CHAPTER 17: Dain of Melor
That summer, following Alanna's fifteenth birthday, brought a sudden major threat from Tusaine, the country just east of Tortall. Apparently, Tusaine's king was itching for war and wanted to see if King Roald the Peacemaker would be any fun as an enemy. Of course, Roald benevolently accepted the Tusaine embassy into his Court and set his heart on making their stay as pleasant and successful as possible. This meant parties, balls, and peace-negotiating meetings all day everyday that were to be attended by every important Tortallan figure available, including Jarinth.
Jarinth, to say the least, was not at all pleased. The last activity she had in mind when she was supposed to be working and sleeping was "playing fear-Tortall-because-of-me," as she described it. All she would really be doing was sitting around and obeying orders that consisted mainly of do not speak unless spoken to.
One night, when Jarinth was away at another private soirée and Alanna was struggling furiously in an indoor court with a complex fencing form, she felt someone watching her and looked up. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and a shiver shot down her spine as Duke Roger stepped forward.
She bowed (Jon had taught her how), simultaneously wiping her face dry. "Your Grace."
"How many times will I have to ask you, Alanna?" he laughed, strolling closer. She only just kept from backing away. "Please call me 'Roger,' or at least 'my lord.' I feel so old with all of this 'Your Grace' flamboyancy!"
She forced a laugh. "Oh, but it's so informal, Your Grace—my lord! Can you imagine what my deportment teacher would say if she heard me calling the one and only Duke Roger of Conté 'my lord'? She would throw a complete fit!"
Roger smiled. "A different reaction, I suppose, than if she found you fencing?"
Alanna paused. "Er, no, I suppose not."
They both chuckled, and Roger held his hands out. "May I see your blade?"
Alanna hesitated. She didn't want his conceited fingers touching Lightning! But how could she refuse the one and only Duke Roger of Conté? Reluctantly, she passed it over.
Roger's face went white, and the sword almost slipped from his shaking fingers. He studied Lightning with wide eyes, turning it and running his fingertips over the smooth metal. Then he motioned to the hilt. "An interesting jewel, this crystal," he commented casually. His eyes flicked up to hers. "Have you ever made it light up?"
Alanna didn't even have to remind herself to lie. "Light up? Of course not, my lord! What makes you ask such a question?"
"The sword is magic" was the flat reply.
Ha! And it unnerves you! she jeered silently, pleased. "No! Are you quite sure?"
"Of course I'm sure!" he snapped. When she looked taken aback, he shook his head and forced a smile. "My apologies, my lady, Alanna. It just caught me off guard." He paused, and then swung, twirled, and balanced the sword on one finger, and then handed it back to her. "Impressive, Alanna. I'm quite envious. That is an excellent blade. Where did you say you got it?"
"Sir Myles said he had no use of it, so he gave it to me. It was in his armory."
"This sword was just... hanging in his armory? You didn't get it in any special way, or something?"
Alanna did her best to look quizzical. "No, my lord."
"Hm. Oh, and, by the way, Jon asked me to tell you that he wants you in the first fencing gallery immediately. His squire, Geoffrey, is fighting one of the Tusaine knights."
"What?" she yelped. She shoved Lightning into her scabbard and dashed from the court.
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The gallery was packed with nobles and servants alike from both Tusaine and Tortall. Many were dressed in their finest garments, which meant they had just arrived from Jarinth's party. Ignoring the shocked glances of those who noticed that her gender and breeches didn't quite match, Alanna slipped through the crowd, searching for Geoffrey and Jon.
Geoffrey was surrounded by his squire and knight friends on the floor at the edge of the fencing court, stretching nervously. His face was pale yet determined, as if he were taking on a world-changing quest. At her arrival, the group looked up simultaneously, and she knew by their grim faces that the situation was far worse than she could have imagined.
"Who's the opponent?" she asked, glancing across the court to where a group of Tusaine boys sat laughing.
"The one in the middle," Gary told her quietly. "Sir Dain of Melor."
Alanna had seen Dain fight Tortallan knights in both brain and brawn. He was strong and sturdy, almost two heads taller than she was, but arrogant, too. Now, he was stretching and joking with his friends, confident that he would win this duel. Alanna pursed her lips. Goddess, please sent him down. "How did all this get started, anyway?"
"Jon was playing Prince Almighty again, and Dain lost it, cursing Tortall and our fencing techniques. Jon, of course, couldn't let this be, and set up a duel between dear Geoffrey and old Dain," Raoul explained, and then added cruelly, "I'll hold Jon down if you want to bash him."
"Why would I want to bash Jon? Geoffrey will do fine. He's great with the sword," Alanna tried to cheer them up, but to no avail. "Oh come on! How bad can it be?"
"Oh, pretty bad," Douglass replied. "Raoul lost his temper with Dain and insulted his chivalrous ways—or lack thereof—and now, the duel can't end unless it ends chivalrously. That in itself wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that Dain has a temper problem and has also been drinking. Apparently, if their fight ends nobly, it won't be because he tried to make it so, so Geoffrey's chances of surviving this unbruised are pretty slim."
Alanna winced, and then asked, "So, who's your back-up?" Someone would have to take Geoffrey's place if he fell before the fight was over.
Geoffrey met her eyes and held them. "You are."
Shock numbed Alanna, as, just then, King Roald called the gallery to attention. Dain and Geoffrey stepped to the center of the court. The salutes to the king and vows of chivalry passed in a blur. And then, the two men were fighting. Alanna watched, as good as paralyzed, blood pounding in her ears. She prayed fervently that Geoffrey won. Around her, friends stood close, their eyes glued to the duel before them. Only the clash of sword upon sword could be heard as they all waited with bated breath.
Alanna knew it was happening before it happened. Geoffrey's feet and reflexes failed him all at once, and his sword arm dragged. Dain, however, did not slow down, and his sword was slicing through the air on its way to Geoffrey's head.
The flat of the blade hit Geoffrey in the temple, the hardest slap the squire would ever receive, and flung him backwards. He fell to the ground with a thud, his own weapon escaping to spiral away on the ground. The laws of chivalry demanded that five seconds be waited to see if a fallen opponent moved, and Alanna found herself counting: one, two—
She blinked at the glint of metal flying towards Geoffrey. What was going on? Geoffrey hadn't so much as flinched, so the duel couldn't continue.
"Alanna, that's you!" Raoul bellowed from her side.
Someone shoved her into the ring, and she stumbled, bewildered, before it dawned on her: it was her turn!
"Damn! Geoffrey, move!" she shrieked, dashing forward. To her utter surprise and relief, the squire obeyed, rolling over, but not before the five seconds were up, and it was clear from the way Dain's sword bashed the space where Geoffrey had formerly been that the fight had not ended chivalrously. Now Alanna had to end it.
Dain saw his new opponent's long hair and developed bosom and laughed out loud.
"A girl!" he sneered. "This is the way Tortallans defend a squire's honor: by sending me a girl? They'd better have someone else in line, wench, because you won't be lasting any longer than he did!"
But then, minutes later, she was still going strong, not even breathing hard, and Dain's eyes grew wide with shock. This girl knew what she was doing.
Alanna almost couldn't keep from laughing at the thrill of being back on the court, fencing like she had back in Persopolis. It did not take much effort to return mentally to the desert city, battling one of the city boys once again. Dain was no different than them: talented yet egotistical, big, and unable to believe her talent because of her gender. One difference occurred to her, though. The guys in Persopolis believed in honor. They were not arrogant enough to disregard her laws of chivalry or threaten a poor boy's life. Dain, on the other hand, had not learned that lesson yet.
Dain laughed belittlingly and threw insults at her cruelly, moving from her gender to her rodent-related ancestors with the smoothness of experience. It was fashionable to verbally offend the opponent while fighting, but Alanna had always found that silence unnerved her rivals so much more and saved breath. So, she stayed quiet and tuned out Dain's comments, just wielding her blade and keeping an eye out for a weakness of his to use.
She found it in that Dain watched her sword arm to foresee her next moves, apparently believing that she would be too preoccupied blocking his attacks to pull any sneaky tricks on him.
Alanna skirted a blow to her right arm, switched Lightning to her left hand at the same time, and, while Dain watched her right hand for her returning strike, swept Lightning up to his sword's hilt and twisted, yanking the blade from his hand. Then, to finish off the clean move like a dance, she settled Lightning's point on his throat and fixed him with a cold glare.
"Being drunk is no excuse to toy with the laws of chivalry," she told him frostily. "Mess with them once more, and I'll make sure you'll never be able to mess with anything ever again. Am I clear?"
Panting, Dain nodded feebly.
"Good." She applied a touch more pressure to his neck, and then sheathed Lightning and offered her hand. "Nice match."
Dain hurriedly jerked her hand before spinning around, grabbing his sword, and making a beeline for his friends.
Then, Alanna let out a deep breath and wiped sweat off her forehead, just to find the rest of her soaking with it. She had hardly noticed.
Around her, Tortallans erupted into cheers, flooding onto the court to clap her on the back and laugh.