The Woman Who Rides Like a Man (23 page)

"Particularly since I never go to the city," Thom agreed. "So Alanna has returned to the desert, with the devoted Coram in tow. How selfless of her. Unless she was afraid Jonathan might convince her to take back her refusal? She needn't have worried; he's very much occupied with Princess Josiane these days."

George stared at Thom.
If my lass had made no friends, only enemies,
he thought,
and if she'd been too frightened to let others know she was a human bein', disguise and all, she might well have turned out like this young monster. He's all brain and cynicism now, with no heart left to him.
"Well, you're a nasty bit of work, aren't you?" he remarked amiably. "Why don't we talk of your goin's-on here durin' All Hallow?"

A look of grudging respect entered Thom's violet eyes. "I'm sure I told Alanna
and
you I was working on experiments."

George made a disgusted face. "And
I'm
sure it was no such thing. Didn't you feel my mother testin' your guardin'-spells? Or were so many tryin' to learn what you were up to that you took no notice of those left half-dead?"

"I felt someone test the wards," Thom admitted. "But I was—busy. I'm sorry it was your mother who was harmed, but she had no business prying into that kind of magic. She's fortunate to be alive."

"Glad you think so. And what experiments are so important that you must put such spells to protect them?" When Thom didn't answer, George pressed, "Who were you tryin' to raise from the dead?"

Thom jumped to his feet, the mocking expression wiped from his face. "You dare to question me, George Cooper?" he yelled, fury radiating from him in waves. "Your relationship with my sister means nothing here, so do not think to try my patience!"

George stood, his hazel eyes grim. "Don't think to threaten me, laddy," he warned softly. "I won't stand for it."

"I have nothing more to say to you," Thom gritted. "Get out."

"I'll take my leave, then," George replied. "But I don't need my Sight to tell me you're in trouble, great sorcerer or no." He hesitated, then said wryly, "Doubtless I'll live to regret this, but for your sister's sake you may call on me in need."

Thom drew himself up. "I am more than able to handle my own affairs."

"Is that why you're shakin' so?" George inquired. "Best have a shot of brandy to steady your nerves, my lord. I'd hate to think there was anythin' in this world of ours could be beyond the skills of one such as yourself." Bowing mockingly, he left Thom.

And there's not a thing I can do or say, until I know what's ridin' him like the Old Hag of the Graveyards,
the thief told himself grimly as he slipped out of the palace.
But I'll bet every knife I own he's gotten himself into trouble that won't easily be fixed.

George smiled. Trouble with the Rogue, trouble with Thom. The future looked exciting. At least he wouldn't be bored. And as long as he kept his wits about him—it was good to be back in Corus.

* * *

10—The Doomed Sorceress

In a way it was disappointing for Alanna to find the Bloody Hawk had done very well for themselves in her absence. No problems had arisen that Kara and Kourrem could not handle with Umar Komm's advice. The school for sorcerers was learning the many forms of fire-magic, something Alanna had explored as far as she wanted to. She diverted the shamans for an afternoon to the problem of Lightning (which remained broken despite all the spells she tried), but their efforts to repair it came to nothing. The last try blew down several tents and brought Halef Seif to command them to stop while within the village precincts.

Discouraged, Alanna often went riding alone, deliberately returning after sunset to avoid the moment they joined with the Voice of the Tribes. She only missed Jon at those times. She missed George with a sullen ache that refused to go away, because of all people George made her laugh.

She was grooming Moonlight after one ride, wondering what she would do now, when Halef Seif found her.

"You are restless," he commented. "What troubles you?"

Putting her mare's combs away, she replied, "Did you know six days ago I celebrated my first year as a knight?"

"Coram mentioned it," the headman admitted.

"Anniversaries make me think. I've been remembering all that's happened since I won my shield." Falling into step together, they walked toward the hill overlooking the village.

"You slew the Sorcerer-Duke."

"You know, Halef Seif, I don't dream about that much anymore. Maybe it was a waste, and I acted too quickly, but it's over. So much has gone on since then. I came here, I met you and Kara and Kourrem—"

"Ishak also," he reminded her as they slowly climbed the hill.

Alanna nodded; her mouth twisted sadly. "I guess what happened to Ishak taught me I can't punish myself for things that are over and done. After all, I had to get on with teaching Kara and Kourrem, not with mourning him. And I'm proud of the girls."

"They are pupils to make any shaman proud. Any tribe, for that matter." At the hill's summit, he bowed, indicating a flat-topped rock was to be her seat. Alanna laughed and dusted it off, noticing the blackened spots around it from the magic she had worked here with her apprentices, and the scorchmarks left by Jonathan's Rite of the Voice. She sat, and Halef Seif knelt beside her, watching the village.

"You know, it's funny—I've learned more about other women since coming here than I ever did before. Pages and squires don't spend much time with women, and besides—" She grinned. "I was notoriously shy when it came to girls."

Halef chuckled. "And so you've discovered you like your own sex?"

"How can I not like other women?" Alanna inquired. "Particularly after knowing Kara and Kourrem and Mari Fahrar and Farda? I don't feel nearly as odd about being female as I did before I came here."

"But now you must be moving on?" he asked gently.

"I hate it when I'm not doing something useful," she admitted. "After spending all those years studying things or performing duties around the palace, I've gotten into the habit of working. With Kara and Kourrem doing so well, there's nothing for me to do. I've been thinking of riding south with Coram, to see what I can find."

"I know of a task for you, if you wish it." There was a note of diffidence in the headman's voice she had never heard before.

"Name it."

He smiled reluctantly. "I have a friend, a woman who is a sorceress in Alois, near Lake Tirragen in the hill country. For three nights I have dreamed she was in peril, cut off from me by fire." He shook his head. "We grew up together, before she discovered her Gift. She could not stay. There was no Woman Who Rides Like a Man to say she could be a shaman. But she returns here often."

Is she the reason that Halef Seif never married?
Alanna wondered.

"I would go to her myself, but my duties do not permit such freedom—"

Alanna put her hand on his arm. "I'll go. Don't worry about your friend. If she's in trouble, I'll do everything I can to help."

For a moment he covered her hand with his, the lines of concern smoothing out of his face. "Thank you, Alanna."

*

Alois was five days' ride to the north through hill country. Coram and Alanna donned leather and mail for the trip instead of burnooses; Alanna made sure her uncovered lioness shield was prominently displayed. Dressed as Bazhir, they might have encountered trouble. Dressed as Tortallan soldiers, they did not glimpse another soul.

During the ride Faithful stuck close to Alanna, never straying. The knight knew her pet was worried. "What's going to happen that you aren't telling me?" she finally demanded when they passed the marker indicating the village was near.

I don't know,
Faithful admitted.
I just have a bad feeling.
He settled down in his cup, the tip of his tail switching anxiously.

It was a beautiful day for January. The breezes were warm, and the snow had melted from the ground. Alanna expected children to be playing outside the huts that grew thicker as they approached the village, but no one was in sight. If people watched from inside their homes, there was no sign. A noise disturbed her, and she jerked around in her saddle. Coram was taking the canvas wrapping from his round leather shield, his dark face grim.

"I don't like what I'm feelin' here," he admitted. "Do ye?"

Alanna grimaced and undid the fastenings that held her shield over Moonlight's haunches. Settling the lioness rampant on her left arm, she drew the crystal sword with her right.
It doesn't even hum at me anymore.
Then she heard people shouting in anger and fear. It was impossible to make out the words, but the voices came from the village's center, behind the first wall of huts.

They trotted forward, scanning watchfully now as they made for the source of the cries. No one ran out to greet them; the huts of the village proper were as deserted as those outside.

There was a mob in the wide space that was the heart of the village: a tall, angular man in tattered gray robes stood on a platform that raised him head and shoulders above those around him. Alanna's senses prickled with uncomfortable recognition before she and Coram stopped beneath the eaves of a large cottage. They examined the area for armed men (other than the villagers, who waved sticks and farming tools), waiting to see what the fuss was about.

"Yahzed will have your souls," howled the man on the platform. His wide eyes gleamed with fanatic joy. Behind him a tall post thrust against the sky; the sight of it made Alanna sweat. Where had she seen this picture before? "Yahzed is angry; he is ferocious! Obey his command! Cleanse yourself of the ancient evil or Yahzed comes with plague and famine to cleanse
you!
Obey the servant of Yahzed! Only then will you escape the wrath of the God of Stones!"

A knot of men, struggling with something, encircled the tall post. Alanna remembered: twice she had seen this place, and the madman exhorting the people. Only in her second vision, the one given to her when Ishak had destroyed himself, she had seen a woman burning at the post.

A knot of villagers struggled with something as Coram whispered, "This Yahzed is one of the Scanra gods, I think. A nasty fellow. Dead set against witchcraft, or any magic—"

Alanna frowned. Why had the Goddess sent her this particular vision? What meaning could it have?

Her nostrils caught the scent of burning wood, and someone screamed in agony.

"Now
you do Yahzed's work!" the priest screamed. "Burn the sorceress! Cleanse this village of her taint!" The people roared their satisfaction; the woman they were burning screamed again.

Alanna reacted. A year ago she would have hesitated; a year ago she had not been a Bazhir shaman. Bolts of purple fire flamed from her open palm, knocking those they touched to the ground. "No!" she screamed. When they turned to charge, she pointed the crystal sword, opening a chasm at their feet.

"Fiend!" the priest cried, holding up a large black star-shaped pendant. A jewel at its middle twinkled in the sun and caught Alanna's eye, but that trick had been played on her once before: Duke Roger had been far cleverer at it than this man. She reached out, putting her lioness shield between her and the priest as she whispered spell-words. The priest shrieked as first his jewel, then the pendant, shuddered and cracked into a thousand pieces in his grip.

Grim-faced, Alanna rode forward, Coram at her back. Faithful stood erect on the saddle before her, back arched, fur erect, hissing with fury. A villager ran yelling at Alanna, swinging a hoe. Coram swung between them on his bay, knocking the man aside with the flat of his broadsword. Several rocks flew by; one struck Alanna on the head. For a moment she reeled sickly. Sheer fury rose up in her, spilling from the crystal sword in a bolt of magic and hurling three of the rock-throwers through the air. The villagers broke and ran.