The Woman Who Rides Like a Man

8 THE KING OF THE THIEVES

HOUSE AZIK, DOG LANE, IN THE CITY OF PORT Caynn, was one of many large residences set off from one another by high walls. It looked like a respectable merchant’s home.

“That a Trebond should come to the point of associatin’ with thieves—with the worst of them all—” Coram grumbled as he tugged the bellrope.

“The thief is my best friend,” Alanna reminded him tartly. “And he doesn’t take me for granted.”

She had tried to concentrate on tribal affairs after her fight with Jon, but her attention wandered constantly. It had been Coram’s decision to accompany her when she decided at last to visit George; Alanna could only wish that he had decided to keep his tongue between his teeth when he did so. Coram had never approved of her friendship with George.

A brown-eyed, brunet young man peered out of the porter’s door and yelped. Swiftly unbarring the large gate, Marek Swiftknife, George’s second-in-command and perennial rival, let them in. “Quickly!” he hissed. “Before you’re recognized!”

Once inside the courtyard, Alanna and Coram dismounted. Marek rebarred the gate and gripped Alanna’s hand, his sharply cut, handsome face alight with glee. “It’s still a jolt, seein’ you with your chest unbound,” he explained, ignoring Coram’s warning growl. “And it’s good t’see you, what with his Majesty sulkin’ about, makin’ life miserable for us all.” He showed them into the house as he asked, “Where’d you get your skin so tan?”

“We’ve been in the desert,” Alanna explained as Marek showed them into the house. “We’re Bazhir now.”

Marek shook his head. “If it isn’t one thing with you—”

“Guests?” A buxom redhead came out of the shadows at the back of the main hall. “Who’s come at this early hour?” Seeing Alanna, she laughed. “Well met, youngling. My cousin’s goin’ to be glad t’see you.”

A hard elbow met Alanna’s ribs painfully. “Introduce me,” Coram growled into his knight-mistress’s ear.

Grinning, Alanna said, “Rispah, this is Coram Smythesson. Coram was my first teacher; now he’s my companion. Rispah is George’s cousin and queen of the Ladies of the Rogue,” she added impishly.

Coram bowed over Rispah’s hand. “How can I think ill of th’ Rogue when such lasses are part of it?”

Rispah smiled. “I’m glad a strong-lookin’ soldier like you don’t wish to think ill of us,” she replied, her husky voice a purr.

Shocked, Alanna realized they were flirting. Even more surprising was her realization that Coram was a fine figure of a man, big belly and all. He’s not even very old, she remembered. He’s only forty or so. Plenty of soldiers wait that long to marry, till the itch is out of their feet. . . .

Feeling Alanna and Faithful watching with interest, Coram let go of Rispah’s hand, blushing slightly.

He likes your coming here better now, Faithful commented from his perch on Alanna’s shoulder.

A door slammed upstairs, and a male voice yelled, “Rispah! I asked for charts of the Merchants’ Guild-House t’be sent up with my breakfast—”

“You have visitors, cousin!” Rispah called, winking at Alanna. “Right noble guests, if I’m any judge!”

Alanna put Faithful down on the floor, feeling uncertain and strange. What if George wanted nothing to do with her?

The tall thief rushed down the stairs and grabbed her, swinging her around as he laughed. “And I’ve been thinkin’ you forgot me,” he said, placing her on her feet once more. “Just look at you! Tan and fit and wearin’ the clothes of a Bazhir—”

Alanna looked up into his friendly hazel eyes and broke into tears.

Rispah took Coram’s arm with a smile. “I’ll show you t’ your rooms,” she said. “We’ll be certain you and Lady Alanna have all you need.”

After a worried glance at Alanna, who was sobbing into George’s shirt, Coram shook his head and followed Rispah. The King of the Thieves looked down at Faithful, who watched them with unblinking purple eyes from his seat on the floor. “You, too,” he said, jerking a thumb in the direction Coram and Rispah had taken. “Scat.”

She won’t tell you anything, you know, Faithful remarked as he obeyed.

“Will you not?” George asked Alanna, who was trying to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her burnoose. He produced a large handkerchief from his breeches pocket and held it to her small nose. “Blow,” he ordered.

Alanna took the handkerchief from him and blew her nose, then wiped her streaming face. “How long have you been able to understand Faithful?” she asked, her voice still choked.

“I understand him only when he wishes me to. Now, what’re you cryin’ for?” When she shook her head, he probed further, “Did somethin’ happen while you were in the desert?”

“Yes,” she said reluctantly, “but it had nothing to do with the Bazhir. They treat me with respect.”

George’s eyes widened. “You had a fight with Jonathan.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“He hinted to me when he was ready t’leave for the South that he was planning t’pop the question.” Hope grew in the man’s face. “Are you tellin’ me you refused him?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice was forlorn.

George crushed her in a second massive hug. “And you shan’t,” he whispered. “Come. Take breakfast with me, and tell me what the Bazhir tribes are like.”

Sniffing, Alanna stepped away when he released her, and followed him upstairs. “I can’t believe you don’t know all about them,” she accused. “You’ve got eyes and ears everywhere else. Besides, surely Lightfingers and his friend gave you a full report.”

George grinned as he ushered her into his private rooms. “Ah, don’t be holdin’ my natural fears for your safety against me. Besides, the lads saw nothin’ worth reportin’.”

“All right.” Alanna sighed as he closed the door. “What would you like to know?”

It was an unusual company that George had assembled in House Azik. In addition to Rispah and Marek, there were three other rogues from Corus: two large and muscular brothers named Orem and Shem, and one small, whippy man called Ercole. Another man was also present, Joesh. Alanna didn’t know him. He was dark and handsome, slender, with wide shoulders and a walk that indicated almost perfect balance to Alanna’s trained eye. She had no idea why he was there; but the other men, as well as Rispah’s big female companion Harra, were present to help George deal with insubordination in Port Caynn.

“I don’t know why it is,” George explained that night as they sat before the fire and talked, “but all of a sudden the lads here thought they could take more than their share, and hold back what was meant for the city and my people. When I gently reminded them of their obligation to me, they actually said they wished t’be free of my rule.” He shook his head. “I came here fast enough and dealt with their ringleader and principals.”

Alanna, knowing quite well that George collected the ears—and sometimes the rest—of those who disobeyed his orders, hid a grin under her hand. She had no sympathy with thieves in the ordinary way, and none at all from any who underestimated George. “If it’s all cleared up, why are you still here?”

“I thought to see if I can ferret out more discontent,” he replied. “I also wished to have these rogues see I exist, and how I work. Mayhap I’m too aloof from my folk in the other towns and cities of Tortall, stayin’ as I do in the capital.” He looked at her frankly. “I’ve little to keep me there now.”

“Don’t, George,” she whispered, feeling uncomfortable.

“All right, I won’t,” he said amiably. Silence stretched between them until Alanna broke it.

“Who is this man Joesh? Is he new? I don’t remember him.”

George grinned as he settled more comfortably into his deep chair. “Joesh? He’s no rogue. He’s the Falcon of Shang, and a friend of Rispah’s. I trust him to keep his mouth shut, or he’d not be here.”

Alanna sat up, startled. “Another Shang warrior?” Unlike Jon, she’d never gotten the chance to see one of the legendary fighters in action. Whenever one had made a brief visit to the palace, she had been absent or involved in duties. To actually test herself against a man trained to fight from childhood. . . .

George saw the thoughtful gleam in her eyes and shook his head. “Nay, lass, you’ll not be challengin’ him under my roof. I’ve no wish to see you killed by accident. These Shang lads are far quicker than the best knight ever lived, and you’ll have to trust my word for that. Besides, I intend that you rest from bein’ a knight whilst you’re here.”

“I’ve done nothing but rest from being a knight since I was made one,” Alanna remarked bitterly as she sank back into her chair. “I’m probably getting rusty.”

“Not you, lass.” George laughed. “Never you.”

Alanna was not to find out if she was as good as Joesh; when she arose in the morning, the Falcon had left. George gave her no explanation for the man’s departure, but she knew he had probably requested that Joesh go. She felt a twinge of regret for the chance missed, but only a small one. Life in House Azik was restful, and thoughts of challenging strangers to contests of arms were alien. George and his people went out of their way to keep her and Coram entertained, treating Alanna with a care and consideration she had never known, either as a page or a squire, or as the Woman Who Rides Like a Man.

On one crisp fall day Rispah took her to the markets of Port Caynn, where Alanna purchased two dresses, feminine underclothing and shoes, and a pretty shawl, using some of the monies Sir Myles sent as her allowance. Jonathan’s taunts about her lack of femininity had stung and stuck, and the look in George’s eyes when she appeared in a soft lilac wool dress went far toward healing those wounds.

George, in particular, was attentive to her needs and whims, taking time to walk with her on the beach, spending long evenings in games of chess, or just talking. Before, they had lived their lives under the scrutiny of the inhabitants of palace and city; now it was strange to be alone together, with only the household to know they were in Port Caynn at all. And if George was wooing her again, as he had done in the past, he was going about it very carefully.

“If he is courting me, I wish he wouldn’t be so subtle about it,” she confided to Faithful one night, after the thief had shown her to her bedroom. “But maybe he isn’t. Maybe he thinks I’m unfeminine too.” Without warning, a tear trickled down her cheek, and she sniffed.

You’re feeling sorry for yourself, Faithful replied without sympathy. You provoked Jonathan into saying the things he did. You know how proud he is. If you hadn’t pushed him, he probably would never have even thought you were unfeminine.

Beet-red with rage, Alanna hurled a pillow at the cat, missing him completely. “You’re as bad as Coram!” she yelled, forgetting where she was. “If it’s all my fault, why do either of you bother to stay with me? Why don’t you go and give Jonathan the benefit of your advice. I’m sure he’d appreciate it much more than I do!” She seized the door handle, intending to slam out of the room, and halted. The door was open, and George leaned against the frame, his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” she snapped.

“I don’t doubt that,” he agreed, his voice soft. “On the other hand, if you’d yelled a wee bit louder, perhaps Jonathan himself could’ve heard he had two unexpected allies here in Port Caynn.” Reaching out, he touched her cheek with a gentle hand. “Lass—will you not tell me what passed in the desert?”

Alanna pulled away from his touch, unwanted tears trickling down her cheeks. “I can’t, George,” she whispered. “Don’t ask me to—please.”

He sighed. “Very well, then.” Turning, he walked away, his feet making no noise at all on the stone floor. Alanna closed the door and let the tears fall, crying herself to sleep.

She slept late the next morning, breaking the habits she had set as a page, and awaking not long before noon. Still tired and bleary-eyed, she padded downstairs. The sound of George’s voice coming from his study turned her away from the kitchen: thinking to turn his eavesdropping trick back on him, she crept to a spot where she could hear everything.

“She’s that beautiful,” George was remarking thoughtfully.

“One of your tall and shapely blondes,” Marek’s voice replied with enthusiasm. “Queenly, with lips a man would think were on the Goddess herself.”

“Ye’re certain the prince returns her regard?” The low rumble was Coram’s, making Alanna start with surprise. Why was Coram sitting in on a conference between George and Marek?

“Why, man, he’s with her every moment of the day, treatin’ her like they was betrothed,” was Marek’s reply. Realizing what they must be talking about, Alanna put her hand to her suddenly painful throat. “And their Majesties seem to approve. When Princess Josiane’s not with him, she’s got her head together with the queen, plannin’ the weddin’, doubtless.”

“But he hasn’t asked her yet,” George pointed out.

“The betting went from even odds to her favor the day I returned here,” Marek answered. “Stefan at the palace stables says she couldn’t’ve laid seige to him better if he was a castle and she was the General of all the king’s armies. The minute he returned from that mysterious trip away he had, they was introduced; and he’s not left Josiane’s side since.”

“We’ll want to keep this from the lass,” Coram said worriedly. “She’s been half-crazy since their fight; I don’t want to think of what she’d do if she heard this.”

Alanna slipped away from the door, biting a trembling lip. So Jonathan had found a replacement for her, and fairly quickly. She ran out onto the terrace, staring at the sea below. While she had been moping and making her friends unhappy and considering an apology, he had been dancing and flirting with an unknown but beautiful princess. He had not been serious about marrying her after all, and she had been acting the fool.

“How much did you hear?” George stepped onto the terrace, his eyes serious.

Alanna flashed a falsely bright smile at him. “Hear? Was I supposed to have heard something?”

He put an arm around her shoulders. “Lass, I’m not blind or stupid. You overheard Coram an’ Marek an’ me talkin’ about Jon’s latest conquest. I can tell when you’re about, did you know that? It’s the only glimpse the Sight gives me of you.”

Alanna started, surprised out of her misery. “I forgot you had the Sight.”

“When it comes to you or anyone else with the Gift, it’s well-nigh useless, since those with the Gift are veiled from those with the Sight. In any case, it’s not as strong with me as it is with my mother. Still, I can feel you near me, and so I know you were eavesdroppin’.” When she said nothing, he went on, “Will you tell me now what passed between you and Jon in the desert?”

Alanna’s shoulders drooped, and she let him steer her to a seat on the terrace wall. He sat beside her, hugging her shoulders as she said quietly, “We had a fight.” Slowly, haltingly, she told him all the details, not sparing herself. “Perhaps I was being falsely proud,” she admitted when she was done. “Perhaps it wouldn’t have done me any harm to go along with him and not make a fuss about asking me first. I didn’t like the things he was saying, but I didn’t want to chase him away, either.”

“You’re askin’ the wrong man.” George’s voice was oddly hoarse. For the first time since she had begun talking, Alanna looked up and met his eyes. The thief swung her around to face him, resting his large hands on her shoulders. “I’m glad he showed you that nobles are a proud, ungrateful lot, thinkin’ of no one but themselves.”

“I’m a noble,” she whispered, unable to look away from his hungry eyes.

“No. You’re my own sweet lass, and all the woman I could ever want.” He kissed her, pulling her close. Alanna struggled for a second, surprised, then relaxed, enjoying the kiss and the feeling of being held tightly and protectively. George pulled away, watching her face closely. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea than Prince Jonathan,” he told her softly. “And this particular fish loves you with all his crooked heart.”

Alanna snuggled close, lifting her face to his again. “I’m glad,” she said honestly. “I need to be loved right now. Kiss me again, please.”

“Oh, no,” George said, drawing in a ragged breath. “If I kiss you again now, one thing will lead to another, and this isn’t the proper place for that sort of carryin’-on.”

“Then take me to a place that is,” she suggested. When he hesitated, she added, “I know what I’m doing, George. And it’s not just because Jon found someone else. This should’ve happened between us a long time ago.”

He stood, clearing his throat. “Well, then.” Suddenly he laughed. “Come with me, darlin’ girl.”

If Coram noticed that she had moved her things into George’s room, he either said nothing or voiced his opinions to Rispah alone. Certainly he seemed happy that Alanna had left her fury and her self-pity behind. Rispah gave Alanna a big, lusty wink the first time she caught the young knight leaving George’s chambers, and the thieves made no remarks at all. The only change in House Azik was in moods: people whistled at their chores; Marek teased the maids, and Rispah and Coram acted like teenagers in love.

Only one thing marred those autumn weeks in the house on Dog Lane: a growing feeling of power, radiating from Corus. At first Alanna ignored it, thinking it to be part of her depression. The sensation persisted, until she mentioned it to George. He reminded her that the only one in Corus who could focus that kind of power was Thom, and she sent message after message to her twin. If Thom wasn’t the cause of the magic, he would know who (or what) was; but the young sorcerer never answered her letters. When she tried to communicate with him through the fire burning in George’s hearth, two days before All Hallow, she found only a gathering cloud she could not penetrate.

“What do you see?” George asked softly as she stared at purple flames.

Magic, Faithful answered when Alanna gave no sign of hearing George’s query. All around the city. And no way to get through to Thom, whether he’s causing it or not.

George looked at the cat—he couldn’t become accustomed to those occasions when he could understand Faithful—and grimaced. “Any way to find out if it’s for harm?”

“I don’t sense evil in it.” Alanna sounded as if she was thinking aloud. “And Thom wouldn’t thank me for riding into the city and disrupting one of his experiments.”

If that’s what it is, Faithful commented.

Alanna stared at the flames for a while longer. Suddenly, shaking her head to clear it, she clapped her hands, ending the spell with the command, “So mote it be!”

“You’ll wait?” George asked, his eyes kindly. Alanna nodded. He reached down and helped her to her feet. “Then you may as well be comfortable while you wait,” he grinned as he swept her off her feet and dumped her into bed.

All Hallow dawned bleak and stormy. The waves battered the cliffs below the house, and the winds blew away anything not already fastened down. Alanna arose to find George gone, summoned to the city on a matter of business. His note said he hoped to be back by nightfall, but if he was kept too late he would stay at the Dancing Dove in Corus, rather than risk the return trip after dark. She wasn’t to wait up, and she wasn’t to worry. If she was good, he would bring her a surprise—and not stolen, either! Alanna grinned at this last, recognizing the joke behind many gifts George had given her and Jon in the years they had known each other. For a second the thought of Jon made her grim; but she soon brightened. George obviously loved her, and she had responded to her friend’s love like a flower opening in the sun. Never before had she been coddled and treated like something precious. Jon had always treated her as a comrade, except when they were making love. She usually liked the way the prince handled her, but a small, treacherous part of her longed for the gentle courtesy he gave noble ladies. Now George gave her that courtesy, as well as treating her like a comrade, and she liked the mixture.

Toward noon exhaustion hit her like a sledgehammer. She was barely able to make it to her bed before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she awoke, it was pitch-dark, and the wind howled outside the shuttered windows. She reached out and ordered the branch of candles beside her bed to light, something she had done without thinking since becoming a shaman for the Bazhir. There was no flame in answer to her command, and when she looked inside, searching for her Gift, she found just a trace of magic. Only then did she discover the ember-stone was flickering with increasing urgency, and that the crystal sword was humming in its sheath as it had not in weeks.

While she slept, something had come and leeched away her Gift.

Lighting candles with a spill from the banked fire, she headed for the library. Some extensive books of magic were there, and she had promised herself a look at them. Now seemed like an excellent time.

There was no sign of Faithful as she padded through the quiet halls. Marek and the other men had gone with George. Rispah and Coram would probably be in Rispah’s chambers; and Rispah’s woman friend, Harra, retired early. The servants had gone home for the night. Alanna felt all alone, odd and detached. She knew she ought to care that someone had tapped her Gift, but she couldn’t.

It was nearly midnight when she closed the last volume, rubbing her eyes tiredly. As she had suspected, the only one with the power and the closeness to Alanna needed for such a tapping was her twin. She should have been angry, but her emotions felt dead. And she was getting sleepy again.

Suddenly she heard—and didn’t hear—a boom, a crash that made even her dull senses quiver with alarm. The crystal sword shrieked and fell silent. Somewhere Faithful let out an anguished howl. Seconds later the door burst open, and the cat hurled himself onto Alanna’s chest. She soothed him, caressing his fur and holding his shivering body close. It was fully an hour before he relaxed enough to let go of her tunic and settle onto her lap.

It’s over, whatever it was, he yowled as he yawned. He did the spell he needed all that power for.

Alanna took him back to her bedchamber. No one else was stirring, so she and Faithful were the only ones able to feel whatever had happened. “We might as well forget it,” she advised the cat as she hung the crystal sword on its hook. “I doubt Thom will give us an explanation.”

To her surprise, when George returned the next day he brought a note from the young sorcerer. Thom had written:

Dearest Alanna,

Perhaps this letter should have come to you sooner, but it was only when your friend George demanded an explanation that I realized you might be affected by my recent work. On All Hallow I will be attempting some experiments—all very arcane and esoteric, with no meaning for anyone but a Master, I promise you. The work is quite delicate and requires plenty of power. To get it, I’ll be tapping you, since you never use more than a small part of your Gift. I know you won’t mind. If I’ve caused you any inconvenience or worry, please forgive me.

Your loving brother

Thom

“Well, I mind!” George snapped when she told him. “I could feel the city shake when he did his precious ‘experiments’! Doesn’t your twin have any regard for us lesser folk?”

Alanna had sent a blistering letter to her brother that morning, telling him the same thing. Now she grinned and shook her head. “He learned to be secretive in the Mithran Cloisters,” she said. “If he can’t be bothered to consult with me beforehand, he certainly won’t care about other Gifted people. Let’s just be thankful he’s doing experiments, instead of being up to real harm.”

Thom’s reply to her angry letter arrived before the week was out and extended his deepest apologies to his sister. With her Gift restoring itself, Alanna decided to let that be the end of the whole affair. She doubted that Thom would ever borrow her magic again without her consent. Obviously there were no other ill effects of his All Hallow’s experiments.

When the first snows fell, early in December, Alanna greeted their coming with dismay. George laughed as she unpacked her heavy clothing and covered herself with layers of silk and wool. She shrugged off his teasing, having endured its like from her friends for years. Now more than ever she missed the desert, and infrequent letters from Halef Seif only made her longing sharper. Recognizing her mood, George went to great trouble to find things to amuse and divert her; but in the week after Mid-Winter Festival ended, she spent an entire day poring over maps in the library.

“You wouldn’t be thinkin’ of leavin’?” he asked as they sat down to their evening meal. Coram and Rispah, who had joined them, looked anxiously at Alanna.

The young knight reddened and shrugged. “You could always come with me.”

George arched one eyebrow. “Me? In the desert?”

“I suppose not,” Alanna admitted gloomily as the new maidservant poured soup into her bowl. “It’s just so cold here. And I’m getting restless.”

She was lifting her spoon to her mouth when a frantic, yowling Faithful leaped onto the table, sending Alanna’s soup dish flying. The ember-stone sent out a burst of white heat as George yanked her back. Coram shoved his own dish away as Rispah ran after the fleeing maid. She returned within seconds, hauling the terrified woman back in a grip that permitted no careless movement on her captive’s part.

Alanna extended her hand, and a wave of purple fire washed over the plates on the table. She looked up at George, her eyes sick. “They’ve all been poisoned.”

George looked at Rispah. The redhead’s mouth was set in a grim line; the maid fought her hold uselessly. “I think we’ll learn a bit more if the noble lady isn’t by,” she told her cousin.

“You’ll need me,” Coram told them. He glanced at Alanna. “Wait in the library.”

Alanna didn’t argue as Rispah, Coram, and George marched the protesting maid out of the room. Instead she went to the kitchen and questioned the cook, who was preparing to go home for the night. From her she learned that the maid, who had worked for them only two weeks, had come from Corus. She was supposed to be living with an uncle, but the cook suspected she got additional money from a local inn, where she entertained male guests. Still, she had done her work well and quietly, and it was hard to get good help during winter in Port Caynn.

“One last question,” Alanna said, “and then I’ll get Marek or one of the others to take you home in the cart. Did she have a letter from the Rogue in Corus, saying she was safe to wait on George?”

The cook turned indignant at the very thought that she would permit someone in the house who hadn’t been cleared. From the house’s account books she took the grimy piece of paper the maid had brought with her. Confirming the woman as safe, it was signed “Claw.”

Orem escorted the cook home while Alanna gave the whole thing serious thought. It seemed likely that George had been the poisoner’s target; since the deaths of Duke Roger and Ibn Nazzir, she had no enemies inclined toward murder.

“Who’s Claw?” she asked when a tired, sweating George came to the library an hour later.

The thief grimaced as he poured himself a glass of brandy. “One of the new young men in the city. Ugly as a goat—missin’ an eye, purple marks on his face where someone threw acid on him once. Why?”

Alanna gave him the note admitting the would-be poisoner to his house, watching the thief’s mobile face as he read. “Did the maid talk?”

“Hm? Oh, her. No more than that a man gave her the poison, and the money.” He put the note down, rubbing his face wearily. “She ended too fast.”

“Magic?”

George shook his head, slumping into his big leather chair. “Not that I could see. She was wearin’ a charm about her neck. When we took it off her, she—died.” Digging in his tunic pocket, he produced a small round medal hanging on a chain. “Have a look.”

Alanna touched it, instantly feeling the evil as the ember-stone flared hotly. She yanked her hand away. “Throw it in the fire!”

Startled, George obeyed. The charm sputtered and melted. “Why?”

“It’s been treated with a kind of poison.” Alanna soaked George’s handkerchief in brandy and held the dripping cloth out to her friend. “Wipe you hands with this—quickly! Did Coram or Rispah touch it?”

He obeyed, wrinkling his nose at the brandy fumes. “No, only me.”

“Take off your tunic, and throw it in the fire. It’s not magic; it’s a poison taken from the fireflower vines that grow in the southern hills. Farda, the midwife for the Bloody Hawk, told me about it.”

“How does it work?” George asked curiously.

“You have to have contact with it over a long period of time, unless you drink it or it enters through a cut in your skin, something like that. As long as you maintain contact, you’re all right. But if you run out, or if someone takes your source away—”

“You die,” he murmured thoughtfully, watching the fire destroy his tunic. “And if someone was givin’ it to you in your food, or some such, you’d never know.” Startled, he looked at her. “Has it been in our food?”

She shook her head. “The ember-stone would have warned me, or maybe even Faithful.” She glanced down at the cat, who had curled up by the fire. He yawned and twitched his tail over his eyes, indicating he didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Claw, then,” George sighed as she poured him another glass of brandy. “With a herb-woman to help, perhaps.”

“What will you do?”

He shrugged. “What’s to do, lass? I’ll have to return to Corus and see what this Claw’s been about.” He put his glass down and drew her close. “Come with me.”

Startled, she pulled back. “To Corus? George, I can’t!”

“You have to face Jonathan sometime,” he pointed out shrewdly.

“Not now, I don’t! George, why do you have to go rushing back there? Come south with me. Let the thieves find someone else to rule them.”

George shook his head. “I can’t leave them when my position’s weak, Alanna. Lads with reputations to make will be huntin’ for me all my days, tryin’ to kill me. And how do I know this Claw will do right by my people? I have as much responsibility to them as King Roald does to his own, as you do to your folk at Trebond.”

Alanna clenched her fists. “And I can’t go back to Corus. If I stay with you, I’ll be recognized sooner or later. The scandal would hurt Myles; now he’s my foster-father. If I go to the palace, they’ll be after me to dress like a lady and get married and forget I ever won my shield.”

George sighed. “That’s everything, isn’t it? I won’t turn my back on the Rogue, and you can’t leave off your adventurin’.” He took her hand. “Come to bed. If I’m to ride for Corus in the mornin’, we’ve a lot of good-byes to say first.”

When Alanna went south, a week after George returned to the city, Coram went with her. “Rispah will wait for me,” he growled when Alanna questioned him about it. “We made an arrangement. She understands that if I’m not with ye, ye’ll no doubt try somethin’ daft. Now let an old man alone, will ye?”

Alanna dropped her questioning, glad to have his company on the long ride back to the tents of the Bloody Hawk.