Lioness Rampant

  From her position along the wall near the altar, Alanna watched with pride as the Mithran priest and the Priestess of the Goddess, acting as one, blessed the silver crown and then Jonathan, who knelt before them. She was grateful that her duties didn’t call for her participation in this part of the ceremony. After keeping vigil with Jonathan all night, she was sleepy. Somehow repeated yawns did not seem right for such a memorable occasion. Instead, until it was time to present Jonathan formally with the Jewel, all she had to do was stay put and look impassive. On her left, Gary and Raoul did the same.

  Raoul winked as she covered a yawn. Unlike the King’s Champion, the Knight Commander had spent the night in bed, disturbed only by his nerves. She had to admit he may have gotten as little sleep as she had: Jon’s safety today was the responsibility of the King’s Own.

  She let her eyes drift over the crowd that packed the vast hall. Mourning was officially over; nobles and commoners alike bloomed with color. She could see Myles and his companions—Eleni, Thayet, Buri, and Rispah—all wearing their finest. She picked out other familiar faces: Dukes Baird and Gareth, Sirs Douglass, Geoffrey, and Sacherell. Many wept openly, moved by the beauty of the day and the moment.

  A halt in the chanting brought the knight’s eyes back to the altar, just as the crown was lowered onto Jonathan’s head. Immediately it sparked and glowed, the magic of the land reaching down to envelop the new King. People gasped with awe as Jonathan flared with brilliance; they knew the joining of Tortall and King was complete. Smiling, Alanna touched the ember at her throat.

  Jonathan was brilliant with the crown’s silver glow, his own magic showing through as threads of sparkling blue. She looked down, and felt sick. The floor of the chamber was awash in blood-colored fire.

  “Jonathan!” she yelled as the earth moaned and shook.

  Sudden pain, combined with the vibration beneath her, knocked Alanna to her knees. For a moment she could only clutch her belly and scream with agony. It receded, then flared again.

  In the Hall, chaos reigned. From the vaulted ceiling mortar dust and chips of stone fell, an ominous hint of the destruction that could occur. People screamed in fear as the ground rolled underfoot like a ship at sea. Alanna was deaf and blind to it all.

  The pain was grinding: she felt as if every nerve in her body was being pulled out through her skin. Thom, she realized, struggling to get up. Something’s happening to Thom, and I can feel it. I have to go to him!

  “Guard the King!” she yelled to Raoul, lurching to her feet. Faithful was at her side as she hurled herself out of a nearby door, running as quickly as gold mail would allow for her brother’s quarters. Pain ripped into her again; she bit her lip to fight it and stumbled on, determined to reach her twin.

  Strong arms caught Alanna from behind, helping her along. She looked up into George’s eyes and fought to smile. He was dressed as one of the King’s Own.

  “What is it, darlin’?” he asked. They never hesitated in the long strides that took them up the stairs to the second floor.

  “Thom,” she whispered. “He’s being attacked. The earthquake is magic. It’s the color—of Thom’s Gift, all blood-red—”

  “Blood? But his is purple, like—”

  “Corrupted,” she gasped as they flew down the hall that led to Thom’s rooms. “Turned blood-color.”

  “What color would purple and orange make?” George asked as they came to a halt. “Roger’s Gift and the Trebond Gift?”

  Alanna felt even sicker.

  Inside Thom’s parlor the air was heavy, almost liquid; the light was greenish yellow. Alanna froze, wary.

  “What is it, lass?” George whispered. He was tense, feeling the menace as she did.

  She fumbled at her waist, taking the pouch off her belt. “The Jewel!” She pressed it into his hands. “You have to take it to Jon. What was I thinking of, to carry it away from him? George, please!”

  The pouch was lost in the thief’s large hands. “Alanna, I can’t be leavin’ you—”

  “You have to!” she cried. “I can’t use it. Jon can. And I have a feeling he’ll need it!”

  George hesitated; a second shock made the ground shiver under their feet. It was over as quickly as it began. Grimly, George stuffed the pouch into the front of his tunic. “I’ll get it to him, never fear.” He kissed Alanna swiftly and hard, then ran for the Hall of Crowns.

  Myles saw Alanna go, protecting his head as tiles broke free from the arches overhead, shattering in the main aisle. Jonathan flared with white and blue lights; he was invisible in the fires of his Gift and the Crown. The doors leading out of the Hall were jammed with fleeing men and women, as were the great City Doors. Eleni stood, her face deathly pale. “Not the land,” she whispered. “Not the earth itself!”

  A flutter of movement in the rear of the Hall of Crowns caught Buri’s always-watchful eye: a man stripped away his cloak to reveal a noble-man’s purple-and-black livery and a short crossbow. He brought the weapon up fast, aiming for Jonathan. Buri yanked a throwing star from her belt and flung it, killing the bowman. “There’s an attack!” she yelled to Myles. “Warn the King!”

  Myles’s seat was on the great aisle. He was halfway to the altar in a second, moving fast for a plump man. At his warning shout, both Gareths and the Provost joined Raoul to form a protective circle around the King. The King’s Own broke into squads, one forming an outer circle around the nobles, the others moving into the crowd to attack the enemy. Both circles parted to let Myles through to Jonathan’s side.

  “Myles!” Jon gasped through the magics that obscured him. “What’s going on?”

  “Men in Eldorne and Tirragen colors are attacking anyone who can fight back,” Myles said grimly. “And they’re trying to kill you. Where are the earthquakes coming from?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t know. As soon as I get a chance, I’ll try to find out. Where’s Alanna?”

  “Gone,” the older man replied. “Something called her away in a hurry. George followed her, and Coram followed George.”

  “She has the Jewel,” the King whispered. “And where is Master Si-cham?”

  Myles was wondering the same thing.

  In Thom’s chambers, Alanna was suddenly weak, as if something tugged at her Gift, drawing it away from her. Steeling herself, she closed her mind to whatever was trying to drain her. Forcing herself to move, she searched for her twin.

  He was in the bedroom. Bad as the air in the parlor felt, this was worse: a weight pressed on her lungs. She checked Thom’s vital signs. His pulse was shallow and fast. He was cool, alarmingly so after weeks of being too hot. When she grabbed the emberstone, Alanna saw only a trace of his Gift, streaming away from him much as her own had tried to do. She reached past the barrier she’d set on her magic, determined to use it to save him, no matter what the consequences.

  Thom’s eyes flew open. He gripped her hands with the last of his strength. “Don’t! I’m—bound to him. He’ll drain you through me—”

  “Roger?” she whispered. Thom nodded. She spotted her cat. “Faithful, go for—”

  “No time!” Thom snapped. “Listen!” He didn’t relax his bruising grip. “His Gift—attached to sorcerer resurrecting him.” She put her ear close to his lips to hear. “It got—stronger—as he did.” Thom smiled. “Never as strong as mine.”

  She wiped away tears, growling, “Who cares if your Gift’s bigger!”

  “He can only—drain—one at a time. You—you’re bound to me. You have some—my Gift—some of his, too. He needs—more, to finish—what he began. Don’t let him get it. Don’t use—Gift. Leeching spells—” He gasped. “He’ll take— all. Leave nothing.” Thom tried to laugh; the result sounded like hoarse barking. “He didn’t—get—all mine. You have part—” Sinking back, he pulled her with him. His voice was barely audible, his hands cold. “Love you. Always have. Always will.”

  “No,” she rasped, but he couldn’t hear.

  “Never—know ho
w—he did it...”

  He was gone.

  Near the staircase leading to the ground floor, George found Coram. “I saw her go, and ye after her,” Alanna’s oldest friend gasped, catching his wind. “I figured ye’d need help.”

  George showed him the Jewel. “She forgot she had this. I’m to carry it to Jon.”

  “What of her?”

  “With Thom.”

  Coram hesitated. “I’d best reach her. Unless—”

  “I’ll keep the Jewel safe,” George reassured him. “It’s not that far to the Hall.”

  “It’s far enough.” Claw and five of his men materialized from the gallery behind George. “My friends said you’d come this way.” He stretched out a hand and beckoned. “Give me the swag now, before I get your blood all over it.” He glanced at Coram. “This isn’t your fight. Clear out.”

  Coram hefted his broadsword, his face grim. “She’ll never forgive me if I run out on ye now,” he told George.

  George tucked the Jewel into his belt-purse as he unsheathed his daggers. “Rispah, or the lady knight?” he grinned. Claw’s men fanned out, forming a half circle with George and Coram at its center with the stairs at their backs.

  “Both,” replied Coram. He leaped forward to engage a ruffian, crying, “For the Lioness!”

  Pandemonium ruled in the Hall of Crowns. Other men-at-arms tore off cloaks to reveal purple-and-black or green-and-white liveries. They were heavily armed and had specific targets: the men of the King’s Own, any nobleman fighting back, Jonathan and his guards. Their opponents were high-born and wealthy men with flimsy dress swords, unarmed common-born men using anything that could serve as a weapon, even some ladies and children. Many others tried to flee, adding to the confusion.

  Buri could see a knot of noblewomen, including the imperious Duchess of Naxen, imposing order in their vicinity. More men-at-arms poured in through the drapery-hidden entry behind the altar, taking the men around Jon by surprise. Raoul yelled a command and ran forward with the guards in the outer circle to engage the new attackers. Buri couldn’t see Liam, Coram, or Alanna. Beside her, Rispah had palmed a large dagger and was advancing on an unsuspecting enemy archer.

  The K’miri girl was torn. Her first duty was to protect Thayet, but she was also a warrior, trained to act in situations like this.

  Thayet solved her problem. “Give me your sword. We have to do something.”

  Buri glanced at Eleni as she obeyed Thayet. The older woman moved into a pillar’s shadow, unraveling the intricate embroidery on her sleeve. She broke off a long thread and smiled at Buri and Thayet. “Don’t worry about me.” Fixing her eyes on a group of archers near the altar, she began to tie knots in the thread, her lips moving silently.

  Buri wrestled a long-bladed pike from a rack of weapons on the walls. Lowering it to an attack position, she launched herself at a clump of men in Eldorne colors. The first one she engaged backed away from her charge: he stumbled. Buri lunged for the kill and lurched as the ground leaped and rolled in a third quake.

  Three men in Tirragen colors raced up the stairs to aid Claw as George and Coram dispatched two enemies. Claw himself stayed back, screeching orders and awaiting his chance. George lost a dagger in a throw, killing a Tirragen guard; Coram killed a rogue and wounded another. The men around them shifted, seeking better positions, and George took the offered chance. He lunged at Claw.

  The one-eyed man swore and lashed out with his knives, panicked at dealing with George himself. The thief rearmed his left hand with an extra blade, making Claw sweat: he didn’t have the eye or the nerve to fight two-handed. Frantic, he slashed and cut wide-armed, leaving holes in his guard that George deliberately ignored. The bigger man toyed with Claw, spinning him around, raking his flailing arms, taunting. One of Claw’s lucky cuts caught George on a cheekbone, another on his chest.

  A Tirragen guard faltered. Coram slew him with a murderous slash and fell back, gasping for breath. For the moment he was safe: the two remaining enemies—one Tirragen, one rogue—focused their attention on the Rogue and his rival.

  When he saw no one else would interfere, George settled into a fighter’s crouch. Beckoning to Claw, he said grimly, “It’s us now. The succession must be settled. Fight, Ralon, or Claw—if you’ve the belly.”

  His single eye rolling wildly, Claw looked for a way to escape; there was none. He’d always known he couldn’t beat the Rogue on his terms. He tried to for several minutes, throwing his cunning into the battle. He kicked and hit, trying to be unpredictable, but George had been weaned on such tricks.

  For a moment they locked knives, pressed together body-to-body. Then Claw dropped, George’s blade hilt-deep in his chest.

  Alanna didn’t know how long she sat, holding Thom’s cold hand. She was certain somehow this was all her fault. How was she supposed to live without her other half?

  Faithful got her attention finally by latching onto her leg with claws and teeth, kicking ferociously until the pain roused her.

  “What are you doing?” she screeched.

  Wake up, King’s Champion! was the angry reply. You have no time for this—he’s going to rip the earth open!

  Alanna knew she couldn’t escape her responsibilities, although they’d never meant less to her. Gently the grieving knight kissed her twin. She walked out of the bedroom, drying her face on her handkerchief as fresh tears ran. “Where’s Si-cham?”

  As if in answer, the old man staggered in, clutching a bloody right arm. Alanna grabbed a towel and swiftly bandaged the priest before he lost more blood, fighting brief nausea. Si-cham’s right hand was gone. Without the rough tourniquet he wore already, he would be dead.

  “Don’t use your Gift—” he warned as she worked. “Brandy.”

  Alanna handed him a bottle and watched as he gulped its contents. Rage was replacing her grief. She wanted to act; nursing the old man was not the action she craved.

  Si-cham put the bottle down. “I am a fool.” His voice was stronger. “Never challenged in all these years, thinking I could not be bested. It’s not enough I pay for my folly. You will, too.” Gripping the table with his left hand, he met Alanna’s cold eyes. “Open your mind.”

  She stepped back. “Why?”

  “There’s no time to explain. You waste what time we have! If you don’t know all, you risk disaster. Do you doubt me?” he whispered. “I made a mistake. Because I didn’t make two we are alive. You cannot make even one.”

  She closed her eyes and let him in. A hundred bits of knowledge struck her at once: Gate of Idramm—a Gate for magic, to drain it into the Gate’s master...My hand! He uses it to steal my Gift... Jonathan Gift-Bazhir/desert magic-Tortall/land crown Jewel! He alone can bind the earth...Follow the secret way. (Image of a deserted stair to the ruined temple in the catacombs.) Not all Roger’s power stored in Thom—some with Alanna... Stay out of Gate-trap (image of white whirls and loops) leeching spells... Give King all he needs—send King Alanna/Thom-Roger’s power to hold the land!

  He didn’t ask: she never would have let him do it if he had. He sent Alanna’s Gift to Jonathan, using it as a bridge to link minds with the new King. For an awful moment Alanna was three—herself, Si-cham, Jonathan. The blood-colored fire of Roger’s Gift beat down on the priest’s defenses, seeking a way to enter and take the magic forming around Jon. Suddenly the last of Alanna’s magic was gone, the link broken. Si-cham broke the link so fast that Alanna was thrown into a faint as the fourth earth shock began.

  The nobles encircling Jonathan fought off another large group of attackers that had come through the door behind the altar. Myles was taking a second’s breather when he saw Jon lift his hands. Purple fire swirled around the King’s arms, clinging like a skin. The light of the crown that bathed him darkened, drinking in the amethyst Gift. A third fire flowed over Jon’s head and back like a hooded cloak. Myles shuddered at its brownish-red color—the color of dried blood.

  He’d singled out his next opponent when the ground
yawed and bucked under their feet—the fourth quake. The shock lasted a full minute, ending as abruptly as it began. Huge chunks of plaster and stone broke free from the arches and roof, crushing several people on the floor. The enemy soldiers were frightened but disciplined enough to hold their places. Their ferocity increased—the quicker they slew the King, the quicker they could escape this deathtrap.

  Sweating, George turned away from Claw’s body Five men wearing Eldorne green-and-white had come up the stairs while Coram and the others watched his fight. Now Coram retreated to the wall of the gallery; George went to his side, grabbing a sword from a dead man as he did. Five more soldiers in Tirragen purple-and-black ran up along the gallery to block any chance of escape.

  “Someone must’ve—smuggled ’em into the palace,” Coram gasped, cutting down a Tirragen fighter. “And brought ’em—into the city wearin’—civilian clothes.”

  George hurled a dagger to kill a man at the rear, keeping two more at bay with his sword. At least twelve others closed them in, and no help was in sight. I promised my lass I’d get her Jewel to Jon, he told himself grimly. Thief I may be, but I’ve never broken my sworn word.

  Coram swore and faltered.

  “Lad?”

  “A scratch,” the man-at-arms gasped, pressing his free hand to his side.

  For a moment they thought the earth was shaking, but it was only a sound—a feral roar—echoing down the gallery. Coram grinned. “Finally!” he gasped, before attacking his present assailant with renewed energy.

  Liam Ironarm threw himself into the battle with a ferocity that made even George speechless. There was no following the Dragon’s movements as he lashed out with fists and feet, striking down any man who opposed him. There was no question of any of the men attacking George and Coram landing a blow on the Shang fighter: six enemies broke and ran.

  Liam hurled himself at the last of them, his foot catching the running man just above his shoulders. He went down.