The Woman Who Rides Like a Man

  Claw stared at George for a long moment, his single pale eye unreadable. Finally he turned and snapped to his henchmen, “Why are you goggling at me? Get a cloth or something, and mop up this mess.” His eye swiveled back to George’s face. “Welcome back, Majesty.” He ignored one man’s clumsy efforts to wipe the ale from his breeches. “I trust your journey home was uneventful.”

  “A bit chilly.” Claw had lost his initiative, but it still paid to take no chances. George accepted a tankard of mulled wine from Solom without looking at the old man. “Has all been quiet here?”

  “Quiet as the Black God’s temple.” At last Claw moved away from the table, his men at his back.

  “Don’t go,” George said, waving an expansive hand. “Sit with me and tell me what’s passed, these weeks I’ve been away. ’Twould be a pity if I’d patched up my trouble in Port Caynn to find it fostered here.”

  The one-eyed thief hesitated, and George hoped that the man would be mad enough to refuse. It would be all the excuse he needed, and Claw could never hope to equal him with knives. Then Claw snapped at one of his men, “Get me a clean chair!”

  The man hurried to obey as George realized, Claw talks like a noble.

  “Let me buy you a drink.” George smiled, beckoning Solom over. “I’ve a bone to pick with you, my friend.”

  Claw shook his head when Solom offered him wine, and with a shrug the innkeeper refilled George’s tankard. “What could I have done to give offense, Majesty?” Claw asked, his face blank and innocent.

  “You cleared a maidservant to wait on me and mine in Port Caynn, and she tried to poison me. Surely you looked into her background, Master Claw?”

  “A maidservant? I sent no maidservant to wait on you,” the other thief replied.

  George slid the grimy slip of paper across the table for Claw’s scrutiny. The one-eyed man looked it over carefully, turning it this way and that in the light as he pursed his lips. At last he shook his head and returned the paper. “It’s a truly excellent forgery,” he announced calmly. “But it is a forgery, nonetheless. I never wrote this letter.”

  “You’re certain?” George asked quietly. “Best think hard, for I’d not appreciate hearin’ otherwise at some future date.”

  “Ask anyone in this room,” Claw offered, gesturing widely to their staring audience. “Did I ever send a serving woman to wait on his Majesty at the Port?”

  Heads were shaken slowly as George realized (with some admiration) that Claw had found the perfect excuse. With no witnesses and the woman dead without having named her sponsor, he was in the clear.

  “You’re lucky, Friend Claw,” he told the younger man. “Mayhap you’ll always be so lucky: to be innocent of the plots of others, of course.”

  “I hope to be, Majesty,” Claw replied with a tiny smile. “I do not wish to become involved in any losing propositions.”

  When morning dawned, the common room had emptied of all but the people George knew to be loyal. He had learned nothing from Claw, although he had kept his rival at his side all night. That was to be expected. The learning would come now from sources he trusted.

  One by one he sent his people out on errands, to talk to other thieves, to find those who had not been present and to learn why, to learn who was Claw’s and who was not. He sent them in pairs, warning them to watch their backs. Shem returned to Port Caynn with a note asking Rispah to return as soon as Alanna and Coram were on their way. George needed her when it came to dealing with the women who followed the Rogue. They obeyed him, for his looks and his charm, but Rispah knew their secrets.

  Finally only Scholar was left. Even Solom had retired to his upstairs room, exhausted with the night and its anxieties.

  “Be discreet, but find me Sir Myles of Olau,” George told the old forger. “I’ll need him here, disguised, by nightfall.”

  Scholar nodded and polished off the last of his mulled wine. “I know where he’s to be found. And, Majesty—” George looked up, surprised to see tears in the old man’s eyes. “It’s glad I am you’re back. That Claw’s a bad ’un.”

  As the door closed behind Scholar, George permitted himself a heartfelt sigh. Ercole moved out of the shadows, looked as tired as his chief. “Do we sleep here?”

  George shook his head. “I don’t propose givin’ Claw my head on a platter. We return—discreetly—to my mother’s house.”

  “And tonight?”

  “I’ve a better hideaway in mind for tonight.” Standing, he clapped Ercole on the shoulder. “Let’s go. I want to see how Marek’s doin’.”

  Myles peered at Claw through the peephole in the false wall of the common room. Behind him George waited. Old Solom would draw Claw into talk as they sat in front of that very spot, and Myles would be able to hear every word.

  After a second the knight drew back and nodded. Silently George led him away from the hidden spot, taking him upstairs to the chambers where he lived in more peaceable times. There he poured Myles a brandy, waiting till the older man had refreshed himself before asking, “Well?”

  “No doubt about it,” Alanna’s foster-father replied. “Claw was born noble and was well educated, for a time, at least.” He frowned, shaking his head. “The problem for me is that I know his voice. I’ve heard Claw speak before, and not as a thief, either.” He held his glass out for a refill. “Perhaps my daughter is right: I should stop drinking.”

  George grinned. “Let me congratulate you, sir, on adoptin’ Alanna. ’Twas a kind-hearted thing to do.”

  “It was kind of her to let me,” Myles demurred. “If only she could straighten things out with Jonathan; no offense to you, George, but I do miss having her at Court.”

  “As I miss havin’ her here,” the thief reassured him. “Speakin’ of my lass—have you any idea what it was that precious brother of hers was up to, at All Hallow?” He told Myles what had happened to his mother.

  The knight sighed and shook his head. “I know that a number of people in the palace with the Gift were angry with Thom for days afterward. I’ve been hearing some odd rumors—” He stopped for a moment, as if unsure of what to say, then went on. “I have reason to believe Thom may have been trying his hand at—raising the dead.”

  George didn’t try to mask the horror in his eyes. “The dead! Is the lad insane? The dead are meant to stay so!”

  “I overheard some conversations he had with Lady Delia,” Myles went on. “She seemed to be taunting him, saying that if he were truly the most powerful wizard living, he could raise the dead, as Kerel the Sage was said to have done. A number of the younger people in the palace have been trying to ascertain the full extent of Thom’s powers. I think they regard it as a game.”

  “A game?” George whispered. “A game of settin’ the world by its ears, callin’ on power no man should use for casual purposes?”

  “That is what I believe,” Myles agreed somberly. “Perhaps I’m wrong, George. I tried to talk with him, but I think his pride was offended when I made his sister my heir. He taunted me with half-truths and stories, nothing definite, not even an outright lie. I know you have weighty matters on your mind, but—”

  “What could be weightier than such as you believe?”

  A smile crossed the knight’s face; and for the first time George realized how frightened Myles must be. The smile took ten years off his age. “If you would approach Thom? Being that you are—who you are—”

  “And as respectable as I am?” George suggested with a grin.

  Myles grinned back. “As a matter of fact, yes; Thom may talk to you, or at least reveal more of the truth.”

  “And I have my own grievance to make with the lad,” George reminded him, remembering his mother’s worn face. “As soon as I get a hold on what passes here, I’ll be up to the palace.”

  Myles rose, gathering up his cloak. “I’ll start inquiries about Claw,” he promised. “Injuries such as he has, particularly the acid scars, are difficult to come by. They are even more so when you’re nob
ly born.”

  George gripped Myles’s hand. “You’re a good friend, Sir Myles. Be assured I won’t forget.”

  After showing the knight out, George returned to hold court once more at the Dancing Dove. Once again he stayed there all night, seeing who was there, being seen. Bits and snippets of information came to him over the next few days as Rispah and Shem returned and went to work. No further attempts on his life occurred, although word of a costly jewelry theft that had not been cleared with him reached his ears. After a week had passed since Rispah’s return, he gathered all those close to him in a room hidden beneath the streets that formed the marketplace.

  As they compared notes, the picture the thieves saw forming was a bleak one. “He’s got nearly half our people, with bribes or fear,” George summed up. “He must’ve been plannin’ this a long time, before he came to the city, even. He’s been workin’ through the likes of Zorina the Witch and Nave the Fence, gettin’ his hooks into us.” He sighed. “We’ll have to move slow, then. Buy our folk back, and destroy the secrets he’s got against them.”

  “Why?” Marek wanted to know. “Why not just kill him and be done with it?”

  “Because one of his people will come forward to take his place,” George replied. “I want his entire organization, not just him. Because he’s got help, and I want to know who it is. And I want to know who he is, why he’s not challenged me like any other Rogue would’ve done.”

  “And if he wins?” Rispah wanted to know, her brown eyes worried.

  “If he wins, then I don’t deserve to be master here.” George’s face was grim. “If he wins, I’ve no guarantees he won’t betray every one of us to my Lord Provost, or someone worse, because I don’t know what he wants. Where he is placed now, he can rule us or destroy us. Do any of you care to wager which it is?” There was no answer; he really didn’t expect one. “You all know what to do and where to ask your questions, then. As soon as the passes open eastward, I’ll send someone to find out what he was in Galla before he came to us.”

  Thom, Lord of Trebond, and the youngest living Mithran Initiate, poured a glass of wine for his guest, a mocking smile on his lips. “You can’t imagine what a pleasure it is for me to have my sister’s—friend—come to visit,” he said. “Particularly when it may be as much as your head is worth to be seen here, in the palace.”

  “Why not call me Alanna’s lover, and be honest about it?” George suggested. The purple and gold brocade robe Thom wore over his stark black shirt and hose hurt the eyes; its cost would have fed a poor commoner and his family for a year. “As it is, I have a number of things I care to discuss with you. I couldn’t be waitin’ for your next excursion into the city to meet you.”

  “Particularly since I never go to the city,” Thom agreed. “So Alanna has returned to the desert, with the devoted Coram in tow. How selfless of her. Unless she was afraid Jonathan might convince her to take back her refusal? She needn’t have worried; he’s very much occupied with Princess Josiane these days.”

  George stared at Thom. If my lass had made no friends, only enemies, he thought, and if she’d been too frightened to let others know she was a human bein’, disguise and all, she might well have turned out like this monster. He’s all brain and cynicism now, with no heart left to him. “Well, you’re a nasty bit of work, aren’t you?” he remarked amiably. “Why don’t we talk of your goin’s-on here durin’ All Hallow?”

  A look of grudging respect entered Thom’s violet eyes. “I’m sure I told Alanna and you I was working on experiments.”

  George made a disgusted face. “And I’m sure it was no such thing. Didn’t you feel my mother testin’ your guardin’-spells? Or were so many tryin’ to learn what you were up to that you took no notice of those left half-dead?”

  “I felt someone test the ward,” Thom admitted. “But I was—busy. I’m sorry it was your mother who was harmed, but she had no business prying into that kind of magic. She’s fortunate to be alive.”

  “Glad you think so. And what experiments are so important that you must put such spells to protect them?” When Thom didn’t answer, George pressed, “Who were you tryin’ to raise from the dead?”

  Thom jumped to his feet, the mocking expression wiped from his face. “You dare to question me, George Cooper?” he yelled, fury radiating from him in waves. “Your relationship with my sister means nothing here, so do not think to try my patience!”

  George stood, his hazel eyes grim. “Don’t think to threaten me, laddy,” he warned softly. “I won’t stand for it.”

  “I have nothing more to say to you,” Thom gritted. “Get out.”

  “I’ll take my leave, then,” George replied. “But I don’t need my Sight to tell me you’re in trouble, great sorcerer or no.” He hesitated, then said wryly, “Doubtless I’ll live to regret this, but for your sister’s sake you may call on me in need.”

  Thom drew himself up. “I am more than able to handle my own affairs.”

  “Is that why you’re shakin’ so?” George inquired. “Best have a shot of brandy to steady your nerves, my lord. I’d hate to think there was anythin’ in this world of ours could be beyond the skills of one such as yourself.” Bowing mockingly, he left Thom.

  And there’s not a thing I can do or say, until I know what’s ridin’ him like the Old Hag of the Graveyards, the thief told himself grimly as he slipped out of the palace. But I’ll bet every knife I own he’s gotten himself into trouble that won’t easily be fixed.

  George smiled. Trouble with the Rogue, trouble with Thom. The future looked exciting. At least he wouldn’t be bored. And as long as he kept his wits about him—it was good to be back in Corus.

  10

  THE DOOMED SORCERESS

  IN A WAY IT WAS DISAPPOINTING FOR ALANNA to find the Bloody Hawk had done very well for themselves in her absence. No problems had arisen that Kara and Kourrem could not handle with Umar Komm’s advice. The school for sorcerers was learning the many forms of fire-magic, something Alanna had explored as far as she wanted to. She diverted the shamans for an afternoon to the problem of Lightning (which remained broken despite all the spells she tried), but their efforts to repair it came to nothing. The last try blew down several tents and brought Halef Seif to command them to stop while within the village precincts.

  Discouraged, Alanna often went riding alone, deliberately returning after sunset to avoid the moment they joined with the Voice of the Tribes. She only missed Jon at those times. She missed George with a sullen ache that refused to go away, because of all people George made her laugh.

  She was grooming Moonlight after one ride, wondering what she would do now, when Halef Seif found her.

  “You are restless,” he commented. “What troubles you?”

  Putting her mare’s combs away, she replied, “Did you know six days ago I celebrated my first year as a knight?”

  “Coram mentioned it,” the headman admitted.

  “Anniversaries make me think. I’ve been remembering all that’s happened since I won my shield.” Falling into step together, they walked toward the hill overlooking the village.

  “You slew the Sorcerer-Duke.”

  “You know, Halef Seif, I don’t dream about that much anymore. Maybe it was a waste, and I acted too quickly, but it’s over. So much has gone on since then. I came here, I met you and Kara and Kourrem—”

  “Ishak also,” he reminded her as they slowly climbed the hill.

  Alanna nodded; her mouth twisted sadly. “I guess what happened to Ishak taught me I can’t punish myself for things that are over and done. After all, I had to get on with teaching Kara and Kourrem, not with mourning him. And I’m proud of the girls.”

  “They are pupils to make any shaman proud. Any tribe, for that matter.” At the hill’s summit, he bowed, indicating a flat-topped rock was to be her seat. Alanna laughed and dusted it off, noticing the blackened spots around it from the magic she had worked here with her apprentices, and the scorch-marks left by Jon
athan’s Rite of the Voice. She sat, and Halef Seif knelt beside her, watching the village.

  “You know, it’s funny—I’ve learned more about other women since coming here than I ever did before. Pages and squires don’t spend much time with women, and besides—” She grinned. “I was notoriously shy when it came to girls.”

  Halef chuckled. “And so you’ve discovered you like your own sex?”

  “How can I not like other women?” Alanna inquired. “Particularly after knowing Kara and Kourrem and Mari Fahrar and Farda? I don’t feel nearly as odd about being female as I did before I came here.”

  “But now you must be moving on?” he asked gently.

  “I hate it when I’m not doing something useful,” she admitted. “After spending all those years studying things or performing duties around the palace, I’ve gotten into the habit of working. With Kara and Kourrem doing so well, there’s nothing for me to do. I’ve been thinking of riding south with Coram, to see what I can find.”

  “I know of a task for you, if you wish it.” There was a note of diffidence in the headman’s voice she had never heard before.

  “Name it.”

  He smiled reluctantly. “I have a friend, a woman who is a sorceress in Alois, near Lake Tirragen in the hill country. For three nights I have dreamed she was in peril, cut off from me by fire.” He shook his head. “We grew up together, before she discovered her Gift. She could not stay. There was no Woman Who Rides Like a Man to say she could be a shaman. But she returns here often.”

  Is she the reason that Halef Seif never married? Alanna wondered.

  “I would go to her myself, but my duties do not permit such freedom—”

  Alanna put her hand on his arm. “I’ll go. Don’t worry about your friend. If she’s in trouble, I’ll do everything I can to help.”