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The cold part of herself that stood aloof from everything whispered, He expects you to fight. So—stop fighting.
With a teeth-baring effort, Alanna levered the sword back and let go. The effect was like loosing a bolt from a crossbow. Released from her pull, the sword shrieked as it flew, making her clap her hands over tortured ears. Roger didn’t break his calling spell. He didn’t even seem to know what she’d done until Lightning buried itself in his chest.
Roger grabbed the hilt. Amazingly, he laughed. He laughed until his dying lungs ran out of air. The silver design on his robes dripped and ran to the floor. His eyes closed, and he fell. Flames sprouted from the Gate into the stone, devouring the body of Roger of Conté.
Buri found her there. With the help of the King’s Own, she brought a fainting Alanna to the surface on a stretcher. Revived by the warmer air at the ground level, Alanna got Buri to help her walk to the Hall of Crowns. She was sickened by the bodies in evidence everywhere: clearly the assault had been heavier than anyone had expected. Men of the Palace Guard admitted them to the Hall with deep bows, and Buri waited silently as Alanna took in the scene before her.
Between quake and uprising, the Hall was in ruins. The City Doors hung from their hinges; the stone risers had buckled and collapsed in sections. Pieces of roof and arches had fallen, dragging banners and garlands down to litter the floor in a mockery of a holiday. Survivors hunted in the rubble, freeing the trapped and pulling out the dead. These were placed on the main aisle for burial. Only later would the bodies in Tirragen or Eldorne colors be separated, to be burned on Traitor’s Hill.
The Provost limped over, brushing heavy silver hair back from a sweat-streaked face. “Not as bad as it looks,” he said in his terse way. “More of them dead than us. They weren’t expectin’ much opposition.” His ice-blue eyes caught Alanna’s and held them. “You take care of your end of things?”
She grinned wolfishly. He grinned back. Buri was interested to note more than a slight resemblance between them at that moment. “Indeed I did.”
The Provost put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Good.” Pausing, he added, “Your...friend. Cooper. He did well today.” Favoring a wounded leg, he returned to help the searchers.
Eleni, looking worn and old, bandaged her bruised and wounded son. Seeing Alanna, George winked and blew her a kiss. When his mother scolded him for moving, he silenced her with a hug. Thayet, seeing the direction of his look, waved tiredly. She sat with her head on a noblewoman’s shoulder, a shattered sword on her lap. Her new friend was as exhausted and battered as she.
Rispah fussed over Coram nearby. She also kept a sharp eye on Delia, who was bound and gagged with strips of what looked like someone’s petticoat. Noting Alanna’s look, Rispah grinned. “My lady here thought she’d knife his Majesty while the fightin’ was thickest and the menfolk all occupied,” she explained. “She didn’t know I figured her game.”
Gary, sporting bandages of his own, kissed Alanna swiftly. “Father had a heart attack,” he said quietly. “He’ll be all right, thanks to Duke Baird. They’re at the infirmary now—Baird and Father and Myles. Myles fought two of them, single-handed.” Gary smiled tiredly. “They were huge. I don’t know what possessed him. But he killed one, and George finished the other.”
“As a mercy to the poor man,” George explained as he joined them. “After Myles hurt him so.” He cupped Alanna’s face, his grave hazel eyes searching out her own. He nodded, liking what he saw, and kissed her gently. “I’d watch out for Myles—he’s that fierce when he’s angry. Didn’t even want to go and get his wounds stitched. Lucky Duke Baird insisted. We can’t have Myles terrorizin’ the prisoners.” Softly he added, “He’s fine, lass.”
“The ladies saved us all,” Gary went on. He indicated Thayet, Eleni, Buri, and Rispah. “They kept the archers from killing his Majesty. We’re proud of them—of you.” He glanced at Alanna and looked away again, his eyes troubled. “Jon—the King—told us what you did, in the catacombs. He saw it all, somehow.”
Alanna faced the altar. Jonathan sat at its base, leaning against the stone. His face was drawn. She was shocked to see white threads in his hair where none had been that morning. The Jewel was in his lap. He stirred; Geoffrey of Meron gave him a cup of water. The altar itself had been cleared to make room for the body of Liam Ironarm.
Did I know? she asked herself. Did I suspect? There was no way to tell. She climbed the altar steps to look at the Dragon alone.
Eight arrows were piled beside him; his knuckles and wounds were neatly bandaged. Her eyes burned, but she was cried out. Helplessly she plucked at his sleeve, wishing she could bring him back. Crying would have helped.
“He and George saved my life—they saved us all.” Jonathan dragged himself up to lean on the altar. “You’d just gotten to Roger when Tirragen soldiers attacked me in force. Myles was down by them, Duke Baird, Raoul, Duke Gareth. They’re all right. I guess Raoul will have a limp to show for it. Coram and Gary were drawn away. I was—helpless.” He grimaced.
“You did more than enough.” Her broken voice was hardly audible.
“But I couldn’t do anything else. George and Liam kept me from being...interrupted.” Alanna shuddered, knowing the land would have shaken itself to pieces if Jon’s concentration had broken. “Two archers got clear. Liam took the arrows meant for me. He didn’t even falter, until the last.” Jonathan’s eyes met hers. “It isn’t much consolation, I know, but—they’ll sing about the Dragon’s last fight for centuries.” After a moment he added, “I’m sorry.”
She tried to walk away; her weakened knees faltered. George caught her instantly.
“It was the death he wanted,” the King said. “We’ll honor him, always.”
Alanna nodded dumbly. Jon reached for her: there was a flash, and a tiny ball of reddish-purple fire leaped from his fingers to her own bloody ones. Gently he took her hand and kissed it. “We did it, King’s Champion. Tortall is safe.”
Epilogue
Heralds went out to explain to the people what had happened on Coronation Day. There would be no weeks of celebration that year. Tortall needed time to mourn, repair, and rebuild. Instead the new King planned a festival to mark the first year of his reign, on the anniversary of Coronation Day. Afterward he would travel through his kingdom, the first such royal journey since his grandfather’s day.
Those found guilty by the Courts of Law of taking part in the rebellion lost their lands and wealth; they and their families were sent into exile. For Delia, the only living ringleader, the Courts decreed life imprisonment. The sentences for all should have been death—the laws on treason were strict—but Jonathan would not begin his rule with executions. He granted more pardons in the first week of his official reign than had King Roald in all of his.
A week after the funerals, the King found his Champion in the catacombs, seated on a bench and gazing at the blackened Gate of Idramm. Lightning stood there, thrust into the center of the design. The blade was streaked with soot, the jewels of its hilt cracked and blackened. Jonathan gripped the sword, trying to free it without success.
“It’s all right,” Alanna told him. “I don’t want it. There are other swords, and I like Lightning right where it is.”
Jon released the weapon and looked at his filthy hands. “Good.”
“I’m just thinking. Will you please get away from the Gate? You make me nervous.”
The King shrugged and came to sit beside her. “What’s on your mind?”
She hesitated a moment before saying, “Would you...mind, if I went to the Bloody Hawk for a while? I just need time to think, and I’d like a rest.” She smiled. “I’ve had a busy year.”
“Take all the time you want,” Jon assured her. “I know where to find you if there’s need.”
Alanna to George Cooper, Baron of Pirate’s Swoop, written in late July:
...so Jon has put you to work finding the last of the coronation rebels. I’m not surprised. It is very quie
t here. Tell Myles I have enough sleep at last. I miss you...
She entered into the daily routine of the tribe, hunting lions with the young men and hearing the legends of the Bazhir from the shamans. She took her turn at sentry duty, enjoying the quiet and the clearness of the stars. Shortly after her arrival, Alanna saw a new constellation at the foot of the cluster called “The Goddess.” She never found out who named it, but everywhere she traveled in later years she always heard it called “The Cat.”
Young people came from all over to meet the Woman Who Rides Like a Man. Most were youths, but an occasional girl visited as well. Many of the boys were headed north, to join the King’s Own. The girls planned to try their own fortunes, most of them as fighters.
In the second week of October, Thayet and Buri came to the Bloody Hawk escorted by a squad of the King’s Own. Alanna was glad to see them, now that the edge had worn off her grief for Thom, Liam, and Faithful. It wasn’t long before Alanna began to wonder if Thayet had come to talk about a particular subject. Whatever it was, she couldn’t bring herself to discuss it for days. Instead she talked about the school she’d begun with the help of Myles, Eleni, Gary, and George; or the Midwinter weddings for Myles and Coram; and Alanna’s doings. She met Alanna’s friends in the tribe and tried her hand at weaving.
Buri joined the girls who shocked the elders by studying warrior arts. When she showed them K’miri trick riding, she drew the young men, uniting the two groups in their eagerness to learn.
“I’m glad we came,” Thayet told Alanna a week after her arrival. They sat in front of Alanna’s tent after the evening meal. From the central fire they could hear Buri teaching her friends a rude song about city dwellers. “She misses the excitement of the road,” the Princess added. “She’s a lot like you that way.”
Alanna massaged her palms with a wry smile. “If that’s so, she’ll find other things to challenge her. She won’t be able to help it.” She paused, then decided to see what was up. “You aren’t here because you wanted to give Buri a holiday, Thayet. And it’s a long ride just to say ’hello.’”
The Princess looked away? “Jonathan...admires the Bazhir. He let me read their history. He thinks the K’mir, the Doi, and the Bazhir may be descended from one race. Though the Bazhir are more cousins than in the direct line—”
“Thayet.’ Alanna sighed.
