In the Hand of the Goddess (14 page)

“Not too
tame
, precisely,” Alanna objected. “I just need to
go
somewhere. I need to get away from—certain people.” She didn't want to say that Jonathan had kissed her again only the night before.
She didn't want to remember it, because when she did she also remembered the strange and frightening excitement she had felt when he held her. Now she sighed, confused.

“I need time to think about things.”

“I see,” Mistress Cooper replied. “Well, stand up, child. Let me look at you.”

Alanna stood, patting her pinned-up hair and tugging her skirt. Mistress Cooper had a very odd look on her face.

“Is something wrong?” Alanna asked nervously.

The older woman made her face the mirror. Alanna swallowed. She was looking at a
lady.

“I'm beautiful,” she whispered in awe.

Mistress Cooper laughed at this. “You'll pass,” she said, pushing Alanna into the kitchen. “You're not as beautiful as Lady Delia, say, or the new lady at Court, Cythera of Elden.”

Alanna sighed. “
Nobody's
as beautiful as the Lady Cythera,” she said dryly. She moved to sit down.

“Not that way!” Mistress Cooper cried in alarm. “You'll rumple your skirts! Sweep them out—like this—and sit with them spread around you. And keep your feet together.”

Alanna tried this. It took several attempts before
she got it right. “It's going to be as hard to learn to be a girl as it was to learn to be a boy.”

“Harder,” the woman said, putting the tea on. “Most girls don't have to unlearn being a boy. And now you have
two
sets of Court manners to master.”

“But I already
know
Court manners,” Alanna protested, getting the cups down.

“Do you know the different kinds of curtsy?” Alanna shook her head. “How to write invitations?” Alanna shook her head. “How do you accept an offering of flowers from a young knight, or a married man?”

“As if I'd be getting flowers from anybody!” Alanna snorted. She rummaged in the cupboards. “Any cakes left?”

“I baked some fresh—”

“Great Merciful Mother!” Alanna gasped. She could hear horses in the courtyard: visitors! Her hand flew to the ember-stone and her pregnancy charm, both now revealed by the low neckline of her dress. Turning, she ran for the door leading to the rest of the house.

Mistress Cooper caught her. “What has gotten into you?”

The kitchen door opened. “Mother, see who I
finally brought to meet you!” George called. He turned to someone still outside. “Come on in, then—she's here.”

“Stand straight,” Mistress Cooper told Alanna. “Face him. You'll have to do it sometime.”

Alanna drew a breath and turned around. George was still looking outside. “The man will take care of your horse; that's what he's there for,” he told his companion. He looked back at his mother. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you had—”

The King of the Thieves stopped talking abruptly. His eyes widened. Carefully he looked Alanna over, inch by inch, while the girl turned a deep red. “It's not polite to stare,” she said tartly.

“George, you're blocking the way.” Someone behind the thief laughed. Alanna turned pale. She knew that voice. “Have you changed your mind? You don't want me to meet your mother after all?” Prince Jonathan, dressed in the plain shirt and breeches he always wore into the city, edged into the kitchen behind the thief.

Mistress Cooper moved forward, smiling. “And so you're Prince Jonathan, or is it Johnny today?”

“I'm always Johnny in the city,” Jonathan admitted.

Alanna put her hands on her hips, scowling. “And do you mention the fact in front of every strange young lady you meet?” she demanded.

Jonathan looked at her, a small frown crossing his face. “Forgive me, gentle lady. I didn't see …” His voice trailed away as he stared. Finally he whispered, “You—you're wearing a dress. You look—” He blushed, swallowed, and changed the subject. “Where did you get the stone around your neck? I haven't seen it before.”

“Close the door,” Mistress Cooper ordered him. “You're letting the cold in. Lass, we'll need two more cups, I think.”

George gripped Alanna's arm as she moved past him. “So you're a girl, after all.”

“I thought you knew that,” Alanna snapped. She looked at Jonathan. “
You
don't seem surprised.” He grinned. “Oh, I am, a little. I knew you were up to something, though. You've been awfully mysterious lately. And remember I caught you two days ago piling your hair on top of your head looking at yourself in the mirror.”

“Some people think they're pretty observant since they became heroes of the war,” Alanna said, sniffing.

“Maybe I do,” Jonathan replied amiably. “But what is that stone?”

Alanna looked at the ember-stone, fingering it. “I got it from—from a lady I met once.”

Jonathan frowned. “Why would a lady give you a charm? It looks valuable, whatever it is; and it's magic for certain.”

Alanna shrugged. “If it's magic, it's not magic I can use. And she gave it to me—well, it's a long story, and I really don't want to tell it right now. I don't understand it myself.” She sat down, and Mistress Cooper handed her the teapot.

“Pour,” the woman instructed. “You two can take off your hats, at least. Don't you know when you're being served by a lady?”

It was not the last time Alanna wore a dress. Wearing a black wig, she went into the city (usually in Mistress Cooper's company), getting used to her skirts and learning about the things most girls her age took for granted. They had the most fun in the marketplace, where they often shopped for additions to the wardrobe Alanna kept in a locked chest at the foot of her bed.

Snow came in mid-November, falling for days
and forming immense drifts. The people watched and prayed for a break in the weather. It finally came, and the snow ceased to fall, leaving in its place bitter cold that refused to break. Huntsmen called it “Wolf Winter,” the time when wolves, finding little else to hunt, turned on men. Alanna, loathing the cold, bundled up and tried her best to ignore it.

In early December the first reports of wolves came from the villages around the Royal Forest. The king sent hunt after hunt to slay the man killers, while other fiefs in the north of Tortall reported the same problem. Coram wrote that he had moved the families of Fief Trebond into the castle to keep them safe. There was certainly room enough, he added in his letter, but it was annoying to have so many children underfoot.

By February most of the killers were slain or in hiding, except one. He was called Demon Grey. He had been wounded at least three times—a huntsman's arrow had even taken one of his eyes recently—but nothing seemed to stop him for long, for he continued to prey on the villages of the Royal Forest. When at last he entered a woodsman's hut, taking away a baby girl, the king ordered every man in the palace who could carry a spear out for the hunt. Duke Roger
came, splendid in ermine-trimmed green velvet. Duke Gareth was there, his bad leg still a little stiff. Even Myles was present, warm in brown velvet and fur and looking uncomfortable. The king himself led the hunt.

Alanna was even more uncomfortable than Myles. Moonlight had cast a shoe; Alanna couldn't ride her. Instead she was mounted on a prickly chestnut with a hard mouth, a fidgety, anxious fellow who obviously preferred his nice warm stall. Alanna didn't blame him. She dressed to survive the weather, with several layers of wool clothing and fleece-lined leather over it all. When she checked herself in the mirror, she was several sizes larger.

“We're going to hunt, not sleep out all night,” Jonathan said, laughing when he saw her.

Alanna blushed. “I get cold.”

“I don't think you can move with all those layers on,” he told her as they waited in the courtyard for his father to arrive.

“Oh?” Leaning from the saddle in a swift movement, Alanna scooped up a handful of snow and lobbed it into her prince's face. “See?” She grinned as she trotted past Jonathan. “I'm warm
and
mobile.”

She caught up with Gary and Raoul, riding with them for a while. She saw little of her large friends
these days; the king always had duties for them. The three laughed and joked until the Huntsman-in-Charge blew the Discovery up ahead. Then the knights rode on while Alanna stayed back, knowing she wouldn't be needed. She didn't mind if someone else got the glory in a hunt of this size. Too often she felt sorry for the animal, outnumbered by so many armed and trained knights (not that she could feel sorry for a child-killing wolf).

The discovery
was
a wolf. The king brought it down himself. But it was not Demon Grey. Alanna watched every movement between the trees, wishing she had brought Faithful. It had seemed silly in the morning to bring a cat on a wolf hunt, but how she missed her companion's sharp ears and nose.

The hunt moved on, bagging another wolf and a mean old boar. Slowly the hunters spread over the Royal Forest, until occasionally Alanna followed it by sound alone. When it swept around her, she would fall in with the others, then the hunters would ride on. She wasn't worried. She was never so far away that a blast on the horn hanging at her waist wouldn't bring someone immediately, and there were usually other horsemen around. Besides, Demon Grey attacked children and old people, not warriors.

A sound—crashing! A wolf's snarl! Wheeling the chestnut, Alanna yelled for help. After an answering triumphant shout, she spurred into the clearing where the shout seemed to come from and halted. Duke Roger knelt in the snow, his spear fixed in the body of a giant gray wolf. He grinned when he saw Alanna. “A few moments earlier, and
you
might have had him, Alan.”

Alanna dismounted, ready to give the Duke a hand. “I don't grudge you the kill, sir. Are you certain that's Demon Grey?”

Roger shrugged. “How many wolves of this size and description can there be?” he asked.

A low snarl struck Alanna's ears. Her horse reared and bolted with a whinny of terror, taking her spear with him. Alanna froze, swearing under her breath and peering closely at the surrounding trees. Then she saw it: A larger wolf than the one Roger had killed was slinking toward her, its belly flat on the snow. Its left eye was missing; the other glittered with grim purpose.

The wolf charged. Alanna drew Lightning, hoping to spear the huge animal before it leaped. The crust on the snow beneath her broke. She stumbled, Lightning opening a slash in the wolf's side before flying out of
her hand. Furious at being wounded, the wolf whirled and charged again.

There was no time to retrieve her sword. Alanna gripped her dagger and, aiming for his blind side, threw herself onto the giant animal's back. Girl and wolf rolled over in the snow, a blur of gray and tan flashing with the white of the wolf's teeth and the copper of Alanna's hair.

Roger looked up; the clearing was ringed with hunters. Myles gripped Jonathan's shoulder, holding the younger man back. The prince's eyes were terrible with fear for his friend.

Alanna did not see the reinforcements. She saw nothing but the wolf, who was doing his best to fling her off his back. She held on, desperately striking again and again with her knife. Suddenly the wolf shuddered and howled; her blade had entered his side. He fell, his paws twitching. She had stabbed him to the heart.

She let Jonathan pull her free of the wolf's body. “Are you insane?” he whispered, hugging her tightly for a moment.

“It attacked me.” Alanna pushed Jon away gently, holding the ember-stone for comfort. Suddenly the colors, the sounds, even the smells in the clearing were
very sharp. She was startled to see a bright orange glow around Roger. Even more odd was the fact that the same orange fire was fading from the bodies of the two wolves. Alanna looked at them and at Roger, puzzled. What was she seeing? The color of Roger's magic was orange. What had that to do with the wolves?

A huntsman was examining the wolf she had just killed. “'Tis Demon Grey,” he told the king positively. “I shot out this eye myself three weeks past. That would be his mate,” he added, nodding to the wolf claimed by Roger's spear.

“Are you all right?” Myles asked Alanna, worried by the strange look on her face.

Alanna released the ember-stone. All traces of orange fire, in Roger or in the wolves, was gone. “Am I?” she asked, not thinking about what she said. “I'm not sure.”