Written by Giovanna
It was raining. Lightning split the sky and the thunder’s heavy vibrations slightly shook the carriage.
A face gloomy enough to match the weather peered out of the carriage’s single window. Violet eyes fringed with long lashes were somewhat glazed - with inheld tears, or perhaps fear, or even excitement.
With a sigh, Alanna of Trebond pulled away from the window and examined her surroundings. The carriage was cozy and well ‘padded’; pillows and thick blankets were everywhere. Probably to stop the voyager from rattling to death! Alanna thought grimly.
Alanna had been in traveling for about a full day. She and her small escort had left the Mother of Mountains Convent that morning. Their destination: Corus, capital city of Tortall. Home King Roald and Queen Lianne, and their court. Home of the pages and squires and Prince Jonathan and...
Duke Roger of Conté, Alanna thought darkly. My betrothed. Who would think that I would be taken so quickly!? I just turned sixteen - I haven’t even completed my years at the Convent!
Ever since her father, Lord Alan of Trebond, had discovered ancient and powerful spells, and ever since her twin, Thom of Trebond, had healed Prince Jonathan, Crown Prince of Tortall, of a terrible thing called the ‘Sweating Sickness’, Trebond had gained importance and admiration and respect. And word spread of the family’s eligible daughter and son - marrying into Trebond would bring power beyond belief, surely!
Alanna closed her eyes tight, willing the tears she knew were brimming to go away. I can’t cry, she told herself. I won’t cry! I knew this would be my fate...it’s every woman’s fate...but why so soon? She was prevented from thinking other gloomy things when the carriage suddenly jolted to a stop.
Confused, Alanna slightly pushed open the door and called up to the driver,
“What’s going on?”
“M’lady, there’s a road-block ahead. Your guards rode up to see if we can pass it and make it to an inn tonight,” the rough, yet respectful, voice replied.
“What if we can’t?” asked Alanna.
“Then we’ll have to find a small clearing and strike up a camp, m’lady,” was the answer. “Don’t worry m’lady. Just sit back and relax. We’ll make it to Corus soon enough.”
But I don’t want to go...
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Chapter I
Thom tried not to get irritated when his friends surrounded him, pestering him for answers. But it was hard not to - Prince Jonathan, Raoul, Gary, and Alex were very persistent!
“The wedding’s during Beltane!”
“You are coming, aren’t you Thom?”
“’Course he is; it’s his sister!”
“It’s my cousin!”
“Anyone for you, Jon?”
“What about Thom? Has anyone claimed your name?”
And so it went. Thom just sat back in his chair and stared at his friends with wide, unseeing violet eyes. He was completely dazed by the events which had started a few weeks ago - it had all started when Duke Roger moved him from the squires’ second-year magic classes to the squires’ fourth-year magic classes. It continued with the announcement of the Duke’s marriage - apparently, it was a royal command, as rumors had it that families were complaining that Roger was ‘spoiling’ the unwedded ladies - and finished when Thom was told that it was his sister that was to be Roger’s bride.
Thom was very confused.
That confusion was suddenly apparent to his friends, who stopped talking and approached him.
“Thom?” asked Raoul, waving a hand before Thom’s unseeing eyes. Thom jerked and snapped back to the present.
“What?”
“Sorry, but you look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” Raoul replied in a matter-of-fact voice.
Shaking his head, Thom stood up and moved to his window, which was slightly frosted over. He frowned and pointed at the fireplace; instantly, a merry fire warmed the room.
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked, sitting in the chair his younger friend had abandoned. “Ever since we were told that it was your sister that is going to...oh.” He shook his head ruefully. “I see it now. Thom, I do believe you’re jealous.”
“What!?” exclaimed Thom, glaring at Alex. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Alex began haughtily, “that you’re jealous of the fact that your sister got recognition before you.”
Prince Jonathan and Gary shook their heads. “That’s not it,” Jon protested. Raoul frowned.
“Maybe you guys -”
“No, Jon’s right,” interrupted Thom. Everyone looked at him; the squire was fiddling with his belt and scabbard. “I’m not jealous. I’m shocked. Horrified, even.”
“Gods above, why?” demanded Alex. “Your family is about to be joined to Tortall’s royal house! Your sister’s child could become heir to the throne if - gods forbid - there was no one else!”
“But it’s wrong,” whispered Thom. “Alanna has only just turned sixteen. She hasn’t even finished her education in the convent - and now she receives not only a royal command, but my father’s order, that she is to go to Corus and marry the King’s nephew, who is probably twice her age! Alanna hasn’t lived yet! Almost half of her life has been spent behind cold stone walls, learning about sewing and cooking and walking and talking and singing and dancing and dressing...” The words were thrown out with such malice that Thom’s friends were taken aback. Thom had never forgiven the fate the gods had dealt out; if only he were in the City of the Gods and Alanna here...things would have been so much fairer! “And now, all she has to look forward to is a life full of boring pleasures - as the wife of such an important man has to be proper - and nights under a...” Thom trailed off, his face red with embarrassment and anger.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Finally, Jon cleared his throat. “Ah...after your...ah...speech...we...we can understand what you’re getting at, but -”
“No, you don’t understand,” Thom snarled. “I’m about to see my other half married to your cousin. She doesn’t even know the man!”
“But this is what noble ladies do all the time,” Jon retorted.
Thom closed his mouth and stared at the floor in a stony silence.
“Isn’t it?” asked Jon uncertainly, glancing at his friends. They shrugged uncomfortably, avoiding meeting one-another's eyes. Thom muttered under his breath and moved to his closet. The other, taking the hint, left and closed the door.
Alone, Thom looked up at the ceiling in despair.
“Alanna!” he moaned.
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Chapter II
Alanna tapped her fingers on her lap, a sign that betrayed how nervous she was. Bored too - well, anyone would get bored of sitting in a small compartment during a thunderstorm, while your only companions were trying to fix a roadblock, and there was no way to tell the time.
Still, I should be happy about this. It means I’ll get to Corus behind schedule. I have more ‘free-time’.
“It’s nothing more than a stolen moment,” she whispered. Gods, what was it with her? Why was she suddenly crying at the slightest thing? She wasn’t a leaky wineskin!
Stolen moment.
A sudden curse from the carriage’s driver made Alanna spring to her feet - only to bump her head. Muttering unladylike words, Alanna pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and stuck her head out of the window.
“What’s going on now?” she demanded the driver, who looked somewhat nervous.
“It’s queer, m’lady.”
“What’s queer, freeman?” replied Alanna.
“It’s queer that the soldiers haven’t returned yet. It’s been more than two hours.”
I’ve been sitting in here for two hours, Alanna thought. It seemed longer than that...
“Two hours? And they didn’t send a messenger to tell us what was going on?”
“No, m’lady.”
Alanna paused for a moment, thinking things through. Finally, she called up, “What could have happened?”
The driver shook his head and replied in a grim voice, “They could be working on clearing the roadblock. Or they could have deserted us.”
“What if bandits attacked them?”
“Impossible!” snorted the driver. “There are no bandits this close to the City of Gods.”
“So they’re either working, or they deserted us. May I make a suggestion?”
“M’lady.”
“Will you ride up and see?”
After that, things went quickly. When she thought about it months - years even - later, Alanna could never recall precisely what had happened. All she remembered was that the driver unhitched one of the four carriage horses, rode it up the road and around the bend and disappeared. She could remember that she had sat back in the carriage, waiting, twiddling her fingers in nervousness.
And she did remember the axe that cut through one of the carriage’s walls and the poison that knocked her out.
The first thing that registered on her mind was the foul taste in her mouth. Alanna bolted up, leaned over, and spat on the ground, trying to rid herself of that terrible, undescribable taste, wishing for some fresh water.
Which was handed to her in a wineskin.
Alanna looked at the hand that offered it - brown, callused, long fingers - then moved her gaze towards its owner, who gazed back with calm eyes. Then, all politeness gone, Alanna grabbed the wineskin, took a sip, swished the cool water in her mouth, and spat it out. Then she gulped the rest of the liquid down.
“I thought all you nobles were polite,” the person commented, voice lilting with a commoner’s accent. “And that the noble-women were all a-gossip and pretty words.”
Alanna considered her answer. Then, her voice hoarse, she replied, “I was thirsty.”
Her captor laughed softly. “That’s very good, lady. Stick to the truth.”
“What did you do to my escort?”
The commoner said, “You should be a-sleeping.”
And a hand from behind jammed a drugged cloth over Alanna’s nose and mouth; she fainted immediately.
“And just what do you think we should do?” demanded the man known as the Rogue.
“I say she’s unneeded trouble,” replied Ian Tanner, his dark eyes constantly flicking to their sleeping captive. “We never agreed to take a woman, much less the betrothed of some duke!”
Another thief, sitting across from Ian and the Rogue, tilted her head sideways. She was lean and wiry from years of poverty, abuse, and work - but she was an accomplished and respected thief. “I think she’s good ransom money. We can buy our pardon with her.”
“Let’s just rape her and kill her,” another thief barked. “I see no reason why we should sacrifice our safety with a Gifted noble-woman. They’ll start looking for her in no time. Besides, she’s another mouth to feed.”
George Cooper listened to all the arguments calmly. As the King of Thieves, and the present leader of this band of outlaws, he alone had the right to decide what they were going to do. Mutiny was unthinkable...
“You all have good points,” he said at last. “I say that we should keep her for awhile - if the searches for her get to be...unmanageable for us, say, we’ll rid of her.”
“How?” the man who suggested rape demanded.
“Jago, I don’t know.” George stretched; immediately, he regretted the movement. The wound he had gained a week past shot a jolt of pain down his entire body.
The other thieves noticed his wince.
“George, this can’t go on,” the woman thief told him sternly, handing him a pot of ointment, which George refused.
“I’m not going to put ointment on a gaping, bleeding hole, Gwen,” he snapped. “Let the thing clot and form a scab - then I’ll use your cursed ointment!”
Gwen shook her head. She knew what George knew but refused to say; the Rogue was wounded badly. If he didn’t get help, and soon, the gash would become more infected than it already was. George already was boasting a fever.
He’s a-dying...
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Chapter III
Thom was woken by someone pounding mercilessly on his door. Dimly, he remembered that the midnight call was sounded a few hours back - half-blind with sleep, he lit a candle and moved towards the door.
“Damn it,” he yawned, unlocking it. “Damn it, damn it, damn - Jonathan?”
The Prince returned his astonished look with a frown.
“Father wants to see you,” was all he said before walking off. Muttering about unwelcome-midnight summons, Thom hastily threw on some breeches, a shirt, and a thick surcoat before running after his knight-master.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. Jon said nothing and continued to walk towards the Royal Apartments.
Finally, the two youths stopped by the door which Thom recognized as the entrance to the King’s private library. Jon pushed it open and entered the cozy room, Thom stumbling after him.
King Roald and Queen Lianne were seated before a merry fire. Duke Gareth of Naxen was seated near the windows. Duke Roger was pacing, his face unreadable. Everyone looked up when the Prince and his squire entered.
“Father,” Jonathan greeted. “Here’s Thom of Trebond.”
Thom approached the King. He bowed, but could not help glancing questionably at his rulers.
“Rise Thom, and take a seat,” said King Roald, his clear voice strained. Puzzled, Thom obeyed.
“No doubt you are wondering why I have summoned you at this hour,” Roald continued.
“Yes, Majesty.”
“It cannot wait until the morning. I have some unpleasant news.”
Thom sat a bit straighter, but gasped when Queen Lianne said softly,
“Thom, your sister was ambushed a day’s ride away from the City of the Gods.”
Thom stared at his queen, disbelief written all over his face. He didn’t know that his skin had become a dangerous shade of white, or that his purple eyes shone with emotion.
Jon’s hand on his shoulder reminded him where he was. “Ambushed? Is...is she...”
“We have no way of knowing,” Duke Gareth replied quietly. “All the scouts found were the carriage and three of four horses. Everyone else was missing - but five kilometers east, they spotted Lady Alanna’s escort.”
“And my sister?”
“No one knows.”
Thom risked a glance at Alanna’s betrothed. Roger was now leaning against a wall, arms crossed, head thrust down so that his chin touched his chest.
“We have just organized a search for your sister,” Duke Gareth continued. “But there are a few things we need to know. Firstly, she has the Gift?”
“Yes, your grace,” Thom replied quietly. “Lot’s of it.”
Roger inhaled sharply.
“She gets it from both the Tasride and Trebond lines,” Thom explained. “It’s just as big as mine, but I don’t remember what it’s for.”
“That answers my second question,” Duke Gareth sighed. “So we can only look for a powerful Gift.”
Thom ducked his head. “The color of its essence is violet, like mine.”
“Unquestionably.”
King Roald shook his head. “Squire Thom, I’m sorry about your sister. I can’t promise anything - she may or may not turn up. But you have my word that we’ll get her back - that goes for you too, Roger.”
The Duke grunted.
“Meanwhile, you should get back to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
Taking the hidden dismissal, Thom bowed and returned to his room, his heart thumping against his chest.
What have you gotten yourself into now?
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Chapter IV
Alanna groaned. That acrid taste was still in her mouth, but she couldn’t be bothered with mustering up the saliva so she could spit it out.
She was on her back and something was poking it. After a moment’s consideration, she realized that her hands were bound behind her - and they were extremely numb. Alanna brought her knees up to her face and passed her arms over them. It was a trick she had learned before going to the convent; now her hands were resting on her stomache. They looked extremely white.
The blood flow is cut off, Alanna thought dimly. She considered trying to gnaw the ropes off, but decided against it. I’ll end up with broken teeth and sore jaw muscles.
Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long for her blood flow to resume. About ten minutes after she had awoken, the sound of leather on stone resounded in the small cave. Alanna’s head jerked to the left - she saw a pair of well used boots from very close up.
There was a hiss of indrawn breath. Looking up, Alanna met the dark eyes of the man who had offered her water.
“George’ll have your ear, Gwen,” the man muttered, staring back at Alanna. Then, louder, he said, “Are you thirsty?”
Licking dry lips, Alanna croaked, “Yes. But don’t bother to fetch me water if you’re going to drug me again.”
The man just blinked.
“Listen, I don’t know who you are, or who this George is, but I know my rights,” snapped Alanna, finally losing it. “I’m a noble and it is simply unexcusable for you to treat me like this!” To prove her point, she struggled to her knees, then stood up slowly, stars dancing in her eyes. When she had steadied somewhat, she stuck her chin out and looked the man eye-to-eye. “Cut me loose. Now.”
The man tilted his head slightly, a small smile playing on his features. “And if I do? Will you run away? Will you hit us over the heads? And your Gift - what’s stopping you from blasting me here and now?”
At that slur on her sense of morality, Alanna stiffened. “I, sir, am a healer,” she said in a deadly whisper. “I do not use my Gift to murder. I do not use my Gift to murder unGifted people!”
“A healer?” the man inquired. His face was suddenly relieved.
“Yes,” snapped Alanna. “You know what I am. Now who are you?”
“Ian Tanner,” the man replied with a small duck of his head. “And who are you - besides arrogant, a healer, and a noble?”
Alanna sniffed. “Alanna of Trebond, betrothed to Duke Roger of Conté.” Take that, you sniveling little bandit.
Ian’s eyes widened. “So you’re...never mind.”
Eyes narrowed, Alanna said, “I’m what? And I think I told you to cut my bonds?” She held out her numb hands. Smiling dimly, Ian took out a wicked looking dagger and cut the rough ropes, which fell to the ground. Alanna rubbed her hands, trying to improve her blood circulation.
Ian regarded her closely for a moment, then grabbed her shoulder firmly and led her outside her cave. Apparently, Alanna’s captives had found a whole group of dry, comfortable caves and were making good use of them.
“Where are you taking me?” demanded Alanna.
“To see George,” was the only reply she got.
Cursing under her breath, Alanna followed meekly when Ian pushed her to an extremely large, well lighted cave. There was a small fire in the middle; three scruffy looking people were arranged around the merrily burning flames.
“George, I brung her,” Ian said bluntly. One of the two men, who sat with his back to the fire, turned slowly, face pale and drawn. When he was facing Ian and Alanna, he broke out in sweat and bit his lips. He looked as if he were in terrible pain.
His companions, a vicious-looking brute and a lean woman, shot George worried glances, but did not move to help him. Alanna saw the spark of pride in the man’s overly-bright hazel eyes and knew why.
“So you’re George,” she said, breaking the silence.
The other man growled softly. “You address him properly, woman!”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” spat Alanna, glaring at the brute spitefully. “I suppose I should treat you people with the utmost respect, no? After all, you did ambush me, drug me, and tie my up, and all without taking my virtue!”
The man jumped to his feet, but George shot him a look and shook his head slightly. Growling, Alanna’s would-be attacker sat down again, but kept his angry eyes on her.
“Yes, I’m George,” said the man known as George. His voice, lilted with a commoner’s accent, was hoarse with pain and weariness. “My people in the city know me as the King of Thieves, or the Rogue. And you are?”
“Alanna of Trebond,” retorted Alanna. “May I ask by what right you hold me captive?”
George shrugged. “We’re still deciding on that. Would you like to sit down?”
Ian, forgotten until then, nudged Alanna to a log. Ignoring her dress, Alanna sat down, keeping her eyes on George. “Thank you very much. You are still deciding on why you ambushed me? I’m afraid that’s unsatisfactory.”
The Rogue gave her a crooked smile. “Are all you noblewomen like this?”
“Like what?”
“Never mind.” George looked down at his torso for a moment, then continued, “You have the Gift. I Saw it.”
“I’m a healer, yes. You don’t have to worry about me killing you all in your sleep. Most likely I’ll run back to the convent and contact my brother in Corus,” replied a sarcastic Alanna. “He’ll fix you straight.”
George shrugged. “I’ve heard of ‘healer-honor’, my mother being a healer herself. But I cannot afford such a valuable captive an escape opening.”
“She’s betrothed to that Conté duke,” Ian told George quietly. “She’s more valuable than we thought.”
“I still think she’s another mouth too many to feed,” the brutish man grumbled, his eyes alight with a hungry desire.
“Jago,” was all George said. His voice rang with warning. “Remember, this is your second time. I usually take an ear then. You should consider yourself to be fortunate, eh?”
Jago shrugged.
Alanna listened, stupefied. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but I believe I’m still sitting next to you outlaws. Is that what you are? Dishonorable thieves?”
Suddenly, the cave seemed much colder. Alanna’s four captors stiffened; the woman’s face hardened; a low growl started in Jago’s throat; Ian glared angrily at Alanna; George regarded her with cool eyes.
“Thieves yes. Dishonorable...depends on what honor is. If you consider killing a man to protect someone dishonorable, then...” George trailed off, shaking his head.
“Who was the man?” Alanna demanded.
“I killed the Lord Provost’s son. That young noble-chicken was harassing my cousin. With half a dozen of his men.” George shifted slightly, so that his ankles were crossed. Alanna couldn’t help but notice how every single movement the man made was slow and halting.
“So,” George continued. “How shall I keep you here? Telling me that you have honor is no good. I could rope you down so you won’t go pulling the bag over our eyes.”
“No, please,” Alanna cried, wincing when she remembered her hands. “A compromise, please!”
The Rogue lifted an eyebrow. “A compromise? Why not? We keep you untied and you...as you’re a healer...heal me of my wound. Simple. And if you slip away during the night, I’ll have Jago track you down. He is one of the best trackers in Tortall after all, and I don’t want to think about what he’d a-do to you when he catches you.”
Understanding his meaning, Alanna shuddered. “Sounds fair. So I’ll heal you.” Please, Goddess, let this be the right thing to do... she thought silently.
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Chapter V
The sunlight streaming through the drawn curtains made Roger wince, but he didn’t move. He just felt so lazy and content at the moment, laying next to his mistress, the silk sheets an exquisite sensation for his bare skin.
Propping himself up on an elbow, he looked down at Delia of Eldorne. He wanted to remember all of her; her soft lips, her long lashes, the way her brow wrinkled slightly when she slept, as if she was deep in thought...
Unfortunately, Roger thought, there are no brains to go with the looks. Well, maybe a gram. That’s it. Roger was heartily sick of Delia’s witlessness...
Delia stirred, mumbling softly in her sleep. Roger got up and pulled on his trousers and a pair of boots, then moved to the window and pushed away the curtains.
It was a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly, there were hardly any clouds. The only reminder of what time of year it was was the icicles hanging from almost every window-ledge.
And I have to go out today, he thought glumly. He wasn’t looking forward to the four-day ride to the City of the Gods - but his uncle, King Roald, had commanded him, Squire Thom of Trebond, several knights and some soldiers to go to where Lady Alanna was last seen before being ambushed.
Roger hoped that they wouldn’t find her. He had absolutely no intention of getting married and settling down. But a royal command is a royal command, and it’s treason if I don’t do it. He smiled at the reflection thrown back at him while he washed his face. His vivid blue eyes sparkled with inner amusement. My plans alone are enough to buy me a life time on Traitor’s Hill...
From behind him, Delia sighed and sat up, green eyes heavy with sleep.
“Roger?” she yawned, stretching herself so that her body arched attractively.
Drying his face, Roger turned to her. “Good morning, pretty.”
Delia smiled. She wrapped herself in the sheets, got up and moved close to Roger so that she could kiss him softly. Then she looked out the window. “It looks so cold - Master, aren’t you supposed to be outside already?”
“What?” came the muffled reply; Roger was pulling on a silk undershirt.
“The riders His Majesty commanded to find...your lady...are almost all asembled outside.” Delia couldn’t say Alanna’s name; her throat clenched angrily.
“What!?” exclaimed Roger. He jerked to the window and cursed loudly. “Damn it all!” He ran around, dressing warmly and grabbing the bags he had packed the night before.
“Thank you, sweet,” he told Delia. He kissed her gently. “You know that when I come back, and if she’s found, then we can’t do this anymore. I suggest you find someone else to pour your affections on.”
Eyes glinting, Delia nodded. “Anything, Master. Gods bless.” She pulled on her dress and ran out of the room.
With a sigh, Roger slipped into his cloack, shouldered his bags, and made his way to courtyards.
**************
*NEW*
Chapter VI
Alanna sighed with relief as she splashed her face with cold water. She had never before appreciated the state of cleanliness so - before her kidnapping, a bath was something every proper person took...it was just a bath, for Goddess’ sake.
Oh, I would kill for a tub of hot water, Alanna thought dryly, turning away from the stream and settling down on a tree stump. On second thought, she pulled off her shoes and dangled her feet in the icy water.
She stayed like that, blissful and thanking the gods for this comfort, for about an hour, before the thief known as Gwen came looking for her.
“Lady?”
Alanna’s head snapped towards Gwen. “Yes?”
“If you’re a-hungry, there’s some deer on the fire.” Gwen noted how Alanna’s face visibly tightened; lunch with the others meant an hour or so of Jago’s brutal interrogation, Ian’s dry humor, and Gwen’s own sarcasm. George was a different story; so far, he had been a perfect gentleman.
Don’t start liking him, Alanna, she told herself sternly, getting up and following Gwen back to the group of caves. I’m betrothed!
But lately, she had begun to wonder if her betrothal had been a huge jest, concocted by Thom. So far, there had been no signs of a rescue.
On the other hand, do I really want to be rescued? Alanna shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. No, I don’t.
To Alanna’s relief, only George was at the fire. Apparently, Ian and Jago had gone to get some supplies, disguised as farmers, leaving only Gwen and the Rogue himself to watch over the captive. Alanna remembered to think prayers up to the Goddess as she sat down on a log and accepted the hunk of nicely cooked meat from Gwen.
Unfortunately, the meal didn’t go as smoothly as Alanna thought it would. The bombshell was dropped on her just as she finished her meat.
“Why aren’t you healing George properly?”
Face blank with shock, Alanna met Gwen’s accusing eyes and withered inside.
“Wh-what?” was all she could manage.
George was frowning, shaking his head furiously at Gwen, but her attention was focused on the battered, tired, dirty, and startled Alanna.
“You know what I’m a-talking about, girl!” she growled, gripping the hilt of her dagger so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “You’ve been here for a week - and His Majesty’s wound isn’t improving! Either you’re no healer, or your just a-screwing around!”
“But I-” Alanna began, staring back at the angry woman with frightened eyes.
“You what?” sneered Gwen. “You are screwing around, aren’t you? I knew it! There was no use in hoping that you would stick to your end of the bargain - and it is your bargain, you are the one who suggested it! All you nobles are alike, sniveling, lying little sluts, who -”
“Enough!” spat Alanna, jumping to her feet, all fright forgotten on the new slur on her morality. “I’ve heard quite enough from you, you cut-throat! If you don’t shut up, I’ll blast you into oblivion!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” snickered Gwen, peering up at the crimson lady, who was trembling with unearthly energy. “You’re a healer - though a pretty rotten one - and you can’t do anything to mar your honor!”
“I will!” threatened Alanna. “I may have a clean slate, but I will beat the sense out of you if you don’t shut up!”
“Sniveling slut -” was all that Gwen managed to say; the rest was a shocked gasp. Alanna had belted Gwen smack in the eye; it was a perfect movement, her entire weight behind her fist, resulting in so much force that Gwen fell to the ground on her back.
“Don’t you ever call me that,” Alanna whispered, standing over the dazed thief.
Then, to the surprise of Alanna and the silent, watchful George, Gwen laughed. Loudly.
“That was great!” Gwen gasped, struggling to her feet and rubbing her eye, which was starting to swell and turn black. “A simply beautiful right cross! Where did you learn to do that?”
“I used it on my brother,” was the stiff reply.
“Well, whatever, it was simply exquisite!” Gwen approached Alanna, her hand extended. “I’m sorry, m’lady. It’s just that...George...” she threw a helpless look at her king. “He...”
Doubtfully, Alanna took the offered hand and shook it. “Gwen, me too, I’m sorry. And...I’ll...heal your eye.”
At that, Gwen turned serious. “Why isn’t George improving?”
“Because...” Alanna felt her cheeks warm as she continued in an ashamed whisper, “I don’t know how to heal such wounds.”
“But you’re a healer!” That was George’s cry of shock.
Alanna lowered herself on a log and looked the Rogue straight in the eye. “Majesty, what do you think they taught us healers at the convent?”
The hazel eyes remained unreadable.
“Nothing,” Alanna answered herself. “Nothing useful, that is. All I can do, at the moment, is cure a small fever, fix papercuts, and soothe a sore throat, ear, tummy, or head. That’s it. The Daughters at the Mother of Mountains Convent do not teach us how to heal wounds caused by a knife fight.”
“So you can’t do it?”
Alanna’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t say that.”
“It sounds like it.”
“Majesty, I thought you told me that you were feeling drained and sick while I worked on you?”
“I did.”
“That’s me. Trying to heal your wound.”
Gwen smiled slightly. “At least you’re trying -”
“That’s nothing,” Alanna interrupted. “I’m doing it. I’m starting small. I’m doing everything I know before trying new stuff. I’ve decreased the fever, a little at a time. Now, there’s none. But I can’t go on without herbs. A healer can’t do everything with magic. I need the proper equipment.”
“What do you need?” George was immediately alert. “Tell me and I’ll make sure Ian gets it next time he goes to town.”
For a moment, Alanna lost herself in thought. “Several needles. Thread. Basic healing herbs. Clean clothes. Tea. That’s basically it.”
“Done.”
“You want me to get what?” yelped Ian, staring at George with disbelief.
Patiently, George repeated, “I need you to gets some needles, thread, clothes, tea, and healing herbs. Just ask a village healer for the tea and herbs - she’ll know what to get. Pay for the stuff, aye? I don’t want no healer after us. The rest you can get however way you want.” George handed Ian a small purse; it jingled lightly.
Ian gazed at the Rogue as he tucked the purse into his belt. “Majesty, what’s going on? There’s something you ain’t a-telling me.”
“Alanna’s doing her best,” was the blunt reply. “But she ain’t no miracle worker, so there you are. She needs those herbs to heal me. So will you deny her?”
Ian swallowed. “No, Majesty.” He glanced at Jago. “Ready?”
Grunt.
“Let’s go.” Ian ducked his head at George and started down the path from the caves, Jago trailing after him.