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. “One 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 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 her 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!”
“Speakin’ of anything,” Coram said as he banked the fire for the night. “What next? Where do we go in the morning?”