Lioness Rampant (4 page)

After running errands until noon, Coram returned to find Alanna dressed and cleaning her weapons. “Don't scowl,” she told him. “I'm not awake.”

“The chambermaid says yer clothes were all over mud. What kind of larks were ye kickin' up last night without me to keep an eye on ye?”

“I wasn't ‘kicking up any larks,'” she yawned. “I couldn't sleep, so I went for a ride out of the city.”

“We're ye ridin' under the horse's belly, then?”

Alanna could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. “It's too embarrassing to talk about.”

Coram wasn't to be so lightly dismissed. “Does this have anythin' to do with that Liam bein' in your room this mornin'?”

“I got tired and fell off my horse,” Alanna said grumpily. “I met Liam on the road. He just made sure I got back all right. He never touched me.”

“Maybe he didn't,” Coram rumbled, as red as she was. “And maybe he's plannin' to.”

Closing the door, he heard Alanna murmur, “Nothing wrong with that.”

They reached House Jendrai as the sun touched the horizon, to be greeted by Nahom Jendrai in person. Alanna had expected him to resemble Myles of Olau—quiet, unkempt, and absentminded. Instead, she and Coram found a trim man in his early thirties, surrounded by children, servants, pack animals, dogs, and baggage. He waved to Coram and waded out of the mess.

“My wife would greet you properly, Lady Alanna, Master Smythesson, but she has only recently come from childbed, and she is resting. Our sixth,” he explained with a smile. “A girl.” He accepted their
congratulations with a bow, adding, “Excuse the bustle—our bags didn't come until this afternoon.”

He led them into the house. “I'm happy to assist Myles's daughter. If it weren't for him, I'd be just another nobleman, administering my estates, worrying about how I stood with the king, and scheming to get into power at court. My wife handles the fief—better than I ever could—and the only kings I bother with are hundreds of years gone. I owe that to Myles. He was the best teacher I had. What an incredible mind!”

Alanna picked up Faithful, who was trading sharp words with a dog in the hall. “You were one of Myles's students?”

“For six years.” He showed them into a room that was lit only by the dying sun. “I suppose it's too dark.” He began a futile search for flint and steel. “I tell the maids I keep demons in here so they won't disturb anything. Unfortunately, I don't get my candles lit.”

Alanna laughed.
Now
he reminded her of Myles. Pointing at the hearth logs, she sent her Gift out in a burst of violet until they caught flame. With quick gestures she shooed flames to the branches of candles.

Show-off,
Faithful grumbled.

Alanna looked at him in surprise. “I am not. This is handier.”

A year ago you would have taken forever to do it the hard way,
the cat pointed out.

Alanna blushed. “A year ago I was different.”

“Do they always chat like this?” Nahom Jendrai asked Coram.

“Often enough.” The older man gave him the map.

Jendrai stretched the parchment out on a table, studying it for several minutes. Finally Alanna said, “Should we go and come back when you've had a chance to work on it?”

He glanced up, startled—clearly he'd forgotten they were there. “No, of course not. I can tell you what it says. Please, come closer.” Alanna and Coram gathered around the desk, Faithful perched on the knight's shoulder.

Jendrai's finger traveled over the map's surface. “Here are the Eastern Lands, the Inland Sea, a bit of the Southern Lands. That's to locate the reader—this map isn't for everyday geography. Much is left out. There are cities, nations, roads—a hundred things not shown. Only the points of interest are here, at the eastern end of the Great Inland Sea.

“The mountains—these jagged lines—show the
Roof of the World, east of Sarain. This valley lies inside the Roof's western edge, north of where Port Udayapur is now. At the valley's northern end are two passes, Lumuhu and Chitral. This star marks Chitral Pass.” He tapped the silvery star embossed into the map. “Translated, the writing says, ‘In Chitral's hidden chamber, guarded by the being whose essence is Time, the Dominion Jewel is kept for those with the will to strive. Take it at your risk, for the saving of a troubled land.'”

“The Dominion Jewel,” Coram whispered.

Alanna shivered. “Fairy stories,” she scoffed.

“Ye were impressed by those stories in yer day, Miss,” retorted Coram. “Yer brother always wanted the tale of Giamo the Tyrant.
Ye
liked t'hear about Norrin and Anj'la.” He looked at Nahom. “The Jewel is
real
?”

“Very real,” the scholar replied. “In Maren we remember the changes made by King Norrin and Queen Anj'la, two centuries ago. Our wealth and peace are their legacy. We have had no wars or famines or plagues since their day.” He rapped the table to ward off the evils he'd mentioned. “If you have a chance to visit the capital city, you might examine the stonework on the Great Temple of Mithros and on the ceremonial doors of the palace. The same motif
is repeated over and over: Norrin's symbol, a snow-capped mountain, Anj'la's, a willow branch, and the Dominion Jewel between them. Marenites know what we owe to them and the Jewel.”

“But it's been used for evil, too,” Coram reminded Jendrai softly.

“Indeed.” The younger man's face darkened. “Giamo stole the Jewel to build his Gallan Empire. With it he conquered parts of Tusaine, Tortall, and Scanra.” Alanna saw Tusaine armies camped along the Drell River, as they had when she was a squire. She swallowed; her memories of the Tusaine War were unpleasant. “Someone stole it from Giamo's heir. His empire devoured itself, four hundred years ago.

“Fairy stories are important,” Jendrai told Alanna. “Legends teach us and guide scholars in searching out the truth of history.” He smoothed the map before folding it. “It would be the adventure of a lifetime to find the Dominion Jewel.”

Faithful and Alanna looked at each other. The cat's ears had pricked forward at
adventure.
The knight thought it over.
If I win it and return home bringing the Dominion Jewel for the glory of Tortall, no one can suggest that I got my shield with magic and trickery. Instead of being his Majesty's most talked-of knight,
I'll be the honored vassal who brought a prize to honor his reign.
Another voice in her mind whispered,
The Roof of the World! Did I ever meet anyone who'd been that far in his lifetime? It's a place to go. Someplace new. The Goddess said my path would be interesting.

Nahom sighed and put the map away. “Seldom do I regret my family and my duty to them. This is one of those times. I would love to go seeking such a thing. What land wouldn't prosper with the Jewel in its ruler's hands?” He gave the map to Alanna.

“How does it work?” Alanna asked. She fingered the ember-stone at her neck. “Do you have to be a sorcerer to wield it?”

“Giamo was no sorcerer,” Coram pointed out. “Look at the damage
he
did.”

“Norrin wasn't Gifted, either, although Anj'la knew herb-lore and healing magic,” added Jendrai, scanning a scroll rack. “Here.” He pulled out one, blew the dust from it (making Faithful sneeze), and unrolled it on the table. “This is in High Gaulish—do you read it?” Alanna and Coram shook their heads. “Here's the section I want. A rough translation is, ‘Said Jewel worketh its power in two fashions. In the hands of the un-Gifted, it exerteth natural benefices, knitting its power with the Earth's own for as far as
its ruler's holdeth sway.'” Stopping, he explained. “The Jewel only works for those who are rulers or conquerors
by nature.
It also explains why the Jewel was often better used by a commoner than by someone royal-born. Just because you're born to be a king doesn't mean you have the will for it.”

“Where was I … ‘In the hand of one Gifted, one who understandeth the devices of sorcery, the Jewel may be more directly used, in healing and war, for fertility and death. A knowledgeable ruler, knowing fully the creation of magical formulae, may create new land from ocean deeps, or return the breath of a dead child. With its wielder's knowledge and the will to rule, the Jewel maketh possible all things.'”

“That's scary,” Alanna whispered. “What could Roger have done with the Dominion Jewel?”

Coram said, “Thank the gods we'll never learn.”

Outside the air was raw, a reminder that winter was not done. Alanna shivered, walking briskly to keep up with Coram. Faithful trotted in front, sniffing the night wind. Alanna thought wistfully about the Bazhir lands—winter came to them as chilly rains, not snow and ice. She preferred the desert winter; she was afraid of cold weather, in a way she couldn't understand.

They weren't far from the inn when Coram spoke. “What will ye do?” Realizing she'd been thinking of something else, he explained, “The Jewel, my lady.”

“I think we should find it.”

“Knowin' how ye like the cold, I didn't think ye'd fancy the Roof.”

Alanna made a face. “You're right. Still, if that's where the Jewel is—”

Faithful hissed,
We have company.

Coram glanced around. “Rogues.” His voice was loud enough for Alanna to hear, no louder. “Wantin' to take our purses, doubtless.”

Alanna glanced to the corner ahead, where five men in dark clothing blocked their escape. She drew Lightning: It shimmered faintly. “Why so many of them for two of us?”

“Four more on yer right,” Coram hissed. “Because they've little else to do?” Out came his broadsword.

Of the thieves, two held swords, two more carried short axs, three had iron-shod staffs. Alanna guessed that the others had knives. “Let us by,” she ordered. “You don't want the trouble it'll take you to get our money.” She made the sign George taught her, the one to give her safe passage among rogues.

One of them stepped forward, his sword up. “Be
ye Alanna of Trebond in Tortall? Her as claims she's a true knight?”

Coram bristled. “Ye'll find she's knight enough if ye step just a bit closer.”

“Our business ain't with ye, master,” someone else barked. “Leave now, else ye be hurt.”

“I'll leave if ye do the same—or when ye're dead. It's all the same to me.” Coram shifted his stance, planting himself firmly.

Alanna looked at the one who'd spoken first. “I'm Alanna of Trebond and Olau.”

“We bring ye regards from him known as Claw, back in Tortall. He bids us tell ye mourn for yer lover now, whilst ye have breath. George Cooper will be dead afore summer, but we're to send
ye
t'the Black God first!”

He threw himself at Alanna, the swordsmen and staffmen following with a yell. Alanna moved until she and Coram were back to back, meeting the speaker's charge and knocking his weapon aside. He came at her again with a backhand chop, and she knew he'd had little training. It wasn't enough compared to hers. She brought Lightning down across his chest, cutting deeply. He fell, and she looked for her next foe.

There was little room to maneuver, little chance
to counter single opponents. The thieves understood simultaneous attack. Alanna and Coram blocked automatically, searching for anything that could be turned to their advantage. Hesitation now would mean death.

One of the staffmen swung and missed—she ran him through. Coram shouted fiercely, and someone screamed. When a swordsman looked to see the screamer's fate, Alanna slashed his leg. He dropped with a cry. A knife fighter rushed to pick up the fallen sword.

A black lump dropped from a roof, clinging to one man's scalp. Trying to dislodge Faithful, the thief fell into an ax's downswing. He lost his life. A second later the axman was down, a victim of Alanna's rapid side-cut. She could hear Coram gasping. Sweat dripped into her eyes.