Lioness Rampant (7 page)

“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 gray 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!” Alanna 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.”

Alanna shut up.

Her curiosity didn't desert her for long. “How
long have you been doing this?” she asked when they'd been riding for several hours.

Liam had to think a moment. “Thirty years, give or take a month.”

“Thirty
years
!”

He nodded. “I was four when the Shang Bear came to our village and looked us young ones over. Of us all, he said I ‘might do.' I wouldn't let me dadda alone until he sent me. Lucky I wasn't the oldest, or I'd be a farmer now.” He looked at her and smiled. “Then I wouldn't have met you.”

Alanna looked away. When he turned all of his charm on her, she could feel her insides melt.

Think about what you're getting into,
Faithful advised.

Alanna glared at him. “I'm not ‘getting into' anything, and I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself!” she snapped. Seeing Liam's stare, she turned red.

“Is that a cute habit of yours, or did he really speak?” His face had an odd, tight look; his eyes were pale crystal in color.

“He talks. Sometimes other people understand him. Most of the time they don't. Faithful is the one who decides.”

“Magic.” Liam frowned. “That's right—you have it.”

“You have something against people with the Gift?” She suddenly felt defensive.

Their eyes met and held, until he grinned and pinched her nose. Crystal was replaced by blue-green. “Since it's
you
, kitten, I'll make an exception.”

Alanna decided it was time Moonlight had a gallop. Kicking the mare lightly, they leaped ahead, leaving the Dragon behind—for a little while.

There's so much we don't know about each other,
she reflected as she watched Liam cook their night's meal. I
know he's the Dragon, which means he's brave and adventurous and probably has a temper—dragons are supposed to be fierce and protective. It means he's a hero if ever there are real heroes.

She sighed.
Will he come to the Roof with us? I'd feel a lot easier if I knew I had a Dragon at my back up there.

“Do you plan to marry?” Liam asked suddenly.

“What?” she cried, startled.

“You heard me. Your plans for the future—do they include a husband? Children?”

She fingered her ember-stone. “Give up my shield
after working so hard? Spend my time at court or on my husband's lands? I have no patience for that kind of life. Besides—I don't know anything about children younger than ten.”

“Have you ever tried to learn?”

“When did I have a chance?” she wanted to know. “Child care is one of the
few
duties a squire isn't expected to perform, Ironarm! The Bazhir never asked me to, unless a child was sick. Then I was a healer, not a nanny.”
Why was he asking such uncomfortable questions?

“I just wondered why you feel you have to be all warrior or all woman. Can't you be both?”

Coram came back from washing, sparing Alanna the need to answer Liam's question. It was just as well—she had no answer.

How did Liam unsettle her in so many different ways? Neither Jonathan nor George had laid siege to her as he did.
I wish he'd stop putting me off balance, but he doesn't seem to want to do that, either.
Liam glanced up; their eyes met and held.

Coram broke the silence, kicking the Dragon gently. “Kindly wait t'romance her till I'm not here,” he advised. “I've a father's interest in my lady still. And go easy on her. She's not used to the game ye're playin'.”

Liam grinned; Alanna blushed. “I can speak for myself,” she protested.

If you wanted to,
Faithful put in. Coram guffawed, and Alanna decided to go for a walk rather than stay to be teased.

When she returned, Coram looked up hopefully. She'd been too tired the preceding night to show him Rispah in the fire. Now she crouched and held her palms out to the flames, reaching for her Gift. Her fingers glowed with purple fire: She sent it into the flames, until they matched the color of her Gift. Rispah's image took shape, and Coram drew close, his eyes riveted on her.

She walked away, leaving Coram in private. Where was Liam? Why had he left—because he didn't want to intrude? Or did it have something to do with her Gift? He'd sounded very odd when he mentioned it that morning.

She checked the horses and the spring, with no luck. At last she found him in a clearing near the stream, lying under a willow.

“You use your magic a lot,” he said flatly as she drew near.

“I've had it all my life. I'm used to it by now.” She sat beside him, puzzled by the odd tone of his voice.
“You must have seen plenty of sorcery, roaming the way you do.”

His smoky voice was quiet. “No one is Gifted in Shang.”

Reaching to pluck a stalk of wildgrass, she stopped. She couldn't have heard correctly. “You keep us out
on purpose? Why?
”

He wouldn't look at her. “The Gifted use magic for a crutch. They won't surrender to Shang study, because they know the Gift can always win them an escape.”

“We
cheat
, you mean.” She bit back other angry words.

“You'd be helpless, if your Gift was taken,” he challenged.

“Of course not!”

“How do you
know
?”

That silenced her. She
didn't
know. All her life she'd had magic, even when she'd tried to ignore it. “I can't
help
being Gifted,” she replied at last. “I tried to fight it, when I was a page. Then the Sweating Sickness came and a lot of people died. Prince Jonathan would have died, too, if I hadn't used my Gift.”