The Woman Who Rides Like a Man (20 page)

"Then take me to a place that is," she suggested. When he hesitated, she added, "I know what I'm doing, George. And it's not just because Jon found someone else. This should've happened between us a long time ago."

He stood, clearing his throat. "Well, then." Suddenly he laughed. "Come with me, darlin' girl—"

*

If Coram noticed that she had moved her things into George's room, he either said nothing or voiced his opinions to Rispah alone. Certainly he seemed happy that Alanna had left her fury and her self-pity behind. Rispan gave Alanna a big, lusty wink the first time she caught the young knight leaving George's chambers, and the thieves made no remarks at all. The only change at House Azik was in moods: people whistled at their chores; Marek teased the maids, and Rispah and Coram acted like teenagers in love.

Only one thing marred those autumn weeks in the house on Dog Lane: a growing feeling of power, radiating from Corus. At first Alanna ignored it, thinking it to be part of her depression. The sensation persisted, until she mentioned it to George. He reminded her that the only one in Corus who could focus that kind of power was Thom, and she sent message after message to her twin. If Thom wasn't the cause of the magic, he would know who (or what) was; but the young sorcerer never answered her letters. When she tried to communicate with him through the fire burning in George's hearth, two days before All Hallow, she found only a gathering cloud she could not penetrate.

"What do you see?" George asked softly as she stared at purple flames.

Magic,
Faithful answered when Alanna gave no sign of hearing George's query.
All around the city. And no way to get through to Thom, whether he's causing it or not.

George looked at the cat—he couldn't become accustomed to those occasions when he could understand Faithful—and grimaced. "Any way to find out if it's for harm?"

"I don't
sense
evil in it." Alanna sounded as if she was thinking aloud. "And Thom wouldn't thank me for riding into the city and disrupting one of his experiments."

If that's what it is,
Faithful commented.

Alanna stared at the flames for a while longer. Suddenly, shaking her head to clear it, she clapped her hands, ending the spell with the command, "So mote it be!"

"You'll wait?" George asked, his eyes kindly. Alanna nodded. He reached down and helped her to her feet. "Then you may as well be comfortable while you wait," he grinned as he swept her off her feet and dumped her into bed.

*

All Hallow dawned bleak and stormy. The waves battered the cliffs below the house, and the winds blew away anything not already fastened down. Alanna arose to find George gone, summoned to the city on a matter of business. His note said he hoped to be back by nightfall, but if he was kept too late he would stay at the Dancing Dove in Corus, rather than risk the return trip after dark. She wasn't to wait up, and she wasn't to worry. If she was good, he would bring her a surprise—and
not
stolen, either! Alanna grinned at this last, recognizing the joke behind many gifts George had given her and Jon in the years they had known each other. For a second the thought of Jon made her grim; but she soon brightened. George obviously loved her, and she had responded to her friend's love like a flower opening in the sun.
 
Never before had she been coddled and treated like something precious. Jon had always treated her as a comrade, except when they were making love. She usually liked the way the Prince handled her, but a small, treacherous part of her longed for the gentle courtesy he gave noble ladies. Now George gave her that courtesy, as well as treating her like a comrade, and she liked the mixture.

Toward noon exhaustion hit her like a sledge hammer. She was barely able to make it to her bed before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When she awoke, it was pitch-dark, and the wind howled outside the shuttered windows. She reached out and ordered the branch of candles beside her bed to light, something she had done without thinking since becoming a shaman for the Bazhir. There was no flame in answer to her command, and when she looked inside, searching for her Gift, she found just a trace of magic. Only then did she discover the ember-stone was flickering with increasing urgency, and that the crystal sword was humming in its sheath as it had not in weeks.

While she slept, something had come and leeched away her Gift.

Lighting candles with a spill from the banked fire, she headed for the library. Some extensive books of magic were there, and she had promised herself a look at them. Now seemed like an excellent time.

There was no sign of Faithful as she padded through the quiet halls. Marek and the other men had gone with George. Rispah and Coram would probably be in Rispah's chambers; and Rispah's woman friend, Harra, retired early. The servants had gone home for the night. Alanna felt all alone, odd and detached. She knew she ought to care that someone had tapped her Gift, but she couldn't.

It was nearly midnight when she closed the last volume, rubbing her eyes tiredly. As she had suspected, the only one with the power and the closeness to Alanna needed for such a tapping was her twin. She should have been angry, but her emotions felt dead. And she was getting sleepy again.

Suddenly she heard—and didn't hear—a boom, a crash that made even her dull senses quiver with alarm. The crystal sword shrieked and fell silent. Somewhere Faithful let out an anguished howl. Seconds later the door burst open, and the cat hurled himself onto Alanna's chest. She soothed him, caressing his fur and holding his shivering body close. It was fully an hour before he relaxed enough to let go of her tunic and settle onto her lap.

It's over, whatever it was,
he yowled as he yawned.
He did the spell he needed all that power for.

Alanna took him back to her bedchamber. No one else was stirring, so she and Faithful were the only ones able to feel whatever had happened. "We might as well forget it," she advised the cat as she hung the crystal sword on its hook. "I doubt Thom will give us an explanation."

To her surprise, when George returned the next day he brought a note from the young sorcerer. Thom had written:

Dearest Alanna,

Perhaps this letter should have come to you sooner, but it was only when your friend George demanded an explanation that I realized you might be affected by my recent work. On All Hallow I will be attempting some experiments
—
all very arcane and esoteric, with no meaning for anyone but a Master, I promise you. The work is quite delicate and requires plenty of power. To get it, I'll be tapping you, since you never use more than a small part of your Gift. I know you won't mind. If I've caused you any inconvenience or worry, please forgive me.

Your loving brother,

Thom.

"Well,
I
mind!" George snapped when she told him. "I could feel the city shake when he did his precious 'experiments'! Doesn't your twin have any regard for us lesser folk?"

Alanna had sent a blistering letter to her brother that morning, telling him the same thing. Now she grinned and shook her head. "He learned to be secretive in the Mithran Cloisters," she said. "If he can't be bothered to consult me beforehand, he certainly won't care about other Gifted people. Let's just be thankful he's doing experiments, instead of being up to real harm."

Thom's reply to her angry letter arrived before the week was out and extended his deepest apologies to his sister. With her Gift restoring itself, Alanna decided to let that be the end of the whole affair. She doubted that Thom would ever borrow her magic again without her consent. Obviously there were no other ill effects of his All Hallow's experiments.

*

When the first snows fell, early in December, Alanna greeted their coming with dismay. George laughed as she unpacked her heavy clothing and I covered herself with layers of silk and wool. She shrugged off his teasing, having endured its like from her friends for years. Now more than ever she missed the desert, and infrequent letters from Halef Seif only made her longing sharper. Recognizing her mood, George went to great trouble to find things to amuse and divert her; but in the week after Mid-Winter Festival ended, she spent an entire day poring over maps in the library.

"You wouldn't be thinkin' of leaving'?" he asked as they sat down to their evening meal. Co-ram and Rispah, who had joined them, looked anxiously at Alanna.

The young knight reddened and shrugged. "You could always come with me."

George arched one eyebrow. "Me? In the desert?"

"I suppose not," Alanna admitted gloomily as the new maidservant poured soup into her bowl. "It's just so
cold
here. And I'm getting restless."

She was lifting her spoon to her mouth when a frantic, yowling Faithful leaped onto the table, sending Alanna's soup dish flying. The ember-stone sent out a burst of white heat as George yanked her back. Coram shoved his own dish away as Rispah ran after the fleeing maid. She returned within seconds, hauling the terrified woman back in a grip that permitted no careless movement on her captive's part.

Alanna extended her hand, and a wave of purple fire washed over the plates on the table. She looked up at George, her eyes sick. "They've all been poisoned."

George looked at Rispah. The red-head's mouth was set in a grim line; the maid fought her hold uselessly. "I think we'll learn a bit more if the noble lady isn't by," she told her cousin.

"You'll need me," Coram told them. He glanced at Alanna. "Wait in the library."

*

Alanna didn't argue as Rispah, Coram, and George marched the protesting maid out of the room. Instead she went to the kitchen and questioned the cook, who was preparing to go home for the night. From her she learned that the maid, who had worked for them only two weeks, had come from Corus. She was supposed to be living with an uncle, but the cook suspected she got additional money from a local inn, where she entertained male guests. Still, she had done her work well and quietly, and it was hard to get good help during winter in Port Caynn.

"One last question," Alanna said, "and then I'll get Marek or one of the others to take you home in the cart. Did she have a letter from the Rogue in Corus, saying she was safe to wait on George?"

The cook turned indignant at the very thought that she would permit someone in the house who hadn't been cleared. From the house's account books she took the grimy piece of paper the maid had brought with her. Confirming the woman as safe, it was signed "Claw."

Orem escorted the cook home while Alanna gave the whole thing serious thought. It seemed likely that George had been the poisoner's target; since the deaths of Duke Roger and Ibn Nazzir, she had no enemies inclined toward murder.

"Who's Claw?" she asked when a tired, sweating George came to the library an hour later.

The thief grimaced as he poured himself a glass of brandy. "One of the new young men in the city. Ugly as a goat—missin' an eye, purple marks on his face where someone threw acid on him once. Why?"

Alanna gave him the note admitting the would-be poisoner to his house, watching the thief s mobile face as he read. "Did the maid talk?"

"Hm? Oh, her. No more than that a man gave her the poison, and the money." He put the note down, rubbing his face wearily. "She ended too fast."

"Magic?"

George shook his head, slumping into his big leather chair. "Not that I could See. She was wearin' a charm about her neck. When we took it off her, she—died." Digging in his tunic pocket, he produced a small round medal hanging on a chain. "Have a look."

Alanna touched it, instantly feeling the evil as the ember-stone flared hotly. She yanked her hand away. "Throw it in the fire!"

Startled, George obeyed. The charm sputtered and melted. "Why?"

"It's been treated with a kind of poison." Alanna soaked George's handkerchief in brandy and held the dripping cloth out to her friend. "Wipe your hands with this—quickly! Did Coram or Rispah touch it?"