In the Hand of the Goddess (The Song of the Lioness) Page 7

  “You certainly are,” he said dryly. Ignoring her protests, he steered her out of the tent. “He’s been here all day?” he asked Baird, who followed them.

  The Duke nodded. “And he’s saved more men than I can count. Go to bed, lad,” he ordered Alanna. “You’ve done more than your share here. The worst is over.”

  Alanna was still arguing as Jon mounted Darkness and swung her up before him. “My, you’re a quarrelsome little fellow,” he murmured in her ear as they set off. “You’re dead on your feet. Why didn’t you stop?”

  Alanna leaned back against her prince, feeling very tired. Darkness, ignoring the double burden, picked his way along the river path. “They needed help,” she rasped.

  Jonathan nodded to Imrah’s sentries as they bypassed that camp. “Why did you have to go there in the first place?”

  “I wasn’t useful where I was.” She sighed gratefully, glad for his strong arm around her. “Hm?” she murmured.

  “I said, must you always be useful?”

  “Yes.”

  They rode on silently for a few moments before Jon remarked thoughtfully, “Perhaps I could make myself useful there, too, instead of attending a lot of meetings where Roger makes the decisions and never asks how I feel. Think it’s worth a try?”

  Alanna yawned, half-turning so her head was tucked under Jonathan’s chin. “Anything’s worth a try.”

  A yowl in the darkness greeted them as Faithful informed Alanna, Healing is all very well, but not if you kill yourself in the process. And do you enjoy snuggling up to Jonathan like a lovesick girl?

  Alanna sat bolt upright. “Now, you listen to me, you prissy animal—” she began.

  “Your Highness. You’re back late.” Jem Tanner, a spear in his hand, stepped out of the woods. “And Squire Alan. Gadding about all day?”

  “You’ve got guard duty, Jem Tanner?” Alanna snapped, aware that Jonathan was tight with anger. “Then guard.”

  Faithful leaped onto Alanna’s lap as they rode on, startling Darkness not a bit. “Who was that?” Jonathan asked quietly.

  “One of the men from camp. Being nasty is his hobby. You were warning me about him, weren’t you, Faithful?”

  If you’re going to fall in love with the prince, don’t show it, the cat advised. Unless you want the whole camp talking about you both.

  “I’m not fa—” Alanna stopped; aware that Jonathan was listening intently, one of his arms still around her waist.

  “Are you two talking?” he wanted to know.

  “Ask Faithful,” Alanna said tersely. “I just answer his questions.”

  A soldier came forward to take Darkness as they entered their own camp. Myles summoned the prince to his tent, and Alanna was left alone with her thoughts. She kept remembering the men she tried to heal, with their terrible wounds and the glazed look of pain in their eyes. She remembered every cut, every broken bone, until her stomach began to roll. She couldn’t make herself think of anything else.

  Her body rebelled. She rushed out to the back of the tent, where the little she had eaten that day came up violently. She struggled to be quiet; she wanted no one to witness her shame. Warriors were not supposed to throw up at the sight of blood and dying.

  Cool hands soothed her head, steadying her. When she stopped heaving, Jon gave her a dipperful of water. Gratefully she splashed some on her face and rinsed her mouth out.

  “If Faithful told you, I’ll skin him,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “No,” Jon replied. “I was coming back and I heard you.”

  “You must think I’m an awful sissy.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then he replied, “I threw up after my first skirmish.”

  Alanna looked at her friend, startled. “You never.”

  He nodded. “I did. I just didn’t have anyone to hold my head for me.” He ruffled her hair. “Don’t tell the men, will you?”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “Done.” He held open the flap of the tent. “It wouldn’t do for them to think we’re sissies, would it?”

  Just two nights later Alanna went looking for Big Thor. His spear needed replacing, and she had one from a man who had died in the healers’ tents. The watch captain told her Thor and Jem Tanner had guard duty on the wooded point of land just below the camp, and Alanna set out to meet them, lugging the too-large spear. It was late; everyone but the sentries was going to bed. The night pressed in as she left the camp behind. She could hear animals in the nearby trees, even Faithful’s soft padding as he walked beside her. Suddenly the cat dashed into the trees that screened Alanna from Thor’s guard post. Frowning, Alanna followed. She was remembering that Jonathan had objected to this little wood that isolated the point so effectively. The enemy could easily cross here and pick off Jonathan’s and Imrah’s men if the sentries were unable to give the warning. Things would be easier for everyone if the trees were chopped down. Roger had talked the prince out of it, saying he didn’t want men tired out with woodcutting if the enemy attacked, which they did almost every day. His words were reasonable, and Jon had given in.

  Faithful yowled a warning to Alanna before she left the shelter of the wood. She ducked behind a big oak and peered at the sentry post, listening.

  Thor was not at his station. Neither was Jem Tanner. Instead three men in dark clothing stood on the point. One was lighting a torch while another fitted an arrow to his bow. Faithful yowled again in fury as he positioned himself between the three and Alanna’s hiding place. He hissed evilly, his violet eyes gleaming in the darkness.

  “Cursed beast!” the bowman whispered as he let his arrow fly. It thudded into the oak’s trunk, missing the cat.

  “Stop it!” the third man ordered. The one with the torch was waving it over his head, signaling to the opposite bank. “Don’t make so much noise!”

  Alanna heard oars splashing in the river; she didn’t wait to hear more. Dropping the spear, she quietly made her way free of the wood, Faithful at her heels. Once clear, she ran for all she was worth to the next guard post on the way to Jon’s camp.

  “Sound your horn!” she yelled to the men there as soon as she drew within earshot. She dropped beside them, panting. “Something’s happened to Thor and Tanner—the enemy’s crossing!”

  The men sounded the alarm. Other horns in both camps took up the call as Alanna ran on to Jonathan, sending one of the sentries to alert the captains.

  The prince was dressing as she arrived. “What’s up?” he asked, shrugging into his mail. Alanna told him as she handed over his weapons and his helmet. Myles came in, looking odd in plate armor.

  “A messenger just got in; Imrah lost two guards as well,” he said without formality. “The Tusaine is mounting a major attack between our camps. They’re going to split us right down the middle; the men from the Fort may get here too late.”

  “We’ll see,” Jon said grimly. “Have the men form a half-circle around the point. We’ll shove them off our ground, then help Imrah. You go on, Myles. I’m contacting Roger.”

  Alanna hurried outside with Myles to saddle his horse. “What’s he doing?” the knight asked as she worked.

  “Magic.” She checked the cinches on Myles’s saddle. The horse caught her tightly held excitement, fidgeting under her touch. Alanna gave Myles a hand up. “He’ll send to Roger in the fire.”

  “Very handy,” Myles approved, gripping the reins. He settled the mask of his helmet over his face and kicked his horse into a gallop. Alanna saddled Darkness, smiling grimly. It seemed even a scholar like Sir Myles became a warrior when it was necessary!

  Faithful yowled at her feet as she led Jonathan’s stallion around to the tent. “No,” she said firmly. “You remain here. I won’t have you hacked in two by someone. You can go up by the falls and watch for more trouble there; but stay away from the fighting!”

  Evidently the cat realized she meant it. He trotted away, his tail high. Jonathan stepped from the tent and jumped onto Darkness’s ba
ck, a shimmering silver ghost on the black horse. “I take it you told Faithful to stay out of the fighting.”

  Alanna double-checked the cinches of Darkness’s saddle. No one would ever fall from a horse she had readied! “He may even obey me, for a change.”

  A strong hand gripped her shoulder, and she looked up into Jonathan’s worried face. “I guess I can’t tell you the same, can I?” he whispered.

  “The biggest attack this summer, and I’m supposed to hide in my tent?” she asked, astonished. “And me your squire? Are you out of your mind?”

  Trumpets were blowing, telling them the enemy was there in force, but Jonathan still hesitated. His sapphire eyes were very bright. “Against one warrior I can’t worry about you. You’ve proved you can handle yourself. But against an army—”

  She covered his hand with hers. “I have my duty, Highness. And this is my home, too. I’m trained to defend it, and defend it I will.”

  Jonathan sighed, putting on his helmet. “You know where to find me when you’re armed.” He urged Darkness out.

  Alanna didn’t waste time wondering about this strange new protectiveness in Jon. Instead she hurried to get ready. She had no armor, having refused the plate armor the weapons-master in the palace had offered her. (Plate was much too heavy.) Now she pulled on quilt-lined leather breeches and jacket—most foot soldiers wore the same. She was already wearing Lightning and her dagger. She stopped only to grab a shield and a short axe before hurrying outside once more. Moonlight pawed the ground, sensing action. Alanna cooed soothingly to the mare as she rapidly saddled her.

  “We’ve got to protect Jonathan and Darkness, don’t we?” She swung herself onto Moonlight’s back. “Let’s go, girl.”

  As one of the last fighters to the point, Alanna could clearly see that the enemy had advanced past the trees, engaging Jon’s men in the clearing around the main path. She glimpsed Jonathan’s silver and sapphire gleaming in the thick of the battle as Darkness reared to fight as well. Myles was beside the prince, with Gary and Raoul flanking them both. The enemy would have trouble hurting the prince or his advisor unless they could get past two very big knights.

  The patterns of the battle moved and changed before her eyes beneath the flickering torches, and Alanna clenched her teeth till her jaw hurt. The Tusaine had gotten past the Tortallans at Jonathan’s back, coming around the prince and his friends in a pincers. Shaking her head to clear, it, Alanna rose in her saddle and drew Lightning. “To me, men of Fort Drell!” she yelled furiously. “To me!”

  Her friends swarmed after her, following as she charged into the thick of the fighting. The Tusaines, surprised by the unexpected attack, turned to face the slender, angry youth on the gold-and-white mare. They found themselves attacked by a troop of very tough foot soldiers and forced to give way as the youth urged his companions on.

  “Alan!” someone yelled. “The knight!”

  She brought her shield up instantly, just in time to intercept a hard blow from a mace. Her shield buckled a little, then held. Alanna swore as her shield arm went numb and wheeled Moonlight to face her first mounted attacker. The enemy knight was big, and he wore thick plate armor as if it was made of air. It was a struggle for her just to ward off his mace. Gripping Moonlight’s reins in her teeth, she guided the well-trained mare with her knees alone, watching for an opening. As the knight lifted both arms to deliver the blow that would shatter her shield and her arm, she saw her chance. Swiftly Alanna slid Lightning into the opening between the knight’s arm and chest armor, thrusting deep. With a gasp of surprise, her enemy fell from his horse, dead.

  Alanna had no time now to stop and think about the first man she had killed. Jon was still in danger. She pressed forward again, the men from her camp behind her. She threw her now-useless shield into the face of an attacking knight, running him through while he was blinded. Another knight rode to engage her, swinging a two-handed sword. Alanna nudged Moonlight to the side. Gripping her axe in her left hand and Lightning in her right, she tried to circle this new attacker.

  “Tortall!” The cry was loud and fierce over the crash of weapons and men’s screams. “Tortall for Trebond!”

  Alanna’s attacker glanced at Jonathan, who was battering his way toward Alanna. Taking a chance, Alanna sent the big sword flying, wounding the knight in the shoulder in the same thrust. She pushed on to Jon’s side, placing herself between him and Myles. The men formed a circle around them all, keeping the enemy back.

  Alanna scanned the area for more trouble. In spite of the men and knights around her prince, she felt real danger was nearby. Something glinted in the trees, catching her eye. An archer stood in a maple, his arrow already on his string. His target was Jonathan!

  Alanna yelled and threw herself to one side, knocking Jon half out of the saddle. The arrow glanced off the prince’s shield, and one of the Tortallan archers picked the enemy bowman out of the tree. Alanna pulled herself upright, feeling dizzy and tired. Her left arm—her shield arm—hurt terribly. Jonathan hauled himself back into his saddle with Myles’s help, looking at her with gratitude. “Thanks,” he said. “You—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of blowing horns. Hundreds of fresh men in Tortallan colors poured into the clearing, led by Duke Roger. The new troops pushed the enemy back into the woods and onto the point, leaving Jonathan’s people to catch their wind. When the Duke of Conté returned, his neat hair was mussed and a bloody scratch ran down one side of his face. “They took to their boats,” he said with a grimace. “We can’t follow; remember my uncle’s orders.”

  The men began to disperse, to look after the wounded and the dead. Alanna waited where she was, shifting anxiously in her saddle. It was time to look for one man in particular. Her shoulder gave a sharp, agonized pull, and she nearly fainted with pain. Its source was a deep gash down her arm; someone had wounded her without her realizing it. She needed to bandage the cut soon, but right now it was more important to attend to business. She spotted the watch captain among the healers and wounded and made her way over to him on Moonlight.

  “Where’s Big Thor?” she asked bluntly.

  The gray-haired man looked up at her. “I’m afraid something happened to him, Squire Alan. I’ve been searching.…” He gestured to the battlefield around them. “There’s no body, nothing. Jem Tanner wandered into camp at the start of it all with a lump on his noggin. He says Thor knocked ’im out.”

  Alanna steadied Moonlight, who was fretting at the scent of blood from the wounded. “Jem Tanner accused Big Thor of going over to the enemy?”

  The captain nodded grimly. “I don’t believe him. I know Thor; he’s served under me these five years. Thor don’t have a treacherous bone in his body. Jem Tanner does.”

  Alanna frowned. “Find Jem Tanner and hold him, on my orders.”

  The captain bowed. “As ye say, Squire Alan.”

  Alanna glanced at the stand of trees, holding her wounded arm. Thor hadn’t been with the enemy, or she would have heard of it by now. What if Thor had been the one betrayed, not Jem? She thought hard. If Thor was dazed or hurt, where would he go? Toward the camp—along the riverbank, perhaps?

  She urged Moonlight up to the point, where still more wounded and dying men lay on the ground. Thor would be noticeable from size alone. He wasn’t there. Carefully she scanned the ground until she saw what she was looking for. Something heavy had been dragged down to the river near the sentry post. Guiding Moonlight down the slope to the water’s edge, she found a clump of bushes where the heavy thing had come to rest. Moonlight sniffed the dark stain on the earth there and shied away with alarm. Dismounting with difficulty, Alanna picked up some of the stained dirt and smelled it. Lately she had become too familiar with this smell: It was blood.

  Dizziness made her grab Moonlight’s mane, fighting to stand upright. Clenching her teeth, she found the brandy flask in one saddlebag and opened it, taking a large swallow. The harsh mouthful made her cough and sputter, but her head cleared agai
n. She put the flask away, thinking. Thor was hurt, she knew. If this blood was his, he was badly hurt, and she couldn’t waste time. Closing her eyes, she reached inside herself for the fire of her Gift. She opened her hand and let the magic flow into her palm, making it glow with a brilliant white-purple light. Opening her eyes, she nodded with grim satisfaction. The light shining from her hand was far brighter than any torch, throwing the scene around her into high relief. The effort made her head spin, but she hung on. There would be plenty of time to collapse after she found Big Thor.

  Footprints were dark holes in the earth in front of her, leading north along the river to the camp, as she had suspected. With her free hand Alanna tugged on Moonlight’s reins, leading the mare forward as she strained to see the prints. Once she stopped to bind up her arm. She was losing a dangerous amount of blood and the use of magic was tiring her more quickly than usual, but she was afraid that if she stopped looking, someone less kind might find Thor and kill him.

  When Moonlight halted, Alanna nearly fell. The mare was nuzzling a huge form lying half in and half out of the river.

  Alanna knelt stiffly by the body. “Thor?” she whispered. The man stirred and moaned. It was a struggle to turn him over using only one hand; her wounded arm was useless for anything but her light. Finally Moonlight helped, pushing with her nose. When they got Thor onto his back, Alanna wished they hadn’t.

  “Aye.” The giant’s voice was a whisper. “He blinded me. Have you some brandy?”

  Alanna opened her flask and carefully put it to his lips. He didn’t have the strength to hold it himself.

  “’Twas Jem Tanner that betrayed us,” Thor rasped. “I don’t know how. He was nervous from the moment we went on watch. There must’ve been a signal, and he hit me over the head. When I came around”—he touched a hand to his face—“I was like this, and I could hear the horns blowin’.”

  While Thor talked, Alanna examined him with her Gift, feeling the life slipping away from her friend. Even if his wounds had not been serious, he had lost too much blood to be healed by anyone now.