Coram turned pale. The afternoon the tarts were discovered missing, Cook started to see large, hungry lions following him around the kitchens. Lord Alan never heard about the missing tarts. When the twins’ godmother came to Trebond to snare Lord Alan as her next husband, she had fled after only three days, claiming the castle was haunted.
“Ye wouldn’t,” Coram whispered. He had always suspected that the twins had been behind Cook’s hallucinations and Lady Catherine’s ghosts, but he had kept those thoughts to himself. Cook gave himself airs, and Lady Catherine was cruel to her servants.
Seeing she had struck a nerve, Alanna changed tactics. “Thom can’t shoot for beans, and I can. Thom wouldn’t be a credit to you. I will, I think. You said yourself a grown man can’t skin a rabbit faster’n me.” She fed her last piece of bread to Chubby and looked at Coram with huge, pleading eyes. “Let’s ride on. If you feel the same in the morning, we can turn back.” She crossed her fingers as she lied. She had no intention of returning to Trebond. “Just don’t rush. Father won’t know till it’s too late.”
Coram swigged again from the skin, getting up shakily. He mounted, watching the girl. They rode silently while Coram thought, and drank.
The threat about making him see things didn’t worry him much. Instead he thought of Thom’s performance in archery—it was enough to make a soldier cry. Alanna was much quicker than her brother. She rarely tired, even hiking over rough country. She had a feel for the fighting arts, and that was something that never could be learned. She was also as stubborn as a mule.
Because he was absorbed in his thoughts, Coram never saw the wood snake glide across the road. Alanna—and Coram’s horse—spotted the slithery creature in the same second. The big gelding reared, almost throwing his master. Chubby stopped dead in the road, surprised by these antics. Coram yelled and fought to hold on as his mount bucked frantically, terrified by the snake. Alanna never stopped to think. She threw herself from Chubby’s saddle and grabbed for Coram’s reins with both hands. Dodging the gelding’s flying hooves frantically, she used all her strength and weight to pull the horse down before Coram fell and broke his neck.
The gelding, more surprised than anything else by the new weight on his reins, dropped to all fours. He trembled as Alanna stroked his nose, whispering comforting words. She dug in a pocket and produced an apple for the horse, continuing to pet him until his shaking stopped.
When Alanna looked up, Coram was watching her oddly. She had no way of knowing that he was imagining what Thom would have done in similar circumstances: Her twin would have left Coram to fend for himself. Coram knew the kind of courage it took to calm a large, bucking horse. It was the kind of courage a knight needed in plenty. Even so, Alanna was a girl. . . .
By the time they arrived at the wayhouse, Coram was very drunk. The innkeeper helped him to bed while his wife fussed over “the poor wee lad.” In her bed that night, Alanna listened to Coram’s snores with a wide grin on her lips. Maude had managed to fill the wineskin with Lord Alan’s best brandy, hoping her old friend might be more open to reason if his joints were well oiled.
Coram woke the next morning with the worst hangover he had ever had. He moaned as Alanna entered his room.
“Don’t walk so loud,” he begged.
Alanna handed him a steaming mug. “Drink. Maude says this makes you feel better every time.”
The man drank deeply, gasping as the hot liquid burned down his throat. But in the end, he did feel better. He swung his feet to the floor, gently rubbing his tender skull. “I need a bath.”
Alanna pointed to the bath already waiting in the corner.
Coram glared at her from beneath his eyebrows. “Go order breakfast. I take it I’m to call ye ‘Alan’ now?”
She yelped with joy and skipped from the room.
Four days later they rode into Corus just after dawn. They were part of the stream of people entering the capital for the market day. Coram guided his horse through the crowds, while Alanna tried to keep Chubby close behind him and still see everything. Never in her life had she encountered so many people! She saw merchants, slaves, priests, nobles. She could tell the Bazhir—desert tribesmen—by their heavy white burnooses, just as she spotted seamen by their braided pigtails. She was lucky that Chubby was inclined to stay near Coram’s gelding, or she would have been lost in a second.
The marketplace itself was almost more than a girl from a mountain castle could take. Alanna blinked her eyes at the bright colors—piles of orange and yellow fruits, hangings of bright blue and green, ropes of gold and silver chains. Some people were staring as openly as she was. Others shoved their goods under people’s noses, shouting for them to buy. Women in tight dresses eyed men from doorways, and children ran underfoot, sneaking their hands into pockets and purses.
Coram missed nothing. “Keep an eye to yer saddlebags,” he called back to Alanna. “There are some here as would steal their own mother’s teeth!” He seemed to be directing this comment at a tall young man standing near Alanna.
The lean young man grinned, white teeth flashing in his tanned face. “Who, me?” he asked innocently.
Coram snorted and kicked his horse onward. The man winked one bright hazel eye at Alanna and vanished into the crowd. She watched him until someone shouted for her to watch herself. She wondered if he really was a thief. He seemed very nice.
They left the marketplace, taking the Market Way up a long, sloping hill. This led them through districts where rich merchants lived, up past the villas of even richer nobles. The crossing of Market Way and Harmony Way marked the beginning of the Temple District. Here the Market Way changed its name, becoming the Palace Way. Coram straightened his saddle. After his years of soldiering, this was like coming home.
Alanna saw countless temples as they rode through the district. She had heard that a hundred gods were worshiped in Corus. There were enough temples for that many, she thought. She even saw a troop of women dressed in armor, the guard of the Temple of the Great Mother Goddess. These women were armed with great double-headed axes, and they knew how to use them. Their duty was to keep men from ever setting foot on ground sacred to the Great Mother.
Alanna grinned. Someday she would wear armor too, but she wouldn’t be confined to temple grounds!
The ground suddenly rose steeply. The Temple District ended here. Above them, crowning the hill, was the royal palace. Alanna looked at it and gasped. Ahead of her was the City Gate, carved with thousands of figures and trimmed with gold. Through this gate in the palace wall, kings and queens came down to the city on holy days. Through this gate the people went to see their rulers on Great Audience Days. The Gate was as high as the wall it pierced: a wall lined with soldiers dressed in the royal gold and red. Behind the wall, level after level of buildings and towers rose, up to the palace itself. The area had its own gardens, wells, stables, barracks and menagerie. Outside the wall on the other side lay the Royal Forest.
All these things Alanna knew from her father’s books and maps, but the reality took her breath away as a paragraph written in a book never could.
Coram led the way to the courtyard beside the stables. Here servants awaited the arrival of guests, to show them to their rooms, to guide the arrivals’ servants and to take charge of the horses. One such servant approached them.
Coram dismounted. “I’m Coram Smythesson, of Fief Trebond. I’m come with Master Alan of Trebond to begin his service at Court.”
The hostler bowed. A royal page rated some respect, but not the respect a full-grown noble would get. “I’ll be takin’ th’ horses, sir,” he said, his voice thick with the accent of the city. “Timon!” he called.
A slender young man in royal livery hurried up. “Aye, Stefan?”
“One fer his Grace. I’ll see t’ the bags.”
Alanna dismounted and hugged Chubby for a second, feeling as if he were her last friend. She had to hurry to catch up with Timon and Coram.
“Ye’ll show his Grace t
he proper respect,” Coram growled in her ear. “A wizard with a sword, he is, and a better leader ye’ll never meet.”
Alanna rubbed her nose anxiously. What if something went wrong? What if the Duke guessed?
She glanced at Coram. The man was sweating. Alanna gritted her teeth and thrust her chin forward stubbornly. She would see this through.
2
THE NEW PAGE
DUKE GARETH OF NAXEN WAS TALL AND THIN, with dull brown hair that fell into his muddy brown eyes. Though he was plain looking, there was something commanding about him all the same.
“Alan of Trebond, hm?” His voice was thin and nasal. He frowned as he opened the seal on Alanna’s letter. “I trust you will do better here than your sire. He was always at his books.”
Alanna swallowed hard. The Duke made her nervous. “He still is, sir.”
The Duke looked at her sharply, not sure if she was being pert. “Hmph. So I would suppose.” He smiled and nodded at Alanna’s servingman. “Coram Smythesson. It’s been a long time since the Battle of Joyous Forest.”
Coram bowed, grinning. “I didn’t think yer Lordship’d remember. That was twenty years ago, and me but a lad myself.”
“I don’t forget it when a man saves my life. Welcome to the palace. You will like it here—though you, boy, will work hard.” Duke Gareth turned his attention back to Alanna. “Sit down, both of you.” They obeyed. “You’re here, Alan of Trebond, to learn what it is to be a knight and a noble of Tortall. It’s not easy. You must learn to defend the weak, to obey your overlord, to champion the cause of right. Someday you may even be able to tell what right is.” It was impossible to tell if he was joking, and Alanna decided not to ask.
“Until you are fourteen, you will be a page,” the Duke went on. “You will wait on table at the evening meal. You will run errands for any lord or lady who asks you. Half your day will be spent learning fighting arts. The other half you will spend with books, in the hope that we can teach you how to think.
“If your masters think you are ready, you will be made squire when you are fourteen. Perhaps a knight will choose you as his body squire. If so, you’ll tend your master’s belongings, run his errands, protect his interests. Your other lessons will continue—they’ll be harder, of course.
“When you are eighteen, you’ll undergo the Ordeal of Knighthood. If you survive, you will be a Knight of Tortall. Not everyone survives.” He held up his left hand, revealing a missing finger. “I lost this in the Chamber of the Ordeal.” He sighed.
“Don’t worry about the Ordeal now. You have eight years to think about it. For the present, you will live in the pages’ wing. Coram rooms with you, but I hope he’ll be able to serve the palace guard in his free time.”
Coram nodded. “I’d like that, yer Grace.”
Duke Gareth smiled thinly. “Excellent. We can use a man of your ability.” He looked at Alanna once again. “One of the older pages will sponsor you and show you how things are done. You’ll be in his charge until you are familiar with the palace and your duties. If you are obedient and work hard, you won’t see me often. Misbehave, and you’ll learn how harsh I can be. When you prove yourself worthy, you will be granted free time to go into the city. And make no mistake—you’ll earn every privilege you get three times over. You are here to learn chivalry, not to have a good time. Timon”—Alanna realized the servingman had been in the room all along—“take them to their room. Make sure the boy is properly clothed. Also, a guardsman’s uniform for Master Smythesson.” The Duke measured Alanna with his eyes. “I expect you to begin serving at dinner in five days. You’ll wait on me. Have you any questions?”
It took all her strength to say, “No, your Lordship.”
“A duke is called ‘your Grace.’” The older man smiled and held his right hand out to her. “It is a hard life, but you’ll get used to it.”
Alanna kissed his hand timidly. “Yes, your Grace.” She and the two men bowed and left the Duke’s presence.
The pages’ wing stretched along the west side of the palace, standing near the walls that overlooked the city. Here Timon showed Alanna and Coram two small rooms, where they would live during Alanna’s time as a page. Someone had already placed their baggage inside the door.
Their next stop was with the palace tailors. Realizing they would measure her for her page’s uniform, Alanna felt sick. Her mind whirled with visions of being forced to strip, of being caught and sent home in disgrace before she had even had a chance to start.
Instead a scowling old man whipped a knotted cord around her shoulders and hips, calling out the number of knots it took to circle Alanna to his assistant. Then he laid the cord along the length of her right arm and then her right leg. He sent the anxious-looking apprentice scurrying into a storeroom while he measured Coram in the same rapid style. The apprentice returned with an armful of clothing. He was instantly sent after boots and shoes while the grumpy old tailor shook out a gold tunic and held it up to Alanna. The bright garment could have easily fitted a much larger youngster.
Coram fought to hide a grin. “Isn’t it a wee bit big?”
The tailor glared at the servingman. “Boys grow,” he barked, shoving the whole pile of boots and clothes into Alanna’s arms. “It’s their natures.” He turned his scowl on Alanna. “You rip ’em, you mend ’em,” he said. “Don’t let me see you for at least three months.”
Alanna followed Coram and Timon out, her knees weak with relief. Her secret was still safe!
Timon took them to the huge kitchens for a luncheon and spent the afternoon showing them around the palace. Alanna was lost in no time. She didn’t believe Timon when he told her she would soon learn her way around. The royal palace could hold several Trebonds, and more people lived there than Alanna had ever seen before. She learned that many nobles had suites in the palace. There were also quarters for foreign visitors, a servants’ wing, the throne and council rooms, ballrooms, kitchens and libraries. It all made her feel extremely small.
The sun was setting as they quickly unpacked. Coram changed into clean clothes in his own room while Alanna slowly laid out her new uniform. She noticed her hands were shaking.
“Alan?” the servingman called.
She opened her door. Coram was ready to go.
“Well, la—lad?” he asked. His dark eyes were kind. “How shall we work this? Th’ boys are changin’ for dinner.”
She tried to smile. “You go on.” It was hard making her voice sound relaxed. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course,” she replied stoutly. “Would I have said so if I wasn’t?”
“Yes,” was the calm answer.
Alanna sighed and rubbed her forehead. She wished he didn’t know her so well. “Best now as later, Coram. I’ll be all right. Really. Go on.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Good luck—Alan.”
“Thanks.” She watched him leave and felt lost. Locking the door—it wouldn’t do for someone to come in unannounced—she reached for her shirt.
When she was fully dressed, Alanna stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had never looked so fine. The full-sleeved shirt and hose were bright scarlet against the cloth-of-gold tunic. Sturdy leather shoes covered her feet; her dagger and purse hung from a slim leather belt. True, the clothes were a little large, but she was too dazzled by the colors to care.
There was one thing to be said for such a bright red and brighter gold: the royal uniform gave her the courage to unbolt the door and step into the hall. She couldn’t have done it in her battered old clothes. Several boys saw her and hurried to spread the word: There’s a new boy in the palace! Suddenly the pages’ wing was very quiet. Everyone came to inspect the newcomer.
Someone behind Alanna grabbed her. She spun. A tall, gangling boy of nearly fourteen looked her over, a sneer on his thick mouth. He had cold blue eyes and sandy-blond hair that flopped over his forehead.
“I wonder what this is.” His crooked tee
th made him spit his s’s. Alanna wiped a drop of saliva from her cheek. “Probably some back-country boy who thinks he’s a noble.”
“Leave him alone, Ralon,” someone protested. “He didn’t say anything to you.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Ralon snapped. “I bet he’s some farmer’s son trying to pass for one of us.”
Alanna blushed a dull red. “I was told pages were supposed to learn manners,” she murmured. “Whoever told me that must’ve been mistaken.”
The boy grabbed her collar, lifting her off her feet. “You’ll do what you’re told,” he hissed, “till you earn the right to call yourself a page. If I say you’re the goatherd’s son, you say, ‘Yes, Lord Ralon.’”
Alanna gasped with fury. “I’d as soon kiss a pig! Is that what you’ve been doing—kissing pigs? Or being kissed?”
Ralon threw her against the wall, hard. Alanna charged, ramming into his stomach and knocking him to the floor. Ralon yelled and shoved her off him.
“What is this?”
The young male voice was clear and forceful. Ralon froze; Alanna slowly got to her feet. The watching boys made way for a dark-haired page and his four companions.
Ralon was the first to speak. “Highness, this boy was acting as if he owned the palace,” he whined. “King of the castle, he was, and he insulted me like no gentleman insults another—”
“I don’t think I spoke to you, Ralon of Malven,” the boy called “Highness” said. His bright blue eyes fixed on Ralon’s. The two boys were about the same height, but the dark-haired boy seemed to be about a year younger and much more commanding. “Unless I’m mistaken, I told you not to talk to me at all.”
“But, Highness, he—”
“Shut up, Ralon,” instructed one of the boy’s friends. This one was big, with tightly curled brown hair and coal-black eyes. “You’ve got your orders.”
Ralon stepped out of the way, red with fury. The boy who seemed to be running things looked around. “Douglass.” He nodded to a boy who been there all along. “What happened?”