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To the boys who loitered in the courtyard, she was a godsend. They jeered, at first. But once they saw that the lady knew how to use a sword, they grabbed sticks and imitated her. She paid them no attention. If she did, they would turn shy and run, afraid other boys would laugh. Instead, she pretended to be absorbed, and her imitators grew bolder. Their number increased. By her third day’s exercise, ten of them followed her movements. So preoccupied were the boys that they didn’t notice right away when Alanna began to correct a stance or a grip.
Liam watched. So did Coram. “She did the same for the Bazhir lads,” he told the Dragon with pride. “She even taught our tribe’s shamans, and her learnin’ to be a shaman alongside them. Not bad for a noble, is it?”
Liam smoothed his mustache as he watched. “She’s serious about learning Shang fighting?”
Coram nodded. “Perhaps I should’ve brought her to Shang when I saw how it was with her. But she was Trebond. I never heard of a noble comin’ to ye without bein’ thrown off by their families—and none of them were lasses.”
“You did right,” Liam said. “She’s happy as the one lady knight in the Eastern Lands, your Lioness.”
Coram made a face. “She’s not my Lioness. Cooper’s, perhaps, or Prince Jonathan’s, but not mine.”
“Yours,” repeated Liam. “Yours, and Myles of Olau’s, and her brother’s. Cooper’s, too. The Prince’s certainly.” He grinned. “Maybe even mine. Who knows?”
Five days after she began working out, Alanna put down Coram’s sword with a grin. The boys couldn’t understand why she was so glad to finish an exercise; for them the glory of fencing lay in the defeat of an opponent. Alanna knew she’d finished the hardest of her exercises with no mistakes, using a heavier sword than Lightning. Her body had complained only a few times, not very loudly. She was healed, and they could be on the road again!
Someone put Lightning’s jewel-studded hilt into her hand. Puzzled, she looked up to see Liam.
“Now you’re warmed up, let’s see what you can do,” he said.
It didn’t sink in right away. “What?”
“A match,” he explained patiently. “Swords alone. No kicks or punches. No tricks. I want to see how good you are.”
Alanna shrugged. Moving into the center of the yard, she took a sideways “guard” stance. She fixed on the Dragon as he took a similar position. He’s bigger and faster, she calculated. He’s more experienced, and his blade’s heavier. If the stories are true, he’s trained to be as good with either hand. Great Merciful Mother, what have I gotten myself into!
She moved to the side just a bit. Liam’s blade arced up and down with blinding speed.
Alanna swung Lightning up, blocked Liam’s sword, then broke away. The Dragon came in with a side cut; she parried and darted back, circling warily. He spun and hacked: blocking his powerful swing made her shoulder ache. Stepping back, she assumed the two-handed guard position. He cut down and in; she responded, Lightning moving as rapidly as his blade.
By now they had an audience. Word had spread through the inn; Alanna’s boys were joined by servants, guests, hostlers, and passersby. The boys had the best seats; they watched their heroes intently. Faithful sat by Coram’s feet, his eyes slitted against the sun’s glare. He’d fetched Alanna’s companion, knowing Coram would want to see this.
The exchange stretched out in strikes, blocks, and parries, neither opponent gaining an advantage. Since Liam had ruled out the unarmed tactics that would give him the victory, Alanna could show him the full range of her skill. Coram beamed in pride: with sword—or, he would bet, with axe or longbow—Alanna matched the Shang Dragon. How many knights could make that claim?
Both Liam and Alanna were sweating heavily; her wound began to ache. Throughout the exchange she had studied the Dragon’s style as she knew he had studied hers, searching for any flaw. Now she blocked swiftly, parried his return cut, blocked him again—and came up into a split-second opening, barring his sword arm with her shoulder as Lightning snaked up to kiss his throat.
They froze in place for a moment. Then Liam grinned. “You’re good.” He lowered his blade as Alanna stepped back. “I haven’t lost to a swordsman in years.”
The boys circled them to offer water and towels. Alanna drank deeply from a waterskin, pouring some onto her face. “Why didn’t you hit me, or kick me?” she panted. “You’d’ve won.”
“That wasn’t the point.” The Dragon dumped a waterskin over his head with a grateful sigh. “Are you the best in Tortall?”
“I don’t know.” She smiled gratefully at the boy who’d given her the water. “There may be some commoners better than me—I only fought knights.” Alanna wiped her face with a sigh. “Against Duke Gareth of Naxen—Gareth the Elder, not the Younger—I can win one out of three bouts. He’s the best. Alex—Alexander of Tirragen. He beat me once.” That memory hurt: Alex had nearly killed her. Her recent scar pulled as she dried her arms, and she bit back a yelp. “Thank you—I think.”
They left Berat the next day, Alanna and Faithful on Moonlight, Coram on his bay Anvil, their packhorse Bother, and Liam astride a big-boned grey he called Drifter. The weather was sunny, and the breezes hinted that spring was on its way. They spent the night in a sheltered hollow, out of the wind. Settling into her bedroll, Alanna thought she could hear the forest waking up after the winter rains. Spring was her favorite time of year. She wondered when it came to the Roof of the World.
She rose an hour before dawn to exercise. Liam was already awake, preparing to do the same thing. They came to a silent agreement and found a clearing a little distance away, where they wouldn’t disturb Coram. Faithful trotted after them, to perch on a rock where he could see everything.
She’d exercised for so long that her body knew what was expected. Habit took over, so she could keep an eye on Liam. The Dragon went through intricate routines, slow the first time, fast the second. He punched and blocked with his arms. He kicked from standing positions. Then while leaping, he flipped back and forth with a tumbler’s ease that looked odd on his heavily muscled frame. By the time he finished, he’d exercised every part of his body.
Once that was done, he wiped his face on his arm and looked at Alanna. “Come here.”
Warily she obeyed. Taking Alanna’s hand, Liam shaped it into a thumb-over-fingers fist. “Always hit with the first two knuckles,” he explained. “It’ll get easier if you practice on every flat surface you find—dirt, rock, a wall, whatever. That’s how you build enough callus to protect those two knuckles.” He held up his hands, showing her what he meant.
Liam then guided Alanna through a different punch from the one she’d learned as a page. Her fist started palm up at her waist, turning as she punched until it hit the target palm down. She punched until her right arm was sore, then switched hands.
The man circled, watching. Often he adjusted her feet or repositioned her shoulders. Once he rapped her stomach hard: “Keep those muscles tight!” A
lanna blushed: he’d caught her forgetting something she already knew.
“Picture an opponent right where your punch ends—aim for the bottom of his rib cage,” Liam explained. “On me that’s the same as where my ribs end, but you aim higher. Otherwise you’ll hit most folk on the knees.” Alanna glared at him, then tried again. Later he added high and low punches, then arm blocks. “Practice till it hurts,” he said when they were finished. “You know that from fencing. You do it so much that by the time you need it, you don’t have to think. The punch or the block just happens.”
Alanna nodded, exhausted.
This was your idea, Faithful reminded her as she trudged to the stream to wash. As she rolled up her sleeves—nothing could make her take an outdoor bath at this time of year!—the cat added, When will you learn to leave well enough alone?
Alanna sighed. “When I want to stop learning, I guess.”
Coram was awake when she returned. “It’s your turn to fix breakfast,” he reminded Alanna, adding softly, “Gods help us.” Picking up his gear, he joined Liam at the stream.
Alanna ignored his comment and started to work. Liam was the first to return from the stream. He sat by the fire, watching her movements with suspicion.
“Do you put yourself through this often?” Alanna filled Liam’s bowl with porridge and handed it to him.
The Dragon sorted through his breakfast with a spoon. “Every morning, plus whatever else I fit in later. You clean your armor and weapons regularly, and you do your own exercises.”
“I don’t half kill myself. It isn’t burnt or anything,” she snapped, meaning the porridge. “I know how to cook!”
“Shang discipline is stricter than a knight’s.” He tasted his food, shuddered, and continued to eat.
“Is it worth it?” she demanded. She was stung by his attitude toward her cooking and by the idea that anyone might think themselves better than a proven knight.
He looked at her. “If something happens to my weapons, I can still protect myself and anyone else who comes along.”
