The Woman Who Rides Like a Man (14 page)

"What is the matter with you these days?" Alanna cried, exasperated. "Excuse me very much, your Royal Highness! I wasn't aware I was questioning your skill in the manly art of self defense; I was silly enough to worry you might get hurt! Forgive me! Permit your Highness's humble servant to remind you that these people play for keeps!" She hurled down her towel and marched outside, clenching her jaw until it hurt. Jon had been sharp-edged since his arrival, almost as if he had to prove something to himself, or to her. She didn't like it. At the palace, the only thing it seemed necessary to prove was mutual passion.
That
part of their love remained; but sometimes now when he talked, she wanted to cover her ears and shut out his voice.

Which of us has changed?
she wondered as she sat down among the Bazhir men.
And in the Mother's Name, why?

A moment or two later Jonathan took his seat beside Ali Mukhtab. He looked at Alanna and smiled, shaking his head.
As if I were a willful child who'd thrown a very small tantrum,
she told herself. She looked down at Faithful, who was settling himself before her. The cat's tail was twitching madly. He expected trouble as much as Alanna did.

Amman Kemail waited until the women began to pass the food. Ali Mukhtab was offering a piece of his bread to Jonathan when the Sunset Dragon headman stood, pointing at the Prince.

"I will not break bread with the son of the Northern King!"

What little talk there was died out completely. Myles, sitting beside Alanna, whispered, "I should have guessed."

Slowly Ali Mukhtab glanced up at the standing man. "Have you a complaint to voice, Amman Kemail?"

"He is not one of us. He has not won the right to sit with us in peace, or to take bread from the hand of the Voice of the Tribes. Let him prove himself before us all, in the combat!"

"The combat has been demanded of Jonathan, who is the son of the Northern King," Ali Mukhtab said tonelessly. "Who will speak against it?"

Before Alanna could rise to her feet, Kara and Kourrem gripped her shoulders, and Faithful jumped on her lap.

"Think!" Myles hissed, talking fast. "He's not accepted by them even as a warrior, let alone the Voice. If you interfere, they will always wonder if he lets others do his fighting. He was a full knight during the war with Tusaine—he's no unblooded boy!"

"He's never fought hand-to-hand, outside the palace courtyards!" Alanna whispered, shaking.

"But George Cooper taught him as well as he taught you! Exercise your common sense, Alanna!"

She knew Myles was right. That didn't help her as she watched Jon prepare. He stripped off his tunic, shirt, and boots, his face pale and set. Coram held his knife while he began his loosening-up exercises. Amman Kemail was also stripping down to his loincloth, his dark face set. Muscle for muscle he and Jon were equally matched, although the Bazhir was a few inches taller.

Alanna shook off Kara and Kourrem and went to crouch by the Prince. "Think about what you want to accomplish here," she whispered, forgetting their quarrel earlier. "The Bazhir are strict when it comes to their honor. Don't shame Kemail."

He grinned up at her. "What about shaming myself?"

She smiled back. "You've yet to do that, Prince. Pardon my suggesting it, but perhaps now is
not
the time to start."

He grabbed her hand and kissed it. "You worry too much, Lady Alanna." Standing, he accepted his knife from Coram with a nod of thanks. Both men were ready, and Ali Mukhtab gave the signal to begin.

Amman Kemail lunged forward, his knife drawing a bloody gash down Jonathan's chest. The Prince faltered back, and the Bazhir lunged in again. Alanna closed her eyes. There was a rumble of amazement, and she looked. Kemail's left arm hung uselessly, blood dripping from the wound in his shoulder, and Jonathan was crouched and circling.

The Bazhir charged forward, and Alanna blinked. Jonathan lunged back, then forward again; his left foot connected solidly with Kemail's chest. The Bazhir fell to the ground with a crash. Weakly he struggled to his feet just as Jon lunged for him again. His right fist, weighted with his dagger hilt, lashed forward in another movement too quick for Alanna to follow, striking Kemail squarely on the chin. The Bazhir dropped and lay still, knocked unconscious.

Ali Mukhtab came forward. "He is yours to kill," the Voice commented, his face revealing none of his feelings. Around them the Bazhir men, guests and Bloody Hawk alike, were silent. "You have won. It is your right."

Jonathan shook his head. "Amman Kemail was honest in expressing his doubts. Were I in his place, I would have done the same. I can't kill a man for not liking me, although I can hope he will change his mind, when he knows me better."

Men came forward and carried the still-unconscious headman out of the circle, back to his own tent. Those who remained watched Jonathan thoughtfully.

Coram rushed forward with a drying-cloth, and Kara handed Alanna her healer's bag. She started to work on Jonathan's chest wound: the blood from it was already clotting. "How did I do?" Jon said panting, accepting a skin of water from Kourrem.

"Where did you learn that kind of fighting, kicking, and that style of punching?" she demanded, rubbing salve into the gash. "George never taught you to fight like that."

Jonathan smiled at her. "About a month after you left, a Shang warrior called the Wolf came to stay at the palace. I've been studying with him. I just never thought what he taught me would be useful so soon."

"Shang warriors are tricky," Coram admitted. "But this one did well by ye."

"What's a Shang warrior?" Kara whispered to Alanna.

"They're trained to fight from childhood," Myles answered. "They can handle all manner of weapons as if born holding them, but they're deadliest with their bare hands and feet. The men and women—"

"And
women?"
gasped Kourrem, surprised.

"Not many women survive the Shang way of life, but those who do are as legendary as the men," Myles replied. "As I was saying, they set great store by personal honor and skill, always seeking new challenges and never staying long in one place."

"Like Alanna," Kara pointed out.

"Very like," Myles agreed, smiling slightly.

Alanna finished bandaging the Prince. It was funny to hear Myles teaching the girls much as he had taught her. She stitched the bandage closed as Ali Mukhtab came over to them.

"You have earned your way among the Bazhir, Jonathan of Conté," he said formally. "Will you join with our people now?"

Jonathan nodded, standing. "What must I do?"

Alanna, Myles, and the others watched as Jonathan underwent the ceremony that bound him to the Bazhir and the desert. Only a fool would not have noticed that the Bazhir were less happy with Jonathan's becoming a Bazhir than the men of the Bloody Hawk had been when Alanna had joined them. They were quiet as Ali Mukhtab cut Jon's arm and his own, and there was no feast afterwards.

"They welcomed you, didn't they?" Jon asked Alanna when they were in bed.

"Yes," she whispered.

"They're still not convinced I'll be a good Voice of the Tribes. I'll simply have to prove it with my actions," he commented. He hugged Alanna close. "I know I've been a bit difficult to be around lately," he confessed. "I've been hemmed-in and proper all my life, and lately it's been bothering me. I want to break loose and do all the things I'm not supposed to. I'll probably never do them, and right now I'm fighting it. Can you understand that?"

"No," Alanna replied frankly. "I've spent all my life trying to avoid getting caught in just that kind of trap."

"Well, my lovely Lioness, that's the trap I was born into. I'll get over this restlessness, I suppose. I really do want to be a good king, and a good Voice of the Tribes."

"Then you'll do it," she reassured him. "I don't doubt it for a minute."

*

After Jonathan's initiation into the Bazhir, Alanna spent little time with Kara and Kourrem, leaving them to study with the visiting shamans. Her visits to Ali Mukhtab grew to twice a day, leaving her weary and sick each time. Only Farda and the Voice himself knew what she was doing. During her free hours, she talked with Myles, learning all she needed to know about Barony Olau, even as Jon studied late with Mukhtab.

At last Myles admitted that Alanna had nothing left to learn about his estates. "If you don't mind, I'd like to formally adopt you here. The Bazhir ceremony is simple, and quite legal." He chuckled. "I think your desert friends would be happy if you gained a father, even a disreputable one like me."

Alanna hugged him. She was discovering that each time she hugged Myles, it got easier. It was one of the many ways in which living as a girl was far more pleasant; boys were not supposed to show affection openly. "You aren't disreputable at all; well, not
that
disreputable. If only you'd wear nicer clothes. It's not as if you can't afford it." She had discovered Myles was far wealthier than she dreamed, as a result of an unnoblelike interest in trade.

"But I'm comfortable this way," the knight pointed out. He added shrewdly, "Of course, if you married Jon, I would have to dress up from time to time."

Faithful uttered a small yowlp as Alanna stared at her friend. "How did you know?"

"I'm not blind. All the way down here he was brooding. When he wasn't, he talked about why a Prince marries."

"Oh." Alanna fingered her ember-stone. "I told him I'd think about it."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure he wants to marry me for the right reasons," she admitted. "He seems angry that people expect him to behave a certain way because he's the Prince. He calls it 'a trap he was born into.'" Picking up Faithful, Alanna draped him around her shoulders. "I don't blame him for wanting to rebel—that's one of the reasons
I
left Court. But I don't like the idea of his proving he's rebelling by marriage with me. That makes me into a thing that's evidence he can do what he wants, instead of leaving me a person."

"He
does
love you," Myles pointed out.

She sighed. "I know he does. But I wonder if he'd have proposed if he weren't—itchy. You know something else, Myles? I never liked people watching me and talking about me all the time, even when they were saying nice things. And I still haven't learned to live with killing Roger." The cat thrust his nose into her ear, and she winced. "I like it here. The Bazhir accept me. I'm myself with them. Well, as much myself as
anyone
can be when they're a shaman and a warrior, and when they don't want to hurt people's feelings."

"Do you love Jon?"

Alanna scratched Faithful's ears, her violet eyes sad. "Love's wonderful, but it is not enough to keep us together for years of marriage. I'm not sure if I'm ready; I'm not sure if Jon's ready. I
have
to be sure, if I want to marry King Roald's heir." She smiled. "Yes, I love him. That's the whole problem."

He stood, putting a hand on her shoulder. "The only advice I can give you, then, is to decide carefully. If you are so uncertain, you would make a bad decision if you married now. 'No' can always be changed to 'yes,' but it's very hard to change 'yes' to 'no.' Come on. Smile. Let's go see what your apprentices are up to."

*

The apprentices were easy to find. All of the shamans in the village, as well as Jonathan, Ali Mukhtab, Farda, and Halef Seif, were gathered around the well. In the open space before Ali Mukhtab's tent stood Kara, her veils whipping around her as she raised a whirling funnel of dust in the air before her. Alanna had to grin with pride. The Bazhir maiden had come a long way from being unable to control the winds she summoned.

Then Kourrem stepped forward, a bit of thread in her hands. Her lips moving, she tied a complex knot in the thread. The twister, which had been slowly growing toward the sky, halted. Dust fell slowly down its sides and was scooped in once more. Kourrem grinned and tied a second, harder knot: the dust collapsed to earth. The shamans applauded the two girls, who laughed and blushed behind their veils.