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“It has been a terrible winter,” she whispered. “The food was running out. Yahzed’s priest told them it was because of me: that the foodstores would renew themselves if they had me killed. They were hungry.”
“Fools!” Coram muttered.
The sorceress took Alanna’s hand. “You two have given me the death I did not hope to have, lying at peace among friends. Halef Seif sent you?” Alanna nodded. “I prayed he could help. Never think you came too late. My life was over when they laid hands on me a week ago. How could I live knowing the ones I had brought into the world and cared for wanted me dead?” Squeezing Alanna’s hand, she said, “Open your heart to me.”
Alanna felt the sorceress in her mind as a kind, gentle presence easing her bitterness over the woman’s impending death. A second later the older female released Alanna’s hand, sweating and trembling from her efforts.
“You are the one I need,” she gasped. “Listen, Alanna of Trebond! I can give you a gift. Will you accept it?”
Alanna touched the ember-stone. It was warm, but not hot, and she realized what the sorceress had to say was important. “Go on.”
The woman’s battered lips parted in a smile. “Listen well! You have the knowledge to restore your broken sword: It was in the spell that made you one with the Bloody Hawk and one with your foster-father. It lies in the spell that made the prince the Voice of the Tribes. Take the crystal sword and make it one with the sword that is your own. You will need it: A dark time is coming for Tortall.”
Alanna nodded, biting a trembling lip.
The sorceress reached inside her tattered dress and produced a scorched silk envelope that bulged with its contents. “I would have let this burn, but now you may take it to Halef Seif. He will know what to do.” She shuddered, her limbs twitching. When the convulsion passed, she said, “Let nothing stop you from giving that envelope to Halef Seif!”
“I’ll do it,” Alanna told her. “Don’t fret.”
The woman nodded. “I’m so tired,” she whispered. “Thank you.” She smiled at Faithful. “All three of you.” Her breathing was suddenly shallow. “Tell Halef I will be waiting when he makes the journey. . . .”
Her voice trailed off. Within moments her breath had stopped, and Alanna gently closed her eyes. Tear-blinded, she stood.
Coram buried the sorceress. “Did ye even know her name?”
Alanna shook her head, watching her companion shovel the last bit of dirt onto the grave. “Halef Seif never mentioned it, and neither did she.”
“A pity to leave her without a marker,” Coram admitted somberly. “But it’s our lives to go to the village and find out.”
“She’ll have a marker,” Alanna whispered.
You don’t have the strength, Faithful cautioned. When will you learn to stop?
“I’m going to do this one last thing,” she retorted. “Stand back, both of you.”
As Coram and Faithful obeyed, she clenched her fists. There was no spell for what she wanted to do, but she was determined not to let that stop her. If the will to accomplish was the greatest part of any magic, she had only to tell the earth what she required, and that was what she did. The ground beyond the head of the grave shook as she pulled at it. When she opened her tightly closed eyes, a granite pillar stood to mark the burying place. Deeply graven letters proclaimed, “Here lies the sorceress of Alois, who loved the people who killed her.”
Coram took over, getting her as far away from the village as possible. She was barely conscious when he chose a campsite. She collapsed exhausted onto the ground, barely waking when Coram tucked her into her bedroll. He couldn’t wake her the next morning. Since Faithful showed no signs of alarm, he settled down for a day of relaxation, keeping a watchful eye on his knight-mistress as he whittled.
It was sunset when she awoke, getting away from a dream:
The throne room was filled: the king and queen on their thrones, Duke Gareth beside the king, Jon with the queen. Although she could see clearly, she heard no sounds coming from people’s mouths. Her friends watched with mingled awe and horror as Thom introduced a bowing man to his sovereigns. That man looked around into Alanna’s eyes: He was Roger of Conté. She could hear him clearly as he remarked, “I don’t kill easily, do I, Lioness? But thank your brother for this. And mind you bring back my sword.”
She sat bolt upright, her clothing damp with sweat.
“Nightmares again?” Coram asked, stirring a pot of stew. It was nearly dark. “They’re never real, lass. Have some food.”
She told him the dream as they ate. The sight of their fire and of Faithful playing with wood shavings finally reassured her.
“Sometimes I wonder if I don’t want him to come back,” she sighed, putting down her bowl. “But that doesn’t make sense, does it?”
Coram blew an experimental note on the flute he had carved. “Well, the two of ye had some unfinished business,” he commented. “And think. It’s not granted to all of us to have one great enemy. The Duke was yers. The problem is that once ye’ve vanquished such an enemy, life might be a little empty. Ye’ve spent so much time thinking about him, and now he’s not there to worry ye any more.”
“You don’t think I’m having—well, prophetic dreams?”
“Have ye had them before?”
“No. Visions, sometimes, but not dreams.”
“It doesn’t seem likely ye’d start having them at such a late date. Yer dreams are still just dreams.” He watched with misgiving as she put the crystal blade and the two parts of Lightning on the ground before her. “Now what’re ye up to?”
“She told me how to mend Lightning, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Faithful came to sit beside her as Coram backed away. For a moment Alanna stared resentfully at the two long scars on her right forearm. Gritting her teeth, she drew a third wound beside them with her dagger, letting her blood drip onto both swords. A harsh wind sprang up; their fire burned purple.
“One,” Alanna whispered, closing her eyes and fumbling for the best words. “Crystal and whole, unbreakable, strong. One—crystal in the hilt, straight steel, sheared in two.” Dust whipped against her face. “Two—” She moved the three pieces closer to each other. “Separate, yet together. Being. Becoming.” Power shuddered through her body. “One!” she yelled over the shrieking wind. “On
e blade, unbreakable and whole!”
A last flare of power blasted through her, unbearable in its strength: Alanna fainted.
“Of all the crazy, stupid stunts.” Coram’s familiar grumble soaked through the darkness around her. “Ye’d think ye’d wait till ye recovered from the fireworks yesterday, but not ye.” Alanna swam up out of the dark, toward his voice. “No, ye must prove ye’re the Lord Thom and can do anything.”
Alanna forced her eyes open, grinning weakly at the man who was propping her up. She was wrapped in blankets. “I just wanted to fix my sword. No more fireworks tonight, Coram, I promise.”
He snorted, clearly disbelieving her. Carefully he picked up something and fitted her hand around the hilt.
She was almost too tired to lift it. Lightning’s battered round crystal topped the silver hilt. The blade was thin, as Lightning’s had been; it was steel with a ghostly gray sheen. There was no feel of alien magic or anger in it, and the sword fit Alanna’s hand well.
As she looked it over, Coram observed, “Ye’ve traveled a distance, haven’t ye? ’Twas only a year ago ye said ye’d never use yer magic again. Now ye’re a shaman and makin’ up yer own spells.”
Alanna smiled ruefully. “Have you ever noticed that when you try to deny some part of yourself, things fall out so you need that part more than any other? I was afraid of magic, partly because I was sure it couldn’t be controlled. But the crystal sword taught me it can. Before I came to the Bazhir, I saw a lot of magic used only to harm; being shaman cured me of that. I guess I’m not afraid of my Gift anymore. I’m the one who wields it—my Gift doesn’t wield me. And now I can help the people I swore to help with my abilities. Does that make any sense?” she asked worriedly.
Coram grinned. “As much sense as anything from the mouth of a noble.”
“You’ve been living among thieves too long,” Alanna told him. Testing her thumb on the sword’s edge, she cut herself. Smiling with delight, she hefted Lightning. “Now I’m ready for anything!”
