Alanna: The First Adventure

6 WOMANHOOD

IT WAS THE FIFTH OF MAY. ALANNA AWOKE AT dawn, ready for another session with Coram’s big sword. She got out of bed—and gasped in horror to find her things and sheets smeared with blood. She washed herself in a panic and bundled the sheets down the privy. What was going on? She was bleeding, and she had to see a healer; but who? She couldn’t trust the palace healers. They were men and the bleeding came from a secret place between her legs. Hunting frantically, she found some bandage and used it to stop the red flow. Her hands shook. Her whole body was icy with fear. The servants would be coming to wake the pages soon. She had to do something in a hurry!

She gnawed her thumb until it bled. Coram was on guard duty. Besides—she couldn’t tell him. This wasn’t something she could confide to the old soldier.

She could trust only one person to help and keep quiet. There were those who might wonder just how trustworthy the King of Thieves could be—Alanna wasn’t one of them.

With no time to waste, she couldn’t afford to sneak from the palace and run all the way to the city. She would have to ride and take the consequences. A quick word to Stefan, and Moonlight was saddled. The hostler even lured a guard away from one of the smaller gates. Alanna rode out for the city at a full gallop. Within minutes she was hitching her mare to a post behind the Dancing Dove.

Swiftly she clambered onto the kitchen roof and pried one of George’s shutters open. George himself had taught her how to make a second-story entry. When Alanna slid into the man’s room, she was seized from behind. A very sharp knife pressed against her throat.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to enter by way of the door?” a voice drawled softly.

Alanna held very still. That knife was no joke. “George—it’s me! Alan!”

The man let her go and made her face him. He wasn’t dressed—he always slept bare. “So it is.” He put his knife on the table. A smile lit his eyes. “And what makes a noble sprout break into the Rogue’s bedroom?”

“I need your help.” She twisted her hands together. “I’ve got to see a healing woman right away.”

“A healin’ woman, is it? You’ll have to give me more than that, lad.” George crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. He had always known there was a secret to Alan. “Why a woman? And why a city healer? The best in the land are at the palace.”

Alanna swallowed hard. “I’m not a boy.” It was incredibly hard to say. “I’m a girl.”

“You’re a—you’re a what!” George yelled.

“Hush! D’you want everyone to hear?” She scuffed her boot against the floor. “I thought you’d guess. You have the Gift.”

“And your Gift shields you. Alan, if this is a jest, it’s a poor time for one.”

She glared at him. “D’you want me to take my clothes off?”

“No—great Mithros. Turn around whilst I get clothed.”

She obeyed, arguing, “That’s silly. I’ve seen you naked before.”

George hunted for his breeches. “This is different. All right—turn about. Why d’you need a woman?”

Her eyes were pleading. “Don’t ask. Please.”

The thief made a face. “Come on, then.” He hustled her down his back stair and into the street. “I know just the lady—she was a priestess in the Temple of the Mother here in the City before she married, got trained there. She’s my own mother. She wouldn’t talk if you pried her jaws apart.” He spotted Moonlight waiting patiently. “You’re little enough—the mare will carry us both.” He swung himself into the saddle behind Alanna. “We’re ridin’ for the Street of the Willows.”

Alanna nodded and urged her horse forward. George’s warmth at her back was oddly comforting.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be so damned scared,” she snapped.

“That’s true—I’ve never seen you overset,” he said thoughtfully. “We’ve got to talk, you and I.” They turned down a small street lined with walled houses. George dismounted and unlocked a gate marked with the healer’s sign—a wooden cup—circled once in red and once in brown. “What are you called, then?”

She hesitated. “If I tell, you might forget and let it slip out later.”

“Not me, youngling.” He motioned for Alanna to ride into the courtyard and then closed the gate. “I let nothing slip.”

She dismounted. Moonlight butted her affectionately. “It’s Alanna,” she whispered.

George’s mother came to the door of the house. She was a tall woman, with her son’s twinkling hazel eyes and an air of command. Only a single streak of white in her chestnut hair revealed her to be a little more than middle-aged.

“A patient for you, Mother,” the thief announced. “I’ll be stabling the mare.”

Mistress Cooper showed Alanna into a small, neat room. Healing plants of all kinds hung from the rafters, giving the room a fragrant smell. A small wooden table covered with a clean sheet sat in the room’s center.

“Sit there,” Mistress Cooper ordered. “Now. What’s the problem?”

Alanna explained quickly that she was a female, not a male, and that she was a page in the palace. Mistress Cooper raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Alanna drew a breath and added, “I—I’m bleeding.”

“Bleeding?” was the calm response. “Where?”

Red with embarrassment, Alanna pointed. George’s mother began to smile. “Has it happened before?” Alanna shook her head. “Did you injure yourself there? No? When did it start—this morning? No pain?”

Too ashamed to speak, Alanna either shook her head or nodded, depending on the question. There were others so personal she wanted to hide when she thought about them. Her embarrassment only tripled when Mistress Cooper began to laugh.

“You poor child,” she chuckled. “Did no one ever tell you of a woman’s monthly cycle? The fertility cycle?”

Alanna stared. Maude had mentioned something, once—

“That’s what this is? It’s normal?”

The woman nodded. “It happens to us all. We can’t bear children until it begins.”

“How long do I have to put up with this?” Alanna gritted.

“Until you are too old to bear children. It’s as normal as the full moon is, and it happens just as often. You may as well get used to it.”

“No!” Alanna cried, jumping to her feet. “I won’t let it!”

Again Mistress Cooper raised her eyebrows. “You’re a female, child, no matter what clothing you wear. You must become accustomed to that.”

“Why?” Alanna demanded. “I have the Gift. I’ll change it! I’ll—”

“Nonsense!” the woman snapped. “You cannot use your Gift to change what the gods have willed for you, and you would be foolish to try! The gods willed you to be female and small and redheaded, and obviously silly as well—”

“I am not silly!” Alanna wailed. “I just—” She rubbed the back of her hand against burning eyes. She knew Mistress Cooper was right. She had tried to use her Gift once to make herself grow, and her head had ached for days.

“Well, then, perhaps not silly.” A comforting hand was laid on Alanna’s shoulder. “Listen to me. Your place in life you can always change, whether you have the Gift or not. But you cannot change what the gods have made you. The sooner you accept that, the happier you will be.” She led Alanna into the kitchen and put a tea kettle on the fire. “You’re not used to your body doing things you haven’t asked of it, are you?”

Alanna made a face. “It’s bad enough my chest keeps growing. Now something like this happens.” She put her head in her hands. Finally she looked up and said, “What do I have to know about this—this thing?”

“Your cycle comes once a month, and lasts five days or so. Bathe each day. Bandage yourself, of course. The cycle will not come if you lie with a man and he gets you with child.” The woman made a cup of tea and handed it to the girl. “Here. This will make you feel better.”

Sipping it did make Alanna feel calmer. “Will it slow me down?”

“Not so long as you stay out of men’s beds. A babe will certainly slow you down.”

Alanna shook her head. “I don’t plan on children.”

“Many girls don’t.” Mistress Cooper poured herself some tea. “Do you know what happens when you lie with a man?”

Alanna blushed. “Of course.”

The woman smiled. “You know the man’s side of it, I see. Well, a woman enjoys it too, and one time is enough for you to get with child.” She looked at Alanna carefully. “I’ll give you a charm against your getting pregnant, then. If you change your mind, you can throw it away.”

“Pigs might fly,” the girl muttered.

The look in Mistress Cooper’s eyes was skeptical. “We’ll see. Now—George will have a few questions. Shall I bring him in? It’s best he knows all.” Alanna nodded. The woman opened the kitchen door, calling, “Stop listening at keyholes, my son.”

George walked in and lounged against the kitchen table, looking anxiously at Alanna. “All’s well then?”

“She’ll be fine,” his mother replied. “Tea?”

“Is it that calming tea of yours? Gods know I need it. So, youngling—the truth, now.”

Alanna told them everything. “I can’t stop now,” she finished. “I didn’t ask to be born a girl. It’s not fair.”

George waved an impatient hand. “Hush your nonsense,” he ordered. “Bein’ a girl hasn’t slowed you down yet. And surely you don’t plan to stay a pretty young man all your life?”

“No, of course not. I’ll tell them the truth when I’m eighteen and I have my shield.” She sighed. “If they hate me—well—I’ll have proved I can be a knight, won’t I? I’ll go into the world and have adventures. They needn’t ever see me again.”

George raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t heard such foolishness in all my life. Are you tellin’ us Jon will hate you? Gary? Raoul? Or your friend, Sir Myles? My ears are deceivin’ me!”

“But I’m a girl,” she cried. “I’m lying to them. I’m doing men’s things—”

“And you do them better than most young men,” George replied firmly. “Hush yourself. Think of them hatin’ you if it comes to be. And don’t worry. Your secret is safe with us.” He hugged her around the shoulders.

Alanna rested her head against his chest, her eyes filling with tears of gratitude. She blinked them away and whispered, “Thank you, George.”

“I’m callin’ you Alanna, when we’re alone,” he said. “I think you should be reminded of who you are.”

Alanna remembered her monthly cycle and said bitterly, “Fat chance I have of forgetting.”

Mistress Cooper chuckled, guessing what had prompted Alanna’s remark.

Alanna shrugged. “I suppose you insist—”

“I do,” was the calm reply.

“Just don’t let it slip. I’ve come too far now.”

“He doesn’t forget details,” Mistress Cooper said dryly. “He must get it from his father, for he never had it from me.” She went into the room where she had first talked to Alanna.

George chucked Alanna under the chin. “I’ll enjoy watchin’ you grow up, lass. Count on me to help.”

Alanna gripped his hand, meeting his eyes. “I never thought for a second that I couldn’t.”

“You’re probably the only person in the city besides me who can say that,” George’s mother commented, returning. “He’s a good boy, even if he is crooked. Here. Slip this on.”

Alanna looked puzzledly at the gold symbol dangling from a thin cord. She had never seen such a letter before, and she could feel it radiating power. Quickly she slipped the cord over her head, tucking it under her shirt. The feeling of strange magic vanished.

“Let George’s people bring me to you from now on,” Mistress Cooper instructed. “I doubt you’ll need me much, though. Give me your hand.”

Alanna obeyed. The woman just touched her fingers, then pulled away as if she had been burned.

“Now what?” Alanna wanted to know.

“Poor lass.” There was pity in the woman’s face. “The Goddess has Her hand on you. You’ve been given a hard path to walk.” She tried to smile. “Luck to you, Alanna of Trebond. You’ll need it.”

Alanna was just slipping into her rooms when Coram found her.

“Two guesses as to who’s wantin’ to see ye.”

Alanna made a face. “I couldn’t help it. The problem was urgent.”

“Yer problem now is urgent, too,” was the reply. “The Duke’s fit to be tied.”

For visiting the city without permission, Duke Gareth restricted Alanna to the palace for two months. She also had to report to him during her time after the evening meal and run his errands. She took it without complaint, since she had no choice. She certainly couldn’t tell a displeased Gareth why she had ridden off for the city.

Her thirteenth birthday passed, and it was August before she was free to leave the palace again. Even after she was taken off restriction Alanna remained on her best behavior. The Duke of Naxen had never been satisfied with her vague excuses for her morning ride to the city, and he watched her, so she watched herself.

Duke Gareth was not the only one keeping an eye on her. Sir Myles still observed her at odd moments. Her friendship with the knight had deepened steadily, until she was spending some nights playing chess with her older friend rather than joining the Prince and his circle. For one thing, Myles told fascinating stories. Myles could also explain why people behaved as they did. Although fighting was becoming second nature to her, Alanna didn’t understand people. Myles did, and she turned to him for instruction.

They were playing chess one fall evening when Myles asked, “Have you ever seen my estates? They lie just off the Great Road North, between here and Trebond.”

Alanna frowned at the board. “I’ve never been anywhere except Trebond and Port Caynn.”

Myles raised his eyebrows. “You should see more of Tortall. Did you know I have ruins up at Barony Olau dating back to the Old Ones?”

Alanna was fired with curiosity. She knew a little about the Old Ones. They had sailed across the ocean to build a civilization north of the Inland Sea. Bits and pieces were all that was left: parchments that lasted centuries, mosaics showing white cities with high towers—and ruins. The royal palace was built on the remains of one of their cities. Alanna had always wanted to know more about these people who had come before hers.

“Are they good, your ruins?” she asked eagerly. “Have you ever found anything there?”

Myles’s eyes danced with amusement. “They’re large, and I’ve found a number of things there. Would you like to ride up with me and have a look? You’re in check, by the way.”

“I’d love to go. D’you think it’s true, that the gods were afraid the Old Ones would challenge them, so they rained fire on the Eastern Lands? There.” She moved her king out of danger. She glanced at Myles in time to see an odd, thoughtful look on his face.

“I never knew you were so interested in the Old Ones—or the gods.”

Alanna shrugged. “It’s not something I talk about much. Duke Roger doesn’t like to answer questions about the Old Ones or the gods. Well, he says we aren’t old enough to understand. And the others aren’t very interested.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Myles commented. “Our gods are much too busy in our lives for us to ignore them.” He moved a piece. “Check, and mate.”

Alanna was dressing for bed when Timon came for her. She changed back into her clothes rapidly and followed the servingman.

“What have ye done now?” Coram called after her. “Why does the Duke want to see ye this time?”

“How should I know?” Alanna said, turning to scowl at the soldier. “Maybe he likes my company.”

Instead of taking her to Duke Gareth’s office, near the king’s council chambers, Timon took Alanna to the Duke of Naxen’s private study, in his personal suite. Alanna was shocked to find Duke Gareth wearing a bright brocade dressing gown.

The tall man looked at her and sighed. “I suppose you know Sir Myles wants you to ride with him to Barony Olau tomorrow?”

Alanna gulped. “He mentioned my visiting him, but I didn’t know it’d be today or tomorrow, saving your Grace’s presence, sir.” She twined her hands nervously behind her back.

The Duke smiled thinly. “I’m not angry, if that’s what’s making you babble. I’m simply puzzled. I wasn’t aware the two of you were so close.”

Alanna shifted her weight on her feet. “We play chess, sometimes,” she admitted. “And I wait on him at dinner—you gave me that duty, sir.”

“So I did.”

“And he knows things I don’t understand. I can talk to him, sir.” Alanna blushed. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

The man actually grinned. “Don’t put your foot in it any more than you have, lad. I’m not here to be your nanny. And I’m not displeased that you and Myles are friends. It’s good for you to have an older man to talk to. If your own father had any—” He stopped short. Alanna was surprised to see him blush faintly. “That was uncalled for. Forgive me, Alan.”

“I know of nothing to forgive you for, sir,” she said honestly.

“All right, then. You’d better get some sleep. Myles plans an early start. I’ll have Coram wake you. You’ll be gone for a week. I expect you to keep up with your studies, or I’ll think twice about any other outings of this sort.”

“Thank you, your Grace.” Alanna bowed deeply and hurried from the ducal presence. She ran back to her rooms, to find Coram waiting up for her. She told him her news, hardly able to stand still from the excitement. “And the Duke wears a red-gold brocade dressing gown. Can you imagine?” she asked as she disappeared behind her dressing screen.

Coram chuckled. “It’s things like that that remind me who ye are. Sometimes even I forget ye’re not a lad.”

Alanna, in her nightshirt, popped into bed as Coram doused the candles.

“Coram?” she said when he had settled under his own blankets.

“Aye?”

“D’you think anyone else has—guessed—that I’m not a boy?”

The man yawned. “Unlikely. Ye’ve taken too much care with yer disguise. Now, go to sleep. Or at least let me get some. The dawn watch’ll be the death of me.”

Alanna was up, dressed and packed when Coram came for her the next morning. He handed her a roll and a glass of milk. “Drink and eat,” he ordered her sternly. “Did ye get any sleep last night?”

She grinned sheepishly. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, behave yerself and don’t gulp that milk. He won’t leave without ye.”

Coram was right. Myles was awaiting her in the courtyard, dressed for riding. The very thought of Myles riding made Alanna stare. Somehow she had never envisioned the older man on a horse. Then she scolded herself mentally. Myles had had to pass all the tests she did. How could he have been knighted otherwise?

She enjoyed the day-long ride to Barony Olau. Myles had plenty of stories to tell, and it was nice to forget palace discipline. The sun was beginning to sink in the west when they turned off the Great Road. Unlike Trebond, Barony Olau was no fortress built to fight off mountain bandits and raiders from Scanra. Myles’s home was set in a long valley and surrounded by acres covered with brown stubble. Toward the hills Alanna could see rows of trees.

“My people are farmers,” Myles explained, seeing the direction of her gaze. “Barony apples are the finest in Tortall—if I do say so myself.”

“It’s a lot different from Trebond,” Alanna replied. She stroked Moonlight’s neck—for Moonlight’s comfort or her own, she wasn’t sure.

The rooms Myles gave her were small and comfortable. The floors were covered with bright rugs. A fire burned in the hearth, and the windows didn’t let any drafts chill the air. Alanna thought of her own home again and sighed.

The servants were polite and well spoken. When she explained her love of privacy to the man Myles sent to wait on her, he bowed and replied, “As the young master wishes.” She did not know the man went immediately to Myles and relayed her wishes, or that Myles sat up very late thinking.

Over breakfast the next day Myles asked, “Are you up to the ruins? We’ll have to go on foot—the ground’s too uneven for horses.”

She was more than eager to get started. After gulping her breakfast, Alanna rushed to change clothes. She donned thick stockings, heavy breeches, a warm shirt and a sturdy coat before pulling on her most comfortable boots. As an afterthought, she thrust a pair of gloves into her coat pocket. Alanna did not like the cold, and the days were turning crisp.

When she joined Myles, she found he was dressed like she was. “No, Ranulf,” he was telling his major-domo. “No servants.” He chuckled. “I think you’d have trouble getting anyone to go with us.”

Ranulf nodded. “You’re right enough there, my lord. You’ll return before dark? I’ll have even more trouble getting a search party out for you once the sun’s down.”

“Well before dark,” the knight promised. “We’re off then.”

Alanna waited until they were away from the castle before asking. “Why don’t your servants like the ruins?”

“My people claim they’re haunted,” he said. “But I doubt it. I’ve explored them for years without seeing a single ghost.”

“Why explore them so much?”

“I’m writing a paper about the place,” was the reply. “I want to show how the house was laid out, who lived there, how they lived. I’m almost finished.” He tugged his beard. “I doubt many will read it, but the work gives me satisfaction.”

Alanna shook her head. She was no scholar. “Why bring me here?” she asked, to change the subject.

“Because I was compelled,” Myles answered.

She stopped dead. “You were what?”

“I was compelled,” he said patiently. “For seven nights in a row I had the same dream. You and I were exploring the ruins, dressed exactly as we are now. When I asked Gareth to let you accompany me, the dreams stopped.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” They started forward again. “I’m an everyday man. I like my books and my brandy and my friends. I like everything in its place, and I like to know today where I’ll be tomorrow. When the gods brush my life—they brush everyone’s life at some point—I get nervous. There’s no accounting for what the gods want.”

The woods opened up, and Alanna halted. The ruins lay before them. In some places the walls were taller than she was. They were built with marble, and the stone gleamed as if it had been carved the day before. A gate made of heavy black wood dangled half off its bronze hinges.

“Shall we go in?” Myles asked. He led the way through the gates. Alanna stopped just inside, scratching her itching nose and looking around. The remains of the stone walls stretched before them in neat rows, forming buildings and rooms inside the buildings.

Myles pointed, his finger describing a large area walled by stones. “I think this was the main house. See the door?” The knight tapped a slab of black wood leaning against a wall. “It’s six centuries old, at least.” He moved ahead confidently. “I believe this was the kitchen,” he went on as Alanna followed. “When I was younger, I found cooking implements here. I’ll show them to you when we get back.”

“What are they made of?” she asked.

Myles rubbed his nose. “It looks like bronze or copper, but it polishes to a higher shine than new metal. I think it’s the coating they were dipped in. The Old Ones treated everything with it—metal, wood, paper. Anything that might show age. They were terrified of aging.”

Alanna stared at him. “Sir?”

“No, lad, I didn’t pull that out of thin air.” Myles grinned. “I can read their writing. From what I have read, they feared aging more than anything.”

Alanna began to explore, keeping a sharp eye on the ground. A glint at the edge of a marble block caught her attention. It was a spearhead. She rubbed it until it shone. Looking around, she saw brackets carved in the stone blocks lying nearby. Those brackets would easily fit spears, swords, axes—

“Myles!” she called. “I think I found the armory!”

The man came over. “I agree. And you made another find.” He examined the spearhead. “I’m interested in cooking gear, not weapons. You’ll probably find more of these. You’re a sharp fellow, Alan.”

In the corner of the armory, Alanna discovered a great piece of stone lying on the ground. Unlike the blocks that formed the walls, this slab was jet black. A metal handle was set in one side. Alanna rubbed it with her shirtsleeve.

“What makes you say that?” she asked, squinting at the edges of the slab.

“How many thirteen-year-old boys could come to a place like this and figure out where the armory was?”

She tugged at the handle. The stone didn’t move. “Myles, you seem to think I’m special. I’m not, really.” She tugged again, with both hands this time.

“It won’t move,” he said. “Mithros knows I tried often enough. I think it’s just the armory door.”

Alanna braced her feet firmly and gripped the handle. “Maybe if you’d give me a hand—” she muttered, tugging with all her strength. Myles was coming to help her when there was a groan of mechanisms long unused. Alanna jumped out of the way as the great slab slid toward her. It uncovered a stairway, leading down into darkness.

Alanna turned, sweaty and triumphant, to find Myles looking at her oddly. “Drat it, Myles, I just put my back into it!” she cried. “Any other boy could’ve done it!”

“I was sixteen when I last tried to move that thing,” Myles told her slowly. “I had a friend with me, one of the local lads who was my servant. He’s the blacksmith now, and he was no weakling then. We couldn’t budge it.”

“Well—maybe there was dirt in the gears, and a rain washed it away or something,” she said crossly. She started down the steps. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Don’t be foolish, Alan,” Myles cautioned. “We don’t have a torch. That tunnel could lead anywhere. You won’t get far without light.”

She grinned up at him. “Ah, but you forget. I do have light.” She held up a hand, concentrating on her palm. Sweat formed on her upper lip as she felt the magic uncurl inside her. Something else uncurled in the tunnel, but she ignored it for the heat building on her palm. When she opened her eyes, her hand was glowing with a bright violet shine. “Come on,” she called, trotting off down the passage.

“Alan, I order you to come back here!” Myles shouted.

“I’ll be right back!” she called. She could feel a strangeness around her—no, two strangenesses. One frightened her. It was black and ghostlike, hovering just outside the light shed by her magic. The other called her with a high, singing voice she couldn’t have ignored even if she wanted to. Her nose tickled, and she sneezed several times. The singing filled her mind, drowning out Myles’s voice.

Her light struck something that broke it into a hundred bright fragments. She didn’t notice the darkness closing in behind her as she picked up something that glittered beautifully. It was a crystal, attached to the hilt of a sword. Long and light, the blade was encased in a battered dark sheath. Alanna’s hand trembled as she lifted it.

“Myles!” she shouted. “Guess what I found!”

“Get back here!” he yelled. She looked up, alarmed. There was fear in Myles’s voice. “A storm’s coming up—and if it’s natural, I’m a priest!”

Suddenly the light of Alanna’s magic went completely out. Darkness swirled around her in long tentacles that tightened on her body. She opened her mouth to scream for Myles, and no sound emerged. She fought to breathe and fought to throw her magic into the stifling blackness, but nothing happened. She tried to shove it away with her arms and legs and found the blackness had bound her tight. It was squeezing her ribs, forcing the air from her lungs. Alanna gasped for breath. The darkness filled her mouth and nose. Brilliant lights burst in her head, and she struggled like a crazy person. Nothing affected the darkness. Her struggles got weaker and weaker. She tried to fight even harder, but it was hopeless. She was dying, and she knew it.

For the first time in her life, Alanna stopped fighting. She had used up all her air, all her strength, all her magic. She was weaponless. The darkness was entering her brain, and she was dying. With an inner sigh—almost one of relief—she accepted that fact. As her knees buckled, Alanna took the knowledge of her own death and made it part of her.

The crystal on the sword blazed, its light penetrating the darkness in her brain. Suddenly the fearful grip on her body and mind relaxed. She drew in a lungful of air, shocked to find that she still could. She opened her eyes and closed them, nearly blinded by the blazing crystal.

Somewhere outside Myles was calling for her, his voice nearly drowned out by approaching thunder. Alanna used the crystal’s light to guide her back to the entrance of the tunnel, feeling the blackness in full retreat before her. Still shaky, she scrambled to the surface. As she entered the upper air, the crystal went dark once more.

Alanna glanced at the sky. Black clouds boiled overhead; lightning was already striking a few leagues away. Myles seized her arm and pulled her from the tunnel entrance just as the slab ground over it once more. Alanna stared at it, wondering just what was going on. She had accepted death. Why wasn’t she dead?

“No time to ponder it!” Myles yelled in her ear. “Let’s go!”

They headed for the castle at a run, Myles half carrying a bewildered Alanna. The high wind whipped twigs and branches into their faces, and within moments they were drenched by the sudden onslaught of rain.

Inside the castle, Barony servants steered them to hot baths and dry clothes. Alanna bathed and changed, still not believing she was alive. Picking up the sword, she went to find her friend.

Myles was awaiting her in his morning room. A room like this would never have been found in a fortress like Trebond: The huge windows overlooking the valley were too vulnerable to enemy archers. Here at peaceful Olau, Myles could see his fields, the distant village, even the Great Road on a clear day. Now he sat in a deep chair, watching the rain streaming down the glass. A steaming pitcher and two mugs were at his side.

“Have a toddy,” he said, handing a filled mug to her. “You look as if you need it.” Alanna stared at the steaming liquid, trying to remember what she was supposed to do with it. “Drink up, lad,” Myles urged gently. He drained his own mug and refilled it, watching her.

Alanna sat carefully in a chair, staring out the window. Finally she raised the mug to her lips and sipped. The hot liquid sent ripples of fire running through her. Perhaps she was alive, after all. She took another large swallow, and another.

“I thought I was dead,” she said at last. “I guess not.” She handed him the sword. “Here. I found this in the tunnel.”

Myles examined the sword carefully without taking it from the scabbard. He ran his fingers along the sheath, rubbed the metal fittings with his thumb and squinted at a candle flame through the crystal. “What happened?” he asked as he looked the sword over.

She told him in a few brief words, watching every movement of his face.

“Is the crystal magic?” he asked finally.

“I don’t know. My magic doesn’t make it work. It only—it only came to life when I quit fighting to stay alive.”

“I see,” he murmured. “You accepted death—and the stone saved your life.”

This didn’t make sense to Alanna, so she ignored it. “Aren’t you going to draw the blade?”

Myles looked out the window thoughtfully. “Storm’s letting up,” he observed.

Alanna shifted impatiently in her chair. “Well?”

“No—I’m not. You are.” Myles held the sword out to her.

“I can’t!” she protested. “They’re your ruins. It belongs to you.”

Myles shook his head. “You haven’t been paying attention. I was compelled to bring you here. You opened the passage when I’ve tried to do it for years, and failed. Something happened down there, and the sword protected you. And don’t forget the storm. I can take a hint, Alan.”

“It belongs to you,” she protested, almost tearfully.

“It never belonged to me.” He thrust it at her. “Let’s see what she looks like, lad.”

Reluctantly Alanna stood and took the sword. The hilt fit her hand as if made for her. She closed her eyes and drew the sword.

Nothing happened. She glanced at Myles, embarrassed. Her friend was grinning at her.

“I feel silly,” she admitted.

“After what happened this morning, I was expecting something dramatic, myself. Well?”

Alanna hefted the blade. It was thinner than a broadsword, and lighter, with a broadsword’s double edge. The metal was lightweight, with a silver sheen. She lightly touched a thumb to one edge and cut herself. Grinning with delight, she tried a few passes. It felt wonderful in her hand.

“What will you call her?” Myles asked.

She didn’t question Myles’s calling the blade a “her.” “Seeing’s how it brought such a reaction from—from—”

“From whatever guards the ruins?” the knight suggested.

“I guess that was it. Anyway, seeing’s how it brought on a storm and all so fast—how about ‘Lightning’?”

Myles raised his mug in a toast. “To Alan and Lightning. May you never meet a better blade.”

Alanna drained her own mug. “Uh—Myles?” she stammered, sliding her blade into its sheath.

“Hm?” The knight was not deceived by her innocent tone.

“I—I would rather nobody else knew about—well, what happened. Could—could we just say I picked Lightning from your armory?”

“You’ll tell Jonathan, won’t you?”

“Of course, But—I don’t want anyone else to know. If that’s all right with you.”

“Certainly, lad. As you wish.” Myles refilled his mug, wondering what—or who—Alan was afraid of.

Alanna expected people to notice Lightning—she would have been hurt if they hadn’t. Even Duke Gareth asked about it, as did Captain Sklaw. “Not enough weight,” the Captain grunted when he first lifted it. When he tested the edge, the look on his face changed to one of respect. “It’ll do,” he said finally. Alanna had to be content with that. Everyone accepted the idea that Lightning was a gift from Sir Myles, though Alanna told Jonathan the truth, privately. The Prince was fascinated by her experience and asked a good many questions. He even tried his own magic on Lightning, attempting to make the crystal glow. Nothing happened, and the Prince finally gave up, saying the exercise was giving him a headache.

Alanna told Coram the truth as well. She felt she owed it to her old comrade. Coram said nothing, but he would not touch the sword either.

When George asked to see Alanna’s new blade, she handed it over willingly. To her surprise, the thief yelped and dropped the weapon. He made her pick it up.

“It’s filled with magic, and of a kind I’ve never encountered,” he said. “You tell me ’twas simply hangin’ in Sir Myles’s armory?”

Alanna opened her mouth to lie, then closed it. When she spoke, it was the true story she gave. George heard her out, shaking his head in wonder. “You accepted something?” he remarked. “You?”

“I didn’t have any choice,” she snapped. “I was going to die whether I wanted to or not. But when I stopped fighting it—”

“When you accepted it.”

“Will you stop dithering about accepting things, George? Anyway, that’s when the crystal worked. And I haven’t been able to make it work since.”

“Hmph. Well, I’m glad you escaped—and I’m gladder still that Lightning is strapped to your waist.” George nodded at the sword. “A magic blade—whether you can work the magic or no—may well come in handy.”

Someone else noticed that Lightning was not all she seemed. When Alanna walked into her sorcery class for the first time after her return from Olau, Duke Roger smiled at her. “I hear you have a new sword, young Alan. May I see it?”

Alanna hesitated. She did not want to hand her sword over to Duke Roger, and she had no reason on earth for feeling that way. Reluctantly she unclipped the sheath from her belt. She could feel Jonathan watching her suspiciously, wondering what was taking her so long.

“It’s just a blade Sir Myles had around,” she said. “I don’t think—”

“I’ve made a lifelong study of the art of sword-smithing,” Roger told her. He held out a hand. “Let’s see.”

Alanna gave it to him, hating him more at that moment than she had ever hated anyone. She quickly doused the emotion.

Roger froze, his eyes going wide. His face turned pale, and the knuckles of the hand gripping Lightning were white. Suddenly the air around him turned a dark, shimmering blue. Instinctively Alanna stepped forward to snatch her sword away, but the color vanished as quickly as it had appeared when the Duke carefully put the sword on the table.

“How did you get this?” He looked at her, his eyes commanding. “Speak up! How did you get it?”

Alanna turned red, and her chin stuck forward dangerously. “I got it from Sir Myles,” she replied, fighting to keep hold of her temper. “I stayed with him last week, and he gave it to me.”

“He—gave it to you. Just like that.”

“It was in his armory—sir.” Alanna could feel her shoulders getting stiff with anger. “Nobody was using it, and he knew I didn’t have a sword of my own.” She reached over and picked up Lightning. “By your leave, your Grace.” She clipped the sword to her belt, buying time to get her rage under control.

“I see. You’re certain that’s the way of it? You aren’t withholding some—some insignificant detail? Something you think would not interest me?” Roger’s voice was quivering with—what? Rage? Impatience? Fear? Alanna wasn’t sure. The Duke realized the boys of the class were staring at this break in his usual calm charm, and he tried a smile.

“Forgive me if I press you, Alan. Did you know this blade is magic?”

Alanna looked up. Her face was innocent, wide-eyed and bland. Jonathan recognized the look Alan wore when he was about to tell his most outrageous lies. It was obvious to Jon that there was something about Lightning that had shaken his cousin Roger loose from his normal smiling self, and that Alan did not want to tell the truth about the sword. Keep it simple, the Prince thought to his redheaded friend. He’ll spot the lie if you make it fancy.

Jonathan did not have to worry. “Magic, your Grace?” Alanna was saying. “I just like the heft of it. It’s lighter than most swords, but—”

“There’s magic in your sword, Alan,” the Duke interrupted patiently. Alanna hid a satisfied smile. Roger believed her! “It is old magic—far older than anything you’ve encountered, probably. That would explain why you didn’t realize immediately that the sword is unusual. Can you make the crystal glow? No, don’t look at me as if I were raving. Try to make the crystal glow.”

Alanna made it look as if she was trying. She used her Gift to bring sweat to her face and to color the air around her light violet. She would walk to Trebond and back before she’d try to really work the crystal for Duke Roger! In any case, she hadn’t been able to make it work before. This time would be no different.

“Very well,” Roger said finally. “Stop. You’re only tiring yourself. The magic that could unleash the powers in the crystal—and the sword—is lost to us forever.” This at least sounded honest, as did the discouragement in the sorcerer’s voice. “A shame. Does Sir Myles know how old the sword is? Or that it is magical in nature?”

“I don’t know,” Alanna hedged. “I think he does—he found it in some ruins near Barony Olau. He said the ruins belonged to the Old Ones. May I sit down now, sir?”

Roger stood, turning his jeweled rod in his fingers. “Of course. I have delayed our lesson too long as it is. Take care of that blade, Alan, if only because it is very old and very valuable. I am certain Sir Myles, noted scholar that he is, was aware of its value when he gave it to you. A mark of esteem from an estimable man.” He stared off into the distance for a moment, then faced his class. “Today we begin the study of illusion. Before you learn the practice—the casting—of illusions, you must first learn the theory behind making things seem to be what they are not.”

Alanna took her seat and watched the Duke of Conté recover his presence. He relaxed, and the atmosphere in the room relaxed. Once again the boys were hanging on his words with obvious delight.

Alanna, however, was not listening. Instead she fingered the crystal at Lightning’s hilt, thinking about what had just happened. The Duke felt something powerful in her new sword. Moreover, he was afraid of Lightning’s magic. That was something to remember.

Even more important, she realized, she didn’t dislike the Duke of Conté—she hated him. She hated him with a deep, fierce energy she had never known she had, and she didn’t have the slightest idea why.

One snowy night Alanna was leaving her special indoor practice court after an hour with Coram’s sword and an hour with Lightning when she bumped into Stefan.

“Lookin’ for ye,” the hostler muttered. He was nervous at being inside the palace. “George sent this along.” He thrust a wad of paper into her hand and rushed back to his beloved horses.

A single sheet of paper with George’s handwriting was folded around a sealed envelope. Alanna hurried to her rooms and bolted the door. Sitting on her bed, she read George’s note:

“Seems your brother took you at your word when you said to send your letters through me. Here’s one.—G.”

Alanna broke the seal on the letter with fingers that shook. Until now the twins had only exchanged cautious notes, since Duke Gareth received all the pages’ mail. Thom was a poor letter writer, in any case. This, however, was different. After learning Alanna’s true identity, George had offered to smuggle letters to and from the City of the Gods. This was the first totally honest chance to communicate with each other that the twins had had in almost three years.

Dearest Alan, (Thom wrote)

I’m in the Mithra cloisters now. At least I don’t have to put up with giggling girls all the time. They made us shave our heads, but I suppose it’ll grow back by the time I leave. We wear brown robes. Only Initiates wear orange.

I’m glad you got someone safe to pass our letters through, even if you took your time about it. But, I suppose they keep you busy. How’s Coram? Is he happy in the Palace Guard? Maude comes by every six months or so to check on me. She acts as if she were a chicken and I a duck she hatched by mistake. She says Father is working on a paper tracing the Rylkal Document. I wish him luck. He should be busy with that for the next ten years.

We can trust this man George, can’t we? I ask because it’s important. A certain noble sorcerer has been asking questions up here about me. I think you know who—the one who had such an interest in your Lightning. Watch him! He has a reputation for slowing down, sometimes stopping the careers of young sorcerers who may turn out to be as good as he is. It’s a warped kind of compliment—you must have him worried enough that he had to check and see if your twin was like you. I think he’s been thrown off the track where it concerns me. I play it stupid here. It would help if you spread the word down there that your twin isn’t too bright. Say I was dropped on my head, or something, when I was little. That’s what my Masters believe, anyway. I know a lot more than they think I know, and I practice at night, when the others are asleep.

Enough bragging. Your friend has secrets, and he has a reputation for being dangerous. The Masters here say he’s the best in the Eastern Lands, and they ought to know. Here’s a piece of City of the Gods gossip you’d better think over. We heard of the Sweating Fever when it was over with, and you wrote some of the details—I wish I could’ve seen it! A fever caused by sorcery that drains and kills healers is a magical working you hear of once in a lifetime. Everyone was, of course, naming all the living sorcerers who could be powerful enough to pull off such a thing. Only three names came up much—your smiling friend’s name was one. True, you say he was in Carthak. But wouldn’t a sorcerer powerful enough to strike down an entire city with a sickness be powerful enough to do it from leagues and leagues away? And who is between him and the throne? I wouldn’t want to be the Prince, not with him for my only heir.

Well, it’s only a theory. Give me a few more years, and we’ll give your smiling friend a run for his money. Till then, speak softly to him and let him think you like him. People who’ve let it be known they don’t like him sometimes disappear—or die of strange diseases.

I’ve tried looking in on you in the fire, but you’re shielded by forces I haven’t encountered before. You aren’t holding out on me, are you? Good luck to you. I expect we’ll be hearing from each other more often now. Take care, and watch the nobleman I mentioned.

Your loving brother,

Thom.

Alanna read the letter three times, then burned it until only fine gray ash was left in her fireplace. Thom had given form to some of her worst suspicions. She wished she could discuss her feelings about Duke Roger with someone, but Jonathan and the boys worshiped him, and Alanna didn’t think she had anything substantial enough to confide to Myles. She sighed and added a log to the fire. Maybe she could say something to George. It was all too complicated for one page to figure out.

As to being shielded by mysterious forces—Thom was being silly. As soon say the gods themselves were looking out for her! If Thom’s mention of guardian forces dovetailed with Mistress Cooper saying the Goddess was interested in the things Alanna did, or Coram’s theory that the gods had protected Alanna through Duke Roger’s questioning—well, that was for Thom, Coram and Mistress Cooper to worry about. Alanna herself had enough problems.

Winter passed quietly. Alanna occupied all her time with lessons, working every extra hour she had so she could be as good as, if not better than, the boys. Her lessons in sorcery went on week after week, with Duke Roger keeping a careful eye on his students’ progress. He was very big on theory, she soon discovered, and would often spend several weeks on the ideas behind a spell before permitting them to try a spell in concrete form. It made for very slow study. Many of the spells Roger chose for them to learn were ones Alanna had already learned from Maude. Keeping Thom’s words in mind, she chose not to tell Roger she already knew these spells, some of them in more advanced forms. Instead she peeked ahead in the scrolls Roger gave them to read and found herself looking at books of magic that she was supposed to leave alone. She suspected that Jonathan was deliberately locking himself into a secluded library at night and practicing more advanced spells from a reader Roger had forbidden them to touch; but Alanna chose to say nothing, either to Roger or to Jonathan. What Jon did was his business, after all. She herself never bothered to tell anyone where she disappeared to when she went to work with Coram’s sword in secret.

One free morning, safe in George’s rooms, Alanna caught herself trying the spell for the shielding Wall of Power that was in one of George’s books. The moment she saw a wall of glittering purple fire go up around her, she shouted “So mote it be!” and broke the spell. “What am I doing?” she asked George in disgust.

George took her hands in his big ones. “You’re doing the smart thing. Oh, you’ll be a great knight and rescue ladies and slay dragons and the like, but not all the monsters you meet are dragon shaped. Remember what your brother said about Jon’s smilin’ cousin.”

Alanna gave him look for look. “Do you think there’s danger from Duke Roger?”

George shrugged and released her hands. “I’m but a poor, uneducated city lad,” he replied, his hazel eyes twinkling. “I only know if someone hands me a weapon—any weapon—and I can use it, use it I will. And think on it, Alanna. What’s the line to the throne, with no children after Jonathan?”

She counted on her fingers. “The king. The queen. Jonathan. And—and Duke Roger.” She snapped her fingers in exasperation. “You and Thom are silly. If Duke Roger wants to be king so bad, and he’s so all-fired powerful, why doesn’t he take the throne now?”

“Because some powerful people surround it, lass,” George replied. “I’d not want to have Duke Gareth for my enemy, no, nor my Lord Provost either. That quiet Sir Myles of yours bears some hard watchin’. And look at Jonathan’s own friends: Gary, who’s sharper than his father even; Alex, who’s a rare hand with a sword; you, with your Gift; and your brother in the City. He’s going to wait, our smilin’ friend.” George tossed an apple into the air and speared it with his dagger. He picked it up and tugged it off the blade, biting into it thoughtfully. “He’ll find out who stopped Jonathan from dyin’ durin’ the Sweatin’ Sickness. He’ll make friends and sow favors. He’ll take king’s people and make them his people. He’ll get rid of some who would never come to him. Then he’ll strike.” He pointed the dagger at her. “So learn your spells, youngling. You’ll need them before your life’s out. Unless I’m mistaken, the Duke of Conté doesn’t like you any more than you like him.”

While Alanna mixed swordplay with spells—both where no one could watch her—Jonathan met the people of his city. That winter he and Alanna went down to the Dancing Dove whenever they could. Here Jon was “Johnny,” the rich merchant’s son George had taken a liking to. At the Dancing Dove men didn’t fall respectfully silent when Jonathan spoke. They were more likely to tell him “Ye’re but a lad. Wha’ d’ye know? Hush and listen t’ yer elders!”

Jonathan hushed and listened. He made friends with the most dangerous thieves and murderers in the Eastern Lands. He learned to pick pockets and throw dice with ease. He flirted with flower girls and watched as thieves divided their night’s haul. He was seeing life very differently from the way it was seen from the palace, and he was eager to learn all he could. No one ever guessed that the heir to the throne was sitting there, sipping a tankard of ale and occasionally tossing a set of dice.

Gary often went along, and Raoul was eventually introduced to George and his circle. Jonathan suggested Alex also be brought along, but that was the winter Duke Roger asked that Alex be his squire, until Alex’s Ordeal of Knighthood. Alanna didn’t even have to say that she wanted no one so close to Roger to meet George—Alex was simply too busy to spare much time for his old friends.

Winter melted into spring, and combat training among the squires reached a high level of activity. Since custom dictated that the Heir take the Ordeal if Midwinter came between his seventeenth and eighteenth birthdays, it seemed likely that Jonathan would be needing a squire that year. And since they had reached their eighteenth birthdays, Gary, Raoul and Alex would also be taking the Ordeal of Knighthood. All three were watching the squires and oldest pages, trying to make a choice.

Competition to be one of the favored four squires was fierce. Jonathan, of course, was the Heir, and the other three came from the noblest families of Tortall. Everyone liked the big, somewhat shy Raoul. While Gary’s sharp wit and sharper tongue had made him enemies, he was also respected. Alex was Duke Roger’s squire, and some of the Duke’s popularity had rubbed off on him. The squires and the pages who would be made squires at Midwinter worked relentlessly, particularly when one of the four was in sight.

All, that is, except Alanna. Although she was to be made a squire that Midwinter, she did not consider herself to be in the running, and she said so. The other boys wanted to know why.

“It’s easy,” she explained wearily. “Look at me. I’m the shortest, skinniest boy in the palace. My wrestling is terrible, and I’m not that good a swords-man. No one will want a weakling like me for a squire.”

“But you’re best on horseback, especially since you got Moonlight,” Douglass protested. “And you’re best at archery and tilting and staff fighting and weapons. And you’re a good student—all the Masters say so, behind your back. Are you saying even Jonathan won’t pick you?”

Alanna made a face. More than anything she wanted to be Jonathan’s squire. “Jonathan most of all. The Heir needs the best squire the kingdom can supply. My swordsmanship’s too weak, and I’m too little. Geoffrey of Meron’s good. The Prince should pick him.”

That was what she told her friends. She knew they didn’t believe her, but she didn’t care. The truth was, she didn’t feel worthy of being someone’s squire. She was a girl, and she was a liar. And at any moment, the truth could surface. In the meantime, the fact that she could always be beaten at wrestling and that she was only an average swordsman would do. Jonathan would pick Geoffrey or Douglass, and that would be the end of it.

In April that changed. Lord Martin of Meron—Geoffrey’s stern-faced father—rode north to visit his son and to request additional troops for his fief. Fief Meron was better known as the Great Southern Desert: leagues of sand stretching from the Coastal Hills to the Tyran Peaks. This harsh land was the home of the Bazhir, tribesmen not all loyal to the king or to his governor, Lord Martin.

The morning after Lord Martin’s arrival, he conferred with the king and Duke Gareth for several hours. The king had decided that Jonathan and the boys who would soon be knights should take this chance to see what the Bazhir were like. The situation in the desert being what it was, the odds were good that each knight would fight against the Bazhir at least once in his lifetime. The squires, under the guardianship of Sir Myles and Lord Martin, would ride south with the new troops. The pages would have their own long ride later in the summer to Fief Naxen, in the east.

After this decision was made and lunch was eaten, Duke Gareth and Lord Martin went out to the fencing yards. Lord Martin had once been famed for the quality of his swordsmanship, and he and the Duke had already had one friendly match, the evening before. Now the two men took their seats at the side of the yard, prepared to see what the older pages and younger squires looked like.

“Let’s see what they can do, Captain Sklaw,” Duke Gareth instructed.

Sklaw looked around the yard, his one eye twinkling viciously. “Meron.” Geoffrey bowed gracefully and picked up his padded cloth armor. Captain Sklaw was grinning as he pointed. “Trebond. You haven’t done freestyle since that first time. Let’s see you fall over your own feet again.”

Alanna felt herself turning hot and cold with terror. Someone was shoving her practice padding into her hands; numbly she put it on. Sklaw was right. She hadn’t fought freestyle—without each pass and move already assigned to her by Sklaw—since that awful first bout with Sacherell just a year before. She had done drill—endless repetition of the same movement—or one-on-one “plotted fighting” in which each member of the team had to make a certain set of movements dictated by Sklaw, while the other member used the countermoves Sklaw had given him. That sort of thing went back and forth between two duelers all afternoon, and it certainly didn’t prepare anyone for freestyle dueling. In addition, she had her night practice and morning practice, but she was always alone, and it was only drill. Alanna drew deep breaths, feeling faint. Once again, here were Duke Gareth and Captain Sklaw, and Coram was clearing the boys out of the central dueling area. She slid the cloth helmet over her head and accepted a sword from Douglass. With surprise she saw it was not the practice sword she had made, but Lightning.

Even Lightning isn’t going to help me now, she thought, stepping up to the mark and bowing to Geoffrey. She drew her sword and assumed the “guard” position.

“Begin!” Sklaw ordered.

Geoffrey lunged forward to attack. Alanna held her ground, blocking his down-sweeping sword with a force that jarred both their bodies. Following the “Crescent Moon” drill, she disengaged and swirled Lightning around in a half circle, cutting for Geoffrey’s side. The taller boy hurriedly blocked her and lunged back out of the way, bewilderment showing in his dreamy hazel eyes. Alanna, unthinking, followed with the second strike of the Crescent Moon, swinging Lightning back in the other direction and forcing Geoffrey to block her again, rather than attack. (“It’s always better to attack than to defend,” Coram had told her when the talked about fencing late at night. “Always. Ye don’t win with defense—ye only hold th’ other feller off, or wear him down. Attack and have done with it!”)

Alanna attacked, feeling divorced from her arm as she moved through pass after pass. She saw an opening and her hand took the chance to swing her sword into it. She never took the time to think about what she was doing. Instead, her muscles remembered the patterns of endless drills, repeated over and over with a too-heavy sword. Geoffrey would move to attack or to block, and Alanna’s arms and body remembered the move that always followed such an attack or such a block. Sweat poured into Alanna’s eyes and she shook it away, stumbling slightly. Geoffrey took advantage of the brief moment of unbalance to lunge in for a strike that would end the bout. Instead Alanna slid Lightning around his sword like a metal snake, twisting her blade deftly. The sword flew from Geoffrey’s hand, and he was unable to grab for it. In the same move with which she disarmed him, a panting Alanna presented the tip of her sword at the cloth that covered the bridge of Geoffrey’s nose.

The boy stepped back and knelt. “I yield,” he said. He looked up at her and grinned. “Well fought, Alan! Very well fought!”

She stared at him, gasping, feeling as if her lungs were on fire. Then she realized the sound in her ears was cheering. Her friends, in fact all of the pages and squires, were cheering for her.

“Very good, Aram,” Duke Gareth murmured to Captain Sklaw. “You’ve turned out a matchless swordsman.”

“’Twasn’t me, yer Grace,” Sklaw growled, staring at the page who was fumbling at his armor ties. “’Twas the lad Trebond, and he did it all by himself.”

That night Jonathan paid a visit to his uncle. “Sir?” he said politely. “I have a favor to ask. It’s about this trip to Persopolis in Fief Meron.”

The Duke of Naxen grinned. “You know you have only to command me, Jon.”

Jonathan chuckled. “But will you obey? Uncle, I’d like Alan to come with us. You said the pages will be going out to Naxen this summer. He could stay behind then, to make up for it.”

The man looked into Jon’s face. “This is very unusual, Jonathan.”

“I know,” was the calm reply. “It’s just—Alan spends more time with Gary and Raoul and Alex and me than he does with the pages. I think he’d have more fun if he went with us. And Sir Myles is going, and he’s—” The Prince stopped, then went on when he saw an understanding look on his uncle’s face. “Myles is a better father to Alan than the Lord of Trebond is. I know we’re supposed to speak well of our elders, and Alan never complains, but—we’ve all got eyes and ears.”

The Duke took a nut from a bowl and cracked it. “Does Alan want to go to Persopolis?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan said. “Probably, since we’re all going. If you mean does he know I’m asking you, no, he doesn’t. Knowing Alan, he can’t imagine I would ask such a favor for him.”

“Hm. Have you chosen a squire yet, Jonathan? In case you pass the Ordeal?”

“I’m thinking about one,” Jonathan replied calmly. “It isn’t an easy decision.”

The man thought this over, finally nodding. “As long as the other boys aren’t resentful, I don’t see why he can’t go with you.”

Jon smiled. “They won’t resent it. Sometimes it seems as if he’s just a small squire who takes a lot of interest in what the pages do.”

“Very perceptive of you. Will you notify Alan, or do you want me to?”

“You’d better tell him, Uncle. And thank you—from the bottom of my heart.” Jonathan kissed the Duke’s hand. He was half out the door when the older man’s voice stopped him.

“Why does this mean so much to you, Jon?”

The Prince turned. “Because he’s my friend. Because I always know where he stands, and where I stand with him. Because I think he’d die for me, and—and I think I’d die for him. Is that enough?”

“You’re being pert, nephew,” Gareth said with mock sternness. “Have Timon find Alan for me then.”

Duke Gareth’s news shocked Alanna—she had never expected to be so singled out. She paid careful attention to all his instructions as to her duties during the trip. Since she was to be the only page in the company, she would wait on Lord Martin, Myles and Jonathan and run errands for the troop captain and the squires. She would continue her lessons with Myles as her instructor.

Coram too was pleased with the honor, and his orders to her were as strict as the Duke’s. She was to behave. No pranks was to be her watchword.

Alanna tried not to let the news go to her head, although she couldn’t help but be excited. It surprised her that the other pages were glad for her, rather than jealous. She didn’t realize they did not see her as another page—only, as Jonathan had said, as a very small squire.

The night before they rode out, the boys and Myles were summoned to a meeting with Duke Roger. He gathered them in the Great Library, waiting for them to settle down comfortably before speaking. Alanna, tucked down between the large Raoul and the equally large Gary, where she wouldn’t attract notice, thought the Duke looked both handsome and impressive, dressed all in sleek black velvet. A strangely designed chain with a sapphire pendant hung around his neck, accenting his eyes.

“Doubtless you lads don’t know why I’m talking to you,” he said with his easy smile. “I daresay no one’s ever mentioned the Black City to you when they’ve discussed this trip you’re taking tomorrow.” He shook his dark head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to take you all so close, but—well, I was overruled.” Alanna was blinking as lights bounced off the sapphire. The shimmering of the jewel was making her sleepy. Angry at herself, she gave her arm a strong pinch. That woke her up. “The Black City is just barely within eye’s view of Persopolis,” the sorcerer went on. “In fact, the Bazhir have a room specially designed in the western wall of the Persopolis castle. It’s called the Sunset Room, and the rumor is the Bazhir had it built so they could always keep an eye on the Black City. As if sheepherders and desert men knew about such things!” He sighed. “You won’t be permitted near the City, of course. No one is. It’s claimed there’s a curse on it, that no mortal being returns from the place alive—especially if he’s young. Bazhir stories again, told around the campfires to frighten the children, I’ve no doubt.”

The big man paced the room, a shadow panther with all eyes watching him. “I am certain the Bazhir have created wonderful monsters for their bratlings to fear. That is not why I am cautioning you. There is evil power in the Black City, an immense power that dates far back in time. I do not know its nature. I have never been so foolhardy as to think myself strong enough to fight whatever waits there.” Roger had stopped pacing. His eyes were fixed on Jonathan’s. “I don’t need a seer’s crystal to feel the evil in that place from as far away as Persopolis, just as a fisherman doesn’t need a special glass to smell a hurricane approaching. If I dare not risk it, none of you—untrained, untried—would stand a chance. Don’t venture near the Black City, under pain of death and, perhaps, under the pain of losing your souls.” He smiled, his eyes locked with Jonathan’s. “I know when a sword is too heavy for me to lift.”

When Alanna got into bed that night, she was as puzzled as she had ever been. It looked to her as if Roger had dared Jonathan to prove he was more of a man than his cousin, to prove he could brave the Black City that Roger feared. And yet, that couldn’t be true. Not even Roger would have the nerve, and the coldness, to send his young cousin to certain death—would he?