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Alanna turned bright red. “No, thank you.”
Rispah went back to her friends. Alanna remained standing. Why was George looking at her so strangely?
At last the man said, “I hear you’re havin’ trouble with the Malven.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” she agreed. I shouldn’t have come, she thought.
Solom appeared with a tankard of lemonade. “Welcome back, Master Alan.” He smiled. “I see yer arm be healed.”
“Good as new. Thanks, Solom.” She accepted the tankard and looked at George. “May I?”
“Yes, of course. Sit down.”
Alanna clenched one hand behind her back. Here came the hard part. “Actually—can we go talk alone?” She drew a deep breath. Asking for things was not easy. “I—I need a favor.”
George stood, grim faced. “We’ll go to my chambers.” He put an arm around her shoulders and added, “Solom, we’re not to be disturbed.”
The innkeeper nodded. “As ye say, Majesty.”
George climbed a narrow staircase leading upstairs, Alanna following. “They call you ‘Majesty’?” she asked, shocked.
“Why not? I’m king here—more king than the man who sits atop the big hill. My people wouldn’t give him a word in passing, but they follow my slightest wish.”
“I suppose,” she said doubtfully.
George unlocked a sturdy door. “You’re careless, young Alan, but you’re polite.” He inspected each corner of his two rooms before waving her inside. “Sit.” He lit a branch of candles from the torch in the hall before closing the door. Alanna looked around at the plain wood furniture, noting how neat and clean the room was. She also noted that the candlestick George placed on the table was silver, while the frame on the mirror hanging on his bedroom door was wrought gold.
The thief settled his length into one of the chairs by the table while Alanna took another. “Why am I careless?” she wanted to know. “I made sure no one saw me leave the palace.”
The funny look was still in George’s eyes. “Humph.” He did not sound convinced. “A favor, you say. What’s it to be? A throat cutting? Some of my bully boys taking Ralon into an alley for a chat?”
Alanna stood, shoving her chair from the table so hard that it fell over. “If that’s what you think I want, I’m off,” she snapped. “I—I thought—” She bit a trembling lip. How could he think she would make such a disgraceful request?
“Easy, lad. Here.” George picked up the chair and pressed her back into it. “I misjudged you. Forgive me. I’ve known many nobles who take advantage. How was I to know you aren’t one of them?”
Alanna frowned, puzzled. “What d’you mean, ‘nobles who take advantage’?”
George sighed and sat down. “I’ve known nobles who thought I should be grateful for their friendship—grateful enough to do them all sorts of favors. They wanted a kept thief, not a friend. I thought at first that’s what you came for. Now I see you’re here as a friend, askin’ a friend’s help. It isn’t a beatin’ for Ralon that you want? It’s a beatin’ he needs.”
“That’s what I want,” she said grimly, “but I want to be the one to beat him.”
“Better and better. Why come to me, then?”
She stared at her hands. “Coram’s been teaching me boxing and wrestling, but Ralon already knows those things. He’s a squire. I hoped you might know some hand fighting they don’t teach us at the palace.”
George thought about this. “Haven’t they a Shang master up there? The Shangs know more tricks than anyone can hope to learn—unless you started as young as they do.”
Alanna shook her head. “The last Shang master left a few days after I arrived. Sir Myles says they don’t like to settle down.”
George nodded. “He’s right. They wander from the day they leave Shang till the day they die. Peculiar folk, Shang warriors. So.” He leaned back, watching her. “Why d’you think I can teach you better than a man who cut his eyeteeth on a sword?”
“But that’s it. Coram is a swordsman. I bet you win your fights bare-handed, or with a knife.”
George grinned. “You’re right at that.” He stood, removing his vest and boots. “Take off your cloak, then, and the shoes. Your first lesson starts now.”
For weeks Alanna worked with Coram and George. She began to surprise her masters with her ability to keep going when bigger boys were exhausted. Alanna’s silence bothered Ralon, but he never realized what she planned for him. He continued to pester her when he got the chance; and when a chance didn’t turn up, he made his opportunities. Alanna said nothing. She knew the older boys suspected the feud was still going on, but this was her fight. She would show everyone—including that part of her that was always wondering—that she was as good as any boy in the palace.
Shortly before Midwinter Festival, in December, Alanna was relaxing with George after a lesson. The thief pushed a tankard of ale at her. “Drink up,” he ordered. “Are you waitin’ till you’re a man grown before you give Malven what’s comin’ to him?”
Until now George had never let her have anything but lemonade. “You think I’m ready?” she asked in a very small voice.
“’Tis not my opinion that matters. The only way you’ll win is if you think you’re ready.”
She saw what he meant. Smiling grimly, she raised her tankard to him and drank the ale down.
The next day all the boys were exercising in the indoor practice courts. Alanna watched Ralon all afternoon as she waited for her chance. She was scared: Her face felt hot, her hands shook. If she failed, she would leave Court. She couldn’t be a knight if Ralon continued to beat on her. And today was her day. She had never felt so strong and so prepared.
The teachers left. Ralon was in a corner, punching a straw dummy. Alanna drew a deep breath and walked out into the center of the floor.
She announced clearly, “Ralon of Malven has beggars and thieves for ancestors.” Excuse me, George, she added silently. “He’s the son of a lizard and a demon. He has all the honor of a weasel. He can’t even fight in the open like a man and a noble. He picks his fights in back halls—so no one can see him cheat.”
The boys were open-mouthed with surprise. Suddenly Gary beat on Jonathan’s shoulder, grinning savagely. “I knew it!” he whispered. “I knew he’d do it!”
Ralon was staring at Alanna, gasping for words. “What did you say?” he finally squeaked.
“Liar. Sneak. Coward. Bully.” She threw the words at him. “You disgrace your name. D’you want me to write it down for you? Oh—I forgot. You can’t read, either.”
“Shut up!” Ralon screamed, his eyes bulging. “You pig! You wouldn’t be so brave if your friends weren’t here to do your fighting—”
“I fight my own battles!” she snapped. “I want satisfaction for all I’ve taken from you. They’re my witnesses.”
Ralon looked at the others. “They won’t step in, no matter what?” he asked slyly.
“They won’t. I swear on my honor as a gentleman. You’d better swear by something else, though. You don’t have any honor.” She slapped him with all her strength and ducked.
Ralon swung at her, missed, and Alanna came up under his swing to ram into his chest. He yelped and grabbed her hair. She punched him twice in the stomach, hard, ignoring the pain as some hair came out of her scalp. Ralon seized her throat, choking her. She shoved her thumb into his eye, stamping hard on one of his feet at the same time. Ralon screamed in pain, breaking away. They circled each other carefully. Now Ralon knew something had changed since the last time they had fought. He was sweating heavily as he charged.
Alanna lunged forward, thrusting her hip between Ralon’s legs. He stumbled. She helped him fall by throwing him over her hip. Quickly she knelt on his back, knowing better than to let him up. Twisting his arms up behind him, with one hand, she used her other hand to pull his head up by the hair.
“Give up?” she panted. Ralon, gasping, nodded. She stood up, and he leaped at her, la
nding a wild punch on her cheek. Thanks to the dishonorable George, Alanna was ready for this. She slammed a fist up and under, into his stomach again, knocking the breath from his body. Swiftly she broke his nose with the other hand. Ralon collapsed, crying like a small child.
Alanna stood back, heaving as she fought for breath. She wiped sweat from her eyes. “Never touch me again. If you do, I swear—I swear by Mithros and the Goddess—I’ll kill you.” Ralon lay there, still crying.
Alanna turned to her friends. “Let’s go wash.”
Ralon called out, “Alan of Trebond!”
Alanna turned back to look. Her enemy was on his feet. He was a bloody mess with crazy eyes. “I’ll make you pay for this!” he screamed. “Just wait—I’ll make you sorry!”
Raoul clapped Alanna on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “It’s getting windy in here.”
Myles found her alone in her room, sitting in the dark. “You weren’t at dinner tonight,” the knight commented. Alanna blinked at him with surprise as he lit a candle.
“Ralon of Malven has left Court,” Myles went on, sitting in her only chair. “Your servant Coram is bragging to his fellow Guardsmen that he knew you could do it all along. The other boys want to celebrate—they think you’re a hero. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
She splashed cold water on her face. “Is it? I don’t know.” She rubbed her face dry and looked at him. “I threw up after,” she confessed. “I hate myself. I just knew more than Ralon did. And he always loses his temper when he fights—I took advantage of that. I’m as bad as he was.”
