In the Hand of the Goddess (11 page)

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.

“Can you help me?” Thor whispered. “I'd just like to … go to sleep. I'm that tired.”

Alanna trembled. Healing was natural for her, but she had never killed a human being with her Gift. She didn't think she could.

Thor groped until his hands found her arms. “You're hurt,” he murmured, touching her already-soaked
bandage. “Nay. Look after your own wounds. I'm close enough now—waitin' for the Dark God a little longer won't matter.”

Alanna pressed her good hand to Thor's forehead, her Gift lighting the clearing with a deep violet fire. “Sleep, Thor,” she whispered.

She felt him falling away gently, slipping into a long, dark well. Alanna rose. Thor's chest was still, and he was smiling. She smiled back at him shakily, and then the world spun; her knees trembled and gave out.

Great Merciful Mother
, she thought with disgust as she fell.
I overreached myself.

A huge shadow figure was bending over her. “Thor,” she sighed, recognizing the Dark God. “You want Thor.” Reaching out a hand that was blacker than night, the God touched Alanna's eyes. She closed them; if this was death, she didn't care anymore.

T
HE SUN WAS SHINING WHEN
A
LANNA OPENED HER
eyes. Touching her dully aching arm, she found a thick bandage.

“I fixed it myself.” Jonathan was sitting on a camp stool beside her. He put down his book. “I didn't think you wanted Duke Baird to get that close to you, not while you were unconscious. One of the big muscles in your arm was cut, by the way. It'll take awhile to heal, even with the Gift. You're having a bad year with muscles and bones.”

Alanna smiled weakly at him. “Thanks. Were you the one who found me?”

“Actually, Faithful did. You know, that cat's more intelligent than most people.”

Faithful yawned.
Of course I am.
He jumped onto the foot of Alanna's bed, lying down beside her.
You've been asleep three days
, he added.

“Three days!” Alanna gasped. “That's not possible!”

“How—the cat
told
you?” Jonathan shook his head. “Never mind. I don't want to know. Yes, it's been three days. Why did you use your Gift? You were still glowing when we found you.”

Alanna rubbed her head; “I had to find Thor, and there wasn't any light. And then—” Her throat was suddenly tight, and her eyes burned with tears. “I helped him sleep. The Dark God came.” She looked up at Jonathan. “Have they found Jem Tanner?”

The prince shook his head. “He's vanished. Thor was innocent?”

Taking time for sips of water, Alanna told her friend what had happened. When she finished, the prince strode angrily around the tent.

“Treachery!” he snapped. “Merciful Mother, we should have guessed!” He sat down, suddenly
dejected. “And we can't do anything about it. My father's instructions remain the same. He's even thinking of giving the right bank to Tusaine.”

“If they're given the right bank, they won't stop till they have the entire valley,” Alanna said frankly.

Jonathan nodded. “But no one can convince my father of that. He takes being called ‘The Peacemaker' very seriously.”

“He
did
establish peace after the Old King's conquests,” Alanna said fairly.

“Yes, but this time he's wrong!” Jonathan growled. He brooded for a few moments before smiling and taking her hand. “Look at me. You're not awake five minutes and I'm burdening you with my problems. Mithros, I'm glad you're all right!”

Alanna squeezed his hand. “Thank you for taking care of me, Jon.”

He reached over to brush a strand of hair away from her face. Suddenly he was very close. Alanna discovered she was afraid to breathe. Carefully, almost timidly, Jonathan kissed her mouth.

Someone's coming
, Faithful remarked.

Myles entered the tent to find a very pale Jonathan picking up a book as his very red squire drank from a water bottle. His hazel eyes flicked from Jon to
Alanna, and Alanna wondered once again how much Myles knew, or guessed, about her identity.

“It's time you came to,” Myles remarked, his quiet voice even. “Do you realize you've been asleep for three days?”

Using so much of her Gift when she was hurt had undermined Alanna's strength to a degree she couldn't believe possible. Duke Roger ordered her away from any fighting, leaving her to fret every time Jonathan was gone. It wasn't that she thought Raoul's squire, Douglass, couldn't look after the prince in battle; she was just convinced he couldn't do it as well as she could. But Duke Roger had taken an interest in her welfare, and Jonathan, Myles, and Duke Baird sided with him: She was in no condition to fight. Privately Alanna knew they were right: Her arm would ache for months to come, and she continued to have dizzy spells. Just lighting a candle by using her Gift was more than she could manage.

Her search for something to do led her up and down the river. Finally she returned to the healers' tents; although she couldn't use her Gift, she
could
hold basins, bandage wounds, and undertake countless little tasks during those long June days after her
sixteenth birthday. Jonathan often came for her there and stayed, talking to the men and doing some healing of his own.

Sometimes the healers shooed her away, particularly if Duke Baird noticed she was tiring. She tried the weapons-smiths then. These gruff men would ignore her except to shove a pair of bellows or an extra set of tongs into her good hand, motioning for her to make herself useful. She mended swords, spears, knives, and armor, learning how to put a keen edge on a blade and how to keep a fire at the same heat for an hour or more. She would never be as adept as Coram, who had taught her the basics of the blacksmith's art, but she would always be able to keep her equipment in good working order.

She also signed on as a sentry. Jonathan's men had suffered the worst losses in the big Tusaine attack, and they welcomed even one small relief guard.

One evening in late July she and Faithful were standing watch just below the falls. They were alone at the moment. The soldier sharing the watch with them was having trouble with a healing leg, and Alanna had sent him back to camp for a replacement. He had not been gone long when a twig snapped behind them. Alanna spun, leveling her spear at her visitor.

Orange light flared against a hand, making Duke Roger's face briefly visible. Faithful pressed against Alanna's ankles, hissing and spitting.

“Stop it,” Alanna told him, slowly lowering the spear. Faithful obeyed. “Your Grace. Aren't you out late?”

“Not really. Sit down, please. I know you still tire easily.”

Alanna obeyed, sitting on a large rock. Faithful hopped up onto her lap. “I'm honored by Your Grace's concern.”

“You did a brave thing, tracking down the man Thor and hearing his story. It's a pity you collapsed before you made it back to camp; you might have captured the traitor.”

Alanna shrugged without taking her eyes off Jonathan's cousin. “Don't think I haven't kicked myself about that, sir, several times.”

Silence fell between them, stretching out over endless moments.
I won't ask why he's here
, Alanna told herself grimly.
He'll get to it in his own time. He didn't come up here just to be polite.

Suddenly Duke Roger said, “We are not friends, are we, Alan?”

Alanna tightened her hands on her spear. This was
coming to grips with a vengeance! “No, Your Grace, we're not,” she replied evenly.

Without the light of his Gift it was hard to read the Duke's face. “Might it be possible we are enemies?”

Alanna thought about this, and about his reasons for asking. “I don't know,” she said finally. “Perhaps
you
should tell
me.
”

“I could be a very good friend, Alan.”

Her throat was dry. What kind of game was he playing? Was this a warning—or a threat? “I have no desire to make you my enemy; sir. I'd like to live to a ripe old age and die in my sleep.”

White teeth flashed in a grin against his shadowed face. “I can sympathize. Such an ending could be yours—if we were friends.
Many
things could be yours.”

Alanna shifted her hold on the spear; her fingers were getting numb. “I would have to be assured that my other friends have the same chance, Your Grace,” she said boldly. “Frankly, I doubt that's your aim.”

For a long moment he said nothing. Then she saw his broad shoulders lift in a shrug. “I see. Thus, as long as you feel this way, we will be…”

“Less than friends,” Alanna supplied diplomatically.

Roger bowed. “I appreciate your honesty, Alan of Trebond. Not many dare to be so open with me.”

She smiled crookedly. “Not many have insanity in their families, either.”

This drew a laugh from him. “I see. Well—good night to you, Squire Alan.”

Alanna stood, a little stiff from the dampness of the river. “Your Grace.” She watched Roger fade into the shadows. “He has style,” she remarked quietly.

Style or not, he's as treacherous as a snake
, Faithful warned her.

Alanna touched the ember-stone under her shirt. “I know,” she replied softly. “I just wish I had something to crush him with.”
Give him time
, the cat meowed.
He'll give you plenty to crush him with.

Alanna frowned. “The problem is that by the time he does he'll probably be invincible.”

True.
Faithful yawned.
Fog's rising.
And with that he curled up and went to sleep.

Alanna watched the ghostly white tendrils rising from the river's surface, feeling very tired. “Just what I need,” she yawned disgustedly. “I didn't think there'd be any fog tonight.”

The mist rose quickly, smothering all the night noises. Everything sounded different: the river, the
distant camp, even the nearby waterfall. Alanna's nose itched till her eyes watered. She felt like lying down right there and taking a nap. That would never do: She was on sentry duty! Where was the other guard? One should have come by now. Nervous, Alanna made her way to the river and splashed her face with cold water. That helped a little. Returning to her post, she discovered that she couldn't waken Faithful. Something was very wrong; the itching of her nose meant sorcery, and Faithful seemed to be its victim. Should she go for help?

The rock striking her head settled the question. Alanna dropped, and the men who had crept up behind her in the fog chuckled grimly.

“Hurry!” Jem Tanner hissed as they tied her hands and feet. “We won't be safe from the spell much longer!”

“What about the cat?” one of the men yawned. “He said to—”

“Forget the cat!” Jem snapped. “Just get the boy into the boat with the others!”

A sentry on the second watch ran into camp, Faithful limp in his hands. “Squire Alan's been kidnapped!” he told the prince, gasping. “The cat—he's alive, but
I can't wake him! And the other guard who went out with the squire—he's lyin' in his tent. I can't wake him either!”

Jonathan took Faithful, reaching with his Gift into the sleeping animal. Without warning, his eyes rolled up and he collapsed. Faithful stirred and went back to sleep.

The sentry brought Myles on the run. The knight wasted no time: He seized the water bucket and threw the contents over both Jon and Faithful. The cat only turned over and sighed. The prince stirred, gazing sleepily up at his friend. “Sorcery,” he whispered, sitting up. “Sorcery meant to make the cat sleep…” He grabbed the sentry, his face white. “Alan was
kidnapped.
You're sure?”