret was still safe!

Timon took them to the huge kitchens for a luncheon and spent the afternoon showing them around the palace. Alanna was lost in no time. She didn’t believe Timon when he told her she would soon learn her way around. The royal palace could hold several Trebonds, and more people lived there than Alanna had ever seen before. She learned that many nobles had suites in the palace. There were also quarters for foreign visitors, a servants’ wing, the throne and council rooms, ballrooms, kitchens and libraries. It all made her feel extremely small.

The sun was setting as they quickly unpacked. Coram changed into clean clothes in his own room while Alanna slowly laid out her new uniform. She noticed her hands were shaking.

“Alan?” the servingman called.

She opened her door. Coram was ready to go.

“Well, la—lad?” he asked. His dark eyes were kind. “How shall we work this? Th’ boys are changin’ for dinner.”

She tried to smile. “You go on.” It was hard making her voice sound relaxed. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course,” she replied stoutly. “Would I have said so if I wasn’t?”

“Yes,” was the calm answer.

Alanna sighed and rubbed her forehead. She wished he didn’t know her so well. “Best now as later, Coram. I’ll be all right. Really. Go on.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Good luck—Alan.”

“Thanks.” She watched him leave and felt lost. Locking the door—it wouldn’t do for someone to come in unannounced—she reached for her shirt.

When she was fully dressed, Alanna stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had never looked so fine. The full-sleeved shirt and hose were bright scarlet against the cloth-of-gold tunic. Sturdy leather shoes covered her feet; her dagger and purse hung from a slim leather belt. True, the clothes were a little large, but she was too dazzled by the colors to care.

There was one thing to be said for such a bright red and brighter gold: the royal uniform gave her the courage to unbolt the door and step into the hall. She couldn’t have done it in her battered old clothes. Several boys saw her and hurried to spread the word: There’s a new boy in the palace! Suddenly the pages’ wing was very quiet. Everyone came to inspect the newcomer.

Someone behind Alanna grabbed her. She spun. A tall, gangling boy of nearly fourteen looked her over, a sneer on his thick mouth. He had cold blue eyes and sandy-blond hair that flopped over his forehead.

“I wonder what this is.” His crooked teeth made him spit his s’s. Alanna wiped a drop of saliva from her cheek. “Probably some back-country boy who thinks he’s a noble.”

“Leave him alone, Ralon,” someone protested. “He didn’t say anything to you.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Ralon snapped. “I bet he’s some farmer’s son trying to pass for one of us.”

Alanna blushed a dull red. “I was told pages were supposed to learn manners,” she murmured. “Whoever told me that must’ve been mistaken.”

The boy grabbed her collar, lifting her off her feet. “You’ll do what you’re told,” he hissed, “till you earn the right to call yourself a page. If I say you’re the goatherd’s son, you say, ‘Yes, Lord Ralon.’”

Alanna gasped with fury. “I’d as soon kiss a pig! Is that what you’ve been doing—kissing pigs? Or being kissed?”

Ralon threw her against the wall, hard. Alanna charged, ramming into his stomach and knocking him to the floor. Ralon yelled and shoved her off him.

“What is this?”

The young male voice was clear and forceful. Ralon froze; Alanna slowly got to her feet. The watching boys made way for a dark-haired page and his four companions.

Ralon was the first to speak. “Highness, this boy was acting as if he owned the palace,” he whined. “King of the castle, he was, and he insulted me like no gentleman insults another—”

“I don’t think I spoke to you, Ralon of Malven,” the boy called “Highness” said. His bright blue eyes fixed on Ralon’s. The two boys were about the same height, but the dark-haired boy seemed to be about a year younger and much more commanding. “Unless I’m mistaken, I told you not to talk to me at all.”

“But, Highness, he—”

“Shut up, Ralon,” instructed one of the boy’s friends. This one was big, with tightly curled brown hair and coal-black eyes. “You’ve got your orders.”

Ralon stepped out of the way, red with fury. The boy who seemed to be running things looked around. “Douglass.” He nodded to a boy who been there all along. “What happened?”

A stocky blond page stepped forward. His hair was still wet from washing. He was the one who told Ralon to let Alanna alone.

“It was Ralon, Jon,” Douglass said. “The new boy was just standing here. Ralon started on him—called him a country boy, said he was a farmer’s son. The new boy said he thought we were here to learn manners. Ralon grabbed him and said the new boy had to do whatever Ralon told him to do, and say ‘Yes, Lord Ralon.’”

The boy called Highness looked at Ralon with disgust. “I’m not surprised.” He turned his bright eyes back to Alanna. “Then what?”

Douglass grinned. “The new boy said he’d as soon kiss a pig.” The pages started to giggle. Alanna blushed and hung her head. Ralon’s behavior was bad, but hers wasn’t much better. “He said it looked as if Ralon had been kissing pigs. Either that or being kissed himself.”

Most of the boys listening laughed outright at this. Alanna could see Ralon’s fists clench. She had made her first enemy.

“Ralon threw the boy against the wall,” Douglass continued. “The new boy tackled him and knocked him down. That’s when you came, Jon.”

“I’ll speak with you later, Ralon,” the dark-haired boy instructed. “In my rooms, before lights-out.” When Ralon hesitated, Jon added in a soft, icy voice, “You’ve been dismissed, Malven.”

Ralon hurled himself out of the hallway. The boys watched him go before returning their attention to Alanna. She was still studying the floor.

“You have good taste in enemies, even if you do make them your first day here,” Jon said. “Let’s have a look at you, Fire-Hair.”

Slowly she looked up into his eyes. He was about three years older than she was, with coal-black hair and sapphire-colored eyes. His nose was straight and slightly hooked. His face was stern, but a smile touched his mouth, and a glimmer of fun slipped from his eyes. Alanna linked her hands behind her back, giving him stare for stare until the large boy who had silenced Ralon whispered, “This is Prince Jonathan, lad.”

She bowed slightly, afraid that if she bent over any more she would fall. It wasn’t every day a person met the heir to the throne. “Your Royal Highness,” she said. “I’m sorry about the—the misunderstanding.”

“You didn’t misunderstand,” the Prince told her. “Ralon is no gentleman. What’s your name?”

“Alan of Trebond, your Highness.”

He frowned. “I don’t remember seeing your family at Court.”

“No, your Highness.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my father. He doesn’t like it, your Highness.”

“I see.” There was no way to tell what he thought of her answer. “Do you like Court, Alan of Trebond?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I could let you know in a couple of days.”

“I look forward to your views.” Was he laughing inside? “Have you met the others?”

With royal permission given, the others all tried to introduce themselves at once. The big friendly boy who had given her Jonathan’s name was Raoul of Goldenlake. The large young man with chestnut hair and eyes was Gareth—Gary—of Naxen, the Duke’s son. The slim, dark boy beside him was Alexander of Tirragen, and Raoul’s shy blond shadow was Francis of Nond. There were ten others but these four—and the Prince—were the leaders.

Finally Jonathan said, “Now that we’ve met our newest member, who will sponsor him?”

Five of the older boys raised their hands. Jonathan nodded. “Your sponsor keeps you from getting too lost,” he explained to Alanna. “I think Gary had better take you in hand.”

The big youth nodded to Alanna, his brown eyes friendly. “A pleasure.”

Alanna bowed politely.

A bell rang. “We’d better go,” Jonathan announced. “Alan, stay close to Gary and listen to what he tells you.”

Alanna followed her new sponsor to the great dining hall. This was closed only during the summer, when most nobles went to their estates and the rest of the Court went to the Summer Palace by the sea. The other three seasons of the year, the entire Court ate here, served by the pages. Gary stationed Alanna in a niche, where she could see everything. As he hurried back and forth on his serving duties, he whispered explanations to her. It was Gary who showed her to the pages’ dining hall after the banquet was over, and Gary who woke her up (she fell asleep over dessert) and guided her to her room.

“Welcome to the palace, young Trebond,” he said cheerfully as he handed her over to Coram.

Alanna crawled sleepily into bed, thinking, Not so bad—for the first day.

A bell that hung in a tower high over the pages’ wing awakened Alanna at dawn. Moaning, she bathed her face in cold water. She was still exhausted from her five-day ride. For once she could have slept late.

Gary—a wide-awake, disgustingly cheerful and large Gary—came for her just as she was finished dressing. When Alanna, who hated breakfast, would have taken only an apple, Gary filled up her plate. “Eat,” he advised. “You’ll need your strength.”

The bell gently chimed. The pages hurried to their first hour of lessons, Alanna trotting to keep up with her sponsor.

“First class is reading and writing,” he told her.

“But I know how to read and write!” Alanna protested.

“You do? Good. You’d be surprised at how many noblemen’s sons can’t. Don’t worry, young Trebond.” A grin lit his face. “I’m sure the masters will find something for you to do.”

Alanna soon discovered that most of what nobles called “the thinking arts” were taught by Mithran priests. These orange-robed men were stern taskmasters, always quick to catch a boy letting his attention wander or napping. When the priest who taught reading and writing was satisfied that Alanna could do both—he made her read a page from a book aloud, then copy it out on paper—he assigned her a long and very dull poem. Alanna was to read it and be ready to report on it for the next day. The bell rang the hour when she was only partly done.

“When do I finish this?” she asked Gary, waving the scroll on which the poem was written. He was guiding her to their next set of lessons.

“In your free time. Here we go. Mathematics. Can you do figures, too?”

“Some,” she admitted.

“A regular scholar,” said Alex, who had caught up with them, laughing.

Alanna shook her head. “No. But my father is very strict about book learning.”

“He sounds a lot like my father in that respect,” Gary said dryly.

“I wouldn’t know,” Alanna replied. Remembering what the Duke had said about her father the day before, she added, “I don’t think they got along.”

Again Alanna had to prove her skills, this time to the priest who taught mathematics. Once he was satisfied as to the extent of her knowledge, he put her to learning something called “algebra.”

“What is it?” Alanna wanted to know.

The priest frowned at her. “It is a building block,” he told her sternly. “Without it you cannot hope to construct a safe bridge, a successful war tower or catapult, a windmill or an irrigation wheel. Its uses are infinite. You will learn them by studying them, not by staring at me.”

Alanna was staring at him. The idea that mathematics could make things such as windmills and catapults work was amazing. She was even more amazed when she realized how hard the work was that she was supposed to complete for the next day.

When Gary came over to give her a hand, she demanded, “When am I supposed to do this? I have to complete four problems for him by tomorrow, and it’s almost time for the next class!”

“In your free time,” Gary replied. “And the time you have now. Look—if you get stuck, offer to help Alex with his extra-duty chores. He’s a mathematical wizard.” The bell rang. “Let’s go, youngling.”

The next class was in deportment, or manners as they were practiced by nobles. Alanna had learned very early to say “Please” and “Thank you,” but she quickly realized that these were only the rudiments of deportment. She did not know how to bow. She did not know how to address a Lord as opposed to an Earl. She did not know which of three spoons to use first at a banquet. She could not dance, and she could not play a musical instrument. The master gave her a very large tome of etiquette to read and ordered her to start lap-harp studies instantly—in her free time.

“But I have to read the first chapter of this tonight in my free time!” she told Gary and Alex, thumping the book of etiquette. They were sitting on a bench during their morning break—all ten minutes of it. “And four problems in mathematics, and the rest of that stupid poem—”

“Ah,” Gary said dreamily. “‘Free time.’ I’ve heard about that. Don’t fool yourself, Fire-Top. What with extra hours of lessons for punishments, and the work you get every day, free time is an illusion. It’s what you get when you die and the gods reward you for a life spent working from dawn until midnight. We all face up to it sooner or later—the only real free time you get here is what my honored sire chooses to give you, when he thinks you have earned it.”

“And he doesn’t give it to you at night,” Alex put in. “He gives it to you when you’ve been here awhile, on Market Day and sometimes a morning or afternoon all to yourself. But never at night. At night you study. During the day you study. In your sleep—”

The bell rang.

“I could learn to hate that bell,” Alanna muttered as she gathered up her things. The older two boys laughed and hurried her along to the next class.

To her surprise, this one was different. The boys sat upright in their chairs, looking as if they were interested in what was about to happen. The walls were hung with maps and charts. A board with several large, blank sheets of paper fixed to it stood before the chairs. A box containing sticks of charcoal for drawing on the paper sat on the table beside it.

The teacher entered to friendly greetings. This man was not a priest. He was short and plump, with long brown hair streaked with gray, and a long shaggy beard. His hose bagged at the knee; his tunic was as rumpled as if he had slept in it. He had a tiny, delicate nose and a smiling mouth. Alanna met the man’s large green-brown eyes and smiled in spite of herself. He was the oddest mixture of disarray and good nature she had ever encountered, and she liked him on sight. His name was Sir Myles of Olau.

“Hello,” he greeted her cheerfully. “You must be Alan of Trebond. You’re very hardy to have made it this far the first day. Has anyone said what we try to learn in here?”

Alanna said the first thing that came to her lips. “The only thing I know is that I jump when I’m told to and I have no free time.”

The boys chuckled, and Myles grinned. Alanna blushed. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I wasn’t trying to be pert.”

“It’s all right,” Myles reassured her. “Your life here is going to be difficult. Our Code of Chivalry makes harsh demands.”

“Sir Myles, are you going to start on the Code again?” Jonathan asked. “You know we never agree that it asks too much from us.”

“No, I’m not going to ‘start on’ the Code today,” Myles replied. “For one thing, you boys won’t agree with me until the glamour of being knights and nobles has worn off and you can see the toll our way of life has taken on you. And for another, Duke Gareth has given me to understand that we are somewhat deficient in our coverage of the Bazhir Wars and that he hopes to find us more knowledgeable when next he stops to visit.”

“Sir?” someone asked.

Myles looked at Alanna with a twinkle in his eyes. “I often forget—not everyone is a scholar like me, and I tend to use obscure language. Therefore, to translate—Duke Gareth wants me to go over the Bazhir Wars because he thinks I spent too much time arguing the Code of Chivalry and not enough time on the history of Tortall and the history of warfare—which is what I am supposed to teach you.”

Alanna left the class thinking, something she seldom did seriously.

“Why the frown?” Gary asked, catching up to her. “Don’t you like Myles? I do.”

Startled, Alanna blinked at him. “Oh, no. I liked him a lot. He just seems—”

“Odd,” Alex said dryly. He and Gary seemed to be close friends. “The word you want is ‘odd.’”

“Alex and Myles are always arguing about right and wrong,” Gary explained.

“Actually, he seems very wise,” Alanna said hesitantly. “Not that I know many wise people, but—”

“He’s also the Court drunk,” Alex pointed out. “Come on—before lunch is over and we haven’t eaten.”

After lunch came an hour of philosophy. Alanna almost nodded off to sleep as the teaching priest droned on about duty.

At last Gary took her outside, down to the acres of practice courts and exercise yards behind the palace. Here was the center of training for knighthood. Alanna would spend her afternoons and part of her evenings here, going inside only when it actually rained or snowed—and sometimes not even then. Here she must learn jousting, fighting with weapons such as maces, axes and staffs, archery while standing and while riding, normal riding and trick riding. She must learn to fall, roll, tumble. She would get dirty, tear muscles, bruise herself, break bones. If she withstood it all, if she was stubborn enough and strong enough, she would someday carry a knight’s shield with pride.

Training was endless. Even once a knight had his shield—or her shield—he still worked out in the yards. To get out of shape was to ask for death at the hands of a stranger on a lonely road. As the daughter of a border lord, Alanna knew exactly how important the fighting arts were. Every year Trebond fought off bandits. Occasionally Scanra to the north tried to invade through the Grimhold Mountains, and Trebond was Tortall’s first line of defense.

Alanna could already use a bow and a dagger. She was a skilled tracker and a decent rider, but she quickly learned that the men who taught the pages and squires considered her to be a raw beginner.

She was a raw beginner. Her afternoon began with an hour of push-ups, sit-ups, jumps and twisting exercises. A knight had to be limber to turn and weave quickly.

For the next hour she wore a suit of padded cloth armor as she received her first lessons with a staff. Before she could learn to use a sword, she had to show some mastery of staff fighting. Without the heavy padding she would have broken something that first afternoon. As it was, she learned to stop a blow aimed at her side, and she felt as if she had been kicked by a horse.

Next she learned the basic movement in hand fighting—the fall. She fell, trying to slap the ground as she hit, trying to take her weight on all the right places and creating new bruises whenever she missed or forgot.

The next hour saw her placing a shield on a bruised and aching left arm. She was paired off with a boy with a stout wooden stick. The purpose of this exercise was to teach her how to use the shield as a defense. If she succeeded, she stopped the oncoming blow. If she didn’t, her opponent landed a smarting rap on the part of her she had left exposed. After a while they traded off and she wielded the stick while her partner headed off her attack. This didn’t make her feel any better—since she was new to the use of the stick, her opponent caught every strike she tried.

Feeling cheated, Alanna followed Gary to the next yard. Archery was a little better, but only a little. Because she already knew something about archery, she was permitted to actually string the bow and shoot it. When the master discovered she had a good eye and a better aim, he made her work on the way she stood and the way she held her bow—for an hour.

The last hour of her day’s studies was spent on horseback. Since Alanna had only Chubby to ride, she was assigned one of the many extra horses kept in the royal stables for some of her riding. Her first lesson was in sitting properly, trotting the horse in a circle, bringing him to a gallop, galloping without falling off and halting the horse precisely in front of the master. Because her horse was too large for her and had a hard mouth, Alanna fell off three times. The beast was impossible for her to control, and when she told the riding master as much, she found herself ordered to report for extra study three nights a week, after the evening meal.

Alanna was staggering with weariness when the distant bell called them inside. She hurried with the others to bathe and change into a clean uniform. By then she was so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, but her day wasn’t over. Gary shook her out of a snooze and took her down to the banquet hall. He stationed her beside the kitchen door. From this post she handed plates from the kitchen servants to the pages and accepted dirty plates to hand back into the kitchen.

She dozed off during her meal. Gary steered her to a small library afterward, reminding her of the studying she had to do for the next day. He helped her with the poem, then left her on her own to deal with the mathematics. Alanna fought her way through three of the problems before going to sleep on the desk. A servant found her and roused her just in time for lights-out. She fell into bed and was instantly asleep.

Waking the next morning, Alanna moaned. Every muscle in her body was stiff and sore. She was speckled with large and small bruises. Stiffly she got ready for the new day, wondering if she would live through it.

It was like the day before, only worse. The mathematics master assigned her an additional four problems for that day, plus three more—punishment for the problem she had left undone during her nap the night before. The reading master informed her that since her oral report on the long poem was inadequate, she could put a longer report in writing—for the next day. The master in deportment gave her yet another chapter to read in etiquette and made her practice bows the whole period. The afternoon was hideous. Because she was stiff and aching, Alanna made more mistakes than she had the day before. She found herself with more extra work.

“Face it,” Gary told her kindly. “You’ll never catch up. You just do as much as you can and take the punishments without saying anything. Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t what they’re really trying to teach us—to take plenty and keep our mouths shut.”

Alanna was in no mood to consider this idea. When she returned to her rooms that night, she was tired, nervous and upset.

“Pack your things,” she ordered Coram as she marched in the door. “We’re going home.”

Coram looked at her. He had been sitting on his bed, cleaning his sword. “We are?”

Alanna paced the room. “I can’t do this,” she told the manservant. “The pace will kill me. No one can live this way all the time. I won’t—”

“I never figured ye for a quitter,” Coram interrupted softly.

“I’m not quitting!” Alanna snapped. “I—I’m protesting! I’m protesting unfair treatment—and—and being worked till I drop. I want to have time to myself. I want to learn to fight with a sword now, not when they decide. I want—”

“Ye want. Ye want. ’Tis something different ye’re learning here. It’s called ‘discipline.’ The world won’t always order itself the way ye want. Ye have to learn discipline.”

“This isn’t discipline! It’s inhuman! I can’t live with it, and I won’t! Coram, I gave you an order! Pack your things!”

Coram carefully scrubbed a tiny bit of dirt off his gleaming sword. At last he put it down, carefully, on the bed. With a groan he knelt down and reached under the bed, dragging out his bags. “As ye say,” he replied. “But I thought I’d raised ye with somethin’ to ye. I didn’t think I was bringin’ up another soft noble lady—”

“I’m not a soft noble lady!” Alanna cried. “But I’m not crazy, either! I’m going from sunrise to sunset and after without a stop, and no end in sight. My free time’s a joke—I’m out of free time before I get to the third class of the morning. And they expect me to keep up, and they punish me if I don’t. And I have to learn how to fall; I’m learning the stance with the bow all over again when I was the best hunter at Trebond, and if I say anything I get more work!”

Coram knelt on the floor, looking at her. “Ye knew it’d be hard when ye decided to come,” he reminded her. “No one ever told ye a knight had it easy. I didn’t, for certain. I told ye ’twas naught but hard work every wakin’ minute, and a lot of extra wakin’ minutes to boot. And now ye’re runnin’ away after just two days of it.”

“I’m not running away!”

“As ye say, Mistress.” Coram hoisted himself onto the bed with a groan, reaching for his boots. “I’ll be packed as soon as may be.”

Alanna slammed into her own room. She yanked one of her bags out and stared at it. With a sigh she sat down, rubbing her head in disgust. At Trebond she could come and go as she pleased, do as she liked. Life here was completely different. Did that make it bad?

She wasn’t sure any longer. Coram’s words about “quitting” and “running away” stuck like barbs under her skin. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t running away, but she wasn’t having much success.

At last she opened her door and looked out at Coram. “All right,” she growled. “I’ll give it a week. No more and no less. It had better lighten up by then.”

“Ye’re the Mistress—or the Master,” Coram replied. “But if ye’re goin’ to go—”

“I’ll make the decisions,” she told him. “Now, good night!”

It wasn’t until she pulled the blankets over her that she realized Coram had put his bags back under the bed and removed his boots. The old soldier had not done any packing at all.

I wish he didn’t know me so well, she thought grumpily as she dozed off.

The one week became two weeks, the two weeks became three, and Alanna was too exhausted to think of the long ride home. She never caught up with her work, and every day at least one master found something not done and gave her still more to do. She learned to take Gary’s advice, doing as much as she could each day and taking her punishments without complaint.

Her first night of table service came and went. She was too tired to be afraid during this first test. She waited on Duke Gareth, listened to his lecture on table manners and continued to serve at the banquets. At last she was assigned permanently to wait on Sir Myles, much to her delight. The knight always had something kind to say, even if—as Alex had said—he did drink too much. Sometimes she even helped him back to his rooms if he had drunk too well. Often he would give her a silver penny, or a sweet, and his classes were the bright point in her morning. Myles had a knack for making history seem real.

She and Gary quickly became friends. Gary always had something funny to say about the master of deportment, and he was never too busy to give her a hand, if she could bring herself to ask for help. She also discovered she could make her large friend laugh simply by saying whatever came to her mind. She liked making someone as intelligent as Gary laugh.

Between Gary, Myles and other people in the palace, life got better. Alanna came to forget that she had once ordered Coram to pack and take her home.

Three months—and her eleventh birthday—passed before Alanna realized it. The first break in her new routine came one night when Timon came hunting for her.

“He wants to see you.” Timon never had to say who “he” was. “You’re to go to his study.”

Alanna straightened her tunic and tried to smooth her hair before rapping on Duke Gareth’s door. Why would the Duke want to see her? What had she done wrong?

He called for her to come in, looking up from his papers as she closed the door behind her. “Alan, come in. I’m writing your father, reporting on your progress. Do you have any messages for me to send to him?”

She wasn’t in trouble! Alanna smothered a sigh of relief. Then she thought of something worse. What if her father came out of his studious fog and actually read Duke Gareth’s letter?

I’ll think of that when it happens, she told herself. Would things ever get easy?

“Please say that I send my regards, sir,” she told the Duke.

The man put down his quill pen. “My report is satisfactory. You learn well and quickly. We are glad to have you among us.”

Alanna turned pink with delight. She had never received such a high compliment. “Th-thank you, your Grace!”

“You may go to the City tomorrow morning as a reward. In future, you may also go there with the other pages on Market Day. Since you’re new to Corus, you may have one of the older boys accompany you. Not Alex. He has to take an extra hour of Ethics tomorrow.”

Alanna beamed. “You’re very kind,” she said. “Uh—could Gary—Gareth—come?”

The Duke raised an eyebrow. “Hm. He did say you are good company. It can be arranged. Be certain to return in time for afternoon lessons.”

“Yes, sir!” She bowed deeply. “And thank you again!”

Gary had to laugh at Alanna’s wide eyes as they walked through the city’s marketplace. “Close your mouth, country boy,” he teased. “Most of this is overpriced.”

“But there’s so much of everything!” she exclaimed.

“Not here. One of these days we’ll ride to Port Caynn. You’ll see real wonders there.” He stopped to look at a pair of riding gloves. Alanna wistfully eyed the long sword that hung beside them. She would need a sword someday. How would she ever get a good one?

A large hand tapped her shoulder. Startled, she looked up into the hazel eyes of the man Coram had called a thief just three months before.

“So—it’s the young sprout with the purple eyes,” the man said pleasantly. “I was wonderin’ if you’d fallen into a well.” His voice was rough and uneducated, but he spoke carefully. To Alanna it seemed that he thought about every word before saying it.

She grinned at him. Somehow this meeting didn’t surprise her. “I’ve been at the palace.”

“Who’s your friend?” Gary asked, looking at Alanna’s acquaintance suspiciously.

“Allow me to introduce myself, young masters.” The man bowed. “I’m George Cooper, of the lower city. Will you take a cool drink with me? As my guests, of course.”

“Thank you,” Alanna said quickly. “We accept.”

George took them to a little inn called the Dancing Dove. The old man who ran it greeted him like a good friend, hurrying to bring ale for George and lemonade for the pages. When the drinks came, Alanna examined George as she gulped her lemonade. George said he was seventeen, although he seemed older. His nose was too big for good looks, but when he smiled he appeared handsome. He wore his brown hair cut short, like other commoners. Alanna felt something powerful about him, something almost royal. She also felt a very strong liking for him.

“You shouldn’t be surprised at my lookin’ you up,” he told Alanna. “Truth to tell, I like your looks. We don’t see many with eyes like yours. You bein’ from the country—you don’t look it now, but you did then!—I thought you’d like to be knowin’ someone in the city.”

“Do you always make friends on such short notice?” Gary asked sharply.

George looked at him a moment. “I trust my instincts, young master. In my line of work, you learn quick to trust your instincts.”

“What is it you do, George?” Alanna wanted to know.

George winked at her. “I—buy, and I sell.”

“You’re a thief,” Gary said flatly.

“‘Thief’ is a harsh word, Master Gareth.” He looked at the big youth. “Why would you be thinkin’ that I am? You’ve still got your purse, and what’s in it. Or you had better.”

Gary checked and admitted, “I still have my purse. But why do you want to make friends with us? If you think we’ll help you in the palace, you’re wrong. Don’t you know who I am?”

George met Gary’s eyes, and in them saw clearly a great intelligence. One could sense that the boy had made enemies with his sharp mind and sharper tongue.

George read some of this, then relaxed. “I know well you’re Gareth of Naxen, the Duke’s son. I didn’t look you up for professional reasons. Truth to tell, were you not with Alan, I wouldn’t have put myself in your way. We’re not fond of nobles here.” His smile twisted. “But I’ve the Gift. It helps me see more clearly than most. I knew I must meet Master Alan. In fact, I’ve kept a close eye on him these three months. I don’t ignore my Gift when it calls me.”

Gary shrugged. “I don’t know much about magic, but that makes sense. Still—what can Alan do for you? He’s just a little guy.” Gary grinned an apology to Alanna, who shrugged. She was getting used to such remarks. “And unless I miss my guess, you’re the man the Lord Provost would most love to get his hands on.”

George nodded respectfully. “You’re quick, Master Gary. All right, then. I’m what they call the King of the Thieves, the Master of the Court of the Rogue. The Court of the Rogue,” he explained to Alanna, “is all of us who make our livin’ by our wits. It’s ruled by a king—me, right now. Sometimes he’s called just ‘the Rogue.’ But mastery don’t last very long here. Who knows when some young buck will do for me what I did for the king before me, just six months back? I’ll need friends, when that comes.” He shrugged. “Still, it won’t happen soon. Till then, why look a gift thief in the mouth? I can be a good friend to those who keep faith with me.”

Gary looked him over, then nodded. “I like you—for all you’re a thief.”

George laughed. “And I like you, Gary—for all you’re a noble. Friends, then?”

“Friends,” Gary said firmly. They shook hands across the table.

“And you, Alan?” George asked. Alanna had been watching and thinking, none of her thoughts clear on her small face. With his magic, would George know her secret? Then she remembered what Maude had taught her—having the Gift instantly shielded you from the magic vision of someone else with the Gift. For the moment George wouldn’t be able to guess her secret, and even if he did, Alanna suspected a thief wouldn’t tell his own mother the time of day unless he had a good reason.

“I’d like some more lemonade,” she said, pouring her tankard full. “The Gift must be pretty useful to you.”

“It’s gotten me out of more than one tight place,” George admitted. “It helps me keep tabs on my rogues, so maybe I’ll last longer than the king before me.” He drained his own tankard and set it down. “You need never worry about your pockets, or those of the friends you bring here. But be careful who you bring. One word from them and my Lord Provost gets my head for certain.”

“We’ll be careful,” Gary promised. “Don’t worry about Alan. He keeps his mouth shut.”

George grinned. “As I can see. Few sprouts—even ones sealed to the Rogue—could listen to all this and say nothing. Well, you’d best be gettin’ back. If you need anything, send word through Stefan—he works in the palace stables. You’ll find me here most of the time, and if not, ask old Solom.” He jerked a thumb at the innkeeper. “He’ll fetch me quick enough.”

Alanna rose. She and Gary shook hands with their new friend. “You’ll be seeing us, then,” she promised. “Good day to you.”

The two pages strolled out into the street. The King of the Thieves watched them go, smiling.

Several weeks later Duke Gareth called Alanna out of her mathematics class. Confused, she went to meet him.

He handed her a letter. “Can you explain this?”

Alanna scanned the much-blotted parchment. It was from her father. The letter was short, saying only that he trusted Thom would continue to do well.

Luckily she had her story planned. Looking up, she shrugged, her face a little sad. “He forgets, you see, I don’t think he’s ever been able to tell my brother and I—”

“My brother and me,” the Duke corrected sternly.

“My brother and me,” she repeated obediently, “apart.” She crossed her fingers behind her back and tried a guess. “I don’t think he even let His Majesty know when we were born.”

The Duke thought this over and nodded. “You’re right—he didn’t. He hasn’t changed.” The man sighed. “I hope your brother does as well as you. If your father cannot tell you apart, at least he can be proud of both of his sons.”

Alanna hung her head, hating herself for having to lie to someone like Duke Gareth. “Thank you, your Grace,” she whispered.

“You may go. Don’t forget to write your father yourself.”

Alanna bowed. “Of course, sir.” She let herself out and closed the door. In the corridor she sagged against the wall. With luck, now Duke Gareth would believe all such letters were due to Lord Alan’s bad memory.

She returned to her class, still feeling wobbly. There were real advantages to having a father who didn’t care what she did.

But if the advantages were so wonderful, why did she feel like crying?