CHAPTER 16: To Fight

Alanna had visited the Dancing Dove twice before, both times accompanied by someone she trusted not to lead her astray. Now, if she wasn't astray, she didn't know what she was.

The pub was smoky, crowded, and loud. People chatted, laughed, roared, and all in all were utterly chaotic. Alanna swallowed, and then nodded. "Okay."

"Alanna?" Rowanna whispered timidly. Alanna glanced over her shoulder at her friend, who looked elegant even in breeches and a pony-tail. She clung with a painfully strong grip to Alanna's hand as if the punishment for letting go were death. "I do not think we should be doing this."

"Oh, don't worry. Everything will be fine." Biting her lip, she plowed into the crowd, dragging Rowanna behind her, to George's table in front of the fireplace, where he played cards with other thieves.

George glanced up at their arrival and grinned. "Alanna, I was wondering when you were going to pay us a visit! Who's your friend?"

Alanna tugged Rowanna—who stood just a step behind her, out of the spotlight—forward next to her and ignored the dark glower she received. "This is Rowanna. She's a friend of mine."

George nodded a greeting. "What brings you two down here tonight?"

"Actually, we were wondering if we could have a word with you," Alanna responded earnestly. Her eyes flitted over the other thieves, and she added, "Privately, if it's not too much to ask."

The expression that passed over George's face was peculiar—wary, in its own way. He nodded and stood up, calling to the bartender, "Solom! We're not to be disturbed."

A trip up a narrow staircase and down a hall led to his door. Unlocking it, he stepped inside and inspected the dark corners of the room before allowing them to follow. The chief furniture was simple and innumerable, but smaller objects like silver candleholders and a gold-framed mirror made an ignorant guest think twice of George's humble life.

Rowanna spotted the suspicious objects, and she stared at them, frowning. "You have very... original tastes, sir—"

"George," he interrupted, smiling ruefully. "It's just George. Apparently Alanna didn't tell you much about me before she brought you." He leaned on a wall, watching them carefully.

"Actually, she didn't tell me much of anything at all, did she, Alanna?"

"I wasn't sure I could!" Alanna cried. She turned to George pleadingly to ask, "May I tell her? Please?"

He shrugged. "If you think she can keep quiet about it, you can tell her anything you want."

"Oh, she'll keep quiet. Rowa, this is George Cooper—"

"The King of the Thieves?" Rowanna gasped. She squinted at George's face. "I recognize your name. I've seen it in so many books. The pictures don't do you justice. Forgive me for not recognizing you earlier. I should've." She paused, and then continued, "I'm honored to meet you, just to let you know."

George raised his eyebrows. "Are you, now? How can you be so sure?"

She shrugged. "You're a king—better than even King Roald. I've heard of you and how your people respond to your orders. Why shouldn't I be honored?"

George chuckled and bowed his head. "I thank you. But, tell me, lass," he asked Alanna, "what do you want to talk about? I know you well enough to know you're not going to ask me to knife your dearest Malven. You fight your own battles. So what do you need?"

Alanna smiled. George did know her well. "Well, you're right in thinking I want a favor. Rowanna—" she glanced over at her friend, who shook her head firmly: Alanna could not say a word about Ralon. She fell silent, wondering how to voice her request.

"If it helps any, I should tell you I know about Ralon," George offered gently. "I have eyes and ears in the palace—I know what happened tonight. He got drunk; he hit her. I also know about the drugs for the maid. Skip that part, if you need to, and just tell me what you need.

Will I ever be able to hide something from him? Alanna thought wryly. "I want you to teach Rowanna to defend herself." She ignored Rowanna's astonished gasp, and continued, "Once they're married, he'll beat her whenever he wants, and she won't be able to sneak away. She needs to know how to ward off the worst blows, and you're the only one I trust to teach her."

"Why don't you?" George asked emotionlessly.

Alanna barked a laugh. "I'm terrible at wrestling and daggers, but I know you're brilliant at them. She'd learn so much more from you." She took a deep breath, and then added, "Please."

George watched her impassively even after she finished, and then turned to Rowanna. "Would you like to learn?"

"I don't want to force you to do anything—" Rowanna began, but her true feelings were apparent in her voice.

George smiled and stood straight from his perch on the wall. "We'll start tonight. Alanna? Care to join us?"

"Actually, I'm really bad at—"

Rowanna laughed, hopping out of her chair. "Oh, give it up, Alanna. You don't really think I'd let you sit and watch me do this, do you? Come on, up you get! It'll be just like old times!"

Alanna glared at her. "You are really depressing; you know that, don't you?"

George could do nothing but shake his head in wonder at them. "Alright, ladies—boots off. We'll start with stretches."

---

December descended upon Alanna with unbelievable speed, and with it came more tension than she thought possible. She and Rowanna met about four nights a week with George for lessons. The other three nights were also spent down at the Dancing Dove, just without Rowanna, who was busier than Alanna believed entirely healthy. Instead, she introduced Raoul, Gary, and Jon to the thieves (who had become fast, excellent friends) and was overjoyed to find that the noblemen and commoners interacted beautifully, however stiffly at first. Alanna refused to introduce Alex, Francis, and the younger boys yet, as she wasn't entirely sure they were completely trustworthy.

Jarinth grew more and more annoying with each passing day. She was tired, crabby, and trying to accomplish far too much at one time. The palace repairs, holding off the doll, a growing threat from Tusaine, and teaching Alanna were truly wearing her down, yet she refused to accept Alanna's help. Myles said she had always been that way—killing herself through multitasking—and would probably soon learn her lesson when she became bed-ridden by a stress-provoked illness.

But, above all, the air grew thick with anxiety as Midwinter approached and, with it, the Ordeals of Knighthood. The Ordeal was the final test for squires of their capability to handle knighthood. For every night of Midwinter, an eighteen-year-old squire (or, in the Crown Prince's case, a seventeen-year-old squire) would take a ritual purifying bath while two knights instructed him—or, a hundred years ago, her—in the Code of Chivalry. Then, dressed in white, he would hold vigil in the Chapel of the Ordeal for an entire night without making a sound. The following dawn, the squire entered the Chamber of the Ordeal, a chamber just off the Chapel, where Mithros, the Sun God, would force the boy to face his worst flaws. If the squire could silently manage this, he left the Chamber and was knighted that evening. If not, he died.

Jon, Raoul, Gary, Francis, Alex, and Ralon were all entering the Chamber that winter.

To Alanna's relief, the first five passed quickly and faultlessly. In the end, they were alive and in one piece, though pale-faced and beaten. Alanna could have cried. Myles did cry.

And then it was Ralon's turn. Alanna and Rowanna spent the night together at the palace and then, at dawn, headed down to the Chapel to wait for Ralon to exit the Chamber. Though Alanna had the tact not to say it aloud, she couldn't help but think all night how if the Chamber had any sense at all, Ralon wouldn't live to see what the inside of the Chamber looked like.

To her surprise and dismay, though, Ralon stood alive and well in front of the Chamber door when she arrived. In fact, he was completely unscathed. And he was angry, bellowing at a clueless priest. Judging by the buzz of voices that filled the Chapel, Alanna was not the only one curious as to why it seemed Ralon had not entered the Chamber at all.

She glanced over her shoulder to ask Rowa, just to find her friend a few yards away, speaking with another priest. Then, she returned quickly to Alanna.

"The Chamber refuses to open for him, apparently," she explained quizzically. "No one seems to know why."

"Oh," Alanna sighed regretfully. "I guess that means he's not going to die."

"I'm going to talk to him," Rowanna said determinedly. "Grandmother Sebila will be angry if I don't." She turned away and called to Ralon, struggling through the crowd of priests.

Ralon looked up and spotted Rowa. Too late, Alanna remembered to duck. Ralon had seen her almost side-by-side his fiancée. She froze.

Ralon didn't. Livid, he swept through the crowd, knocking priests right and left, and was in front of Rowanna in seconds, where he slapped her.

A roaring filled Alanna's ears like she had never heard before. "Ralon of Malven, you dare—" she shrieked, leaping at him.

Subconsciously, she noted the wide-eyed priests surrounding them, and decided there was not enough space here to beat up this goat-herder's son to a pulp. Slamming her elbow across his face to daze him, she shoved him towards the doors of the Chapel. He stumbled and fell out into the hall, swearing violently. Alanna stormed after him and proceeded to smash his face in. He, however, grabbed her arm and twisted it, winning a shriek from her. She slammed her foot out to meet with a tender spot below his knee, and he fell, but not before grabbing a fistful of her skirts—which tore—and pulling her down too. He rolled over on top of her and pounded the right side of her face twice as he held her down by the throat with his left hand. Her head on verge of splitting open with pain, Alanna kneed him in the groin and shoved his writhing body off her.

She scrambled to her feet, gasping for breath. Her eye was already swelling shut, and she could feel blood trickling from her nose and into her mouth. It tasted terrible. She hurt badly.

Ralon was back on his feet. They faced each other furiously like two savage animals. Alanna did not have to think very hard to see who had the upper hand in this fight. He was bigger, stronger, and had already suffered fewer injuries than she had. She was panting heavily; he wasn't.

"Damn you, bitch," he snarled, lunging for her.

She skipped back, but he still managed to slam her into the wall. She yelped as her head hit stone. She hurt; she hurt; she hurt; she hurt!

He was off balance, and she took the chance to grab his head by the hair and slam his face into the wall. A sickening crunch and a roar from him as he crumpled to the ground covering his nose told the tale of something breaking.

The sight of the blood pouring onto his hands reminded Alanna of another battered person she knew. She looked up and saw Rowanna watching her, horrified, from the doorway of the Chapel.

Suddenly, Alanna felt filthy. She looked down at her hands, which were shaking with fury. They were as bad as Ralon's. They smacked and bruised without a thought, as if pain were a game. With her one good eye, Alanna looked past her hands at Ralon, who sat, curled up, crying, and glaring at her from the ground. How could she have done such a thing? She stumbled back, and turned around. She needed to leave.

She took one step forward, and a bellow behind her only just warned her to duck as a fist went flying over her head. Ralon grabbed her around the neck, throwing all of his weight on her back, trying to force her down. She found her air supply completely cut off.

Like a bucking horse, she flipped him over her and onto the ground. They were both gasping now. He rolled over to stand up, and she jumped on his back, wholly winding and flattening him. Then she grabbed his right arm and twisted it back.

"You son of a bitch, if you go near Rowanna again, if you lay one of your cursed fingers on her, I swear by the Goddess and Mithros both, I will pound you from here to Chaos and back again, break your arm off at the elbow, and beat you with the bloody stump," she hissed. "Swear you won't go near Rowanna again."

Ralon didn't say anything, but gasped when Alanna twisted his arm tighter.

"You repeat: by Mithros and the Goddess above," she seethed.

A moment of silence passed, in which she applied a touch more pressure on his arm, and he squeaked, "By the Mithros and Goddess above, I won't touch Rowanna again!"

"Very good," Alanna said coolly.

She had almost let go when Ralon scrambled half way to his feet and bellowed, "Come here, you bloody whore!"

Alanna yanked his arm back with an extra twist, and then released when she heard it break.

She stood there, panting, for a moment, and then turned around and walked away. She felt weak, she was tired, and her vision was going blurry. And the pain in her nose and right eye reminded her of murderous, stabbing needles. She wanted to lie down.

Alanna stumbled and fell to her knees.

A moment later, two strange, bony hands pulled her back up again. "Come on, girl. Let's get you to a healer."

"Alanna?" a timid but strong voice that could only be Rowanna's murmured. "This is my grandmother, Lady Sebila. She says my marriage—my marriage is canceled. Thanks."