In the Hand of the Goddess (7 page)

“Don't touch me!” Alanna cried as he reached for her. She quickly added, “Please, Alex—it's my collarbone. I think it's broken.”

Alex knelt beside her, his face tense. “Alan, I'll never forgive myself—”

She smiled tightly, beginning to feel sick. “It's all right. We just got a little carried away. With my Gift I'll be fine in a couple of days.” Alex looked at Myles. “Sir Myles, I didn't—”

“The Provost is looking for you,” Myles replied, his sharp eyes never leaving Alex's face. “I believe he has a border patrol ready. It must have been hard on you, cooped up this winter while everyone else got duties.”

Alex stood. “If there's anything I can do—”

Alanna nodded, sweat standing out on her forehead. “I'll let you know right away.”

Alex hurried out, and Myles crossed to Alanna. “Just lie still,” he told her. “I'll get a healer—and some servants. We'll have to carry you out, I'm afraid.”

“What brought you here?” Alanna whispered. “No one knew…”

Myles nodded to the cat bumping Alanna's good hand. “Faithful brought me. He was very forceful! I'm glad I listened. Alan, Alex was trying to kill you.”

Alanna shook her head, the effort bringing on a wave of nausea. “He's been my friend for years.”

He didn't look so very friendly when we walked in
, Faithful told her.

Alanna grimaced. “I don't want to hear any more about it.” But in her mind a voice was saying,
He hasn't been a close friend in years—not since he became Duke Roger's squire.
She sighed and put the thought away to go over later, when her head wasn't spinning. Until she had proof, she had to keep her suspicions to herself.

T
HE
A
PRIL RAINS POURED DOWN OUTSIDE THE
Dancing Dove as Alanna examined the scrap of dirty paper George had given her, wishing it would go away. “There's no chance of a mistake?” she asked her friend.

“None,” the thief replied. “I've received the same reports from the castles where the troops are hid and from the Rogue in Tusaine's capital. Duke Hilam, King Ain's brother, sees himself as a conqueror. He's mobilized all their armies, and the spearhead points right at the Drell River. With the mountain passes
open …” He shrugged. “I give it two more weeks before they're locked onto the river's right bank. The fort there won't hold out much more than a week once Duke Hilam attacks.”

Alanna looked at the tiny map. “What a stupid place to fight a war,” she whispered. “It's enclosed by mountains. Neither side will have room to turn. The mountains will slow down reinforcements, supplies. And we're going to be doing a lot of fighting in the river.” She folded the map and stuck it in her shirt. “Thanks, George.”

“I just wish I had good news.” The thief's fingers touched heir chin gently, making her look up. Alanna blushed. He hadn't kissed her since Jon's birthday almost a year ago; but he let her know—with little touches, with softness in his eyes when he looked at her—that he was stalking her. Jonathan looked at Delia in much the same way. That Alanna got such attention from George terrified her.

“I have to leave;” she said, gathering up her cloak.

“All right, then.” He opened the door for her. “Let me know what's done.”

Alanna couldn't help but grin. “Don't be silly. You'll probably know before me.” She hurried out into the rainy night.

She found Myles of Olau in his chambers, translating some ancient document. Faithful was curled up before the knight's fire, having told Alanna he preferred napping before a warm hearth to trotting to the City in the rain. He greeted Alanna now by leaping onto her shoulder.

The moment Myles saw her face he put his translating aside. “What's wrong?”

Alanna pulled the folded map from beneath her shirt, watching Myles's face as she opened it. “You have some friends in the City,” she replied softly. “A young burglar named Marek. An old man who forges called Scholar.” She smiled. “They say you're a good drinking companion. I could've told them that.” Myles opened his mouth to speak, but Alanna shook her head. “I'm not asking you to admit anything. I'm telling you I know Marek and Scholar and their friends. I'm friends with the man who rules them.”

“The Rogue himself?” Myles whispered. “How?”

“It's too long a story, but I've known him and the others for years. Last summer I told George—the Rogue—that we were having trouble getting good information from Tusaine. He offered to help.” Alanna handed the map to her friend. “He
gave me this today. The little red arrows are Tusaine legions—”

Myles counted them. “Twenty.” He whistled. “At one hundred men per legion—two thousand foot soldiers.”

“The blue arrows are units, ten armed knights each.”

“One hundred and fifty in all.” Myles looked at the map, rubbing his forehead wearily. “They're quartered in these castles and towns?”

Alanna nodded. “And look what they're circled around.”

“The Drell River Valley.” Myles looked at Alanna. “How much do you trust the Rogue?”

“I trust him with my life. I trust him with Jon's life.”

Myles rose. “Duke Gareth and the king must see this immediately. I'll be certain your name and that of your source don't come into the discussion.”

“One more thing, Myles. George says the mountain passes from Tusaine into the Drell Valley are open.”

“Then we've very little time, and we're not prepared.” Myles shook his shaggy head. “Gareth and I tried to convince Roald that Hilam would do this. If we were dealing only with King Ain, there'd be no
trouble. He just wants to be left in his pleasure gardens with his wives. But Hilam—”

“Has notions?” Alanna suggested.

Myles's information had an immediate effect on the palace. Every high-ranking nobleman was summoned to the War Chamber to confer all the next day and late into the night. Messengers and carrier pigeons went out from the castle in droves as the halls buzzed with gossip. Alanna could only wait. Jonathan was included in the discussions, but his squire was not.

She was reading in her rooms late the next night when the prince returned at last. He shook his head when she gestured toward a chair. I'm for bed,” he said. “I just wanted you to know it's war. Father's sent out the Call to Muster. The initial force—that's us—rides in five days.”

Alanna's heart drummed uncomfortably. Like it or not, she would be in her first battle before she turned sixteen. “Who's commanding?” she asked.

“Uncle Gareth,” was the reply. “Get your sleep. You'll need it.”

After several days of gathering arms and supplies and outfitting men from nearby towns and villages, the
initial force was ready. Three days after the Call to Muster went out, the force was assembled in military formation on the wide grass-covered hill between the palace and the Temple District, awaiting review by the king and Duke Gareth. Alanna, stationed just behind Jonathan, surveyed the ranks of men when Duke Gareth wasn't looking.
We've done pretty well for not being prepared
, she was thinking with pride, when a horse's whinny split the spring air.

Duke Gareth's chestnut, a big, good-natured animal, was pawing the air and rolling his eyes as he screamed. The puzzled Duke was fighting to get the gelding under control when his saddle slipped to the side. Gareth of Naxen fell heavily, dangerously close to his horse's thrashing hooves.

“Hold your formation!” Jonathan roared as a dozen men started forward. King Roald already had the chestnut's rein in his hand, and his servants were at the fallen man's side. Jon planted himself solidly in front of Gary, who was going to ride to his father, anyway. “I
said
, hold formation!”

The big knight glared at his cousin in helpless fury; for a second Alanna was afraid he might hit Jon. The prince ignored the threat, adding softly, “What can you do for him that isn't already being
done? We're an army, Sir Gareth; let's try and act like one!”

For a moment the tension between them held. Then Duke Gareth's son nodded grimly and returned to his place in the ranks of the knights.

Duke Baird, chief of the palace healers, was already beside Gary's father. Duke Gareth's face was white, and he was biting his lip in obvious pain. Alanna let her hands tighten on the reins until Moonlight fidgeted nervously. She could see the strange angle of Duke Gareth's left leg. When she heard shortly afterward that the Duke's leg was broken in three places and that the king would be appointing a new commander-in-chief, her feeling of doom grew. It was all too neat; so neat that she decided to miss the announcement of the new commander and pay a visit to the stables.

Handing Moonlight an apple, she whistled a brief tune. There was a noise in the hayloft, and her old friend Stefan climbed down the ladder, carrying a blanket.

“Thought ye'd be by,” the hostler grunted. “Ye've a real nose fer trouble, ain't ye?”

Alanna grinned stiffly at George's man. “What makes you think I didn't come here to cosset my horse?”

“Then why whistle me up?” the potbellied hostler wanted to know. “Except to chat, which ye do now an' then. Except now ye're wonderin' how Duke Gareth's beast, what's gentler even than yer own, happened t' throw His Grace this mornin'.”

“Well, yes,” Alanna admitted.

Stefan opened the folded blanket. “Mayhap I'm wrong. An' then again, mayhap this's why.” He showed her a large prickly bur stuck firmly in the blanket's weave. Alanna worked it loose with difficulty. “They's a cruel scratch in th' poor beast's back where it was,” Stefan went on. “An' who cinched His Grace's saddle so loose? They be so many new folk here for th' army, I don't see all as I should.”

“Then none of the regular hostlers saddled Duke Gareth's horse?”

Stefan shook his head. “'Twas a newcomer. An' mayhap he was that afraid for his life when Duke Gareth was throwed, an' mayhap not; He's gone.”

Alanna mulled this over, handing the blanket back to Stefan. “Thanks for keeping this for me,” she said finally.

The hostler shrugged. “I knew ye'd be askin',” he said frankly. “Best be careful, though. Us of th' Rogue knows what happens to them as asks too
many questions. By the by—have ye heard who leads in Duke Gareth's place?”

Alanna shook her head.

“His Grace, th' Duke of Conté.” Stefan chewed on a straw, his pale blue eyes fixed on Alanna. “Interestin', havin' a sorcerer-general, eh?”

“Very,” Alanna said dryly, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach. She turned to go.

“Squire Alan,” Stefan added, “ye might be lookin' in th' Lesser Library when ye go back. Ye've got a visitor.”

Alanna hurried into the palace, the bur pricking her hand. She was surprised to find the Lesser Library occupied by a hooded monk. Getting the news from Stefan, she had expected to find someone very different.

“Excuse me,” she began.

The “monk” drew back his hood and held his fingers to his lips, grinning mischievously. With an exasperated noise, Alanna slammed the door and locked it behind her.

“Are you out of your, mind?” she asked George in a harsh whisper. “Some of my Lord Provost's men
do
know what you look like!”

“Upset for my safety?” the thief chuckled. “I'm touched.”

“You're touched in the head,” Alanna snapped. “Anyway, since you're here, why
are
you here?”

“I thought you mightn't get the chance to come down to the city before you rode out, and I wanted a word with you. But
you
were wanting to ask
me
somethin'.”

Alanna showed him the bur. “Stefan found this in Duke Gareth's saddle blanket. He says a new man saddled the Duke's horse, then vanished.”