In the Hand of the Goddess

10 TO DUEL THE SORCERER

THE SECOND FEAST OF THE MIDWINTER FESTIVAL had begun, with nearly every noble of Roald’s Court present. Thom excused himself to Alanna with a wink and went to sit with Duke Roger, who showed no sign of bad feeling toward a younger, and maybe stronger, sorcerer. Alanna watched them talk for a few moments before turning her attention to other people there. The queen had made a rare appearance. It was the first time Alanna had seen Jonathan’s mother in public since her illness more than a year before. Lianne seemed to be holding her own for a while, but slowly she turned very pale. From her seat among the other knights, Alanna could see beads of sweat on Lianne’s face, and the queen’s fingers trembled as she tried to raise her wine glass. When she began to cough, Duke Baird rushed to her, his face tense and worried.

Remembering her vision in the Chamber of the Ordeal, Alanna grabbed the ember-stone at her throat. She bit her lower lip; as she had feared, Queen Lianne was glowing a faint but steady orange.

Suddenly Alanna was filled with the need to act, and to act now. If Roger had placed magic of any kind on the queen, there would have to be physical evidence of some kind, somewhere. Even the most powerful sorcerer had to have a real object as the focus of his thoughts.

Alanna waited until the feast was in full swing before excusing herself, promising her friends she would only be gone a few moments. Now was the time, while Roger’s attention was fully occupied with Thom and the questions her brother represented. The king would not rise for another hour at least. Alanna planned to use that hour.

Feeling as if she had gained a new life and a sharper way of looking at things in the Chamber of the Ordeal, she hurried back to her chamber. Most of her belongings were packed, since she would be moving in the morning to her own rooms. Faithful, exiled from the feast, was waiting for her.

You are taking a risk, the cat said as Alanna searched her trunk for the new lock-picks George had given her. If he catches you, you will be very dead.

“Then he mustn’t catch me. Agreed?” Alanna shoved the leather envelope holding the picks into her tunic. “Come on. You stand guard.”

Faithful trotted along as she took the back halls that led to Roger’s rooms. There must be insanity in my family, too.

Alanna grinned but did not answer.

Roger’s suite of rooms was located very conveniently for Alanna’s purposes. A small flight of stairs twisted up and away from the hall, ending with Roger’s outer door. While Faithful stood guard at the foot of the steps, Alanna set to work, hidden from view by the turn in the wall.

Carefully she inserted the first pick into the lock. It flared and melted. Alanna quickly dropped it, swearing silently at her own stupidity. Of course Roger would put guarding-spells on his doors. She eyed the lock resentfully, deciding what to do next. It would take too long to try a spell that would lift the guards, and she was in a hurry. There was another way. …

Placing her bandaged hands on the lock, Alanna drew a deep breath. Fiercely she shoved her magic into the lock, literally exploding Roger’s spell. After her eyes cleared from the blinding flash that resulted, Alanna warily tried another lockpick. It took the work of only a second before she heard the tumblers fall into place. The door swung open, and she whistled softly for Faithful. The cat ran swiftly inside; Alanna closed the door behind them.

There was no point in searching the main rooms. What she was looking for would not be here. People came and went in these rooms every day; Roger wouldn’t leave anything important there. In the rear of the suite, however, was a closed door that led to Roger’s workroom. It too was locked.

Using her ember-stone as a guide, Alanna could see the orange fire gleaming around the door. She had expected that. As with the front door, she had no time to figure out which spell would lift the guards, even if she knew the right spell, which she doubted. The guards on this door would be far more powerful than those on the main door.

Steeling herself, Alanna placed her hands against the door and thrust her magic out. This time she fainted.

Faithful brought her around by licking her nose with his rough tongue. Sleep later, he said.

She sneered elegantly at her pet and opened the sorcerer’s door.

All around the room were counters littered with instruments, herbs, and books. Alanna glanced at the books; she knew some of them and she had heard of others. Most were books on magic. Some she could not read because they were written in a completely alien script. She noticed seeing-crystals of varying sizes and colors: clear, pink, and black. One was blood red, and she refused to touch it. The large charcoal-burning dishes stood in the center of the room for heat. Instead of torches, Roger used lamps that burned with a bright, unflickering light.

“Do I hear splashing?” she asked Faithful softly. She looked around carefully, at last spotting a fountain at the back of the room. Water poured from a spout in the wall, dancing over rocks covered with flowering moss before falling into a deep basin. Curious at the fountain’s existence, Alanna went to look at it more closely.

Two things caught her interest: a silvery-white veil that seemed to hold several objects, and a doll, immersed in the fountain’s basin directly under the waterspout. For a moment Alanna wanted to touch neither bundle nor doll, but her newfound resolution forced her to pick up both. She carried them over to one of the counters, drawing a lamp close to examine her finds.

The doll was a water-worn wax image of the queen, perfect from the real black hairs on its head to the duplicate of the queen’s favorite gown. The doll had obviously been in the water for a long time: The features of its face were barely recognizable, and the color had washed from its dress. Alanna knew this spell: The sorcerer made an image of his victim and placed it in running water. Depending on the sorcerer’s materials and power, and the strength of the water, the one represented by the doll wasted away quickly or slowly, fading into death. Duke Roger had used the finest wax money could buy, and Alanna suspected he had taken the doll out of the fountain from time to time, to make the queen’s illness and eventual death seem more natural.

Her hands trembling, Alanna put the doll aside and looked at the bundle she had also found. Lifting it less carefully this time, she saw the tear in the side too late. Another tiny doll fell out of the bundle, striking the table. Alanna yelled, her side suddenly one massive hurt. Biting her fist to keep from making any more noise, she picked the image up. It was one of her, of course. She examined the bundle closely. The tear was long and thin, nearly invisible against the fine-woven silk. Her hands throbbed, and she remembered how they had felt the morning of her Ordeal, as if she was trying to tear a hole in tightly woven cloth. Drawing her dagger, she cut the string that held the bundle closed and carefully opened it up on the table’s surface. Figures that bore eerie resemblances to the king, Duke Gareth, Myles, the Lord Provost, and even Jonathan lay revealed before her eyes.

“Of course,” she told Faithful softly. “Now I understand. He wanted none of us to see what he was up to, so he put our images inside this veil. We couldn’t see; and as long as men like Duke Gareth or Myles or the Provost didn’t see anything wrong, no one else felt they could say anything.”

What are you going to do now? Faithful inquired, twitching his tail. You’ve broken all those silly rules of Chivalry to get yourself this far. What next?

Alanna smiled grimly at the images, carefully piling them on top of the veil. “Roger can’t be allowed to go on this way,” she replied. “When he comes back tonight, he’ll know the images are gone; he may even know I took them. So, if my friends and I are to survive his finding out, I’d better do something about Duke Roger of Conté right now.”

She returned to the banquet hall, the veil and its contents in her hands. Stopping for a moment to talk to Myles and Jonathan, she asked them to join her before the king’s table. Thom was exchanging stories with Raoul and Gary, but when he caught his sister’s eye, he excused himself and came to stand next to her. Steeling herself, Alanna walked up to the long table in front of the two thrones, bowing low to the king and queen. Only when she felt Myles, Thom, and Jonathan at her back did she begin to speak.

Great Mother, help me with this, she pleaded silently when Roald acknowledged her. I don’t know if this is how you wanted me to do this, but it’s the only way I know.

“Majesty,” she said clearly, making sure everyone could hear her voice, “I have done a dishonorable thing.” The great hall was suddenly quiet. Alanna drew a deep breath and went on. “I broke into a man’s chambers tonight. I knew this was dishonorable, and I did it anyway. What I did was wrong. What I thought to find—what I did find—was far worse.”

She placed the veil and the images inside it on the table before the king. Lianne cried out in horror, shrinking away from the little dolls made to represent her, her husband, her son, and her brother. The king and Duke Gareth were pale; the Provost, peering around his neighbor’s shoulder, turned red with fury. Thom reached out curiously for a moment before remembering it would not be a good idea to handle these images. There was no reading the emotions either Jonathan or Myles was feeling—perhaps it was just as well.

Alanna looked at Duke Roger. The sorcerer could see what she had put before his uncle; he was gripping the arms of his chair with white-knuckled hands.

“Shall I tell them where I found these, Your Grace?” Alanna challenged loudly, looking the Duke of Conté in the eyes. “Shall I tell them about the little fountain in your private workroom where the queen’s image lay under running water, wasting away little by little? Shall I—”

“Liar!” Roger snarled. “Majesty, Sir Alan has long been jealous of my influence with you and my cousin Jonathan. He now seeks to dishonor me in your eyes by showing you these dolls he created and accusing me of casting such spells!”

“For what reason?” Alanna asked King Roald. “Why would I wish the queen harm? She is the mother of my prince and my friend. She has been kind to me. I do not gain by harming her, just as I do not gain from veiling the sight of those who could stop me from stealing a throne that isn’t mine!”

“Liar!” Roger cried, standing to point an accusing finger at her. “Do you deny that you have the skill to place such a spell? Do you deny you have the knowledge, when I taught image-magic to you myself? You planned to kill Their Majesties, so that when Jonathan became king, you would be the most powerful knight in the realm.”

“That is very interesting.” Myles looked at Roger, his gentle eyes hard. “Carry that thinking a step further and suppose the death of Prince Jonathan. Who would gain? I submit, Roger, that you would gain as the next King of Tortall.”

“It’s a plot against me! “Roger cried, looking around him. “Myles tries to turn you all against me while this young man gives false evidence!” He stopped, waiting for the king to say something. The only sound in the banquet hall was the queen weeping softly into Duke Gareth’s shoulder. Roger looked for a friendly face and found none. His mouth tightened. “I demand my rights. I demand trial by combat, myself against my accuser.” He pointed to Alanna. “If I lie, Sir Alan will win by the will of the gods. But I say I will win, because I am innocent!”

The silence grew as everyone waited for King Roald’s decision. The king picked up the image of himself, turning it over in his fingers. “You may have the combat,” he said.

“As the accused, I may choose the time,” Roger said quickly. “Let it be now, before Sir Alan’s lies spread and poison people’s minds against me.”

Alanna felt chilly and very old. She should have known that Roger would want to fight now, while she was still weary and sore from the Ordeal. She looked at her bandaged hands.

“This time or any other is of no matter to me,” she said, her voice bored. “I believe Duke Roger to be plotting against the lives of my prince and my friends. The sooner this is resolved, the sooner they will be safe.”

“In one hour,” ruled the king. “We meet in the Great Throne Room.”

Alanna slipped away and went to her room to change while Faithful watched. Since the rules of trial by combat forbade the wearing of armor, she changed into a soft shirt, breeches, and stockings; she wanted as much freedom of movement as possible. Removing the bandages, she carefully rubbed balm into her sore hands, thinking, Lucky they aren’t stiff. After lightly rebandaging her hands, she tied back her hair.

Sitting down to clean Lightning, she told Faithful, “I guess I don’t feel so bad about not having spotted what he was up to. But why tonight? That hole in the veil didn’t just happen to be there. Come in!” she called in answer to the knock on her door.

Jonathan, Myles, Coram, and Thom entered the room. Myles looked at her wearily. “I suppose you had your reasons for acting as you did. I’d like to know what they were.”

Alanna shook her head. “It’s as if I just broke free of the spell he had us all under. A lot of things just began to add up: why the fog came up that night I was taken after he visited me, why the big Tusaine attack was chiefly aimed at Jonathan’s forces, why the queen never got better. Thom, you must’ve thought I was crazy, never following up on the warnings you and George gave me.”

Thom shrugged. “I always figured you had your reasons.” Jonathan, Myles, and Coram looked at him, and the young Master added, “I’ve been watched by Duke Roger’s men for several years, ever since you, Highness, and Alan took the Black City. And George has waylaid Roger’s men following Alan any number of times.”

Coram took over the cleaning of Lightning while Alanna began to stretch. Her body was stiff from the Ordeal, and she had seen Roger enough in the fencing courts to know he would not be easy to beat even if she were feeling her best. That he was a sorcerer and not a trained knight was balanced by the fact that, for all she knew, he was sticking pins into a new image of her at that very moment.

Jonathan looked down at Alanna, who was touching her toes. “But you had suspicions,” he pointed out. “Even if they were vague ones, why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I did say something, at the Black City,” she told him frankly. “You said it was nonsense. So I wanted to have real proof before I mentioned it again. And every time I made up my mind to do something about it, I—I lost interest. I know why now—because he had me in the wraps with you and Myles and the others—but I still feel ashamed that it happened. Don’t you?”

Before Jonathan could say that he did understand, someone else knocked on Alanna’s door. Coram opened it and admitted a heavily cloaked George.

Jonathan and Myles were clearly astonished by the tall Rogue’s presence. “Stefan has messenger-birds,” Alanna told them. She gave the thief a tiny smile before beginning to stretch again. “I’m glad you came.”

George reached down to ruffle her hair with a gentle hand. “Do nothing foolish,” he warned her.

“I think Alan’s used up his foolishness for the day,” Thom said acidly.

Alanna looked up, impatient. “The masquerade is over. Myles, all these men know, you should, too. I’m a girl.”

“But I do know,” Myles said quietly. “Thank you for telling me at last, but I have known for years.”

Timon rapped on the door and opened it. “I’ve been sent to bring you to the Great Throne Room,” he said unhappily. “Squire—Sir Alan, is it true? About His Grace?”

Alanna tugged on her boots. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. “Yes. It’s true.”

“Alan and I will be with you in a moment,” Jonathan told the others. They took the hint and followed Timon out into the hall, closing the door behind them. Alanna looked at Jonathan and went into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, fighting back tears. “I know you love him; but I couldn’t let it go on. He was killing your mother.”

Jonathan held her close. “I love you more.” His voice was breaking. “Don’t let him kill you.”

Alanna shook her head. “I don’t plan to. Believe me, I don’t.”

They joined the other men in the hall. No one spoke as they headed for the Great Throne Room. Their only comments were in the tight holds Jonathan and George took on each of her shoulders, and the worried looks Coram, Myles, and Thom wore. Matters now were beyond words.

Alanna herself could think only that finally it had come to a head, this weird contest of wills between her and the Duke of Conté. The issue would be decided once and for all. She couldn’t be unhappy about that. It’ll be over and settled, she thought as they strode into the Great Throne Room.

Roger already stood before the two thrones, naked sword in hand. Alanna hugged each of her friends one last time before stepping up beside Roger, Lightning unsheathed and ready for battle. Her heart pounded in her throat as the herald read the challenge. She could barely hear him; her attention was on the king and queen, on Jon, standing beside his father now, and on Duke Gareth, standing beside his sister, the queen. She felt a grim kind of triumph thinking, Even if he kills me, I’ve won. I’ve planted the seed of doubt here; he’ll never be trusted again.

It was good to know she had accomplished something, even if Roger killed her. And it was good to know her friends were there, wanting her to win.

“Let the combat begin,” Roald said quietly.

Alanna and Roger brought their swords up instantly. They circled, watching each other carefully. Roger feinted at Alanna several times, never intending to strike, instead trying to draw Alanna into an attack. Alanna smiled slightly. Roger was older than she was and more experienced in the ways of the world, but she could outwait him.

She was right. Roger attacked in earnest, thinking she was being overconfident. Alanna blocked his swing and dodged to the side, wincing as Lightning jarred against her sore hands. She would have to be careful; her stiffness and the pain in her hands might get her killed if she wasn’t.

Roger pursued the attack, trying to use up her energy. Alanna tried to dodge more and block less in order to spare herself, but the sorcerer was too quick. Pain wormed its way up her right arm and into her shoulder. The scrapes on her sword hand were bleeding through the bandages, and weariness put her timing off.

Suddenly she blinked. Had Roger switched his sword to his left hand, or was he carrying two swords? He couldn’t possibly have two blades! She shook her head, trying to clear her eyes. Dimly she could hear Thom yelling, “Foul! He’s using an illusion!” But she knew no one would try to stop the fight now, for fear of getting her killed.

Only a lucky step saved her life as the Duke lunged at her. Thom was right: The Duke had placed an illusion-spell on himself so that Alanna couldn’t tell which of his hands gripped the real sword and which held only the ghost of one. Alanna pulled the ember-stone from beneath her shirt with her free hand, thanking the Goddess for it. The illusion-sword now glowed orange in her eyes. She blocked Roger’s real sword and thrust back, corning body-to-body with the Duke. This was a mistake; the larger, stronger man used his strength to force her slowly to her knees.

Alanna gasped and broke, dropping to the floor and rolling away; Roger struck, cutting her shoulder open as Alanna came to her feet. She dodged back, biting her lip angrily; he had changed his sword to his left hand! She thanked the Goddess the cut was not bad and gripped the ember-stone again.

The Duke switched hands several times, but she was able to follow the changing of real and imaginary swords with the help of the stone. They were coming to a time in the battle she was too familiar with: the time when lesser swordsmen began to gasp for air and to make mistakes, the time when she had to reach deep inside herself for strength she rarely needed to draw upon. Forced to admire Roger’s technique as she grimly blocked and thrust, lunged and dodged, she couldn’t help but think it was too bad such an awful man was such a fine swordsman.

Seizing that brief moment when Roger switched swords, Alanna lunged in, slashing the Duke’s right arm. Roger yelled in fury as Lightning nipped through muscle. Making an impossibly quick recovery, the Duke lunged back and struck. Alanna stumbled, and the tip of Duke Roger’s sword sliced down her chest from collarbone to waist.

The special corset she often wore in place of bandaging gave way, its laces cut through. It slid and buckled under her shirt, edges of lace-strings and (to Alanna’s great embarrassment) the curves of her breasts showing through. Roger dropped his blade and stood back, his eyes wide with shock.

“Halt!” the king roared, coming to his feet. The crowded room was buzzing as he stared at Alanna. “What is going on here?”

“You’d better do something about that thing,” Thom advised, stepping forward. “I’ll explain.”

All eyes were fixed on the Master in silver-edged black as Alanna ducked behind a hanging curtain, suddenly glad her lie was over with. She slid the ruined corset out from under her slashed shirt as Thom said, “You’ll have to excuse my sister, Majesties.” Shaking her head over her brother’s nerve, she overlapped the ends of the shirt and tucked them firmly into her breeches.

“You see, she wanted to be a knight,” Thom was explaining. “I wanted to be a sorcerer. We traded places. I think I may have had the better part of the bargain; I didn’t have to lie to people I liked and respected all these years. Here. I brought our birth papers. Her name is Alanna. We’re twins.”

“Who knew of this?” The king’s voice was low and dangerous as Alanna stepped out from behind the curtain. “Who knew?”

“I knew.” Jonathan’s voice was strong and clear. “I’ve known since the Black City.”

“I knew,” Coram admitted in a shamefaced rumble.

Gary stepped forward. “I knew.”

“And I knew,” Myles added. “I guessed when Alan—Alanna—cured Jonathan of the Sweating Sickness, Majesty.”

The king looked at Alanna. “What have you to say for yourself?”

Alanna met his eyes squarely. “I hated lying to you,” she admitted. “I wanted to tell; but I couldn’t. Would you have let me win my shield if I had told the truth?” The king’s silence was answer enough. “I’ve tried to be honest about everything else. And I can’t regret what I did.”

Roger’s snarl of fury surprised them all. “You demon!” he screamed. “You lying, cheating—”

Without warning he lunged at her, his sword raised. Alanna blocked him and fought for her life. Roger attacked like a whirlwind, not giving her a chance to catch her breath.

Suddenly Alanna’s long-hidden anger toward Roger flared into life. He was her enemy; he had tried to kill the people she loved. And he was acting like the wronged one!

She set her jaw grimly. She had come here to bring Duke Roger of Conté to justice, and by the Mother, that was what she was going to do.

She brought Lightning up and around in a wide butterfly-sweep that slicked off a lock of Roger’s hair. Switching her sword to her left hand, she attacked in earnest at last, bringing her blade down and around in a mirror image of the first butterfly-sweep, slicing Roger’s belt. She came around with a back-handed slash that ripped open the Duke’s tunic. Desperate, Roger blocked and fell back as she came on, a grim vision of death.

Suddenly a large orange cloud formed around the Duke. The watching nobles gasped and moved away as the cloud expanded, reaching for Alanna and for Jonathan and for King Roald beside Jonathan. Alanna saw the danger to the two men and forgot her own.

“The Goddess!” she yelled, leaping forward. Lightning struck the cloud, slicing it open to find Roger at its heart. The orange mass flared, blinding everyone watching. Alanna felt Lightning quiver. Roger screamed; and she struck again, harder. The sword cut even deeper this time as Alanna opened her eyes, blinking to clear her vision.

Roger stood, trying to pull her sword out of his body. A deep cut in his shoulder was bleeding fiercely. The Duke stared wonderingly at Alanna as he slowly fell to the floor. Alanna jerked Lightning free of him, swaying over Roger’s body, shaking with rage, fear, and exhaustion.

She looked up. Everyone in the chamber—even Jonathan, even Thom—stared at her with some kind of horror. For a minute she was afraid of herself.

She had killed the king’s nephew. She had killed her greatest enemy, the most powerful sorcerer in the Eastern Lands.