Faithful retreated, knowing what she had in mind. It doesn’t matter what I think. You’ll do what you want to—you always have.
Reaching toward the cord-encircled sticks, she beckoned. Flames bit into the pile. Alanna touched the ember-stone to see her spelclass="underline" Now the dead were covered by a purple haze sprouting flames. Her cord was a circle of power that kept the fire from spreading. Releasing the ember, she saw the fire of her Gift vanish. The flames were real; they mounted higher and higher among the bones and trappings.
Liam said nothing when she joined the men, but he was pale and sweating. He really is afraid of magic, she realized. The knowledge depressed her: It confirmed the end of their romance at its beginning. Someday she would have to leave him—no love would last when he feared part of her. They all rode on, watching the land, listening for any out-of-place sound. The mound of bones had made them nervous.
“I’d druther we was jumped. Get it over with,” Coram grumbled softly. He and Alanna unpacked after stopping for the night; Liam had gone to hunt fresh food. Food was not a problem yet: Knowing conditions ahead, they’d gotten extra provisions at the Mongrel Cur.
“I know what you mean,” Alanna sighed. “Where are the armies?”
“Bedded down for the night, I hope.” It was Liam, returning with a string of fish. “All the same, let’s stand watches. I smell woodsmoke.” He gave the fish to Alanna, whose turn it was to cook.
Coram built a fire, keeping it small and smokeless. They cooked and ate in silence, listening. The meal over, Faithful went out to prowl; the humans worked on personal tasks. Alanna was beginning to relax when the cat scrambled into their circle.
People, he hissed. Women and infants. On the other side of the ridge!
Putting their work aside, they buckled on sword belts. Coram indicated silently that he would guard the horses. Liam and Alanna made for the ridge, moving noiselessly through brush and trees. When they reached the top, Liam signaled Alanna to go to cover. She frowned: Having grown away from a squire’s obedience, resuming it even a little came hard. She also knew to bow to Liam’s extra years on the road.
The people were below, following the stream. Alanna tried for a better look, wondering if she could get closer.
A voice growled, “Tell the big one to drop his blade, or I put a bolt through you.”
3
THE WARLORD’S DAUGHTER
ALANNA DIDN’T HAVE TO REPEAT IT—Liam heard. Rising from his crouch, he let his weapon fall. Alanna put Lightning down. To have Liam caught because a girl-child had the drop on her was humiliating. She was supposed to be able to take care of herself!
“Amazing,” Alanna’s captor said. “We go hunting for game, and we find you instead.”
Alanna heard Coram swear in the distance. “Coram, are you all right?” she yelled.
“Some lass is aimin’ a crossbow at me,” was the response. “Only my dignity’s hurt, so far.”
Alanna’s guard called, “Thayet?”
“I’m all right, Buri.” The voice was female, deep, and clear.
Black eyes locked on Alanna. “Start walking,” Buri ordered.
“I won’t leave my sword in the dirt,” Alanna snapped.
The stocky girl stooped to grab Lightning, her crossbow sight never moving from Alanna’s chest. “Now go,” she commanded. “Hands in the air.”
“Shame your mother didn’t drown you at birth,” Alanna muttered, obeying.
“What makes you think she didn’t?”
Awaiting them were refugees; their belongings overburdened a donkey. The group itself was smalclass="underline" two teenaged girls, two boys aged ten or so, and a girl nearly the same age. One of the teenagers carried a baby.
Coram approached, leading their horses. Guarding him was a woman of Alanna’s age, dressed in a split skirt, boots, a cotton shirt, and a fleece-lined vest. She bore her crossbow like one who knew its use. She was also the most beautiful female Alanna had ever seen. Her face—particularly her nose—was strong-boned; her hazel eyes were deep-set under even brows; her chin was determined. Her mouth was naturally red, accented by ivory skin. She wore her jet-black hair pulled into a knot.
Alanna sighed. “Cute” was the best description she could hope for.
Liam bowed to the young woman. “Your Royal Highness.”
“Have we met, sir?” Hers was the voice that had answered Buri.
“No, Highness.” Despite his peasant’s accent, the Dragon was as gallant as a noble. “But I’d have to be blind not to recognize a daughter of the Wilima house.”
Thayet jian Wilima smiled. “Sadly, I do take after my father,” the princess admitted. She fingered the curve of her nose.
Alanna stared at Thayet. The princess had once been considered as a wife for Jon, but the queen had said no—there was bad blood in the Wilima line. But seeing her, Alanna thought it was too bad Jon couldn’t marry this one. She didn’t look as if she’d let him stand on his dignity for long. The idea made her grin.
Buri poked her with her bow. “Her Highness isn’t someone to laugh at.”
“Don’t, Buri,” Thayet said. “These people aren’t enemies.”
“We don’t know they’re friends.”
Liam glanced at Alanna’s guard. “Believe me, K’mir, if I wanted to turn the tables on you, I would.” He feinted to the side and lunged forward. Before Alanna could see what he’d done, Buri sat in the dirt, her crossbow in Liam’s hands. He offered it back to her as she rose. Buri took it, her eyes filled with respect. She put the arrow in her quiver and holstered the bow with a nod.
Her reaction made Alanna like her. From what she knew of the K’mir tribes to Sarain’s north, Buri probably was reared as a warrior. She took being disarmed well.
Liam performed the introductions. When he gave Alanna’s titles, Buri whispered, “A full knight is a woman—a noblewoman?”
Coram bristled. “She has the bluest blood in Tortall,” he growled. “There never was a zhir or jin anythin’ fit t’polish a Trebond boot.”
“Coram,” Alanna sighed.
“The family’s in The Book of Gold,” added Coram. “No zhir or even zhirit were writ down till The Book of Silver—”
“I think it’s wonderful,” Thayet interrupted. “It’s time we nobles showed we aren’t delicate flowers, instead of leaving the glory to our Shang and K’miri sisters.” Changing the subject diplomatically, she asked, “Where are you three bound?”
Coram told them about their journey (but not its object) as Alanna appraised Thayet’s group. They were tired; the children’s faces were gray with exhaustion. How long had they been traveling, and how much longer could they go?
Coram arrived at the same conclusion. “If ye’ll forgive my sayin’ it, yer Highness, ye need help. Where’re ye and the young ones bound?”
“The Mother of Waters in Rachia,” Buri replied. “All of us but Thayet and the baby and me were students in the convent Mother of Mountains. The baby, Thayet … found.”
“Soldiers killed his family,” volunteered the girl who carried the infant. “Everyone but him, poor little man.”
Alanna did some calculations. “Rachia’s four days’ ride south,” she said. “Except you’re afoot—those of you who can walk.”
“We had no choice,” Thayet said. “Zhir Anduo’s army was coming.”
“Doesn’t the Warlord have men to protect you?” Liam asked.