Lioness Rampant (19 page)

As Jonathan and Gary talked, George Cooper entered his mother's house. A message from Corus had brought him home from Port Caynn at a gallop. Claw, frustrated by months of trying to kill George, had done the unthinkable and attacked a noncombatant, Eleni Cooper. Men and women loyal to George had turned back Claw's forces, and now Mistress Cooper's home resembled an army camp, complete with wary sentries.

When her son walked into the kitchen, Eleni was sorting and boxing the herbs she used as a healer. Pots holding some potions bubbled on the hearth, filling the air with the scent of herbs.

“It could have been worse,” she told George. “None of your people were killed, and I'm all right.”

George scowled. “
This
time, Mother. What of the next time, and the next? He attacked a woman who's not sealed to the Rogue. Claw will respect none of
our laws if he breaks this one. He don't care who gets hurt. He don't care if my Lord Provost descends on us with soldiers to rid the city of us and our wars. He cares nothin' for them he bribes and forces to follow him. They can end on Gallows Hill, and Claw will make no move to save them. It isn't right. He wants to be Rogue, but he won't look after those sealed to him as is his duty.” He accepted the cup of herbal tea she poured for him and sipped it without noticing what he drank. “Our greatest advantage lay always in never causin' enough trouble that my Lord Provost would be interested in cleanin' the Lower City of us.”

“You'll find a way to deal with him,” Eleni told him. She labeled a packet of comfrey leaves. “I've never known you to admit defeat, George.”

“Sometimes
I
start believin' the rumors,” George whispered, looking tired. “Let's face it, Mother—a man killed once should stay dead.”

Eleni sat across from him at the table. “Thank the Goddess his Gift didn't leave the tomb with him.”

“We've only
his
word for that, and Thom's.” George spooned honey into his tea. “I think sometimes
all
our troubles since October stem from those two. No, that's unfair. I let Alanna go myself.”

“She could have waited for you in Port Caynn,” Eleni reminded him.

George smiled ruefully. “I try not to ask the impossible of her, Mother. She's not a lass who waits at home for her man.”

“She could have returned here with you.”

George shook his head. “She didn't wish to face our nobles again. I think her memories of Jonathan still hurt.”

“Perhaps you should go after her, then. You haven't been yourself since she returned to the desert.” Taking one of his hands, she added, “It would please me to know you had stopped your courting of the hangman's noose.”

George squeezed her hand. “I can't, Mother, not yet. I've a few things to finish up here, first.” His face was bleak. “Besides, didn't I tell you? The news from Maren and Sarain is she's keepin' company with the Shang Dragon. How can a commoner and a rogue rival the likes of the king of Tortall and Liam Ironarm?”

Eleni frowned. “It's not like you to feel sorry for yourself, or to give up without a fight.”

George patted his mother's cheek. “I haven't. I'm just givin' Alanna her head while I see to things here.”
He grinned, and Eleni grinned back. Finishing his tea, he added, “Speakin' of that, we need to take steps. Claw may be fool enough t'try this again.”

“Be careful, George,” she teased. “You risk getting tangled in the affairs of law-abiding people like me. Respectability might be catching.” Seeing he continued to frown, she said tartly, “What would you do, surround me with the King's Own?”

He looked at her, and a wide grin spread over his face. “You know, Mother, you may have an idea there.”

A few hours later George took his mother to call on Myles of Olau in his town house. Bazhir guards admitted them and escorted them to the knight's study. The servants hurried to bring Myles and his guests refreshments. George they knew for a frequent guest, but none of them had ever seen the woman who accompanied him. Gossip buzzed in the kitchens as the tribesmen who attended Myles looked on.

Alanna's father looked from George to Eleni after hearing George's request, tugging his shaggy beard. “I'd be delighted if Mistress Cooper wishes to stay in my house. I didn't know things were so bad for you, though.”

“Claw's not givin' up easy,” George said grimly. “And he knows he can hurt me through Mother. Here, with all these Bazhir about, she'll be safe. You have archers enough.”

“It comes of my daughter being the Woman Who Rides Like a Man,” Myles told Eleni, his eyes twinkling. “I adopted her, and they adopted me.” He took Eleni's hand. “Alanna's told me about you, and you are the mother of my friend George. I welcome the chance to do you a service, Mistress Cooper.”

She looked him over. “I hate to leave my home,” she admitted. “But while my son makes his life among rogues, I must be careful. Thank you, Sir Myles. I accept sanctuary in your house.”

“Then it must be ‘Myles.'” The knight kissed her hand.

“As I am ‘Eleni.'”

Myles held Eleni's hand a moment too long, making George think. This possibility hadn't occurred to him before.
A fine thing, to be gettin' a new Pa at my age,
he thought with a grin.

Thom dropped into an armchair with a sigh. The bright colors of his silk robe overwhelmed his pale face and dull copper hair, bleaching his eyes to a light
amethyst. He rubbed a hand over his chapped mouth, wincing as a crack began to bleed.

Roger of Conté walked in. “So you're back. I was just finishing my notes on Palawynn the Windwaker.”

“Thank you,” Thom rasped, watching as Roger took a seat. In contrast, the Duke was the picture of health: gleaming brown-black hair and beard, brilliant sapphire eyes, glowing skin. He didn't look as if he'd spent ten months in a tomb, to emerge as a magicless sorcerer.

So here's an irony,
Thom thought.
I raise him from death, and seven months later I look as if I just crawled out of the grave.
“I just had another cozy talk with his soon-to-be Majesty,” he announced bitterly. “
This
time he brought my Lord Provost. I don't like that old man—I never did.” Mimicking, he went on, “Was I
still
sure you have no Gift? Would I report it if you showed signs of getting it back? Have I noticed you conspiring with anyone? Do I suspect you of involvement in the king's death? or the queen's? or my third cousin's, the one who was struck by lightning!” His face turned an ugly red. “They asked me if I trust you,” he added sullenly.

Roger inspected his fingernails. “Do you?” he inquired in his melodic voice.

“Of course I don't. I don't trust anyone.”

“Except your sister,” Roger pointed out. “What did they say?”

“Nothing, this time,” Thom replied, puzzled. “Usually I get a lecture about my duty to spy on you and report my suspicions, but this time—nothing.”

“I see. Is there word of your twin?”

Thom glanced sharply at him, a look Roger met with a bland expression. “Jonathan's had word from some Udayan hedgewitch,” he said reluctantly. “Sir Raoul found Alanna there. It's possible they'll sail to Port Caynn sometime next week.”

“You must be pleased,” Roger murmured. “Didn't I hear somewhere she is prone to seasickness?”

“Very.” Thom grinned. “To think I'd forgotten that.”

“Does gossip say if she found whatever it was that took her to the Roof of the World?”

For the thousandth time Thom wondered how Roger really felt about the woman who had killed him. “If his Majesty knows, he's keeping quiet about it. We'll find out for ourselves, soon enough. Are you looking forward to her coming home?”

Picking up a crystal, Roger shrugged. “I plan to stay out of her way. Shall I start on the Dragonbreaker scrolls next?”

“Do as you like,” Thom snapped. “I'm not your jailer
or
your keeper.”

Roger smiled, turning on his charm. “I owe you a great debt, dear boy. If not for you, I'd be caught still between here and the Realms of the Dead. If I can repay you, I will.”

“They'll never trust you,” Thom said, red with shame. “They watch everything you do for a sign you've regained your Gift.”

Roger stood. “Believe me, Thom—if my magic returns, you will be the very first to know.”

The Inn of the Dancing Dove was quiet. It was an hour before sunset, and the city's rogues still prowled the streets. George looked around the empty common room, aware—not for the first time—that he no longer enjoyed being master here.

In part it was his war with Claw. It had begun when George visited Port Caynn, to put down a revolt and then to have a love affair with Alanna. Four months ago Claw had moved to become King of Thieves in George's absence. He had used blackmail to force many to follow him, and then he'd tried to poison George. George had come to the city to save his throne, and Alanna had returned to her
Bazhir. George had known then that he'd probably lost her.

When George was younger, things were different. A would-be king challenged the old one to a fight before witnesses. The winner took the throne-like chair at the Dancing Dove and a tenth of the profit on each major transaction and theft. He gave the choicest jobs and judged quarrels. He was king of the Tortallan underworld and received far more obedience than his people would ever give the king in the palace.

Claw would not fight. Claw swore loyalty to George while his men attacked George nightly. Many rogues changed their allegiance on a day-to-day basis, depending on who appeared to be the winner. Only George's oldest friends kept faith with him.

The only interest George now had in the Rogue was the effort to bring Claw down. And he hoped finding out who Claw really was would help. Myles had put a man to investigating Claw's secret past. The history the one-eyed rogue had given George on his arrival in Corus was as false as his name. In other thieves this hardly mattered, but Claw spoke and acted at times like a noble.

“Majesty!” A street boy George didn't know rushed in. “Majesty, come quick! Claw's took by
Provost-men!” George followed the boy through the rear entrance, still deep in thought. When he emerged, a man struck him from behind, knocking him into the mud of the kitchen yard. George cleared two knives from their sheaths at his waist.
This is how you pay,
he thought grimly as he slashed and struck.
You forget to be watchful and the Black God taps your shoulder …

He slashed again; someone screamed. The man on his back fell off. George lunged to his feet, his knives sweeping in a silver arc. Of the gang surrounding him, he took one in the throat and the next low. A fourth jumped from the kitchen roof onto his shoulders. George rammed backward into a wall to stun his assailant.

A swordsman attacked. A line of pain streaked from George's shoulder to his thigh. Gritting his teeth, George threw one of his knives, hitting the swordsman in the chest.