In the Hand of the Goddess

  “Friends, and good ones, I trust. Confess it, lass, you’d miss me sorely, were I not about.”

  Alanna made the mistake of looking up into his laughing eyes. That was the problem, right there: She was not nearly ready for what she saw in his face. She looked down, afraid. “I—I won’t let it ruin our friendship, George,” she whispered.

  “And I won’t speak of it again till you ask it. Look at me, Alanna.”

  Alanna looked up. George kissed her, pulling her close. His mouth was warm and comforting. Alanna had not forgotten the last time, and she had discovered that she liked his kisses. Relaxing, she let her friend hold her tightly.

  George pushed her away. Two spots of color burned in his cheeks. “This goes too far,” he rasped. “I only—I only wanted you to know how I feel, before you go marchin’ off to some battlefield.”

  Alanna blushed. “You pick a funny way to say good-bye, George.’’

  He lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Do I? Sweethearts all over the realm say goodbye in just this fashion.” He kissed her once more, firmly, then went to the door, pulling up his hood.

  “George?” she called softly as he released the lock. “I’ll be back—and we’re still friends.”

  He nodded and left, leaving her with far more than a loose saddle and a bur to think about.

  The next day Duke Roger called a meeting of his commanders. This time Alanna was present. She was relieved to learn that Gary and Raoul would be among the knights in Jonathan’s personal unit, and still more relieved to know that Alex and Geoffrey would be with Roger at the fort. She and Alex were friendly once more, but she had never forgotten their “duel.”

  She did not feel so easy when she saw where Duke Roger planned to position Jonathan’s command.

  The Duke stood before a large detailed map of the Drell Valley. In the center, where the fields lining the river were the widest, blue crosses clustered along the right bank indicated the Tusaine troop camp.

  “As you can see,” Roger told them, pointing to the crosses, “the enemy is in place across the river from Fort Drell.” Roger indicated the square on the left bank that represented the fort. “The bulk of our army will be stationed there, around and within the Fort. Lord Imrah of Legann’s command will be concentrated above the fort, to the bend of the river below the Drell Falls. Below the fort Earl Hamrath of King’s Reach will hold the bank down to the rapids at the end of the valley. Since the cliffs and the rapids are impassable at this time of year, we anticipate little trouble for Hamrath’s men.

  “At the falls themselves”—Roger’s fingers moved north once more, picking out the upper end of the valley—“we have an interesting situation. The river here is broad and shallow, although the current is quite strong. A determined enemy could cross, although there is no room on the right bank for a proper camp because of the cliffs. Raiders would have to escape the notice of every lookout above the fort; but with a foggy night and cunning, there is a danger. I have decided to place Prince Jonathan and his knights just below the falls. Imrah of Legann is within call if trouble arises, and for footsoldiers I am sending the present garrison of Fort Drell. They are a little battle-worn, but they are brave men. Of course we should see any enemy movement well in advance of an attempt to cross, so I feel this gives my young cousin an excellent command post without placing him in undue danger.”

  Alanna, standing behind Jon’s chair, could feel the prince stiffening with anger. She shot a glance at the king; Roald was nodding approval. Duke Gareth had planned to keep Jon with him at the fort so the prince could witness firsthand how a war was waged, but Roger obviously did not feel this was necessary. The Duke of Conté went on: “Since this is my cousin’s first command, Sir Myles will be his advisor. It is our hope, my uncle’s and mine, that the prince will listen well to a man of such wisdom.”

  “And very little battle experience,” Alanna heard Myles mutter in his beard.

  “We have but one thing to add,” the king said, rising. “Until we have fully thought through the moral issues of our holding the right bank of the Drell, which was Tusaine’s until our honored father’s time, you have our royal command to defend the left bank of the river only. You may not cross, in pursuit or in seeking active battle.”

  The commanders stirred and murmured. Not cross the river? Not drive the Tusaine back to their own border? The king’s voice flicked out like a lash. “We fight for the left bank only. See to it.”

  They all rose and bowed as the king left the room. Once the door was closed, Hamrath of King’s Reach sighed. “Well, rest up, lads. It’s going to be a long summer.” He looked at Duke Roger. “Your Grace?”

  “That is all,” Roger told them. “We ride at the hour past dawn tomorrow.”

  They rode east for twelve long days. When they finally reached the pass descending into the Drell River Valley, Jon drew up Darkness, letting the long line of troops pass by. “Look, Alan.”

  Rising up below them was Fort Drell. Across the river swarmed thousands of men in Tusaine uniform, occupying their main camp. Alanna followed Jonathan’s pointing finger upriver until she could see a glint of white and silver through the trees.

  “The Drell River Falls” Jonathan told her. “Our new home.”

  Faithful, sitting in a leather cup fixed to Moonlight’s saddle horn, yowled that he had preferred their old home. Alanna, stroking the dusty cat, had to agree. She had bad feelings about this “new home,” very bad feelings indeed.

  5

  BY THE RIVER DRELL

  THE MEN WHO DEFENDED FORT DRELL UNTIL THE arrival of the king’s forces were camped below the Drell Falls, waiting for Prince Jonathan. The fact that they were veteran soldiers showed in the neatness of the camp and in the prepared look of the men. Alanna felt better when she saw them: She had a feeling these grim-faced commoners would fight well. They had spared her the work of putting up tents for Jonathan and Myles, which she appreciated. One of the soldiers, Aram, told her he was to look after the horses. All Alanna had to do was lay out Jonathan’s and Myles’s things, as she would be looking after both of her friends on this campaign.

  When noon came, Alanna was starving. She could ride down to the fort to eat with Jon, Myles, and the other knights gathered there for war councils, but she was sure she would die of hunger before she got that far. Leaving Faithful to nap on her cot, she searched the camp until she found the mess tent. The quest was easy: She followed her nose.

  After filling her plate with beans and meat, Alanna sat at one of the long tables. The place on her right was soon occupied by a large foot soldier. His muscles bulged under his sturdy clothing, filling Alanna with envy, and his tanned and weathered face was framed by a thick red beard. The others greeted him eagerly, and the giant answered in a deep, rumbling voice. Alanna applied herself to her meal and listened to every word.

  “What news of the enemy, Thor?” one man asked.

  “No news,” the giant boomed. “They’re sittin’ as quiet as rabbits when the hunter’s by. Perhaps they’ll have heard of our reinforcements.”

  Since only a blind man could have missed the thousand men and knights who had poured into the Tortallan camps that morning, this sally was greeted with roars of laughter.

  “That’ll hold them a bit,” a ratty-looking man agreed when the tent had quieted. “An’ you know who’s in command here at the Falls? His Highness the prince!”

  The man called Thor frowned. “And this the prince’s first war command? Else they think the enemy’s not plannin’ much up this way—”

  “Mayhap the Tusaine needed a rest from us,” someone joked.

  Laughing with them, Alanna choked on a bean. She coughed and swore, her eyes watering. A huge hand beating on her back nearly broke her spine.

  “There, little fella. Somethin’ go down the wrong pipe?” Thor asked. Alanna gasped for breath, trying to grin into the giant’s bright blue eyes. Thor stared at her. “Will you look,” he whispered. “The tyke has purple lamps!”

/>   The others crowded around to see. Alanna stared back at them with wide eyes, blushing.

  “And where might you be from?” Thor wanted to know.

  Alanna regained her breath. “I came with the new troops this morning.”

  “Aren’t you a mite young to be goin’ to war?” the ratty-looking man asked.

  Alanna stiffened proudly. “I’m sixteen next month.”

  “Nay!” he replied with disbelief. “You ain’t more’n twelve!”

  Aram pushed through the crowd and nodded to her. “No, he’s near sixteen, well enough. He’s the prince’s squire. I’m lookin’ after their horses.”

  “How did a wee fella like you get to be the prince’s own squire?” Thor asked as the others muttered among themselves.

  “That ‘wee fella,’” someone said coldly, “is one of the best fencers at Court. He beat a full Tusaine knight in a duel last year, all by himself.”

  Alanna felt her hackles rising at the unknown man’s tone. Thor looked up, scowling. “So you’re back, Jem Tanner. Always full of the news, aren’t you?”

  A young man with a nasty smile sauntered over to their table. Alanna thought he might be good-looking if his eyes weren’t so cold. As it was …

  “Enjoying your association with us common folk, Squire?”

  She didn’t like him. “I was.”

  “Leave th’ lad be,” someone protested.

  “I just want to make sure he takes a good report back to his masters. What were you talking about? How much you like being left to hold Fort Drell until the enemy was so entrenched that it’ll take a thousand armies to dig them out? Your opinion of the king’s tactics? The king’s personal habits, perhaps?”

  Alanna stood, her face white with anger. “I spy for no one, you remember that, Jem Tanner,” she snapped. “And keep a civil tongue in your head!”

  The man laughed. “Big words, little fellow!”

  A large hand weighed Alanna down. “Softly, lad,” Thor told her. He turned to Jem. “You’re right quick to pick fights with stranger-lads who’re better raised than you. When will you be so quick to pick a fight with me?”

  Jem sneered. “I was doing you a favor, warning you of the royal spy in your midst, my stupid friends.” He left the tent.

  Alanna drew deep breaths, fighting down her temper. The men reassured her that Jem was mean, that his words meant nothing. Only Thor was silent.

  “Are you spyin’ for His Highness?” the big man wanted to know.

  Alanna grabbed her plate. “I was eating my lunch. I guess I’ll do that somewhere else, from now on!”

  Thor grinned and pulled her back into her seat. “Steady there, Squire. Can you blame us for wantin’ to know? Spare me a noble’s pride. Give us the news from the capital instead.”

  The routine at the falls camp was simple. Alanna looked after Jon and Myles in the morning, making sure their tents were clean and their belongings neat. She helped Aram groom the horses, taking Moonlight out for a morning ride. She ate her meals with the men; it always seemed like too much trouble to ride to the fort and join the knights. (If she realized she was avoiding Duke Roger, she mentioned it to no one.) In the afternoon she exercised, learning tricks of spear and axe fighting from Big Thor and his friends. She could hold her own among them when it came to knife fighting, and she could teach them a thing or two about the use of a sword. All things considered, she felt this was a fair exchange. Often Myles returned in the afternoon. She had history lessons from him then, something she had always enjoyed. As she got older, Myles’s practical way of looking at things made more and more sense.

  After the evening meal, her friends who were knights rode on patrols, and Myles and Jonathan returned to the fort to discuss tactics with Roger. Alanna remained in camp with her new friends. With Big Thor as her guide, she learned many interesting things during those long, firelit evenings: how to play dice without losing every copper she had; songs that would make the hardiest palace stableman turn pale; even when to keep quiet and listen. Wherever Alanna turned, day or night, Big Thor was looking after her. It was Thor who kept her from losing her temper when Jem Tanner sharpened his tongue on her, something that young man often did. Thor showed her crafty ways to handle the big weapons: the spear and the axe. On nights when the large man had riverbank guard duty, he told her stories about his days as a blacksmith in the southern hills, then as a soldier for the king.

  In the two weeks after the new troops came to the valley, a number of skirmishes were fought up and down the river. There were never any direct attacks on the fort, but Hamrath and Imrah both saw daylight action. Alanna, kept at Jonathan’s camp, did not fight, but the prince did: once when he was visiting Earl Hamrath, once when he was inspecting Lord Imrah’s men. Alanna always knew when there was fighting downriver, but she never could have joined her knight-master in time. Besides, good soldiers didn’t leave their posts to fight somewhere else; the enemy could attack the undefended camp. Alanna could only wait and chew her nails, wondering if any of them—Jon, Raoul, Gary, or Myles—would come back.

  Finally one morning she went to Duke Baird. The healers’ tents lay in a broad white swath behind the fort, touched by every path that led along the river. Baird himself was taking a moment’s rest when Alanna arrived. The latest fight was over, and the beds were filled with wounded and dying men.

  “I’m useless upriver,” Alanna told the Chief Healer flatly. “There’s only Jon’s or Myles’s armor to clean, and I can’t clean it while they’re wearing it. If I don’t do something, I’ll scream.”

  The Duke looked at her. “You like to be busy, don’t you, Squire Alan?”

  “I don’t like to waste my time. Is that the same thing?”

  Duke Baird picked up a white robe and tossed it to her. “Come. I certainly won’t turn you away.” Alanna followed the Duke from bed to bed, doing what he told her to do. If she had ever had a good opinion of war, it vanished by afternoon. Men died as she watched, and they didn’t care about what they had fought for. They only cared about pain and the Dark God’s arrival. Alanna could only help a little.

  She didn’t notice how much time had passed until the torches were lit. The daylight was nearly gone, and she was starting to tire. Each time she used her healing Gift, she exhausted herself a little more; but she couldn’t stop, not while men were suffering.

  Prince Jonathan found her bandaging a man’s arm. “A fellow called Big Thor told me you were here. What are you doing?”

  It took her a moment to realize someone was talking to her. “What? Oh, Jon.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a bloody streak. “I’m keeping busy.”

  “Faithful is going crazy. Myles says Faithful’s afraid you’ll kill yourself.” Jonathan spotted Duke Baird. “Your Grace? How long has Alan been here?”

  The healer glanced at Alanna. “Great Mithros, lad, I should have sent you away hours ago. You don’t have the training to work so long. Prince Jonathan, get him out of here.”

  “Nonsense,” Alanna protested, her ears roaring now that her concentration was broken. “I’m as fit as—” She stumbled, and Jon caught her.

  “You certainly are,” he said dryly. Ignoring her protests, he steered her out of the tent. “He’s been here all day?” he asked Baird, who followed them.

  The Duke nodded. “And he’s saved more men than I can count. Go to bed, lad,” he ordered Alanna. “You’ve done more than your share here. The worst is over.”

  Alanna was still arguing as Jon mounted Darkness and swung her up before him. “My, you’re a quarrelsome little fellow,” he murmured in her ear as they set off. “You’re dead on your feet. Why didn’t you stop?”

  Alanna leaned back against her prince, feeling very tired. Darkness, ignoring the double burden, picked his way along the river path. “They needed help,” she rasped.

  Jonathan nodded to Imrah’s sentries as they bypassed that camp. “Why did you have to go there in the first place?”

&n
bsp; “I wasn’t useful where I was.” She sighed gratefully, glad for his strong arm around her. “Hm?” she murmured.

  “I said, must you always be useful?”

  “Yes.”

  They rode on silently for a few moments before Jon remarked thoughtfully, “Perhaps I could make myself useful there, too, instead of attending a lot of meetings where Roger makes the decisions and never asks how I feel. Think it’s worth a try?”

  Alanna yawned, half-turning so her head was tucked under Jonathan’s chin. “Anything’s worth a try.”

  A yowl in the darkness greeted them as Faithful informed Alanna, Healing is all very well, but not if you kill yourself in the process. And do you enjoy snuggling up to Jonathan like a lovesick girl?

  Alanna sat bolt upright. “Now, you listen to me, you prissy animal—” she began.

  “Your Highness. You’re back late.” Jem Tanner, a spear in his hand, stepped out of the woods. “And Squire Alan. Gadding about all day?”

  “You’ve got guard duty, Jem Tanner?” Alanna snapped, aware that Jonathan was tight with anger. “Then guard.”

  Faithful leaped onto Alanna’s lap as they rode on, startling Darkness not a bit. “Who was that?” Jonathan asked quietly.

  “One of the men from camp. Being nasty is his hobby. You were warning me about him, weren’t you, Faithful?”

  If you’re going to fall in love with the prince, don’t show it, the cat advised. Unless you want the whole camp talking about you both.

  “I’m not fa—” Alanna stopped; aware that Jonathan was listening intently, one of his arms still around her waist.

  “Are you two talking?” he wanted to know.

  “Ask Faithful,” Alanna said tersely. “I just answer his questions.”

  A soldier came forward to take Darkness as they entered their own camp. Myles summoned the prince to his tent, and Alanna was left alone with her thoughts. She kept remembering the men she tried to heal, with their terrible wounds and the glazed look of pain in their eyes. She remembered every cut, every broken bone, until her stomach began to roll. She couldn’t make herself think of anything else.