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For a second Alanna’s mind flickered, and Ishak was replaced by a vision:
An azure sky rapidly clouded over with thunderheads. A pole thrust against it like a pointing finger. At its base a fire burned, and the woman tied to the pole screamed in agony.
The vision was gone, and she could see her apprentice clearly once more. “Ishak! No!” Alanna yelled hoarsely. She reached out, but the bolt of power she threw at him was thin, and it vanished far short of the mark. She would never reach him in time. “Don’t! The sword—it’ll turn on you!”
“Why should you have it, Woman Who Rides Like a Man?” he yelled back, triumphant. “You won’t even use it! You don’t use your own Gift as much as you could. You don’t deserve to have more! I deserve the sword! I want the power!”
“Then why didn’t the sword come to you, instead of me?” Alanna cried, hoping to keep him talking. She was at the hill’s base now. “You can’t use this power, Ishak—the sword’s been warped! No!” Ishak drew the sword, holding it aloft. Orange fire shimmered around the shining gray of the blade, pulsing fiercely. He laughed and pointed the sword at Alanna, speaking a word she couldn’t hear.
Instinctively she threw all the strength the Goddess had given her into a shield. She had wanted only to defend herself, but the sword’s magic reflected back from her protection, enveloping Ishak in a ball of flame. He screamed, once. Then he was gone.
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Alanna trudged up the hill. There was nothing left of Ishak or of the scabbard he had carelessly thrown on the ground. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she wished he could have listened to her just one more time.
The tribespeople were waiting for her when she descended, with the crystal blade shimmering in her hand. “What will you do now?” Halef Seif inquired softly.
“I’m going to finish training your two shamans, that’s what I’m going to do,” she replied grimly. “What else is there?”
6
CEREMONIES
THE FIRST OF THE BAZHIR SHAMANS ARRIVED A week after Ishak’s fatal mistake with the crystal blade. They came sometime during the night; when Alanna arose in the morning, they were seated cross-legged before the altar. Faithful sat facing them, blinking solemnly as he returned their stares.
They told Alanna they had come to teach and to learn, that every wise shaman tried to study new things. They meant what they said, and they were not alone. Within days more arrived with their apprentices until—with Alanna, Kara, and Kourrem—fourteen shamans and six apprentices were trading spells in the tents of the Bloody Hawk.
“You should be pleased,” Ali Mukhtab remarked one night as he and Alanna sat up late. “You have done more than most Bazhir have accomplished in a lifetime. You have made girls shamans. You have begun a school for magic that will live and grow to become the greatest such school in existence. Even priests from the City of the Gods will come, even the warrior-sorcerers of Carthak.”
Alanna stared at the Voice of the Tribes. He had that misty, far-seeing look in his dark eyes that privately gave her the crawls. “You knew this school was going to happen?” she gasped. “And you never said anything?”
He smiled and puffed on his long-stemmed pipe. “I have learned—as all who would become the Voice must learn—to keep my silence about the future. It will happen without my help.”
Alanna snorted, and thought about it for long silent moments. At last she pointed out, “I still haven’t gotten Kara and Kourrem to leave off their face veils.” She didn’t discuss it with the girls any longer because it was a subject they could not agree on.
“They are right,” Mukhtab pointed out. “They have overcome too many old ideas, but this one they can never change. A woman without a veil is a woman of bad repute among the tribes. Good women may not speak to her, and good men may not know her.”
Alanna thought of the women of the Court of the Rogue and sighed. “That’s sad. Some of the most intelligent women I knew as I was growing up were prostitutes. I didn’t know many noble ladies well, you see.” Suddenly the ground beneath her trembled, and she looked up. “Visitors? At this hour?”
Grinning, Mukhtab knocked the ashes from his pipe into the fire. “I think you will like these visitors.”
They emerged from the tent to find the tribesmen gathered around the newcomers. These were five: two riders from the tribe, a man-at-arms in Barony Olau colors, and—to Alanna’s joy—Myles of Olau and Prince Jonathan.
Somehow she greeted her guests and introduced them to the headman, the Voice, the visiting shamans, and the apprentices. Jonathan captivated Kourrem, while Kara watched Myles with awe-widened eyes. Once the knight smiled at her, saying, “There’s a dancing bear in Corus who’s almost as shaggy as I am.” Kara blushed beneath her veil and fled.
The noblemen greeted Alanna and Coram with warmth, reaching across carefully maintained distances to shake hands.
A guest-tent was prepared for the newcomers; but somehow, when it came time to retire, the prince followed Alanna to her home. Once inside the tent, they were alone—even Faithful had found someplace else to be.
For long moments they stared at each other: the short, red-headed, violet-eyed woman in a Bazhir’s pale blue robe, its hood thrust back from her hair, and the tall, broad-shouldered young man, his hair coal-black, his eyes a brilliant sapphire blue. He wore serviceable tan breeches and a cotton shirt beneath a tunic of his favorite royal blue, but only a blind man would not have seen his royal heritage.
“I didn’t want to disgrace you in front of the tribesmen,” he said at last, his deep voice making her shiver happily. ?
?Myles said women don’t touch men in public.”
“No,” she replied, twisting her hands in her robe.
Awkward, he tried again. “I’m going to be here for a while. Ali Mukhtab says there’s much I have to learn.”
“Do their Majesties know where you are?”
He shrugged. “They know I’m with Myles. I told them I had to get away from the court. I’m tired of people fawning all over me.” He smiled. “No one argues with me, now that you’re gone.”
Troubled by the arrogant tone of his voice and the flash of pride in his eyes, she asked, “Is that the only reason you came? To get away from home?”
“Of course not.” Suddenly he swore. Covering the space between them in two great strides, he seized her and held her tight, burying his face in her shoulder. Alanna threw her arms around his neck. This was the Jonathan she loved.
He forced her to look at him. “I missed you so much,” he whispered. He kissed her fiercely. She returned the kiss, feeling heat rush through her at his touch. He bore down to her sleeping mat; in the time that followed, they knew they still desired each other.
Afterward, Alanna got up to blow out the lamps. He watched her as she moved around the tent. “What are you grinning about?” he wanted to know as she doused the last light.
She lay down and snuggled up against his shoulder, smiling contentedly. Well, ‘women of bad reputation’ go without veils among the Bazhir,” she confided. “All this time I haven’t worn a veil, but it took me until tonight to get a bad reputation.”
Jon chuckled and kissed her. “I’m glad to hear that. I was worried about you, among all these handsome men.”
“You didn’t have to.” She grinned. “They respect me as a shaman and a warrior, but they don’t even remember I’m a woman most of the time.”
“Silly of them,” Jonathan whispered. “I can’t forget it—not that I haven’t tried, these past months.”
