CHAPTER 35: The Duel

Alanna dozed restlessly for a few hours, and then, an hour before dawn, crawled out of bed again, absently pulled on breeches, a shirt, and boots, and headed for the Great Mother's chapel. She needed to think.

After lighting incense, she kneeled on a pillow nearest the Goddess's statue and bowed her head.

How could she have been so stupid as to enter Roger's room? If she hadn't found anything but had still gotten caught, then she would have been in more than major trouble, especially after earning her shield just hours before.

But she had found something. She had left the King and Duke Gareth both speechless in accusing Roger of treason, which meant they were not completely on his side anymore. They had a hint of suspicion. Even if she did die today in the duel—for it was a fight to the death—she had introduced the idea that Roger was not the god everyone regarded him as.

She didn't want to die, but so what? This was what chivalry, what being a knight meant: to sacrifice oneself for the sake of others. What could be a more honorable death than destroying the angelic mask of the king's worst enemy?

A rustle of cloth made her start and glance up. Her friends were kneeling on pillows on either side of her. Coram, Thom, Rowanna, Jon, Raoul, Gary, Alex, Geoffrey, Sacherell, Douglass—they were all there. They all smiled—if somewhat anxiously at her—and Raoul even gave her a bone-crushing squeeze on her shoulder. She quickly dropped her eyes to the ground again so they would not see the tear that slipped down her cheek. To die would be to leave behind all of these people.

Then don't die, a small voice in her head suggested. She frowned. She had to die. Roger was bigger, stronger, and more experienced than she was. But you know the Bazhir tricks, she remembered with a small gasp. Not to mention you're flexible. And Ali taught you to use your disadvantages to your advantage. You're small and therefore quick and sneaky. Lightning's light and can travel faster than any old rapier of his. You're going in prepared to die, so you'll be more of the daredevil with moves unexpected because of their stupidity. He'll be more arrogant. You don't have to die. You can do this.

But her hands! They were still bandaged heavily after the Ordeal. They would be a major disadvantage, attenuating her docility. She flexed her fingers and winced as they throbbed. At least they were sore and not stiff. She would just rebandage them lightly and ignore any pain they caused during the fight.

An hour passed, and as the sun began to peek through the windows, Gary touched her shoulder. She flinched and glanced up.

"We should go. You need to bathe, get dressed, and warm-up, and we want to spend some time with you before this happens."

Alanna shook her head in confusion as they filed out of the chapel. "I don't understand. Why are you guys on my side? You love Roger, and I just accused him of treason."

Her friends glanced at one another, and then Gary hugged her around the shoulders. "Roger didn't save my dearest cousin from the Ysandir."

"Roger didn't banish Ralon from Court," Raoul added; Rowanna grinned.

"Roger didn't make a fool out of Dain of Melor," Geoffrey pointed out.

"Frankly, my dear," Jon joked, his arm joining Gary's around her shoulders, "we may love Roger, but we love you more."

"And we all know he's a son of a bitch anyway," Thom reminded them, and then ducked his head when they all stared at him.

"We heard what you found in his rooms," Douglass explained. "And we heard that he's accusing you of being jealous of his influence over the royal family. But you've never said anything bad about him, and if you don't have influence over Jon, then who does? You story makes more sense than his."

Alanna bowed her head, her face flushed with gratitude. "Thanks, guys."

The next ninety minutes passed too quickly. Then, suddenly, she found herself in her room, stretching for the last time before she headed down to the first fencing gallery. Only Jon, Raoul, Gary, and now Myles were with her; the others had already joined the crowd in the fencing cout. Her friends watched her, and she knew they were wondering if they would ever see her again.

When someone rapped on the door, they jumped. Raoul opened the door to admit a tall, cloaked man. When he lowered his hood, Alanna yipped with delight and threw herself at him in a tight embrace. "George!"

"Congratulations on your shield, lass," he murmured. "That's one adventure, and now you've already started on another one. What comes after this?"

"I'll probably have to run away in humiliation, because everyone will be talking about this one for days to come."

"That's true," he agreed, and clapped her on the back. "Are you ready?"

"Am I ever not?"

"Of course not."

They laughed, and then were interrupted by yet another knock. This time, it was Timon, to announce that they awaited her presence in the first fencing gallery. They glanced at her, and she nodded. "Okay. I can do this."

"Could you guys go ahead? I'd like a word with Alanna first," Jon asked quietly. The others agreed and left, all clapping her on the back, hugging her, and wishing her luck at the same time.

When they were gone, Jonathan kissed her fiercely. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I should have. You were terrified and everything."

He refused to meet her eyes, and Alanna realize in shock that he was on the verge of tears. She hugged him. "I love you, Jon. I'm sorry I have to do this to you."

"Don't you die," he ordered. "Promise me you won't die."

She caught his eye, and then bit her lip. Perhaps she could promise him, and then it wouldn't matter if she broke her promise, because she wouldn't be around to face him about it. Her silence did not go unnoticed, and he covered it up with another kiss.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you too," and she kissed him softly in return. Then, they left her room together, their hearts both pounding furiously.

Down in the fencing gallery, all eyes turned to her. Jon hugged her one more time, and then pushed her into the court. She swallowed shakily and walked up next to Roger, who stood in the center of the court before Roald and Lianne.

The herald read the challenge, and then the King stood. "Are you ready, Roger of Conté?" Roger saluted him, and the King asked Alanna, "Are you ready, Alanna of Trebond?" Alanna saluted him. "Salute each other." They obeyed. The King bowed. "Let the combat begin."

Roger was like Alex: he attacked immediately and without warning. After Alex had used this move on her, however, Duke Gareth had trained her in it fiercely for ages afterwards. She knew how to block it. The moments their swords clashed, her qualms vanished. She was fencing again!

The duke jumped back, surprised by her block. Then he flicked his sword, trying to force her to attack and tire herself out. She hardly blinked in reply. He gritted his teeth and swung for her head; she immediately recognized the feint—no idiot would attack so obviously—and blocked him easily at her thigh. Annoyed, he jumped towards her with a torrent of attacks; she blocked a few but tried to dodge most to save energy.

Then, he gave up on childish trickery and attacked in earnest. She skipped back, but not fast enough. He nipped her in the arm, and pain flared. She tried to ignore it, but instead only ended up noticing how the wounds in her sword hand had opened and were bleeding through their bandages. She would have to be careful to keep her hilt from sliding out of her hand.

In her moment of distraction by her pains, Roger slashed at her thigh. She yelped and then blocked his strike to her right side, and then agilely slid her blade forward to slice his own leg and yanked back again to block an attack to her left arm.

Suddenly, she blinked. Was he wielding two swords? No—that couldn't be possible! But he certainly held a blade in both is left and right hands. Where had the other come from?

Faintly, she heard Thom bellow about a foul. Then she realized what had happened: one sword was a magical replica. She swore and grabbed her ember-stone with her left hand, and immediately an orange mist emanated from the sword in his right hand. So she was supposed to be fighting the sword in his left hand! She swore, and only just managed to dodge an attack from the real sword, having been preparing for the fake one. With the ember-stone's help, she could keep his swords straight, but, after awhile, it became more difficult, as sweat dripped into her eyes and he switched the real blade from one hand to the other.

Then, Alanna's right arm dragged. The cut from Roger and her hand proved too much strain; she would have to switch arms. This disturbance, however, cost her greatly. All of a sudden, Roger's sword dug into her flesh at her collarbone and tore down to her waist. She shrieked and leapt away. The gash was not fatally deep, but that didn't mean it didn't burn like Chaos.

"I guess girls aren't meant for swordplay afterall, dearie," Roger hissed. He swept his sword for her head; she jumped out of the way, but not far enough, and the side of the blade collided with her cheek. Fire burst in her face.

With that, Alanna had had enough. He had cheated, he had hurt her, and now he was just ticking her off—and he was the wrongdoer in the first place. This duel needed to end.

Her ember-stone in her right hand, Alanna shoved Roger's sword out of the way, and then swung up and down towards his head; he made to block it, but then she pulled back and stabbed for his chest. He reacted just in time and jumped to the side, but not quickly enough. She pierced his shoulder deeply, and then yanked back again. He bellowed, but had no time to react as she fell into a fierce onslaught of attacks. He stumbled back, even dropping his illusion spell as he aimed his full concentration on evading her blade. His two attempted attacks failed miserably, and Alanna knew by the look on his face that he realized there was no stopping her.

Roger swore and, suddenly, an orange cloud puffed up around him. Alanna jumped back, alarmed, as an arm of the cloud lurched towards her. Around her, the spectators gasped. Alanna stared at her opponent, confused. He held his sword in between them, but it obviously didn't hold his attention as he concentrated fiercely on his spell. He could not attack her with his blade, and the magic seemed more determined to keep her at bay than to do harm. Her eyebrows burrowed, but then a cry tore her attention from Roger. She glanced up in Roald's direction to find him and Jon, at his side, shrinking back from two more arms of the orange cloud. Jonathan was trying furiously to throw up shields, but the cloud swept through them easily.

Alanna did not stop to think. Her Prince was in danger. With a shriek, she sliced through the cloud attacking her and lunged forward to stab Roger in the chest. She yanked back as he swung around to look at her in shock, and then she leapt forward again, and again. He blinked, and glanced down at her blade buried just inches under his chin. He stumbled back and fell to his knees, wrenching the hilt from her hand. She stepped back and watched, her heart thudding mercilessly, as blood spurted from his mouth, and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground, dead.