Alanna was rolling herself up in an embroidered throw. “I plan to take a nap.” She yawned. “Until the tribe decides what to do with us, we can’t do a thing.” Within moments she was fast asleep, Faithful curled up beside her nose.
Coram was working on his third cup of date wine when Halaf Seif looked into the tent. “She looks softer when she sleeps,” he commented quietly. “When she awakes, tell her the tribe will decide your fate before the evening meal, at the campfire. I will send for you.”
Coram nodded and finished his wine. Alanna was right; there was little they could do now. Making himself comfortable, he took a nap of his own.
The last streaks of sunlight were fading in the west when Alanna woke from her nap. Coram was still asleep, snoring lightly, and Faithful had vanished. Yawning and stretching, she stepped outside to find the village oddly still, as if it had been deserted. She would have gone to explore when Ishak—who was crouched beside the doorway of her tent—caught at her pant leg. Covering his lips with a warning finger, he led her back into the tent.
“It is the Moment of the Voice,” he explained when they were inside. Coram was smoothing his sleep-ruffled hair. “All adults in the tribe must be present, but I was told to attend you.” He looked up as voices sounded outside. “It is over, and soon they will call you. I will take you to them.”
“Aren’t ye afraid we’ll corrupt ye?” Coram asked kindly.
The boy shook his head. “Halaf Seif says only the man who wishes to be corrupted will fall into evil ways. Halaf Seif is wise in the ways of men.”
“Wiser than your shaman?” Alanna asked.
“Akhnan Ibn Nazzir is an old desert hen,” the boy said scornfully. “His magic hurts more than it helps.” He looked eagerly at Alanna. “Ibn Nazzir says you are a sorceress from the North. Will you teach me your sorcery? Look! Already I know a little!” Reaching out, he concentrated on the ball of reddish fire growing at his fingertips.
Alanna knocked his hand away, breaking Ishak’s concentration. “I know nothing of magic,” she said harshly. “And I want to know nothing of magic. The Gift only leads to pain and death.”
Kara peered in the doorway and bowed. “Ishak, help our guests to get ready,” she commanded. She swallowed hard, looking at Alanna. “Will you need help, Woman Who Rides Like a Man?”
Alanna smiled. “Thank you, Kara, I can manage for myself.”
The girl bowed again. “Ishak will bring you to the central fire when you are ready,” she said before letting the tent flap fall.
Coram was already breaking open one of Alanna’s saddlebags, bringing out her mail shirt and leggings. Ishak gasped in admiration, touching the gold-washed armor with reverent fingers. Alanna had been given the mail by her friends on her eighteenth birthday. Although she had plain steel mail to wear, this was specially made for her and particularly light. She fastened the amethyst-trimmed belt at her waist, removing the sheaths for sword and dagger. It would not be polite to go armed, and it still hurt to look at Lightning. She hooked gauntlets decorated with her lioness rampant design into her belt and nodded to Coram. “I’ll wait for you two outside,” she said casually. “I need to think.”
She was actually responding to Faithful’s soft hiss just outside the tent. She went to stand beside her pet, scanning the rapidly falling darkness. “What do you want?” she whispered. “We have these people to—”
Shadows moved against the night, and she froze. Akhnan Ibn Nazzir was leading a horse into the darkness. “Now, what do you suppose he’s up to?” Alanna asked Faithful. “D’you think he means trouble for us?”
Yes, the cat replied. He was asking the young ones who came into your tent what you had of value. I don’t think he asked because he means well.
Alanna sighed and followed Ishak and Coram to the campfire. Wasn’t life difficult enough without earning the enmity of a Bazhir shaman?
She was given the place on Halef Seif’s right, with Coram beside her and Faithful settling down in front of her crossed legs. As the men of the tribe settled into the great circle formed by the firelight, Alanna took a closer look at Halef Seif. With his burnoose off his head, the headman looked to be in his late thirties. He was hook-nosed and lean; sharp lines were drawn from his nostrils to the corners of his thin mouth. A man who’s seen a lot of life, Alanna decided.
The women of the tribe watched from behind the men, their eyes glittering over their face veils. Alanna tried to keep her nervousness hidden; she wanted to make friends of these people, and she had no way of knowing if they wanted to make a friend of her. A flicker of green caught her attention, and she turned with the others to watch the shaman take his place opposite Halef Seif. He looked pleased with himself. Something told Alanna he had been up to mischief.
Halef raised his voice so everyone could hear. “There are two voices in our tribe. One speaks for the acceptance of the intruders, saying they are a sacred one and the servant of a sacred one, deserving honor at our hands. One calls for their deaths, saying they are the servants of the king in the North, and that women must not act as men. By our custom, the strangers must hear each voice and answer. So it has always been. Before others speak, I will say what I must say. I am headman of the Bloody Hawk: this is my right.
“I do not know that this woman is the Burning-Brightly One who came with the Night One to free us from the Black City. She claims to serve the king in the North, and he is our enemy. Yet she came here in peace until the hillmen attacked her. Then she fought well. She and her servant killed many of the hillmen, who are our foes.
“She rides as a man, goes unveiled as a man, fights as a man. Let her prove herself worthy as a man, worthy of her weapons and of our friendship.” Finished, he bowed his dark head.
The arguing began, with the shaman speaking next. Alanna wasn’t surprised to hear him accuse her of blasphemy against the gods for her manner of dress and her way of life—some of the priests at the royal palace had said much the same, when her true identity had been revealed. Gammal followed the shaman, once again telling the story of the strange events at the Black City, six years before.
One tall Bazhir named Hakim Fahrar spoke of the penalty owed to any outsiders: death. And others in the tribe asked for moderation, saying that people who did not change with new times were doomed to extinction. The debate went on and on while Faithful took a nap. If her life and Coram’s had not been at stake, Alanna would have been bored by the long speeches. As it was, she felt a growing respect for Halef Seif’s insistence on hearing each man’s opinion. It was not the first time she noticed the great concern the Bazhir people had for the right of all to speak out (in some matters even the women had a say, she discovered later), but it would not be the last.
Only once did they say something to puzzle her. “The Voice gave her and the Blue-Eyed Prince honor when they returned from battle with the Nameless Ones,” Gammal told the shaman hotly.
“The Voice also says we must decide her fate ourselves, Gammal,” Halef warned. “Be still. Justice will be done.”
Alanna frowned. Ishak had mentioned a “Moment of the Voice,” now Gammal and the headman spoke of “The Voice.” Did Myles ever tell me of a Bazhir god or priest by that name? she wondered. I don’t think so. I’ll ask Halef Seif about his “Voice”—if I survive the night.
The oldest man of the tribe raised his hand. “There is a way to decide this woman’s status. She bears weapons as a man—let her fight as a man. Give her the trial by combat. If she wins, the tribe is wise to accept her. If she loses, let her servant be killed also.”
The shaman jumped up, screaming, “The favor of the gods to the man who kills her! I swear it!”
“If the favor of the gods is offered,” Alanna asked mildly, “why don’t you kill me yourself?” There was a murmur of laughter, and the shaman whirled to glare at Alanna.
“She mocks our ways!” he cried.
“I mock a shaman who looks at the goods I possess and calls for my death because he says I
offend the gods. Can you tell me you have no interest in what I own?” she asked steadily, her eyes never wavering from his staring ones.
Halef rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “One third of what you have goes to him who slays you. One third goes to the headman. One third goes to the priest. It has always been so.”
Alanna smiled angrily. “I thought as much.”
Halef Seif raised his hands. “The men of the tribe will vote on this matter: to grant the Woman Who Rides Like a Man the trial by combat.”
Women passed among the men with bits of parchment, reeds for writing, and ink. They returned to collect the folded papers, and Halef Seif counted them. He took great care to unfold each paper and place it in one of two piles before him, so that no one could accuse him of manipulating the vote. Once again Alanna was impressed with Bazhir honesty.
At last the votes were counted. “It is the combat,” Halef Seif announced.
2
THE BLOODY HAWK
ALANNA STOOD, NERVOUSLY RUBBING HER SUDDENLY wet palms on her tunic. “I accept the will of the tribe. Who will carry it out?”
Hakim Fahrar stood. “The law is the law. I will fight for the tribe.”
Alanna bent to strip away her boots and stockings, examining her would-be opponent. He was head and shoulders taller than she, and his naked torso showed hard muscles in the firelight. He seemed agile enough, but only the fight would confirm that.
Coram tied her hair back with a leather thong, his callused hands gentle. As she began her loosening-up exercises, he knelt beside her. “Be careful,” he cautioned, his voice a whisper. “They fight to the death here.”
Alanna scrubbed her palms with sand to dry them. “I won’t kill if I don’t have to,” she replied quietly, remembering her last duel.
Coram shrugged. “Be that as it may, if it’s a question of ye dyin’ or him, it had better be him.”
Alanna grinned mischievously at her longtime teacher and accepted her dagger from Ishak, who had brought it from her tent. “I won’t argue with that.”
She waited for the shaman to finish exhorting her opponent, fingering the ember-stone. There was no way she could avoid remembering her duel four weeks ago, the one that had ended with Duke Roger on the floor of the Great Hall, dead. Unlike the sorcerer-duke, she did not hate this tribesman. She hoped it would not come to killing tonight.
Halef stood. “Are you ready, man of the tribe?”
Hakim saluted the headman with his dagger. “I am ready.”
“Are you ready, Woman of the Northern king?”
Alanna saluted, her mouth paper-dry. “I am.”
The headman clapped his hands sharply and the tribesmen stepped back. Hakim circled, his eyes sharp.
“Meet your death, woman!” he cried.
Alanna crouched, watching his circling form and remaining silent. She had never followed the practice of shouting insults at an enemy; this was no time to start. Remembering the advice of her friend George, the King of the Thieves, she kept her eyes on Hakim’s blade. He thrust; she skipped aside, then danced in close, slashing for his chest. He leaped back and began to circle once more, his eyes wary. Her lightning response had taught him to treat her with caution.
He feinted high and then drove in, his knife coming up from beneath. Alanna turned her side toward him; as his arm shot past her, she seized it and wrenched him over her hip. Coram let out a whoop of joy—wrestling had always been her weak point—and silenced himself as the Bazhir glared at him.
Hakim rolled to his feet as she kept back, unwilling to follow up her advantage. He wiped his hands on his breeches, his eyes never leaving her. He was sweating, and Alanna could feel the fear rolling off him. Teach him to think a woman’s an easy opponent, she thought as she lunged in.
He caught her cross guard on his, bearing up on the locked knives. Alanna dropped and rolled away before coming to her feet. Hakim lunged wildly, his blade slicing toward her unprotected shoulder. Twisting, Alanna stabbed through the web of muscle on the bottom of his upper arm. She yanked her knife free just as one of his fists struck the middle of her spine, driving the wind from her lungs. Again she dropped and rolled. He threw himself toward her: This time she helped him over her head with her foot, sending him flying across the cleared space.
Breathing hard, she rolled to her feet. Hakim rose, dashing sweat from his eyes. He closed too slowly, giving her time to maneuver into position. Grabbing his knife arm, she rapped him hard on the temple with her dagger hilt. Hakim went down like a stone, and stayed down.
“You may kill him,” Halef told her. “It is your right.”
Alanna wiped her sweating face. “I won’t kill when I don’t have to. I hate waste.”
Men assisted Hakim from the circle as Coram gave her a towel. Faithful twined around her ankles. “Ye did well,” the ex-soldier whispered. “Any of us who taught ye would’ve been proud of that fight.”
The Bazhir crowded around to offer their congratulations. Only a few stayed back, including the shaman, Akhnan Ibn Nazzir. Thinking to make amends, Alanna went to him, her hand outstretched. “Is there peace between us?” she asked. “I mean no offense to you or your ways.”
“Unnatural woman!” he snarled. “The Balance will never be right as long as you act like a man!” He glared at the now-silent Bazhir. “Our tribe will suffer until this she-demon is cast out!” Gathering his burnoose around himself, he stalked off.
For a moment all were silent. Finally Alanna shrugged and turned to Halef Seif.
“Now what?” she asked.
The headman’s set face boded ill for the shaman. Then he too shrugged. “The law is the law. You survived the combat: you are one of us.” The tribesmen murmured their agreement. “Akhnan Ibn Nazzir is no longer young. New ideas come less easily to him.” He smiled at her. “Now we make you a warrior of the tribe, and your man Coram, if you will speak for him.”
“Of course I’ll speak for him.” How could he ask?
“Then hold out your arm,” Halef instructed. Alanna obeyed. In a swift movement the man opened a low shallow cut on the inside of her forearm. Holding out his own wrist, he did the same to himself, then pressed his wound to Alanna’s.
“Become one with the tribe, and one with our people,” he commanded, his soft voice suddenly deep and ringing. Alanna shuddered as an alien magic flooded into her body. She knew without being told that Halaf Seif was only a pathway for this sorcery, that its origins were as old as the Bazhir tribes.
Their combined blood welled up, dripping onto the sand. The watching men set up a cheer. Touching the ember-stone, she watched as Gammal performed the ritual with Coram. The magic was glittering white; it filled the air around them all, flooding from every Bazhir present.
She let Ishak bind up her arm, feeling a moment’s sympathy for Coram. The ex-soldier was obviously unhappy that he had taken part in an exercise of sorcery (albeit a short one). Now they were truly members of the Bazhir, tied by blood and magic to the desertmen.
The drinking started. Women brought out food as the men told stories, recounting their greatest legends for the two new members of the tribe. The sky was gray in the east when Alanna gave up and went to bed. Coram had been moved into bachelor quarters; evidently her new status did not excuse her from the proprieties. Amused, she fell onto her pillow and sank immediately into sleep.
Sunlight in her eyes roused her. Her tent flap was open; from the sun’s position she saw it was noon. Moaning and clutching her aching head, Alanna lurched to her feet.
“We’ve been waiting forever,” Kourrem announced.
Alanna scowled at the two Bazhir girls who had welcomed her the previous day. “I didn’t go to bed till dawn,” she growled. She ducked behind a partition and changed her clothes, feeling very old and much the worse for a night of date wine.
“They made you a warrior of the tribe.” Kara’s voice was filled with awe. “And you’re a woman.”
Alanna pulled on the fresh tan burnoose she foun
d with her clothes. If she was a Bazhir, she might as well dress like one. Emerging from behind the partition, she bathed her face in a basin of water.
“Akhnan Ibn Nazzir says you’re a demon,” Kourrem told her. “He says you have destroyed the eternal Balance. He wants us all to kill you.”
Alanna dried her face briskly and pulled a comb through her hair before answering. “Nonsense. If your eternal Balance is destroyed, why did the sun rise? If I’m a demon, why do I have such a headache?” Using fresh water, she cleaned her teeth.
“Are all the women in the North warriors?” Kourrem asked. Kara was setting out breakfast: fruit and chilled fruit juice, rolls and cheese. “Are you all sorcerers and she-demons?”
Alanna rubbed her aching head. Was she supposed to eat all that? “Hardly,” she replied to Kourrem. She sat awkwardly before the low table, crossing her legs before her. Inspired, she told the girls, “Why don’t you join me? I’d welcome the company.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but chances were the girls would be far hungrier than she was at the moment.
Kourrem needed no urging, but Kara hesitated. “It wouldn’t be proper,” she demurred, her eyes uncertain over her face veil.
“Of course it’s proper,” Alanna said firmly. “I’m female, aren’t I? At least, I was the last time I checked.”
Even Kara smiled at that. She and Kourrem slipped off their veils. Kara was older, fine-boned and dark-eyed, with two deep-set dimples framing her mouth. Kourrem had mischievous gray-brown eyes and a pointed little chin. Both were too thin, even for rapidly growing teenagers, and their clothes were of poor quality. If Alanna remembered Sir Myles’s teaching correctly, both were old enough to be married; the desert people contracted alliances for their daughters when they first donned veils, at the age of twelve. Why were these two single?
Alanna picked up a roll, and the girls eagerly helped themselves.
“If the Northern women aren’t warriors,” Kourrem went on, her mouth full, “how did you become a knight?”
Alanna smiled reluctantly. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. Seeing that her audience was listening intently, she sighed. “I was ten. My mother died giving my twin brother and me birth, and our father was a scholar who cared more for his work than us. Coram raised us, and old Maude, who was our village healing-woman. You see, Thom had no turn for woodcraft and archery, and I did. He was good at magical things.