In the Hand of the Goddess (9 page)

“That'll hold them a bit,” a ratty-looking man agreed when the tent had quieted. “An' you know who's in command here at the Falls? His Highness the prince!”

The man called Thor frowned. “And this the prince's first war command? Else they think the enemy's not plannin' much up this way—”

“Mayhap the Tusaine needed a rest from us,” someone joked.

Laughing with them, Alanna choked on a bean. She coughed and swore, her eyes watering. A huge hand beating on her back nearly broke her spine.

“There, little fella. Somethin' go down the wrong pipe?” Thor asked. Alanna gasped for breath, trying to grin into the giant's bright blue eyes. Thor stared at her. “Will you look,” he whispered. “The tyke has purple lamps!”

The others crowded around to see. Alanna stared back at them with wide eyes, blushing.

“And where might you be from?” Thor wanted to know.

Alanna regained her breath. “I came with the new troops this morning.”

“Aren't you a mite young to be goin' to war?” the ratty-looking man asked.

Alanna stiffened proudly. “I'm sixteen next month.”

“Nay!” he replied with disbelief. “You ain't more'n twelve!”

Aram pushed through the crowd and nodded to her. “No, he's near sixteen, well enough. He's the prince's squire. I'm lookin' after their horses.”

“How did a wee fella like you get to be the prince's own squire?” Thor asked as the others muttered among themselves.

“That ‘wee fella,'” someone said coldly, “is one of the best fencers at Court. He beat a full Tusaine knight in a duel last year, all by himself.”

Alanna felt her hackles rising at the unknown man's tone. Thor looked up, scowling. “So you're back, Jem Tanner. Always full of the news, aren't you?”

A young man with a nasty smile sauntered over to their table. Alanna thought he might be good-looking if his eyes weren't so cold. As it was …

“Enjoying your association with us common folk, Squire?”

She didn't like him. “I
was
.”

“Leave th' lad be,” someone protested.

“I just want to make sure he takes a good report back to his masters. What were you talking about? How much you like being left to hold Fort Drell until the enemy was so entrenched that it'll take a thousand armies to dig them out? Your opinion of the king's tactics? The king's personal habits, perhaps?”

Alanna stood, her face white with anger. “I spy for no one, you remember that,
Jem Tanner
,” she snapped. “And keep a civil tongue in your head!”

The man laughed. “Big words, little fellow!”

A large hand weighed Alanna down. “Softly, lad,” Thor told her. He turned to Jem. “You're right quick to pick fights with stranger-lads who're better raised than you. When will you be so quick to pick a fight with
me
?”

Jem sneered. “I was doing you a favor, warning you of the royal spy in your midst, my stupid friends.” He left the tent.

Alanna drew deep breaths, fighting down her temper. The men reassured her that Jem was mean, that his words meant nothing. Only Thor was silent.

“
Are
you spyin' for His Highness?” the big man wanted to know.

Alanna grabbed her plate. “I
was
eating my lunch. I guess I'll do that somewhere else, from now on!”

Thor grinned and pulled her back into her seat. “Steady there, Squire. Can you blame us for wantin' to know? Spare me a noble's pride. Give us the news from the capital instead.”

The routine at the falls camp was simple. Alanna looked after Jon and Myles in the morning, making sure their tents were clean and their belongings neat. She helped Aram groom the horses, taking Moonlight out for a morning ride. She ate her meals with the men; it always seemed like too much trouble to ride to the fort and join the knights. (If she realized she was avoiding Duke Roger, she mentioned it to no one.) In the afternoon she exercised, learning tricks of spear and axe fighting from Big Thor and his friends. She could hold her own among them when it came to knife fighting, and she could teach them a thing or two about the use of a sword. All things considered, she felt this was a fair exchange. Often Myles returned in the afternoon. She had history lessons from him then, something she had always enjoyed. As she got older, Myles's practical way of looking at things made more and more sense.

After the evening meal, her friends who were knights rode on patrols, and Myles and Jonathan
returned to the fort to discuss tactics with Roger. Alanna remained in camp with her new friends. With Big Thor as her guide, she learned many interesting things during those long, firelit evenings: how to play dice without losing every copper she had; songs that would make the hardiest palace stableman turn pale; even when to keep quiet and listen. Wherever Alanna turned, day or night, Big Thor was looking after her. It was Thor who kept her from losing her temper when Jem Tanner sharpened his tongue on her, something that young man often did. Thor showed her crafty ways to handle the big weapons: the spear and the axe. On nights when the large man had riverbank guard duty, he told her stories about his days as a blacksmith in the southern hills, then as a soldier for the king.

In the two weeks after the new troops came to the valley, a number of skirmishes were fought up and down the river. There were never any direct attacks on the fort, but Hamrath and Imrah both saw daylight action. Alanna, kept at Jonathan's camp, did not fight, but the prince did: once when he was visiting Earl Hamrath, once when he was inspecting Lord Imrah's men. Alanna always knew when there was fighting downriver, but she never could have joined
her knight-master in time. Besides, good soldiers didn't leave their posts to fight somewhere else; the enemy could attack the undefended camp. Alanna could only wait and chew her nails, wondering if any of them—Jon, Raoul, Gary, or Myles—would come back.

Finally one morning she went to Duke Baird. The healers' tents lay in a broad white swath behind the fort, touched by every path that led along the river. Baird himself was taking a moment's rest when Alanna arrived. The latest fight was over, and the beds were filled with wounded and dying men.

“I'm useless upriver,” Alanna told the Chief Healer flatly. “There's only Jon's or Myles's armor to clean, and I can't clean it while they're wearing it. If I don't do something, I'll scream.”

The Duke looked at her. “You like to be busy, don't you, Squire Alan?”

“I don't like to waste my time. Is that the same thing?”

Duke Baird picked up a white robe and tossed it to her. “Come. I certainly won't turn you away.” Alanna followed the Duke from bed to bed, doing what he told her to do. If she had ever had a good opinion of war, it vanished by afternoon. Men died
as she watched, and they didn't care about what they had fought for. They only cared about pain and the Dark God's arrival. Alanna could only help a little.

She didn't notice how much time had passed until the torches were lit. The daylight was nearly gone, and she was starting to tire. Each time she used her healing Gift, she exhausted herself a little more; but she couldn't stop, not while men were suffering.

Prince Jonathan found her bandaging a man's arm. “A fellow called Big Thor told me you were here. What are you doing?”

It took her a moment to realize someone was talking to her. “What? Oh, Jon.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a bloody streak. “I'm keeping busy.”

“Faithful is going crazy. Myles says Faithful's afraid you'll kill yourself.” Jonathan spotted Duke Baird. “Your Grace? How long has Alan been here?”

The healer glanced at Alanna. “Great Mithros, lad, I should have sent you away hours ago. You don't have the training to work so long. Prince Jonathan, get him out of here.”

“Nonsense,” Alanna protested, her ears roaring now that her concentration was broken. “I'm as fit as—” She stumbled, and Jon caught her.

“You certainly are,” he said dryly. Ignoring her protests, he steered her out of the tent. “He's been here all day?” he asked Baird, who followed them.

The Duke nodded. “And he's saved more men than I can count. Go to bed, lad,” he ordered Alanna. “You've done more than your share here. The worst is over.”

Alanna was still arguing as Jon mounted Darkness and swung her up before him. “My, you're a quarrelsome little fellow,” he murmured in her ear as they set off. “You're dead on your feet. Why didn't you stop?”

Alanna leaned back against her prince, feeling very tired. Darkness, ignoring the double burden, picked his way along the river path. “They needed help,” she rasped.

Jonathan nodded to Imrah's sentries as they bypassed that camp. “Why did you have to go there in the first place?”

“I wasn't useful where I was.” She sighed gratefully, glad for his strong arm around her. “Hm?” she murmured.

“I
said
, must you always be useful?”

“Yes.”

They rode on silently for a few moments before
Jon remarked thoughtfully, “Perhaps I could make myself useful there, too, instead of attending a lot of meetings where Roger makes the decisions and never asks how I feel. Think it's worth a try?”

Alanna yawned, half-turning so her head was tucked under Jonathan's chin. “Anything's worth a try.”

A yowl in the darkness greeted them as Faithful informed Alanna,
Healing is all very well, but not if you kill yourself in the process. And do you enjoy snuggling up to Jonathan like a lovesick girl?

Alanna sat bolt upright. “Now, you listen to me, you prissy animal—” she began.

“Your Highness. You're back late.” Jem Tanner, a spear in his hand, stepped out of the woods. “And Squire Alan. Gadding about all day?”

“You've got guard duty, Jem Tanner?” Alanna snapped, aware that Jonathan was tight with anger. “Then guard.”

Faithful leaped onto Alanna's lap as they rode on, startling Darkness not a bit. “Who was that?” Jonathan asked quietly.

“One of the men from camp. Being nasty is his hobby. You were warning me about him, weren't you, Faithful?”

If you're going to fall in love with the prince, don't show it
, the cat advised.
Unless you want the whole camp talking about you both.

“I'm not fa—” Alanna stopped; aware that Jonathan was listening intently, one of his arms still around her waist.

“Are you two
talking
?” he wanted to know.

“Ask Faithful,” Alanna said tersely. “I just answer his questions.”

A soldier came forward to take Darkness as they entered their own camp. Myles summoned the prince to his tent, and Alanna was left alone with her thoughts. She kept remembering the men she tried to heal, with their terrible wounds and the glazed look of pain in their eyes. She remembered every cut, every broken bone, until her stomach began to roll. She couldn't make herself think of anything else.

Her body rebelled. She rushed out to the back of the tent, where the little she had eaten that day came up violently. She struggled to be quiet; she wanted no one to witness her shame. Warriors were not supposed to throw up at the sight of blood and dying.

Cool hands soothed her head, steadying her. When she stopped heaving, Jon gave her a dipperful
of water. Gratefully she splashed some on her face and rinsed her mouth out.

“If Faithful told you, I'll skin him,” she whispered hoarsely.

“No,” Jon replied. “I was coming back and I heard you.”

“You must think I'm an awful sissy.”

There was silence for a moment. Then he replied, “I threw up after my first skirmish.”

Alanna looked at her friend, startled. “You never.”

He nodded. “I did. I just didn't have anyone to hold my head for me.” He ruffled her hair. “Don't tell the men, will you?”

“I won't tell if you won't.”

“Done.” He held open the flap of the tent. “It wouldn't do for them to think we're sissies, would it?”