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Alanna glanced at the sky. Black clouds boiled overhead; lightning was already striking a few leagues away. Myles seized her arm and pulled her from the tunnel entrance just as the slab ground over it once more. Alanna stared at it, wondering just what was going on. She had accepted death. Why wasn’t she dead?
“No time to ponder it!” Myles yelled in her ear. “Let’s go!”
They headed for the castle at a run, Myles half carrying a bewildered Alanna. The high wind whipped twigs and branches into their faces, and within moments they were drenched by the sudden onslaught of rain.
Inside the castle, Barony servants steered them to hot baths and dry clothes. Alanna bathed and changed, still not believing she was alive. Picking up the sword, she went to find her friend.
Myles was awaiting her in his morning room. A room like this would never have been found in a fortress like Trebond: The huge windows overlooking the valley were too vulnerable to enemy archers. Here at peaceful Olau, Myles could see his fields, the distant village, even the Great Road on a clear day. Now he sat in a deep chair, watching the rain streaming down the glass. A steaming pitcher and two mugs were at his side.
“Have a toddy,” he said, handing a filled mug to her. “You look as if you need it.” Alanna stared at the steaming liquid, trying to remember what she was supposed to do with it. “Drink up, lad,” Myles urged gently. He drained his own mug and refilled it, watching her.
Alanna sat carefully in a chair, staring out the window. Finally she raised the mug to her lips and sipped. The hot liquid sent ripples of fire running through her. Perhaps she was alive, after all. She took another large swallow, and another.
“I thought I was dead,” she said at last. “I guess not.” She handed him the sword. “Here. I found this in the tunnel.”
Myles examined the sword carefully without taking it from the scabbard. He ran his fingers along the sheath, rubbed the metal fittings with his thumb and squinted at a candle flame through the crystal. “What happened?” he asked as he looked the sword over.
She told him in a few brief words, watching every movement of his face.
“Is the crystal magic?” he asked finally.
“I don’t know. My magic doesn’t make it work. It only—it only came to life when I quit fighting to stay alive.”
“I see,” he murmured. “You accepted death—and the stone saved your life.”
This didn’t make sense to Alanna, so she ignored it. “Aren’t you going to draw the blade?”
Myles looked out the window thoughtfully. “Storm’s letting up,” he observed.
Alanna shifted impatiently in her chair. “Well?”
“No—I’m not. You are.” Myles held the sword out to her.
“I can’t!” she protested. “They’re your ruins. It belongs to you.”
Myles shook his head. “You haven’t been paying attention. I was compelled to bring you here. You opened the passage when I’ve tried to do it for years, and failed. Something happened down there, and the sword protected you. And don’t forget the storm. I can take a hint, Alan.”
“It belongs to you,” she protested, almost tearfully.
“It never belonged to me.” He thrust it at her. “Let’s see what she looks like, lad.”
Reluctantly Alanna stood and took the sword. The hilt fit her hand as if made for her. She closed her eyes and drew the sword.
Nothing happened. She glanced at Myles, embarrassed. Her friend was grinning at her.
“I feel silly,” she admitted.
“After what happened this morning, I was expecting something dramatic, myself. Well?”
Alanna hefted the blade. It was thinner than a broadsword, and lighter, with a broadsword’s double edge. The metal was lightweight, with a silver sheen. She lightly touched a thumb to one edge and cut herself. Grinning with delight, she tried a few passes. It felt wonderful in her hand.
“What will you call her?” Myles asked.
She didn’t question Myles’s calling the blade a “her.” “Seeing’s how it brought such a reaction from—from—”
“From whatever guards the ruins?” the knight suggested.
“I guess that was it. Anyway, seeing’s how it brought on a storm and all so fast—how about ‘Lightning’?”
Myles raised his mug in a toast. “To Alan and Lightning. May you never meet a better blade.”
Alanna drained her own mug. “Uh—Myles?” she stammered, sliding her blade into its sheath.
“Hm?” The knight was not deceived by her innocent tone.
“I—I would rather nobody else knew about—well, what happened. Could—could we just say I picked Lightning from your armory?”
“You’ll tell Jonathan, won’t you?”
“Of course, But—I don’t want anyone else to know. If that’s all right with you.”
“Certainly, lad. As you wish.” Myles refilled his mug, wondering what—or who—Alan was afraid of.
Alanna expected people to notice Lightning—she would have been hurt if they hadn’t. Even Duke Gareth asked about it, as did Captain Sklaw. “Not enough weight,” the Captain grunted when he first lifted it. When he tested the edge, the look on his face changed to one of respect. “It’ll do,” he said finally. Alanna had to be content with that. Everyone accepted the idea that Lightning was a gift from Sir Myles, though Alanna told Jonathan the truth, privately. The Prince was fascinated by her experience and asked a good many questions. He even tried his own magic on Lightning, attempting to make the crystal glow. Nothing happened, and the Prince finally gave up, saying the exercise was giving him a headache.
Alanna told Coram the truth as well. She felt she owed it to her old comrade. Coram said nothing, but he would not touch the sword either.
When George asked to see Alanna’s new blade, she handed it over willingly. To her surprise, the thief yelped and dropped the weapon. He made her pick it up.
“It’s filled with magic, and of a kind I’ve never encountered,” he said. “You tell me ’twas simply hangin’ in Sir Myles’s armory?”
Alanna opened her mouth to lie, then closed it. When she spoke, it was the true story she gave. George heard her out, shaking his head in wonder. “You accepted something?” he remarked. “You?”
“I didn’t have any choice,” she snapped. “I was going to die whether I wanted to or not. But when I stopped fighting it—”
“When you accepted it.”
“Will you stop dithering about accepting things, George? Anyway, that’s when the crystal worked. And I haven’t been able to make it work since.”
“Hmph. Well, I’m glad you escaped—and I’m gladder still that Lightning is strapped to your waist.” George nodded at the sword. “A magic blade—whether you can work the magic or no—may well come in handy.”
Someone else noticed that Lightning was not all she seemed. When Alanna walked into her sorcery class for the first time after her return from Olau, Duke Roger smiled at her. “I hear you have a new sword, young Alan. May I see it?”
Alanna hesitated. She did not want to hand her sword over to Duke Roger, and she had no reason on earth for feeling that way. Reluctantly she unclipped the sheath from her belt. She could feel Jonathan watching her suspiciously, wondering what was taking her so long.
“It’s just a blade Sir Myles had around,” she said. “I don’t think—”
“I’ve made a lifelong study of the art of sword-smithing,” Roger told her. He held out a hand. “Let’s see.”
Alanna gave it to him, hating him more at that moment than she had ever hated anyone. She quickly doused the emotion.
