Lioness Rampant (18 page)

They camped during the remainder of the ride to Port Udayapur, filling their bellies with game, wild greens, and oatcakes. Alanna performed any magic—such as mending her tattered hands—out of Liam's sight.

By the time they reached the seaport, Alanna had
shed her bandages, and her friends were comfortable around her again. She sometimes felt a pang of sadness when she looked at the Dragon, but she also knew their friendship would last far longer than their romance.

Once they were settled at one of Port Udayapur's inns, the travelers met in Alanna's room to discuss their next step. No one was surprised when Alanna said, “I still can't shake the feeling Coram and I are needed at home. Neither of us seems able to make contact with anyone. But I have this sense of trouble there. I'm thinking of hiring a ship.”

“I thought you didn't like them.” Liam sounded as if he didn't care one way or another.

Alanna grimaced. “I don't. Please, I'd like all of you to come with us. Actually, I'd
prefer
it. But you may have other plans.”

Buri and Thayet exchanged looks. “We don't,” Thayet said. “I still want to go to Tortall.” Buri nodded her agreement.

Alanna smiled. “Good.” She picked up Faithful, not wanting Liam to see how anxious she was. Things were so bad between them …

“The innkeeper says a Tortallan galley's in the harbor.”
The Dragon's voice was quiet. “I don't know if we can book passage—she's a diplomatic courier. But I can ask.”

Alanna grinned. He'd said “we.” “Would you? Maybe if you use my name—Trebond and Olau—they'll agree.”

Liam nodded and went out. The others followed, Coram to take their snow gear to the market and sell it now that they no longer needed such things, Thayet and Buri to see the sights. Alanna stayed in her room to nap.

She was roused from her sleep by a knock on the door. When she opened it, one of the maidservants dropped in a curtsey. “Excuse me, miss or lady,” she began nervously. “The gentleman here insisted that he see you.” She indicated the very large man standing behind her.

The man stood with his back to the hall's torches, which meant Alanna was unable to see his face clearly.
He
had no trouble seeing her, however. A familiar voice said, “Praise Mithros, it
is
you!” and Alanna was seized up in an enthusiastic hug. Now she could see that his hair and mustache were black, the same color as his wickedly dancing eyes, and that his cheeks were tan and ruddy.

“Raoul?” she whispered, not sure if she believed it. He grinned, and she returned the hug with one every bit as fierce. “Goldenlake, you sly fox!” She pounded his back in delight as he carried her into her room and kicked the door shut. “Look at you!
Look
at you!” He was as tall as ever. When he put her down, she had to tilt her head to see him. “Sit, so I don't hurt myself looking up at you.” He obeyed briefly, only to jump up to hug her again. It was five minutes or more before either of them had calmed down enough to make rational conversation. Faithful climbed into Raoul's lap to deliver his own welcome while Alanna poured fruit juice for them both.

Seeing him was almost as good as coming home. During her palace days Alanna's closest friends were all older than she was: Raoul, Gary, Jonathan, and sometimes Alex—Alexander of Tirragen. The older boys were squires to Alanna's page and knights to her squire. They'd taught her palace ways and let her join them in adventures and scrapes. She had introduced all but Alex to George, and they had advised her and looked after her.

“What are you doing here?” she finally remembered to ask. “Last I heard, you were riding desert patrols.” Seeing his dark tan and the burnoose draped
over his shoulders, she added, “I see the desert agreed with you. Did you like the Bazhir?”

He grinned. “They adopted me. Not your people, the Bloody Hawk. The Sandrunners.” He'd named a tribe far to the south of Alanna's. “I like the Bazhir a lot. All they ask a fellow is to ride and fight and do his share of the work—no paying compliments to people you don't like or anything like that.”

Alanna grinned. Both Squire Alan and Sir Raoul were notorious for their dislike of social functions. “So what brings you here now?” she wanted to know. “Is that courier vessel yours? Don't tell me you've turned diplomat.” She sat on the bed as Raoul's grin faded.

Raoul looked at the cup in his hands. “I'm no ambassador yet. When Myles got your letter from Jirokan, the one where you said you might come here after the Roof, he told Jon, and Jon sent me to bring you home. He's got messengers all along the Great Road, in case you'd changed your mind and decided to return that way.”

Faithful sat beside Alanna, who was now uneasy. “I didn't know Jon had the authority to do such things,” she said nervously. “I thought only the king could dispatch the diplomatic ships.”

“That's right. Jon—” He stopped, looking unhappy. “Look, Alan—No, that's not right. Alanna—”

“King Roald is
dead
?” she whispered.

Raoul nodded. “Let me tell it in the right order. I don't want to skip anything.” Alanna nodded, feeling stunned. “See, her Majesty died around the March new moon. No one was surprised, not really. She wasn't very strong, after the Sweating Sickness—you remember. Then Roger tried to kill her, with that image of his. After you left, Thom destroyed the image so she wouldn't be hurt by it, but the damage was done. It was only a matter of time. Then, with the winter so bad, and everything else …” He sighed. “Myles and Thom said you were in Berat right about when she passed on.”

“I wrote them from there. Black God, give her rest,” Alanna murmured. She'd never thought of the court without Queen Lianne, even when she tried to envision the hazy “someday” when Jon would be king.

Raoul gave Alanna his handkerchief and continued. “The king never got over it; you know how they were about each other.” Alanna half smiled; the royal couple's devotion was plain to anyone with eyes. “It was three weeks later, something like that. Near the beginning of April. He went hunting and got separated from the rest of the party. He was dead when they found him, an accident. It looked like he tried to jump—Remember that gorge, the narrow
one about half a league above Willow Falls?”

“Of course.” She'd jumped Moonlight over that gorge many times. It was very deep, and the jump required skill and excellent reflexes. She whispered, “So Jon's king.”

“Not officially. The coronation's set for the day of the July full moon. He's been acting as king ever since her Majesty died, though. The king just wasn't interested.”

“Jon must be heartbroken.”

“He is, but he's never had a chance to get away by himself to mourn. Not with things the way they are.” When Alanna looked baffled, Raoul started to pale. “You don't know, do you?”

Alanna suddenly felt that something—something
more
—was seriously wrong. “Know what, Raoul?”

“You've had
no
word from Tortall this year?
Nothing
?”

“The hill roads were almost impassable when Coram and I rode for Berat.”
What is wrong with him?
she wondered. Raoul's hands were clenched so tightly in his lap that the knuckles were white. “They were still bad in the south because of the winter rains. No messengers were coming through. And Berat's too far from the sea to get the news from the ships.”

“Your Gift, though—?”

“I didn't want to contact anyone with it. I was … busy,” she admitted, blushing as she thought of Liam. “What difference does my being in touch or not make? By April we were in Sarain. No messengers could've found us there.”

“This was before April.” Raoul's voice was tight. “Remember All Hallow? George told us you were with him in Port Caynn.” Alanna's blush deepened. “Thom was doing experiments—that's what he told everyone.”

“He borrowed my Gift.” Her stomach sank. She sensed the worst was coming, and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.

“We didn't know,” Raoul said disjointedly. “He kept it secret till late in February. It probably finished her Majesty … You remember Delia of Eldorne?”

“Raoul,
please
spit it out,” Alanna pleaded. He seemed not to hear.

“She'd been after Thom since you left. Telling him that the
really
great sorcerers could raise the dead, playing off his pride. Sorry, Alanna, but you know how vain he is. Thom finally lost his temper. It was at a court ball; we all heard him. He told her he could do anything Denmarie the Earth-Shaker could do—”

Alanna felt dizzy. “Roger. He brought Roger back.”

5

IN THE CAPITAL OF TORTALL

W
HEN
Q
UEEN
L
IANNE DIED IN
M
ARCH
, T
ORTALL
mourned. Now, after the king's sudden death, the nation's feeling was one of shocked disbelief. To lose both in such a short time seemed like the work of an angry god.

“The Black God is taking his revenge on us,” people muttered. “He's not pleased that the Lord of Trebond brought the Duke back from his grave. You can't go interfering with the gods without them extracting payment.” The rumors spread, and gossips began to claim that Jonathan's reign would be cursed.

“As if I don't have enough problems,” Jonathan told his acting prime minister, Sir Gareth (the Younger) of Naxen.

Gary looked up from the documents he studied, his chestnut eyes worried. His cousin looked worn out. “Talking to yourself again?” He said it like a joke.

“The rumors,” Jonathan explained.

“They'll pass, particularly since there's no proof. If the gods are angry, why would they pick on their Majesties? Why haven't they struck Master Lord Thom down? If they want, I'll volunteer for the duty. Thom irritates me. A good striking-down might improve him.”

“Does he look
sick
to you?” Jon asked abruptly. “Thom?”

Gary put down his papers. “I don't get close enough to notice how our bold sorcerer looks, if I can help it. He never sheathes that tongue of his anymore. Why?”

“George mentioned it to me, the other day. Thom does seem thinner.”

“He's probably losing sleep while he looks up some old spell or the other. Jon, I need your signature on these.”

Jonathan obeyed, writing his name over the royal
seal on several documents. “I still can't get used to signing as ruler of Tortall. I didn't think I'd be king for … years.” He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. Sympathetic, Gary said nothing. After a moment Jon went on. “I feel helpless. I should have done
something
to keep them alive.”

“What could anyone have done?” Gary asked sensibly. “Aunt Lianne never got well after Roger's spell was broken. And the king—” He stopped, not wanting to touch an unhealed wound.

“He killed himself,” Jon whispered. He always forced himself to see the truth, and Gary was one of the few who knew the king
had
deliberately killed himself. “How could he do that?”

“He loved her.” Gary's voice was soft.

Jonathan shook his head. “Could I love anyone so much that I'd forget that I have a duty to my people? George says you can
smell
their fear down in the Lower City. I can't blame them for thinking there's a curse—not with the famine last winter, and then … this. And what can
I
tell them that will give them confidence? They don't know me. They didn't
really
know my father.” He returned the documents to his cousin. “Once things have settled down, I'm going to visit every corner of Tortall. I won't be a king
who stays in his palace and waits for his people to come to him.” His face was set and stubborn. “I hope Alanna really can bring us the Dominion Jewel.”

“Do you think the messengers will find her?” Gary asked.

“One of them will. One of them has to.”