The Woman Who Rides Like a Man (16 page)

Kara stood. For a moment she faltered, seeing the magical flames rear higher than her head. Then her mouth firmed, and she walked through the ring. Kourrem followed without hesitation. Alanna and Umar threw up walls of light, and Alanna summoned the apprentices again: "If you will do as the gods require you, come forth!"

The girls walked through the light together. Kara slowed, nearly stopping, for a moment, but both emerged. Alanna and Umar Komm created a deep trench in the ground before them. For the third time, Alanna summoned: "If you will do your duty by your people and your tribe, come forth!"

This task was the hardest, because it required the most determination. Few sorcerers lifted themselves from the ground; it cost too much strength to go a very short distance. Alanna doubted that she could do it, drained as she was by keeping Ali Mukhtab alive.

Kourrem hesitated, fighting to strengthen her resolve. She was forbidden to use thread, or to move rocks to fill the trench. She had to fly over it.

Kara stepped forward, her lower lip gripped between her teeth. Very slowly she floated across. She was nearly on the other side when Kourrem flew to catch up. Both of them collapsed onto the ground, exhausted. They stirred only when Umar Komm lifted Kourrem as Alanna lifted Kara.

"You are now shamans of the Bazhir," Alanna told her apprentices.

"Welcome to our Brotherhood." Umar Komm smiled.

* * *

7—The Voice of the Tribes

The next morning Alanna turned her duties over to Kara and Kourrem. "This way," she explained, "everyone knows you work with my approval and help. Have you decided which of you will be head shaman? If you disagree on something, one of you must have the power to make the final decision."

For a moment they looked at each other warily. Alanna knew she had given them a difficult choice, but she also knew
they
had to be the ones to make it, not she.

"Kourrem," Kara said. "She doesn't have trouble deciding things, the way I do. And she can stand up to the men better than I can."

Alanna hugged the taller girl around the shoulders. "If it was necessary, you could stand up to the men, Kara." She looked at Kourrem. "Do you think she is right?"

Kourrem shrugged, smiling ironically. "I don't know if she's right or not, but I'll be head shaman, I guess. We can't do everything without each other to help, in any case."

Alanna picked up her healer's bag. "I'll tell Halef Seif and Ali Mukhtab," she announced. "For now, I suggest you continue your studies with the other shamans."

For the next fifteen days Alanna spent most of her time with Ali Mukhtab. The Voice was clearly failing; his flesh hung from his bones; his skin was gray, his eyes dull. Somehow he found the strength to teach Jonathan, his voice droning for hours as he fought to instruct the Prince in the many laws of the Bazhir.

During that time Jonathan worked harder than Alanna had ever seen him work before, both to master his studies and to win over the Bazhir headmen and lawmakers. Carefully and determinedly he sought out and spoke with each man, drawing opinions from them with a diplomacy Alanna did not know he possessed. It was at such moments that Jonathan seemed most alive and happy. The rest of the time he was restless and edgy, complaining about the sand and the heat and the lessons with Ali Mukhtab when he was alone with Alanna. He didn't ask her if she had made a decision about their marriage, and she was glad he hadn't.

Only once did he publicly lose his composure. Leaving the Voice's tent after her morning spell-working, she found the Prince waiting for her. He was frowning in a way she knew too well, lately.

"Let's go riding," he said abruptly, not appearing to see how worn and gray-faced she was. "I want to get away from here."

She stared at him. "Jon, we can't. He's ready for your lessons now."

"I don't care," the Prince snapped. "I've had lessons since I set foot in this village. I'm going riding." He turned away, and she seized his arm.

"You can discuss your boredom and whatever in private all you please," she hissed. "But the man in there is hanging on to life because
you
need to know what he has to teach you. I'd appreciate it if you stopped acting like a spoiled brat. If you want the Voice's power, you have to learn the Voice's lessons!"

"I didn't
ask
him to choose me!" Jonathan whispered hotly, putting his broad shoulders between them and the staring tribesmen. The Bazhir were startled to see them arguing, even if they couldn't be heard.

"But you're willing to take what he's offering!" she whispered back. "You of all people know everything has its price. And don't tell me you're tired of paying! This isn't the time, or the place!" She stared at him, until he looked away. Without another word he entered Mukhtab's tent.

That night he was all tenderness and apologies, and Alanna's anger faded. She loved him with all her heart. But marriage?

The next evening she and Myles dined alone in the tent she had been given after turning the large one over to Kara and Kourrem. Once the meal was over, she steeled herself to ask for her foster-father's advice.

"Myles, what happens when Jon marries?"

The knight glanced at her sharply. "The first duty of any noble wife is to give her husband an heir. The succession must be assured, particularly when a throne is involved; that is especially true for any woman who marries Jonathan. Should something happen to the King, gods forbid it,
and
to Jon, there are no close Conté relatives. Roger would have inherited had he lived—I know, that's what he planned!—but there was no one to succeed Roger. His father died when he was a boy; his mother died giving him birth."

"Like mine," whispered Alanna.

Myles nodded. "Sadly, it often happens. Roger's sole close relative was the King. The Contés rarely have large families," he added with a sigh.

"Now there are only third and fourth cousins. It means civil war if Jon dies without an heir."

Alanna had nothing to say to this: Myles had confirmed her fears. She fought down panic, thinking,
I'm not ready to have children!

"What?" Myles had spoken again.

"I said, did you accept Jonathan?"

"I still need to think about it."

"You do?" The man was obviously surprised. "The way he's been acting, I thought you said yes."

"Are you serious?"

"I see you together often enough. If he weren't sure of you, I should think he'd spend more time wooing you, winning you over. Well, perhaps I'm wrong. I'm not omnipotent." Myles picked up Faithful and deposited the cat on his lap, stroking the animal's ears with gentle fingers. "Why are you still considering, if I may ask?"

"You remember what I said, about maybe Jon wanting to marry me for all the wrong reasons?" Myles nodded. "Well, nothing that's happened since has changed my mind. I know he's working hard, learning to be the Voice and getting the men of the Bazhir to like him, but when he's not dealing with them, he seems—well, spoiled. I never really thought he was that way at the palace. Any Prince is somewhat spoiled, of course. Wouldn't you be, with people buttering you up all the time?"

"I don't think either of us, runs that risk," Myles said gravely, his eyes dancing.

"Perhaps responsibility would steady Jon," Alanna admitted with a sigh. "I don't think he's a bad person at all; in fact, I think he's a very good one. But lately I'm not sure if I like him very much. I keep telling myself he'll get over it, but what if he doesn't?"

"Many young women would give all they possessed to have your opportunity." There was no way now to tell what Myles was thinking.

"Not me," Alanna snapped, fingering the ember-stone. "I've been happy since I came here, and I like it. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be well-behaved, as a nobleman's wife should be. The King and Queen would try to make me stop dressing comfortably. They might even try to make me stop healing. I couldn't go wherever I wanted. No risks, and no adventures." She blushed with shame. "I love Jon, but I've got too many questions to decide to be hurried. I'm not certain I'm ready to marry, even if he is."

She was astounded to realize the look in her foster-father's eyes was of pride. "Few people are wise enough to know they might not be ready for such a venture. Too many rush to wed, only to discover they know little about what they're getting into. I'm pleased to see you put so much thought into this. By the way—I saw George Cooper before I left Corus."

"How was he?" Alanna wondered why Myles had brought up the King of the Thieves.

"He asked me to tell you he's moving to Port Caynn for a while. It seems the rogues there have been giving him trouble, so he plans to bring them into line." Myles drew a crumpled piece of paper from a hidden pocket; it had the address "House Azik, Dog Lane" written on it in George's scrawl. "He hopes you will visit him, if you can be released from your duties here."

*

Alanna folded the paper, her heart leaping. To see George again! Then she remembered Jonathan. As the Prince's bride-to-be, she might never be able to see George alone.

"I doubt if I can visit him," she announced, getting up. "Excuse me, Myles. I'm taking Moonlight for a run."

She hurried to the corral and saddled the mare, ignoring her common sense. Although the hillmen had not ventured near Bloody Hawk territory since Ishak's last battle, they might well be awaiting the chance to pick off a lone rider; it would be wiser to take a companion.

She headed for the open desert alone, wishing there was a way to ride so hard and fast that she left puzzles and heartaches behind.

To be free
—really
free,
she thought grimly as she brought Moonlight to a gallop.
To never worry about anything or anybody, to go where I want without thinking about other people at all . . .
 
I've been carrying Roger and everyone else in Corus with me, just as I've carried the tribe since I killed Akhnan Ibn Nazzir. I wish the only one I ever carried with me was me
—

Hoofbeats sounded behind her; she wheeled Moonlight, bringing the crystal blade from its sheath in a swift movement. Then she smiled ruefully as she recognized Coram and his bay gelding.

I daresay I wouldn't be happy if I had no one but myself,
she thought with a sigh, waiting for him to catch up.

*

Alanna began to sleep in Ali Mukhtab's tent, always ready with her Gift and medicines to bolster the Voice's fading strength. On the last day, when the moon would be dark, Mukhtab sent Jonathan to rest and to gather his resources. The lessons were complete; all that remained was the Rite itself. After shooing everyone out, Alanna placed the Voice in the deepest of slumbers, hoping to give him added strength for the night's ordeal.

Outside, she could feel a hushed tension in the village. To the tribesmen the selection of a Voice was more important than the coronation of a king. The Voice of the Tribes was priest, father, and judge to the Bazhir. Halef Seif had told her a Voice never acted without the approval of most of his people; the knowledge of Bazhir minds and hearts was far too heavy a burden for him even to consider defiance. This information convinced Alanna all the more that she never wanted to join with the Voice during those moments at twilight. She had trouble enough understanding herself; she wanted no one else—not even one supposedly as disinterested as the Voice—to know her thoughts and problems.

While the tribe ate the evening meal (there was no ceremony at the fire), Alanna went to Jonathan. The Prince had been fasting; now, dressed in a white burnoose, he looked pale and resolute.

"I wanted to wish you luck," she explained. She wasn't sure how to speak to him: he was preparing to take on a burden she would refuse at any cost. For a moment he looked as if he didn't know her. Then he stood, holding out his arms.