The Woman Who Rides Like a Man (7 page)

Alanna walked forward, trying to see the captives' faces. Both looked down. "Surely the men of the Sleeping Lion are able to look after spies," she suggested, still not knowing why she had been called. "Unless they felt the Voice should see them?"

"These men asked questions about
you,
Alanna of Trebond," replied Ali Mukhtab.

Faithful leaped from Alanna's shoulder. Walking over to one of the kneeling men, the cat lazily butted against his face. Startled, the man looked up.

"Fingers!" Alanna cried, startled. "What in the Name of the Mother are
you
doing here?"

The second man—one she had known only slightly from her days in the Court of the Rogue—looked up as well. The thief Alanna had known for years as "Lightfingers" grimaced.

"He said we weren't t'let you know we was here," he grumbled. "We was t'find out what'd happened to you, and if you was safe."

"Doubtless you will explain in your own time, Alanna," Halef remarked gently.

Red with embarrassment, Alanna faced him. "The master of these men is one of my oldest and greatest friends."

"Who might their master be, that he sends spies to us rather than messengers who declare their intent openly?"

Alanna sighed. "He's the master of the Court of the Rogue, the King of the Thieves in Tortall. If you knew him, you'd know he always sends spies rather than messengers." She turned back to 'Fingers. "Why on earth is he looking for me? Surely he knows I'm all right."

'Fingers shook his head. "I'm not the one t'question his Majesty," he informed Alanna. "Not of late in particular, when he's turned that testy. We knew we'd be caught, but—" He shrugged. "'Twas better far than stayin' in Corus, when George is in a temper."

Alanna smiled. "I've never seen George in a temper, but he's formidable enough the rest of the time. Halef Seif, Ali Mukhtab, don't hold these two responsible for their master's orders. Disobeying George—the King of the Thieves—well, if you're a thief it's something you just don't do."

Removing his pipe from his mouth, Ali Mukhtab said, "I have heard of this George Cooper. As you say, he is a hard man to cross."

"Surely these two haven't seen anything the Bazhir wouldn't want them to see," Alanna pointed out.

"It is your will that they be released?" Halef Seif asked the Voice. Ali Mukhtab nodded, and Gammal knelt to cut the ropes binding the captives. "Listen to me," Halef told them sternly. "You return to your King of Thieves unmarked and unharmed, but for a little rough handling. His next spies I will return to him with slit nostrils." He nodded to Gammal. "Feed them and send them on their way. Make certain they are well on the road to the north before you return to us."

"Tell George I'm well and content," Alanna added as 'Fingers and his companion rose awkwardly. "I just need to live my own life for a while."

Lightfingers nodded. "I'll tell him, but I doubt he'll like it."

His companion looked around at the Bazhir. "He may have to," he remarked dryly. They were hurried from the tent, the warriors following.

Alanna discovered Halef Seif and Ali Mukhtab were looking at her. At a gesture from the headman, she sat. Halef drew up his own pipe stand and sat as well, while a young tribesman who had stayed behind poured wine for each of them.

"Are there other such friends who will come seeking you, Alanna?" Ali Mukhtab wanted to know.

She shook her head. "George is a law to himself."

"How did you come to know such a one?" The Voice gave Halef a light from his pipe.

"We met when I first arrived in Corus, disguised as a boy," she replied. "He became my friend—"

"So he could steal in the palace," Halef suggested dryly.

"Not at all. I never would've helped him to steal. As it was, he taught me knife-fighting, how to climb walls without a ladder—" She grinned. "All manner of useful things. And he got Moonlight for me."

The Voice's eyes were sharp. "He must be close to you, this—"

"George Cooper," she supplied. "He's my best friend in the world, next to Prince Jonathan."

"This friend goes to great risk, sending messengers south to find you."

Alanna blushed. "George worries about me," she mumbled.

George loves you,
Faithful yowled.

"Hush," she snapped, seeing the two men look at her cat. Sometimes people could understand Faithful; she didn't want this to be one of those times. She rose, nearly tripping over her burnoose. "If that's everything—"

"For now," the headman nodded, barely hiding a smile behind his hand.

*

The incident was soon forgotten, and shortly afterward Alanna decided to approach Ibn Nazzir on behalf of Kara, Kourrem, and Ishak. She had not crossed verbal swords with the shaman in days, and she hoped his rage had cooled. Leaving her weapons and her cool burnoose behind, wearing a sleeveless tunic and breeches (so the old man could see clearly she was unarmed), Alanna went to beard him in his tent at noon.

As always Faithful accompanied her, a coal-black, complaining shadow.
This is a fool's errand,
he warned her as they approached the shaman's home.
He will scream and call you names, and probably he'll try some spell he knows nothing about.

"I have to try," Alanna muttered as she stepped onto the wide bare spot before the tent that served the tribe as temple and as the shaman's home. She stood a discreet distance from the covered opening, spread her hands wide so all could see they were empty. "Akhnan Ibn Nazzir! I have come to you in peace, with open—"

The ground before her exploded, knocking her and Faithful down and showering them both with dirt and sand.

I told you so,
Faithful remarked disgustedly as he began to wash.

Alanna got to her feet, brushing herself off as she fought to hold onto her temper. "That was stupid!" she yelled. "Someone might have been hurt, and it wouldn't have been me! I came to you willing to make peace—"

"You will make nothing among us but war and famine!" came the muffled scream from the tent. "You corrupt Halef Seif with lust; your vile words have bewitched the Voice of the Tribes!"

"Men and women can be friends without lust!" Alanna yelled back. "The only person who's bewitched around here is you, bewitched by your own jealousy and stupidity!" She stopped to wipe sweat off her forehead, trembling with anger. Her tolerance for fools had always been slight, and she was losing the little she had.

Still the old man refused to come out, although the exchange was drawing the rest of the village. "You carry the eye of a demon around your throat!"

Alanna put her hand to her throat and touched the ember-stone. "It is not the eye of a demon!" she cried with fury. "It is a token given me by the Great Mother Goddess, from Her own hand!" Those listening drew back, awed and frightened. The Mother was as well-known and worshipped here as she was in the north; none of them would use Her name lightly. Those who followed the shaman began to wonder if they had made a very bad mistake.

"I want an apology for your insult to my Goddess!" she yelled, her voice getting hoarse. "I demand it right now! Come out and make it!"

There,
she thought with satisfaction, balancing on the balls of her feet.
That ought to settle the old coward.

Faithful was facing the shaman's tent, his ears pricked forward. Suddenly his tail began to twitch.
He's not going to apologize,
he warned as the tent flap stirred.
He's going to
—

But Alanna could feel it as well as the cat. There was just time for her to throw up defensive walls as yellow flame roared from the tent, surrounding her and Faithful. She flinched as it struck, holding her mind fixed on her own spell. Angry—with Ibn Nazzir's ignorance and lack of control, a bystander could have been hurt or killed—she seized the last bit of fire and threw it back. The tiny flame rushed into the shaman's tent and chased the old man outside before vanishing.

Alanna glared at Ibn Nazzir, thinking rapidly. He was wearing the crystal sword; the sight of it sent cold fear down her back. Not only was she concerned about anything that reminded her of Roger of Conté, she knew the shaman had been a rider once. Doubtless he could use a sword. Unless she was mistaken, she was more than his match as a sorceress, but his fencing skills were a dangerous unknown, particularly since she was unarmed.

"You insult the Goddess who shows me favor," she said when she had his attention. "You attacked me twice without provocation and without fair warning. I've been more than patient with you. Tell me why I shouldn't demand your life, as is my right as a member of this tribe."

Akhnan Ibn Nazzir drew the crystal sword and rushed Alanna with a yell.

She dodged and circled away, deaf to the furious shouts from the tribesmen at the shaman's disregard for honor. Ibn Nazzir, at the end of his sanity, was also deaf to them. His mouth set in a crazy grin, he rushed Alanna again, wielding that deadly blade with both hands.

The woman knight ducked away, moving easily on the packed dirt. She could
feel
the crystal sword humming each time it sliced past her. The sound made her slightly ill: it was as if Duke Roger were nearby, directing the sword in its quest for her life. Empty-handed, intent on the shaman's moves, she wove and danced away as he slashed at her.

Ibn Nazzir was not the opponent Duke Roger had been. His swings were often wild; he was badly balanced and slow. It was the sword Alanna feared; she had a feeling the old man would not have been as good as he was now without it. Gripping the ember-stone, she whispered a wall-building spell.

Violet fire sprang into being, whirling to encircle Ibn Nazzir. He shrieked and swept the sword around him; the wall vanished. He charged; Alanna jumped, kicking him to the ground. With a roll she was on him, wrestling for the sword. The humming was louder, drowning out all other sound. Invisible fingers gripped her throat even as she saw the shaman start to turn gray.

"Stop it!" she yelled, trying to make herself heard. With a corner of her mind she gripped the magical fingers, holding them away from her. "You don't have the strength: you're using your own life-force!"

He knocked her onto her back. Alanna clung to the sword's hilt; at this range he couldn't miss once he got the blade free. They struggled, drops of sweat falling onto her face from him. He was turning grayer, and there were blue lines around his mouth and nostrils.

Everything went black. The cloud that suddenly enfolded Alanna cut off all air and feeling. She fought, drawing on reserves of strength that had been built up over years of work and subterfuge. Slowly her own violet fire shoved the blackness away, sparking and flaring where it touched the crystal blade. In the distance she heard a cry.

The blackness was gone. Akhnan Ibn Nazzir collapsed against her, his eyes wide and staring in death.

Gammal and Halef pulled the old man off her, and Ishak helped her to her feet. Alanna swayed with exhaustion; Kara and Kourrem hurried forward to support her on either side. Ali Mukhtab looked up from his examination of Ibn Nazzir's body, his dark eyes puzzled. "There is no mark on him, yet he is dead. What caused it?"

Alanna rubbed her eyes. She had expended much of her strength, physical and magical. Just now she only wanted to go to her tent and lie down. "He was using power he didn't have," she rasped finally. "He wasn't that good a sorcerer. He tapped his own life-force because he wanted me dead." Looking at her right hand, she was stunned to realize she held the crystal sword. "If he could've lasted, maybe he would've won. But I lasted. I usually do," she added bitterly. "I'm sorry I brought trouble to you." She started to turn away.

"One moment." Halef's voice was kind but firm. She looked back to see him pointing at the shaman's tent. "This is your home now."