Alanna: The First Adventure (8 page)

Gary made a face. “He says he fell down.”

Stefan spat. “Oh, aye, he fell. O' course, Master Ralon helped him fall, several times. Poor li'l tyke didn't have a chance.” He chuckled. “But he got Master Malven a good 'un in th' nuts t' start.”

“Why didn't you stop them?” Gary wanted to know.

Stefan shook his head. “It's th' rules—we don't mess in th' nobles' fights. But I'll say this—if Ralon ever comes back from th' City wiv a full purse, George'll have all our ears. George likes Master Alan.”

“Let George do what he wants.” Then Gary frowned. “What do you mean, he'll have your ears?”

Stefan's eyes were calm. “George has a collection. One slip an' he warns ye. Two, an' he takes an ear—fer his collection. Three mistakes—” Stefan shrugged. “He takes t'other ear an' all that's attached. George likes things done right.”

The next afternoon Raoul beat Ralon thoroughly. Ralon broke the code and informed Duke Gareth. From then on Jonathan's friends left any room Ralon entered. Raoul watched Ralon all the time, just waiting for his chance.

Ralon couldn't take revenge on Raoul, or Gary, or the Prince. Instead he found an easier victim.

“You told your friends!” he hissed when he caught Alanna in the library alone one day. He blacked her other eye and split her lip again. Four days later he caught her once more. This time Alanna used a few tricks Coram had taught her. She bloodied Ralon's nose.

Ralon broke her arm.

Each talk she had with Duke Gareth was worse than the last one. Once again she faced him, this time with one arm in a sling.

“I fell down, your Grace,” she said, her face straight.

“Mithros, boy—can't you think of a better excuse?”

She scuffed a foot. “This one works so well, sir. It—it has tradition behind it.”

Gareth scowled at her. “It certainly does. I've heard it from every page who's been fighting that I ever trained—with a few exceptions.”

“Well, sir, you don't believe me and I
know
you don't believe me, but pride is satisfied all around. Your Grace.”

The Duke had to hide a smile. “You are pert, Alan of Trebond. An extra hour of mathematics for you for the next five weeks. You may go.”

Alanna was opening the door when he added, “I wish you would thrash him. He deserves it.”

She looked back at him. “I will one day, sir. I'm getting tired of falling down.”

While Alanna talked to Duke Gareth, Stefan came to the practice courts in search of the master who was teaching the boys hand-to-hand combat. After Stefan lured the teacher away, Jonathan's friends surrounded Ralon. He saw Raoul adjusting the padded gloves on his big hands and began to sweat.

Jonathan spoke, his voice icy. “You were warned, Malven. You are no gentleman. You are a dog, and you shall be thrashed like one.”

Gary held Ralon. Raoul administered the beating, his face impossible to read. When the boys' teacher returned from his wild-goose chase, he found his students practicing wrestling. Ralon, they said, was sick and had gone to his room.

After that Ralon kept to small bits of nastiness, knowing Alanna would never complain to anyone. If she had gone swimming, the others would have seen the many bruises on her body. As it was, she said nothing and continued to study with Coram. She lived with Ralon's tormenting and spent her free time wrestling and boxing. She fell asleep the moment she rolled into bed, only to rise at dawn to practice some more. She was determined to beat Ralon—it would mean she had finally earned her place among the boys. It would mean that she could do anything larger and stronger males could.

Her splinted arm turned into an advantage. Normally she was right-handed. Now Alanna had to depend on her left hand for everything, and her left hand was the one she first learned to really fight with. She quickly saw that she could be twice as effective using both hands, and worked as hard as she could to develop her skill.

In mid-October the palace healers removed the
splint. If they were surprised that her arm had healed so quickly, they said nothing. Impatient to get Ralon, Alanna had used her Gift to help mend her broken bone.

In bed the night the splint was taken off, she waited to hear Coram's snores before getting up. Quickly she put on dark clothes and picked up her boots. She crept through Coram's room, trying not to make a sound.

When she got to the door, Coram sighed, “
Now
what are ye up to?”

Alanna froze. “Go back to sleep.”

“Where are ye goin'?” She could see him sitting up in the dim light from the window.

“If Duke Gareth asks, you won't be lying when you say you don't know,” she pointed out.

Coram made a resigned noise. “Lass—it's restriction to the palace if ye're caught.”

“I know.”

“All right, then. I won't bolt the door.” He lay back down and immediately went back to sleep.

It was easy to slip out of the palace and onto the road to the city. Alanna set off at a jog-trot, wishing she was riding Chubby. Still, she knew she couldn't have ridden out of the palace without being spotted.

The Dancing Dove was bustling. She could barely see through the smoke-filled air, and the noise of the thieves and their ladies having fun was deafening. For a moment she wanted to turn and run, but Ralon was waiting back at home. Better to face George's friends—who were
honest
villains—than Ralon the sneak. But how was she to find George in this mess?

A tall, chesty redhead stopped and looked Alanna over. Planting her hands firmly on her hips, the redhead drawled, “A bit young for this place, aren't you, sonny?”

Her husky voice was teasing, but there was kindness in the lady's large brown eyes. “I'm looking for George,” Alanna replied. “He said I could find him here.”

The woman made a face. “He did? That sounds like him, tellin' a bit of a boy t' come t' this place at night.”

“I don't think he expected me to come at night,” Alanna said, always fair.

“Humph. Wait,” the woman ordered. She vanished into the crowded room, to return within minutes. “Come on, then—and have an eye t' your purse.”

“I didn't bring one,” Alanna yelled above the din as she followed the redhead.

“Here you be.” The woman shoved Alanna into a clear space before the fire. A table had been set beside the hearth and George sat at its head. Gathered around him were men and women who eyed Alanna curiously.

George had an odd expression in his eyes as he looked her over. Finally he spoke. “Alan, this is Rispah, the queen of the ladies who follow the Rogue. Alan's a friend of mine—from the country.”

Rispah gave a crooked grin. “I'm sure he is.” Raising her voice, she called, “Solom, you old dotard, bring lemonade for the boy. Can't you see he's parched?” She looked at Alanna. “Unless you want somethin' stronger, youngling?”

Alanna turned bright red. “No, thank you.”

Rispah went back to her friends. Alanna remained standing. Why was George looking at her so strangely?

At last the man said, “I hear you're havin' trouble with the Malven.”

“That's one way of putting it,” she agreed.
I shouldn't have come,
she thought.

Solom appeared with a tankard of lemonade. “Welcome back, Master Alan.” He smiled. “I see yer arm be healed.”

“Good as new. Thanks, Solom.” She accepted the tankard and looked at George. “May I?”

“Yes, of course. Sit down.”

Alanna clenched one hand behind her back. Here came the hard part. “Actually—can we go talk alone?” She drew a deep breath. Asking for things was not easy. “I—I need a favor.”

George stood, grim faced. “We'll go to my chambers.” He put an arm around her shoulders and added, “Solom, we're not to be disturbed.”

The innkeeper nodded. “As ye say, Majesty.”

George climbed a narrow staircase leading upstairs, Alanna following. “They call you ‘Majesty'?” she asked, shocked.

“Why not? I'm king here—more king than the man who sits atop the big hill. My people wouldn't give
him
a word in passing, but they follow my slightest wish.”

“I suppose,” she said doubtfully.

George unlocked a sturdy door. “You're careless, young Alan, but you're polite.” He inspected each corner of his two rooms before waving her inside. “Sit.” He lit a branch of candles from the torch in the hall before closing the door. Alanna looked around at the plain wood furniture, noting how neat and clean the room was. She also noted that the candlestick George placed on the table was silver, while the
frame on the mirror hanging on his bedroom door was wrought gold.

The thief settled his length into one of the chairs by the table while Alanna took another. “Why am I careless?” she wanted to know. “I made sure no one saw me leave the palace.”

The funny look was still in George's eyes. “Humph.” He did not sound convinced. “A favor, you say. What's it to be? A throat cutting? Some of my bully boys taking Ralon into an alley for a chat?”

Alanna stood, shoving her chair from the table so hard that it fell over. “If
that's
what you think I want, I'm off,” she snapped. “I—I thought—” She bit a trembling lip. How could he
think
she would make such a disgraceful request?

“Easy, lad. Here.” George picked up the chair and pressed her back into it. “I misjudged you. Forgive me. I've known many nobles who take advantage. How was I to know you aren't one of them?”

Alanna frowned, puzzled. “What d'you mean, ‘nobles who take advantage'?”

George sighed and sat down. “I've known nobles who thought I should be grateful for their friendship—grateful enough to do them all sorts of favors. They wanted a kept thief, not a friend. I thought at
first that's what you came for. Now I see you're here as a friend, askin' a friend's help. It isn't a beatin' for Ralon that you want? It's a beatin' he needs.”

“That's what I want,” she said grimly, “but
I
want to be the one to beat him.”

“Better and better. Why come to me, then?”

She stared at her hands. “Coram's been teaching me boxing and wrestling, but Ralon already knows those things. He's a squire. I hoped you might know some hand fighting they don't teach us at the palace.”

George thought about this. “Haven't they a Shang master up there? The Shangs know more tricks than anyone can hope to learn—unless you started as young as they do.”

Alanna shook her head. “The last Shang master left a few days after I arrived. Sir Myles says they don't like to settle down.”

George nodded. “He's right. They wander from the day they leave Shang till the day they die. Peculiar folk, Shang warriors. So.” He leaned back, watching her. “Why d'you think I can teach you better than a man who cut his eyeteeth on a sword?”

“But that's it. Coram is a swordsman. I bet you win
your
fights bare-handed, or with a knife.”

George grinned. “You're right at that.” He stood,
removing his vest and boots. “Take off your cloak, then, and the shoes. Your first lesson starts now.”

For weeks Alanna worked with Coram and George. She began to surprise her masters with her ability to keep going when bigger boys were exhausted. Alanna's silence bothered Ralon, but he never realized what she planned for him. He continued to pester her when he got the chance; and when a chance didn't turn up, he made his opportunities. Alanna said nothing. She knew the older boys suspected the feud was still going on, but this was
her
fight. She would show everyone—including that part of her that was always wondering—that she was as good as any boy in the palace.

Shortly before Midwinter Festival, in December, Alanna was relaxing with George after a lesson. The thief pushed a tankard of ale at her. “Drink up,” he ordered. “Are you waitin' till you're a man grown before you give Malven what's comin' to him?”