The Song Of The Lioness Quartet - In The Hand Of The Goddess Part 12

USING so much of her Gift when she was hurt had undermined Alanna's strength to a degree she couldn't believe possible. Duke Roger ordered her away from any fighting, leaving her to fret every time Jonathan was gone. It wasn't that she thought Raoul's squire Dougla.s.s couldn't look after her Prince in battle; she was just convinced he couldn't do it as well as she could. But Duke Roger had taken an interest in her welfare, and Jonathan, Myles and Duke Baird sided with him: she was in no condition to fight. Privately Alanna knew they were right: her arm would ache for months to come, and she continued to have dizzy spells. Just lighting a candle by using her Gift was more than she could manage.

Her search for something to do led her up and down the river. Finally she returned to the healers' tents; although she couldn't use her Gift, she could hold basins, bandage wounds and undertake countless little tasks during those long June days after her sixteenth birthday. Jonathan often came for her there and stayed, talking to the men and doing some healing of his own.

Sometimes the healers shooed her away, particularly if Duke Baird noticed she was tiring. She tried the weapons-smiths then. These gruff men would ignore her except to shove a pair of bellows or an extra set of tongs into her good hand, motioning for her to make herself useful. She mended swords, spears, knives and armor, learning how to put a keen edge on a blade and how to keep a fire at the same heat for an hour or more. She would never be as adept as Coram, who had taught her the basics of the blacksmith's art, but she would always be able to keep her equipment in good working order.

She also signed on as a sentry. Jonathan's men had suffered the worst losses in the big Tusaine attack, and they welcomed even one small relief guard.

One evening in late July she and Faithful were standing watch just below the falls. They were alone at the moment. The soldier sharing the watch with them was having trouble with a healing leg, and Alanna had sent him back to camp for a replacement. He had not been gone long when a twig snapped behind them. Alanna spun, leveling her spear at her visitor.

Orange light flared against a hand, making Duke Roger's face briefly visible. Faithful pressed against Alanna's ankles, hissing and spitting.

"Stop it," Alanna told him, slowly lowering the spear. Faithful obeyed. "Your Grace. Aren't you out late?"

"Not really. Sit down, please. I know you still tire easily."

Alanna obeyed, sitting on a large rock. Faithful hopped up onto her lap. "I'm honored by Your Grace's concern."

"You did a brave thing, tracking down the man Thor and hearing his story. It's a pity you collapsed before you made it back to camp; you might have captured the traitor."

Alanna shrugged without taking her eyes off Jonathan's cousin. "Don't think I haven't kicked myself about that, sir, several times."

Silence fell between them, stretching out over endless moments. I won't ask why he's here, Alanna told herself grimly. He'll get to it in his own time. He didn't come up here just to be polite.

Suddenly Duke Roger said, "We are not friends, are we, Alan?"

Alanna tightened her hands on her spear. This was coming to grips with a vengeance! "No, Your Grace, we're not," she replied evenly.

Without the light of his Gift it was hard to read the Duke's face. "Might it be possible we are enemies?"

Alanna thought about this, and about his reasons for asking. "I don't know," she said finally. ''Perhaps you should tell me."

"I could be a very good friend, Alan."

Her throat was dry. What kind of game was he playing? Was this a warning-or a threat? "I have no desire to make you my enemy, sir. I'd like to live to a ripe old age and die in my sleep."

White teeth flashed in a grin against his shadowed face. "I can sympathize. Such an ending could be yours-if we were friends. Many things could be yours."

Alanna shifted her hold on the spear; her fingers were getting numb. "I would have to be a.s.sured that my other friends have the same chance, Your Grace," she said boldly. "Frankly, I doubt that's your aim."

For a long moment he said nothing. Then she saw his broad shoulders lift in a shrug. "I see. Thus, as long as you feel this way, we will be-"

"Less than friends," Alanna supplied diplomatically.

Roger bowed. "I appreciate your honesty, Alan of Trebond. Not many dare be so open with me."

She smiled crookedly. "Not many have insanity in their families, either."

This drew a laugh from him. "I see. Well-good night to you, Squire Alan."

Alanna stood, a little stiff from the dampness of the river. "Your Grace." She watched Roger fade into the shadows. "He has style," she remarked quietly.

Style or not, he's as treacherous as a snake, Faithful warned her.

Alanna touched the ember-stone under her shirt. "I know," she replied softly. "I just wish I had something to crush him with."

Give him time, the cat meowed. He'll give you plenty to crush him with.

Alanna frowned. "The problem is that by the time he does he'll probably be invincible."

True. Faithful yawned. Fog's rising. And with that he curled up and went to sleep.

Alanna watched the ghostly white tendrils rising from the river's surface, feeling very tired. "Just what I need," she yawned disgustedly. "I didn't think there'd be any fog tonight."

The mist rose quickly, smothering all the night noises. Everything sounded different: the river, the distant camp, even the nearby waterfall. Alanna's nose itched till her eyes watered. She felt like lying down right there and taking a nap. That would never do: she was on sentry duty! Where was the other guard? One should have come by now. Nervous, Alanna made her way to the river and splashed her face with cold water. That helped a little. Returning to her post, she discovered that she couldn't waken Faithful. Something was very wrong; the itching of her nose meant sorcery, and Faithful seemed to be its victim. Should she go for help?

The rock striking her head settled the question. Alanna dropped, and the men who had crept up behind her in the fog chuckled grimly.

"Hurry!" Jem Tanner hissed as they tied her hands and feet. "We won't be safe from the spell much longer!"

"What about the cat?" one of the men yawned.

"He said to-"

"Forget the cat!" Jem snapped. "Just get the boy into the boat with the others!"

A SENTRY on the second watch ran into camp, Faithful limp in his hands. "Squire Alan's been kidnapped!" he told the Prince, gasping. "The cat-he's alive, but I can't wake him! And the other guard who went out with the squire-he's lyin' in his tent. I can't wake him either!"

Jonathan took Faithful, reaching with his Gift into the sleeping animal. Without warning his eyes rolled up and he collapsed. Faithful stirred and went back to sleep.

The sentry brought Myles on the run. The knight wasted no time: he seized the water bucket and threw the contents over both Jon and Faithful. The cat only turned over and sighed. The Prince stirred, gazing sleepily up at his friend. "Sorcery," he whispered, sitting up. "Sorcery meant to make the cat sleep..." He grabbed the sentry, his face white. "Alan was kidnapped? You're sure?"

The watch captain ran into the tent. "Your Highness, Sir Myles-we're missing three men along the river-two foot soldiers, Micah and Keel, and-"

"Alan of Trebond," Myles said grimly.

"Aye, sir. This blasted fog's so thick you can barely see your hand before your face, but we found tracks. The sneaks landed below Micah's post and worked their way to the falls, taking those three. I've got men watching for an attack now, and the camp's on alert."

Faithful struggled to his feet and shook himself, his fur sticking out in wet points. Suddenly he let out a yowl of fury and dashed into the night. Myles and the soldiers stared after him in amazement.

"Someone knew he'd be on watch with Alan," Jonathan said. Suddenly he looked old and grim. "They laid a magic that would affect Faithful in particular. When I touched him, I went under." He bit his lip. "They may've taken three, but they wanted Alan. They knew he'd be there with his cat, and they took him." He gripped Myles's arm. "Myles, we have to do something! If they find out-"

"Hush, Jonathan!" Myles interrupted. "We'll do all we can."

The sentry who brought Faithful cried out, "And that's nothing! We're bound here by the stupidest lot of orders ever writ-" His captain and the two n.o.blemen were staring at him. He gulped and continued, "Saving your presence, Highness, my lord, but it's true. Micah and Keel are chums of mine, and Squire Alan saved this eye, not two weeks ago, and we can't help them!"

Jonathan put a hand on the man's shoulder, smiling tightly. "We'll see, my friend." He nodded to Myles. "I'm off to the fort. Maybe Roger will have some idea of what's going on."