Alanna: The First Adventure

5 THE SECOND YEAR

BECAUSE SHE SLEPT FOR THREE DAYS, ALANNA avoided most of the questions about her part in Jonathan’s cure. When asked about it later, she gave all the credit to Sir Myles. Whenever the knight tried to discuss what had happened that night, Alanna always changed the subject. She knew Myles watched her, but she said nothing, knowing it would only bring the whole discussion up again.

Prince Jonathan also watched her. Yet he never spoke of that night. The less said about the whole thing, the happier Alanna felt. She wondered sometimes if Jonathan even remembered the place between Life and Death. It was possible that he didn’t—and he never brought the subject up.

The chilly winter turned at last into spring. Alanna unpacked her light clothing once again. She dressed one morning in a fever of excitement. It was the day the pages were to go on the long-promised trip to Port Caynn, and Alanna was barely able to hold still. Suddenly she froze before her long mirror. Watching the glass closely, she bounced up and down.

Her chest moved. It wasn’t much, but she had definitely jiggled. Over the winter her breasts had gotten larger.

“Coram!” she yelled, her eyes stinging with tears of fury.

The man stumbled into her bedchamber, bleary-eyed. “What is it now?” he said with a yawn.

Alanna stepped behind her dressing screen, tearing off her shirt. “Get to the healers, quick, and find some bandage for me—yards of it. Make any excuse you like, but get it!”

The puzzled Coram returned within minutes and shoved a bundle of white linen over the top of the screen. Alanna grabbed it and wrapped it tight around her chest.

“Ye’re turnin’ into a woman, aren’t ye?” he asked from the other side of the screen.

“No!” she exclaimed.

“Lass, it’s hardly somethin’ ye c’n change. Ye’re born with it—”

Alanna stepped from behind the screen. Her eyes were red and swollen. If she had been crying, Coram knew better than to mention it. “Maybe I was born that way, but I don’t have to put up with it!”

He looked at her with alarm. “Lass, ye’ve got to accept who ye are,” he protested. “Ye can be a woman and still be a warrior.”

“I hate it!” she yelled, losing her temper. “People will think I’m soft and silly!”

“Ye’re hardly soft,” he replied sharply. “And th’ only time ye’re silly is when we talk like this.”

Alanna took deep breaths. “I’m going to finish what I set out to do,” she informed him quietly.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Alanna, child, ye’ll be happy only when ye learn t’ live with who ye are.” She had no answer for this, but he didn’t expect one. “I’ll pick up more bandagin’ when I go down t’ the city today,” he said. “Get along now. Ye’ll be late, else.”

It wasn’t easy to live with the binding on her chest. For one thing, her growing breasts hurt, though luckily they remained quite small. She was twice as careful now about how far she opened her shirt, and that summer the boys tried their best to get her to take it off entirely. The best time for this was when they went swimming. All summer Alanna refused to go into the water, no matter what persuasion was used. Persuasion always stopped short of trying to physically force her—no one had forgotten Ralon of Malven.

One day near the beginning of August Raoul tried his luck. “C’mon, Alan,” he teased. “One small dip. Or are you afraid you’ll wash off a protective coat of dirt?”

Alanna had had enough. She jumped up, her face beet red. “I hate swimming!” she yelled. “And I’m cool enough—so lay off!”

Someone giggled. Raoul was head and shoulders taller than the page who was glaring at him so fiercely.

“Alan, he’s only teasing,” Alex called.

“I’m tired of being teased!” she snapped. “All summer long I put up with this. Why can’t I do what I want without being pestered all the time?”

Raoul shrugged. Unlike Alanna, Raoul had no temper to speak of. Nothing seemed to make him angry. “Well, if you’re going to be touchy, I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Fine!” She glared at the other boys. “And unless I stink, I don’t want to hear about it ever again!”

There was a heavy silence. At last Jonathan said, “Come back in the water, Raoul. You can’t argue with Alan—he’s crazy.”

Shaking slightly, Alanna returned to her shady tree. She felt more than a little ashamed of herself and wished—not for the first time—that she could keep a rein on her temper.

The boys left her alone for the rest of the afternoon. As they rode home, Alanna trotted Chubby ahead so she could catch up with Raoul.

“Raoul?” she asked softly. “A word with you?”

They dropped to the back of the column. “Are you going to yell at me again?” Raoul asked frankly.

Alanna blushed and looked at her saddle. “No. I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

Raoul grinned. “I was teasing you,” he admitted. “Sure, you got mad. You’ve a right to do as you want.”

She looked at him with shock. “I do?”

Raoul frowned. “I hadn’t meant to say anything, but since I have the chance—Alan, you seem to think we won’t like you unless you do things just like everyone else. Have you ever thought we might like you because you’re different?”

Alanna stared at him. Was he teasing her again?

Raoul smiled. “We’re your friends, Alan. Stop thinking we’re going to jump on you for the least little thing.”

“Hey, Raoul,” someone called from up front. “Will you settle this bet?”

Nodding to Alanna, the big squire urged his horse to the front of the column.

“Did you patch that up?” Gary asked. Alanna turned. The other large squire was just behind her.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop?” she asked crossly.

He grinned. “How would I learn anything if I didn’t eavesdrop? Listen—I’m tired of all the arguments. I’ll make sure no one asks you to swim again.”

Alanna hung her head. “I don’t mean to be difficult,” she muttered.

Gary laughed. “Of course you do. It’s one of your charms. Come on. We’re lagging behind.”

She followed as he urged his horse through one of the many palace gates. Between Gary and Raoul, Alanna had much to think about. The idea that she might be liked because she was different was poppycock, of course. Being squires certainly made Gary and Raoul say strange things.

She and Gary caught up with Jonathan after stabling their horses. There was a sizable group of pack mules and horses in the stableyard, waiting to be fed and cared for.

“Looks like we have an important guest,” Jonathan noted. “Let’s nip by the entry hall and see who’s here.”

The three boys hurried through the palace corridors, coming at last to the entry hall. A huge pile of baggage stood there, growing smaller as an army of servants took pieces of it away. A big man, still wearing a dusty traveling cloak, directed the palace servants and his own people.

Jonathan gave a glad cry. “Roger!” He ran to hug the newcomer while Alanna and Gary halted nearby.

So this is Jon’s cousin, Alanna thought, looking the newcomer over. Duke Roger of Conté was over six feet in height, with brown-black hair and a beard neatly trimmed to frame his handsome face. His eyes were a bright, riveting blue. He had a straight, perfectly carved nose; his mouth was red and full. His white, flashing smile was filled with charm and confidence. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with strong-looking hands. Very attractive, Alanna decided. So why am I not attracted to him? If anything, I think I dislike him!

“So he’s arrived at last,” she murmured to Gary. She’d have to figure out why she didn’t like Jonathan’s cousin later.

“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 out a hand 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,” it 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 shook her head. “But I haven’t done anything for you.”

“That’s not how it works,” the thief said dryly.

This was confusing, and Alanna said so. George laughed and took them to lunch.

Shortly after this the four youngest pages—Alanna, a new boy named Geoffrey of Meron, Douglass of Veldine and Sacherell of Wellam—were ordered to one of the indoor practice courts, instead of the staff yards. Awaiting them were Duke Gareth, Coram and Captain Aram Sklaw, head of the Palace Guard. The Captain, a hard-bitten old mercenary with a patch over his missing eye, looked the boys over.

“Hmph!” he snorted. “Not a promising one in the lot!” He pointed a thick finger at Geoffrey. “You—you look like a dreamer to me. Blood makes you sick, eh? You’d rather read than fight. Huh!” He eyed Douglass. “Aye, you like your food, don’t you? Hang around the kitchens, I wager, begging from Cook.” He squinted at Alanna. “You? You’re not big enough for bird feed. You won’t be able even to lift a sword, let alone swing it.” Alanna started to argue and remembered Duke Gareth’s presence. She stored that remark for later—she’d show Sklaw! The mercenary turned to Sacherell. “I’ve seen you on the courts. Lazy, that’s what you are, and slow to boot.” He stood at attention before the Duke. “With your Grace’s permission, I’d like to be excused.”

Duke Gareth’s smile did not quite fit under the hand he used to hide it. “You ask to be excused every time, Aram, and yet you manage to turn out creditable swordsmen—every time.” He looked at the boys, his thin face stern once more. “You are going to learn the art of fencing.” Alanna gulped with alarm—Duke Gareth always made her nervous. “No, don’t look at me like that, Alan—I don’t waste my time on beginners. I don’t have enough for the more promising students as it is. Captain Sklaw and Guardsman Smythesson will be your teachers. You’ll learn how to forge a sword, how to draw it, how to hold it. For the next few months you’ll eat, sleep and study with your sword on. If it leaves your side, you get an overnight vigil in the Sun’s Chapel. This is not wrestling or tilting. You might go all your lives without wrestling, when you are knights. However, you may safely bet you’ll have to defend yourself—or someone else—with a sword at least once before you die. If any of you give the Guardsman or the Captain cause to complain, you’ll talk to me. I know how much you boys enjoy our little chats.” The Duke nodded to the men. “Gentlemen, they’re yours.” He walked from the room.

Sklaw looked at them and snorted. “Before you likely-looking lads touch a blade, you’ll make one. Guardsman Smythesson will instruct you there, poor man. I leave them to you,” he told Coram, and walked out after the Duke.

Coram sighed, his face grim. “Well, lads—let’s be off to the forge.”

It was the beginning of a long, hard winter. After the practice swords were made to Coram’s satisfaction, Sklaw took over. He instructed them in the stances and passes that were such an important part of fencing. He taught them how to get a sword from its sheath quickly—a feat that looked much easier than it was. Always Sklaw hovered nearby, criticizing, growling, complaining. The boys learned to do everything while wearing their practice swords, because there was no telling where Sklaw would turn up. The only place it was safe to take the blade off was in one’s room, when one was bathing—and even then the door had to be locked. Alanna made sure her door was locked.

Sklaw singled her out for special treatment, perhaps because she was the smallest of the group. She did nothing right, or even better than last time. She was clumsy; she was lazy; she didn’t practice because where were her muscles? She was a midget; she had been dropped on her head at birth; she would never be a full-fledged knight, only a “Lord,” fit to do nothing but sit at home and write poetry. Alanna took the abuse and practiced doggedly, trying to deafen herself to the old villain’s talk.

“How d’you expect me to be confident if you’re bellowing at me all the time about how bad I am!” she yelled at him once.

Sklaw grinned without humor. “Well, laddie, if you’ve let an old buzzard like me hurt your confidence, you couldn’t have had much in the first place.”

Alanna bit her lip rather than answer him back, after that.

Spring came, and Duke Gareth returned to their class.

“We’re trying something new today, girls,” the Guard Captain growled as the Duke of Naxen took a seat. He tossed two sets of padded practice armor at Geoffrey and Douglass. “Meron. Veldine. Let’s see if you can use what you’ve learned on the move.”

The two boys put on the padding and assumed the “guard” position. “Begin!” Sklaw barked.

After a few moments Alanna closed her eyes. She had seen Duke Gareth fencing with Alex, who was the best swordsman among the squires. This was a mockery of that kind of fencing. Geoffrey would lurch forward and swing his sword at Douglass. Douglass would hurry to block the swing, stumble back, then lurch forward to try a swing at Geoffrey. After a while Duke Gareth called a halt. Between them, he and Sklaw went over the duel, showing each boy how he could place his feet better, how he could move quickly without stumbling, how he could improve his balance. Finally they were permitted to strip off their now sweat-soaked padding.

“Wellam. Trebond.” Sklaw shoved two fresh suits of padding at them. “If you can do as well, I’ll be much surprised.”

Alanna assumed the “guard” position, feeling her knees trembling. It was like taking any other kind of test, only ten times worse. A knight lived or died by his swordsmanship. Without a mastery of swordplay, she would be no knight, have no great adventures. Suddenly Sacherell, who was a friend and a sometimes companion, looked like a menacing ogre—a tall, bulky, menacing ogre.

“Begin!” Sklaw ordered. Alanna stumbled backward as she tried to avoid Sacherell’s lunge. Recovering her balance, she brought her sword up just in time to block Sacherell’s down-coming swing. She stumbled again and recovered only in time to block another swing—and another—and another. She stumbled and blocked, without making any swings of her own and without really getting her footing. The boy lunged forward suddenly, his sword point headed straight for Alanna’s throat. She tripped and fell over her own feet, dropping her sword. When she looked up, Sacherell was standing over her, his sword in the “kill” position at her throat. She closed her eyes as Sklaw let out a full-throated roar of laughter.

That night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Over and over she “fought” the duel with Sacherell in her mind. What had gone wrong?

She heard Coram moving around in his room, getting ready to take up the predawn watch. When he left the chambers, she went with him, a small, silent shadow. Wordlessly she accompanied him down to the kitchens, sitting beside him as he flirted with a sleepy scullery maid and ate his breakfast. Still silent, she followed him up to his post on the castle walls. Together they watched the sky over the Royal Forest go from gray to red-orange as dawn came.

At last Coram remarked, “Sleep at all?”

Alanna shook her head.

“I’ve seen worse.”

“You were there?”

“Aye.”

Alanna closed her eyes and shivered. The humiliation for Coram would have been terrible, and that made her own humiliation worse. It was bad enough to look like an idiot in front of her friends and Duke Gareth. But Coram was the man who had taught her how to use a dagger as a weapon, to shoot an arrow, to ride her pony. Coram had encouraged her all this way, had made himself a wall between her and the people who might have discovered who she really was. She had failed Coram, and he had seen it.

“I don’t understand it,” she whispered finally. “It—it was like—my body wouldn’t do anything I told it to. My mind was saying, ‘Do this! Do that! Do something!’ And my body just wasn’t connected. Sacherell—”

“Sacherell was well enough.” Coram yawned. “He’s a bit of a natural. Ye’re just not a natural with a sword, Master Alan. Some are born to it, like me. I never knew aught else, and I never wanted to. Now, some—some never learn the sword at all, and they don’t survive their first real fight. And then there’s some—”

“Yes?” Alanna asked, grasping at this straw. She was obviously not born to the sword, and she had no plans for dying in her first fight.

“Some learn the sword. They work all the extra minutes they have. They don’t let a piece of metal—or Aram Sklaw—beat them.”

Alanna stared at the forest and thought this over. “It’s possible to learn to be natural?”

“It’s just as possible as it is for a lass t’ learn t’ beat a lad, and the lad bigger and older than she is, and in a fair fight. Well—ye fought fair.”

It had taken weeks of training in secret to beat Ralon. The long hours, the bruises and her constant exhaustion were fresh in her mind. But it was worth it, Alanna thought. More than worth it.

She stretched, yawning widely. “Can I borrow your sword?”

Coram looked at the weapon hanging from his belt. “This? It’s bigger than ye are!”

“Exactly.”

Coram stared at her for a moment, then slowly unbuckled his belt. He handed the sword to Alanna, his face expressionless.

Alanna hefted the weapon in her hand. It was the largest, heaviest sword she had ever handled. It would be work to wield it with only one hand. “Thanks. I’ll return it later.”

She trotted off to find an empty practice room with plenty of mirrors. Coram was right. A sword could not beat her—and neither could Aram Sklaw.