Alanna The First Adventure

chapter three

Ralon

Alanna had not forgotten Ralon of Malven, and he had not forgotten her. Usually they didn’t meet, since he was beginning his training as a squire while Alanna was training as a page. When they did meet, Ralon made it clear they were enemies. He was simply awaiting his chance to get her.

On summer afternoons squires and pages alike ended their lessons with swimming as well as riding. They returned to the palace one such afternoon later than usual. Most of the boys hurried to their rooms to wash up. Alanna was wiping down her pony when she heard a thud. Ralon stood outside Chubby’s stall. His saddle and bridle lay on the ground.

“Curry my horse and hang these up,” he ordered. “I’m going in.”

Alanna stared at him. “You’re joking.”

Ralon shoved her into Chubby. “I said do it.”

Before she could recover her breath, he was gone. She stared after him, clenching and unclenching her fists. She wanted to kill him!

“Are ye goin’t’ do it?”

Alanna looked up, startled. George’s man, the hostler Stefan, swung down from the hayloft above. He was a short, blond youth with pale eyes and reddish skin. Animals loved him, and he was more comfortable with horses than with people, but he seemed to like Alanna and her friends well enough.

It took her a moment to make her voice work. “What?”

“Are ye goin’t’ clean up after yon?” Stefan spat, hitting Chubby’s manger squarely.

Alanna looked at the saddle and drew a breath. Now that she had to take a stand, she was just as scared as she was angry. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

Stefan shrugged. “I’ll have t’ tell his Grace, y’know,” he reminded her. “It’s orders. Th’ lads must look after they own beasts. His Grace must know if they don’t.”

Alanna hesitated. Ralon would murder her. But—if she knuckled under, Ralon would do this all the time.

“Tell,” she said gruffly, going back to work on Chubby. “It’s not my problem.”

“Think on it,” Stefan advised, worry on his round face. “That Ralon won’t like bein’ in trouble wiv his Grace.”

Alanna looked up from her pony, her eyes flat violet. “That’s Ralon’s lookout, isn’t it?” she asked softly. She finished combing Chubby and left.

Stefan shook his head. Th’ lad’s got guts, he thought. Not much sense, but guts.

By bedtime that night the word was out: Ralon had to spend his nights for a month working in the stables. Jonathan’s friends had trouble hiding their glee.

“Serves him right,” Francis remarked. They were sitting in Gary’s room before lights-out. “He just left his tack on the ground. His horse was covered with sweat. That’s no way to treat a good horse.”

“I wonder how he thought he could get away with it?” Alex murmured.

“He probably tried to make some little guy do it,” Raoul said with contempt. “Isn’t that his usual?”

Alanna had been permitted to join them. Now she turned red and looked down at the lacings on her shoes.

Gary saw the blush. “Alan—you were the last one in this afternoon. Do you know about this?”

Alanna didn’t approve of lying, but in a pinch a lie was sometimes better than the truth. “No.”

Raoul grinned. “I’d like to see him mess with our Alan. I’d pound him to a pulp.” Alanna had become a favorite with Raoul, and he didn’t care who knew it.

Alanna made a face. “I do my own fighting, thanks.”

“Raoul just wants an excuse,” Jonathan explained. “He likes hitting Ralon.”

“Ralon didn’t make anyone else put his tack away?” Alex wanted to know. “You didn’t see anything strange?”

Alanna didn’t look up. “No” It wasn’t strange, she excused her lie mentally. Ralon does things like that all the time.

The servants arrived, sending the boys off to bed. Jonathan returned to his room, frowning thoughtfully. Trouble was brewing between Ralon and the boy Alan, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it.

His punishment didn’t keep him from the afternoon rides, so Ralon was with the boys at the swimming hole the next day. The weather was hot and damp. Most of the boys stripped down to their loincloths and leaped into the pool. Alanna sat under a shady tree, looking wistfully at her friends. She would have loved to join them.

Ralon planted himself in front of her. “Too good for us, Master Alan? Afraid to get in the same water with us?”

Alanna looked up. The others were suddenly quiet.

“Leave me alone,” she snapped.

“‘Leave me alone,’” he mocked, swinging his hips. “Too good to swim with us, Alan the Snot?”

“I don’t feel like swimming.” The others were watching her, wondering if she was a coward. He’ll kill me, she thought. I’m just a girl, and he’ll kill me.

Ralon grabbed her arm. “Into the water, page,” he gritted. “We’ll have some fun.”

Alanna rammed herself into Ralon’s stomach. The older boy yelped as he tumbled into the pool, hitting the water with a painful smack.

“Why, Ralon,” cried Raoul. “Let me help you up!” Seizing one of Ralon’s flailing arms, the bigger youth yanked Ralon’s legs from under him. Ralon sank to the bottom with Raoul on top of him. He struggled frantically, but Raoul was impossible to budge. When Ralon finally surfaced, he was half blind and three-quarters drowned. He glared at the wickedly grinning Raoul.

“Malven!” Alanna shouted. She was standing, her fists tight against her sides. “I don’t like to swim. Don’t try to get me in the water again! And don’t order me around, either! The next time you try it, I’ll break your face! D’you hear me?”

Jonathan put a hand on Ralon’s shoulder. “You heard Alan,” the Prince whispered. “Don’t forget.” He shoved Ralon under the water again.

Alanna returned to her seat. Ralon wouldn’t forget this, but there was no sense in worrying about trouble until it happened.

That evening she was serving Sir Myles when Ralon passed her. Under the noise of serving he whispered, “Part payment, snot,” and pinched her viciously.

Alanna dropped the plate she was holding, biting back a yell of pain. She cleaned up the mess, blinking away tears of rage, knowing she would catch it later from Duke Gareth.

“Everyone slips,” Myles told her kindly.

“Uh—Alan—I feel a little tired. Would you be so good as to escort me to my chambers after the King rises?”

She nodded, puzzled. Myles had been drinking lightly this evening. Unless he was drunk, he never asked her to walk him to his rooms.

As she suspected, Myles didn’t need assistance. Once at his rooms, however, he stopped her as she turned to go. “A moment, Alan, if you please.”

Alanna took the seat he pointed to, wondering what he wanted.

The knight lit a branch of candles and put it on the table between her chair and his. He poured himself a glass of brandy, nodding to a bowl of fruit. “Help yourself. I’ll try not to keep you from your dinner too long.”

“Thank you, sir.” Alanna took an orange and began peeling it.

“Young Ralon is picking on you, isn’t he?”

Alanna froze. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Don’t be coy, Alan.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t hide something we’re both aware of. I see much of what goes on here. It’s one reason I drink so much. And I see Ralon bullying you when you’re alone or with the younger boys.”

Alanna shrugged. “I’m not a crybaby or a telltale.”

“Do you think you’ll lose the other boys’ respect if you say anything? Prince Jonathan would be the first to take your side.”

Alanna felt very uncomfortable. “I have to handle this myself.”

Myles shook his head. “What are you trying to prove?” he asked. She refused to answer. He went on bitterly, “I truly love our Code of Chivalry. We are taught that noblemen must take everything and say nothing. Noblemen must stand alone. Well, we’re men, and men aren’t born to stand alone.”

“Nobles are,” Alanna replied. “Or they have to. Isn’t that the same thing?”

Myles shook his head. “No, it isn’t.” He sighed. “You’ll have to fight him in the end.”

“I know, sir.”

“Alan, he’s taller and heavier than you! He’ll kill you!”

Alanna put her orange aside. “Then I fight him till he lets me alone or till I get big enough to beat him. I can’t let him walk all over me, Sir Myles! When you’re—” She stopped, horrified. She had almost admitted she was a girl! She rushed on. “When you’re little, like me, you either quit and get picked on all the time, or you stick it out. I have to stick it out.”

Myles made a face. “Run along to your supper.” She got up to go. “Alan.”

“Sir?”

“If you have to hit—hit low.”

She grinned and bowed. “Thanks, Sir Myles. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Trouble came the next day, in the stables. Alanna was there grooming Chubby; the others were gone. She was dreaming of the horse she would someday own when she heard the stable door creak.

An ugly sneer twisted Ralon’s face. “I suppose you think our talk yesterday was the last one.”

Alanna was shaking with nervous energy. “No,” she said flatly.

Ralon swaggered around her, eyeing her stocky form. “You’re too big for your breeches. You aren’t so much when you don’t have Raoul or Gary to hide behind, are you?”

She clenched her fists. “I don’t hide behind anyone,” she retorted. “And I don’t have to pick on someone littler’n me to prove what a man I am, either!”

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her hard. “I won’t take that from you, dunghill trash!”

She hit low and hard. Ralon doubled over, clutching his lower belly. She waited, legs braced, fists ready. “Take it back. Or I’ll stuff your mouth with dung—since you like it so much!”

Mercifully no one saw her when she returned. Alanna closed her door and bolted it, keeping her head down. Coram had her bath waiting.

“Mother of Darkness,” he whispered when he saw her. “What happened?”

She glanced at the mirror. Her uniform was a bloody, dirty mess. “I fell down.”

Coram forced her to look up at him. She flinched as he wiped her face with a wet cloth. His callused hands were surprisingly gentle. “It’s lyin’ ye are. Ye were in a fight.”

“I said I fell down.” She gasped as he touched her eye.

“Ah. The ground bloodied yer nose, split yer lip and punched ye in th’ eye, all to once. Would ye prefer to say ‘twas yer pony? Th’ others didn’t say ye were hurt, so ye must’ve—fallen—in th’ stables.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said coldly.

He grinned. “I’m off t’ fetch some raw meat for yer eye where th’ ground hit ye. I’ll tell th’ lads ye’re ill.” He clapped her on the shoulder and added gruffly, “Ye’re a plucky lass. I’m proud of ye. And I think it’s time I gave ye a bit of help.”

She lay down after he left. Tears forced themselves from her eyes. This wouldn’t have happened to a real boy.

Someone tapped on the door. “Alan? It’s Raoul. Coram says you’re sick. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Can we come in?”

“No! Go away!”

“Alan—it’s Alex. What’s the matter?”

“There’s nothing the matter!” she yelled. “Just leave me alone!”

Brief silence.

“Alan. Open the door.” This was the Prince, and he was giving an order.

Slowly she obeyed. It was nearly dark—maybe they wouldn’t notice.

All her friends were standing outside. She looked at the floor. “I—I’m sorry I yelled. It’s just the heat, I guess—”

“Look at me,” Jonathan commanded.

That she would not do. He put cool fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face. She gave him look for look with her good eye, ignoring the gasps and murmurs of pity.

“What happened?” the Prince asked finally.

“I fell down, Highness. In the stables.” Now they all knew what a weakling she was.

Jonathan let her go. “I’ll make your excuses to Uncle Gareth. We’ll bring you something to eat later.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m not hungry.”

“Here, lads—what’s this?” Coram was returning with a slice of raw meat. “Alan had a bit of an accident, that’s all. Ye’d best be gettin’ to th’ tables—his Majesty’s about to start.”

The others hurried away. Jonathan hesitated. “I’ll be back,” he told Coram.

The man bowed. “Very good, yer Highness.”

That night the pages ate in silence. After dinner Jonathan and his friends went to Gary’s rooms.

“It was Ralon!” Raoul burst out when they were alone.

“He didn’t like what happened yesterday,” Francis pointed out.

“It’s time we dealt with him,” Alex added in his soft voice. “He forgets his place.”

“I’ll teach it to him,” Raoul growled.

“He forgot the lesson you taught him yesterday,” Gary reminded him.

Raoul smiled coldly. “This time I’ll make sure he knows what the lesson’s about.”

“You’re forgetting something.” They all looked at Jonathan. “Alan won’t admit Ralon hit him. He wants to fight Ralon himself.”

“He can’t,” Raoul protested. “He’s just a little guy. And he doesn’t know how to fight!”

“He’s got courage,” Alex said.

“Courage!” Raoul bellowed. “That coward almost kills him and—”

“Hush!” Jonathan ordered. “Listen. We must be sure. Gary—see if anyone at the stables knows what happened. Perhaps Alan will tell me something. And remember—we have to do it his way. He’d be ashamed if he thought we were fighting his battles.”

The others nodded agreement, and the group split up.

“How do you feel?” the Prince asked.

Alanna struggled to sit up. “Miserable, Highness,” she admitted.

“Poor little man. He really whipped you, didn’t he?”

“Nobody whipped me. I fell.”

He grinned. “Deny it all you want. We both know you had a fight with Ralon and you lost.”

She stuck her chin out stubbornly. “I fell. Your Highness.”

Jonathan patted her shoulder. “You’re pluck to the backbone, young Trebond. Get some sleep.”

Gary found Stefan immediately. The hostler nodded as the young nobleman climbed into his hayloft. “I thought perhaps one o’ ye would be comin’ around. What lie is Master Alan tellin’?”

Gary made a face. “He says he fell down.”

Stefan spat. “Oh, aye, he fell. O’ course, Master Ralon helped him fall, several times. Poor li’l tyke didn’t have a chance.” He chuckled. “But he got Master Malven a good ‘un in th’ nuts t’ start.”

“Why didn’t you stop them?” Gary wanted to know.

Stefan shook his head. “It’s th’ rules—we don’t mess in th’ nobles’ fights. But I’ll say this—if Ralon ever comes back from th’ City wiv a full purse, George’ll have all our ears. George likes Master Alan.”

“Let George do what he wants.” Then Gary frowned. “What do you mean, he’ll have your ears?”

Stefan’s eyes were calm. “George has a collection. One slip an’ he warns ye. Two, an’ he takes an ear—fer his collection. Three mistakes—” Stefan shrugged. “He takes t’other ear an’ all that’s attached. George likes things done right.”

The next afternoon Raoul beat Ralon thoroughly. Ralon broke the code and informed Duke Gareth. From then on Jonathan’s friends left any room Ralon entered. Raoul watched Ralon all the time, just waiting for his chance.

Ralon couldn’t take revenge on Raoul, or Gary, or the Prince. Instead he found an easier victim.

“You told your friends!” he hissed when he caught Alanna in the library alone one day. He blacked her other eye and split her lip again. Four days later he caught her once more. This time Alanna used a few tricks Coram had taught her. She bloodied Ralon’s nose.

Ralon broke her arm.

Each talk she had with Duke Gareth was worse than the last one. Once again she faced him, this time with one arm in a sling.

“I fell down, your Grace,” she said, her face straight.

“Mithros, boy—can’t you think of a better excuse?”

She scuffed a foot. “This one works so well, sir. It—it has tradition behind it.”

Gareth scowled at her. “It certainly does. I’ve heard it from every page who’s been fighting that I ever trained—with a few exceptions.”

“Well, sir, you don’t believe me and I know you don’t believe me, but pride is satisfied all around. Your Grace.”

The Duke had to hide a smile. “You are pert, Alan of Trebond. An extra hour of mathematics for you for the next five weeks. You may go.”

Alanna was opening the door when he added, “I wish you would thrash him. He deserves it.”

She looked back at him. “I will one day, sir. I’m getting tired of falling down.”

While Alanna talked to Duke Gareth, Stefan came to the practice courts in search of the master who was teaching the boys hand-to-hand combat. After Stefan lured the teacher away, Jonathan’s friends surrounded Ralon. He saw Raoul adjusting the padded gloves on his big hands and began to sweat.

Jonathan spoke, his voice icy. “You were warned, Malven. You are no gentleman. You are a dog, and you shall be thrashed like one.”

Gary held Ralon. Raoul administered the beating, his face impossible to read. When the boys’ teacher returned from his wild-goose chase, he found his students practicing wrestling. Ralon, they said, was sick and had gone to his room.

After that Ralon kept to small bits of nastiness, knowing Alanna would never complain to anyone. If she had gone swimming, the others would have seen the many bruises on her body. As it was, she said nothing and continued to study with Coram. She lived with Ralon’s tormenting and spent her free time wrestling and boxing. She fell asleep the moment she rolled into bed, only to rise at dawn to practice some more. She was determined to beat Ralon—it would mean she had finally earned her place among the boys. It would mean that she could do anything larger and stronger males could.

Her splinted arm turned into an advantage. Normally she was right-handed. Now Alanna had to depend on her left hand for everything, and her left hand was the one she first learned to really fight with. She quickly saw that she could be twice as effective using both hands, and worked as hard as she could to develop her skill.

In mid-October the palace healers removed the splint. If they were surprised that her arm had healed so quickly, they said nothing. Impatient to get Ralon, Alanna had used her Gift to help mend her broken bone.

In bed the night the splint was taken off, she waited to hear Coram’s snores before getting up. Quickly she put on dark clothes and picked up her boots. She crept through Coram’s room, trying not to make a sound.

When she got to the door, Coram sighed, “Now what are ye up to?”

Alanna froze. “Go back to sleep.”

“Where are ye goin’?” She could see him sitting up in the dim light from the window.

“If Duke Gareth asks, you won’t be lying when you say you don’t know,” she pointed out.

Coram made a resigned noise. “Lass—it’s restriction to the palace if ye’re caught.”

“I know.”

“All right, then. I won’t bolt the door.” He lay back down and immediately went back to sleep.

It was easy to slip out of the palace and onto the road to the city. Alanna set off at a jog-trot, wishing she was riding Chubby. Still, she knew she couldn’t have ridden out of the palace without being spotted.

The Dancing Dove was bustling. She could barely see through the smoke-filled air, and the noise of the thieves and their ladies having fun was deafening. For a moment she wanted to turn and run, but Ralon was waiting back at home. Better to face George’s friends—who were honest villains—than Ralon the sneak. But how was she to find George in this mess?

A tall, chesty redhead stopped and looked Alanna over. Planting her hands firmly on her hips, the redhead drawled, “A bit young for this place, aren’t you, sonny?”

Her husky voice was teasing, but there was kindness in the lady’s large brown eyes. “I’m looking for George,” Alanna replied. “He said I could find him here.”

The woman made a face. “He did? That sounds like him, tellin’ a bit of a boy t’ come t’ this place at night.”

“I don’t think he expected me to come at night,” Alanna said, always fair.

“Humph. Wait,” the woman ordered. She vanished into the crowded room, to return within minutes. “Come on, then—and have an eye t’ your purse.”

“I didn’t bring one,” Alanna yelled above the din as she followed the redhead.

“Here you be.” The woman shoved Alanna into a clear space before the fire. A table had been set beside the hearth and George sat at its head. Gathered around him were men and women who eyed Alanna curiously.

George had an odd expression in his eyes as he looked her over. Finally he spoke. “Alan, this is Rispah, the Queen of the ladies who follow the Rogue. Alan’s a friend of mine—from the country.”

Rispah gave a crooked grin. “I’m sure he is.” Raising her voice, she called, “Solom, you old dotard, bring lemonade for the boy. Can’t you see he’s parched?” She looked at Alanna. “Unless you want somethin’ stronger, youngling?”

Alanna turned bright red. “No, thank you.”

Rispah went back to her friends. Alanna remained standing. Why was George looking at her so strangely?

At last the man said, “I hear you’re havin’ trouble with the Malven.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” she agreed. I shouldn’t have come, she thought.

Solom appeared with a tankard of lemonade. “Welcome back, Master Alan.” He smiled. “I see yer arm be healed.”

“Good as new. Thanks, Solom.” She accepted the tankard and looked at George. “May I?”

“Yes, of course. Sit down.”

Alanna clenched one hand behind her back. Here came the hard part. “Actually—can we go talk alone?” She drew a deep breath. Asking for things was not easy. “I—I need a favor.”

George stood, grim faced. “We’ll go to my chambers.” He put an arm around her shoulders and added, “Solom, we’re not to be disturbed.”

The innkeeper nodded. “As ye say, Majesty.”

George climbed a narrow staircase leading upstairs, Alanna following. “They call you ‘Majesty’?” she asked, shocked.

“Why not? I’m king here—more king than the man who sits atop the big hill. My people wouldn’t give him a word in passing, but they follow my slightest wish.”

“I suppose,” she said doubtfully.

George unlocked a sturdy door. “You’re careless, young Alan, but you’re polite.” He inspected each corner of his two rooms before waving her inside. “Sit.” He lit a branch of candles from the torch in the hall before closing the door. Alanna looked around at the plain wood furniture, noting how neat and clean the room was. She also noted that the candlestick George placed on the table was silver, while the frame on the mirror hanging on his bedroom door was wrought gold.

The thief settled his length into one of the chairs by the table while Alanna took another. “Why am I careless?” she wanted to know. “I made sure no one saw me leave the palace.”

The funny look was still in George’s eyes. “Humph.” He did not sound convinced. “A favor, you say. What’s it to be? A throat cutting? Some of my bully boys taking Ralon into an alley for a chat?”

Alanna stood, shoving her chair from the table so hard that it fell over. “If that’s what you think I want, I’m off,” she snapped. “I—I thought—” She bit a trembling lip. How could he think she would make such a disgraceful request?

“Easy, lad. Here.” George picked up the chair and pressed her back into it. “I misjudged you. Forgive me. I’ve known many nobles who take advantage. How was I to know you aren’t one of them?”

Alanna frowned, puzzled. “What d’you mean, ‘nobles who take advantage’?”

George sighed and sat down. “I’ve known nobles who thought I should be grateful for their friendship—grateful enough to do them all sorts of favors. They wanted a kept thief, not a friend. I thought at first that’s what you came for. Now I see you’re here as a friend, askin’ a friend’s help. It isn’t a beatin’ for Ralon that you want? It’s a beatin’ he needs.”

“That’s what I want,” she said grimly, “but I want to be the one to beat him.”

“Better and better. Why come to me, then?”

She stared at her hands. “Coram’s been teaching me boxing and wrestling, but Ralon already knows those things. He’s a squire. I hoped you might know some hand fighting they don’t teach us at the palace.”

George thought about this. “Haven’t they a Shang master up there? The Shangs know more tricks than anyone can hope to learn—unless you started as young as they do.”

Alanna shook her head. “The last Shang master left a few days after I arrived. Sir Myles says they don’t like to settle down.”

George nodded. “He’s right. They wander from the day they leave Shang till the day they die. Peculiar folk, Shang warriors. So.” He leaned back, watching her. “Why d’you think I can teach you better than a man who cut his eyeteeth on a sword?”

“But that’s it. Coram is a swordsman. I bet you win your fights bare-handed, or with a knife.”

George grinned. “You’re right at that.” He stood, removing his vest and boots. “Take off your cloak, then, and the shoes. Your first lesson starts now.”

For weeks Alanna worked with Coram and George. She began to surprise her masters with her ability to keep going when bigger boys were exhausted. Alanna’s silence bothered Ralon, but he never realized what she planned for him. He continued to pester her when he got the chance; and when a chance didn’t turn up, he made his opportunities. Alanna said nothing. She knew the older boys suspected the feud was still going on, but this was her fight. She would show everyone—including that part of her that was always wondering—that she was as good as any boy in the palace.

Shortly before Midwinter Festival, in December, Alanna was relaxing with George after a lesson. The thief pushed a tankard of ale at her. “Drink up,” he ordered. “Are you waitin’ till you’re a man grown before you give Malven what’s comin’ to him?”

Until now George had never let her have anything but lemonade. “You think I’m ready?” she asked in a very small voice.

“’Tis not my opinion that matters. The only way you’ll win is if you think you’re ready.”

She saw what he meant. Smiling grimly, she raised her tankard to him and drank the ale down.

The next day all the boys were exercising in the indoor practice courts. Alanna watched Ralon all afternoon as she waited for her chance. She was scared: her face felt hot, her hands shook. If she failed, she would leave Court. She couldn’t be a knight if Ralon continued to beat on her. And today was her day. She had never felt so strong and so prepared.

The teachers left. Ralon was in a corner, punching a straw dummy. Alanna drew a deep breath and walked out into the center of the floor.

She announced clearly, “Ralon of Malven has beggars and thieves for ancestors.” Excuse me, George, she added silently. “He’s the son of a lizard and a demon. He has all the honor of a weasel. He can’t even fight in the open like a man and a noble. He picks his fights in back halls—so no one can see him cheat.”

The boys were open-mouthed with surprise. Suddenly Gary beat on Jonathan’s shoulder, grinning savagely. “I knew it!” he whispered. “I knew he’d do it!”

Ralon was staring at Alanna, gasping for words. “What did you say?” he finally squeaked.

“Liar. Sneak. Coward. Bully.” She threw the words at him. “You disgrace your name. D’you want me to write it down for you? Oh—I forgot. You can’t read, either.”

“Shut up!” Ralon screamed, his eyes bulging. “You pig! You wouldn’t be so brave if your friends weren’t here to do your fighting—”

“I fight my own battles!” she snapped. “I want satisfaction for all I’ve taken from you. They’re my witnesses.”

Ralon looked at the others. “They won’t step in, no matter what?” he asked slyly.

“They won’t. I swear on my honor as a gentleman. You’d better swear by something else, though. You don’t have any honor.” She slapped him with all her strength and ducked.

Ralon swung at her, missed, and Alanna came up under his swing to ram into his chest. He yelped and grabbed her hair. She punched him twice in the stomach, hard, ignoring the pain as some hair came out of her scalp. Ralon seized her throat, choking her. She shoved her thumb into his eye, stamping hard on one of his feet at the same time. Ralon screamed in pain, breaking away. They circled each other carefully. Now Ralon knew something had changed since the last time they had fought. He was sweating heavily as he charged.

Alanna lunged forward, thrusting her hip between Ralon’s legs. He stumbled. She helped him fall by throwing him over her hip. Quickly she knelt on his back, knowing better than to let him up. Twisting his arms up behind him, with one hand, she used her other hand to pull his head up by the hair.

“Give up?” she panted. Ralon, gasping, nodded. She stood up, and he leaped at her, landing a wild punch on her cheek. Thanks to the dishonorable George, Alanna was ready for this. She slammed a fist up and under, into his stomach again, knocking the breath from his body. Swiftly she broke his nose with the other hand. Ralon collapsed, crying like a small child.

Alanna stood back, heaving as she fought for breath. She wiped sweat from her eyes. “Never touch me again. If you do, I swear—I swear by Mithros and the Goddess—I’ll kill you.” Ralon lay there, still crying.

Alanna turned to her friends. “Let’s go wash.”

Ralon called out, “Alan of Trebond!”

Alanna turned back to look. Her enemy was on his feet. He was a bloody mess with crazy eyes. “I’ll make you pay for this!” he screamed. “Just wait—I’ll make you sorry!”

Raoul clapped Alanna on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “It’s getting windy in here.”

Myles found her alone in her room, sitting in the dark. “You weren’t at dinner tonight,” the knight commented. Alanna blinked at him with surprise as he lit a candle.

“Ralon of Malven has left Court,” Myles went on, sitting in her only chair. “Your servant Coram is bragging to his fellow Guardsmen that he knew you could do it all along. The other boys want to celebrate—they think you’re a hero. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

She splashed cold water on her face. “Is it? I don’t know.” She rubbed her face dry and looked at him. “I threw up after,” she confessed. “I hate myself. I just knew more than Ralon did. And he always loses his temper when he fights—I took advantage of that. I’m as bad as he was.”

“I doubt Ralon ever threw up after he beat someone smaller and younger than he was.”

Alanna frowned. “You think so?”

“I’m sure of it.” Myles nodded. “Alan, there will come a time when you, a knight, will have to fight someone less well trained than you. It can’t be helped, and it doesn’t make you a bully. It just means you learn to use your skills wisely.”

Alanna thought about this. At last she sighed and shook her head. It was too much just then.

Myles ruffled her hair. “So now you’ve proved you’re a warrior to the whole palace. Surely you want to celebrate.”

Alanna made a face. No matter what Myles said, she had used fancy tricks to beat Ralon, that was all. She was still a girl masquerading as a boy, and sometimes she doubted that she would ever believe herself to be as good as the stupidest, clumsiest male.

The door opened. “Sir Myles. You beat me here.” It was Prince Jonathan. “How’s Alan?”

Myles stood. “I think he’s tired. Alan, I’m going, but I wish you’d think about what I said.”

“I always think about the things you tell me,” she admitted. She gave him her hand. “Thanks, Sir Myles.”

The knight bowed to Jonathan and left. The Prince looked at Alanna. “What was that about?”

Alanna shrugged. “I think we were talking about what makes a bully.”

“A bully fights people littler and weaker than he is because he thinks it’s fun,” Jonathan said flatly. “Did you enjoy fighting Ralon? We’ll forget for now he’s older than you and a squire.”

“When we were actually fighting—maybe,” she replied slowly. “After—no.”

“You won’t find anyone smaller than you are, so you can’t beat on them,” the older boy said practically. “And after today we’re all going to think twice about whether you’re the weakest. Look, young Trebond—what did you think studying to be a knight was about?”

Suddenly Alanna felt much better. “Thanks, Highness.” She grinned. “Thanks a lot.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “You may have noticed my friends call me Jonathan, or Jon.”

Alanna looked up at him, not sure what was going on. “And am /your friend, Highness?”

“I do believe you are,” he told her quietly. “I’d like you to be.” He offered her his hand.

She took it. “Then I am—Jonathan.”