Lioness Rampant (15 page)

“Then why'd the innkeeper tell me you were asking about snow gear?” He gave her a little shake. “Do you think you're immortal? That's a killer blizzard! Entire herds are out there frozen in their tracks! Maybe that Gift of yours could shelter you from the little blows in Tortall, but this is the Roof of the World, and
you will die. I'd
never attempt it, and I
forbid
you to!”

Years of training stopped her from hitting him, although she'd never wanted to as much as right now. “You don't know what I can do, Ironarm.” Her voice was icy as she jerked out of his hold. “I resent your acting as if I'd do something stupid if you weren't around.”

“And wouldn't you do something stupid?” he snapped. “Sometimes you act like you have no more sense than the kitten I named you!”

That was unfair, and they both knew it was unfair. Liam couldn't apologize; Alanna couldn't forgive. They were coldly silent through dinner, and the others retreated to their rooms immediately after, rather than witness this quarrel. Liam stayed to talk with the Doi, and Alanna went upstairs with Faithful.

“We're not going to work this out,” she told the cat as she undressed and got into bed. “We're too
much alike, I guess.” Then she began to cry, because it hurt, in spite of her knowing why things were going wrong. Faithful nestled beside her cheek, purring comfortably. Alanna was asleep by the time Liam came to bed. She didn't feel him gently touch her tear-blotched cheek.

The dream was so clear it scared her:
Jonathan stood beside a coffin that held his mother, Queen Lianne.

“She was not strong.” Roger stood on the opposite side of the coffin, his face emotionless. “Her time had come.”

Jon's eyes were tired. “She was healthy once, before you sent the Sweating Sickness. Before you tried to kill her with your spells.”

“That was another lifetime for me,” Roger said. Thom was a shadow at Roger's side. “I have no more magic,” Jonathan's cousin went on. “I did not kill her.”

Jonathan looked at his mother's face. “I know you didn't.”

Behind Jon, in the shadows, stood George. His eyes were fixed on Roger.

Alanna's eyes flew open. It was very late—Liam was asleep, and the hearth-fire had burned down to embers.

That's it,
she thought grimly as she slid out of bed.
I've wasted enough time. I'm going to claim that Jewel and go home.

Are you sure?
Faithful asked as he settled on Alanna's pillow.

“This is crazy,” she whispered as she dressed. Liam slept peacefully, not hearing her preparations. “That Doi fortune-teller was making fun of me.” Grabbing the bag that contained her next layer of clothing, she pointed to the door.

No,
replied Faithful.
Someone has to keep
him
asleep.
He began to purr. A white, shimmering glow rose to cover him and Liam.

In the hallway Alanna shivered as she exchanged the clothes she'd put on so quickly for garments made of silk: shirt, hose, and gloves. The next layer was wool: leggings, stockings, another shirt. She'd begun to sweat, but she knew outside things would be very different. Discarding the bag and carrying soft-soled trapper's boots, she tiptoed out of the inn and into the passage that joined house and stables.

Underground hot springs made it possible for the inn to stay open. The stables were warm—in her clothes,
too
warm. Alanna cursed the heat until she spotted the stable-boy, asleep in a pile of hay. When
he stirred, she touched his forehead and told him to sleep, putting her Gift into it.

Moonlight pranced when she saw her mistress, but Alanna shook her head. “Not tonight, girl.”

Next to the stable doors were the three large bins the innkeeper had described for her. The one marked in red contained heavy winter gear in the largest possible sizes; the yellow one held medium sizes, and the green was for small. Opening the last, she pulled out the next layer of clothing. Everything was Doi make: leather jacket and trousers lined with fleece, a vest filled with goose down, a knitted facemask, goggles.

She used a burnoose for a head-cloth and her own fleece-lined mittens. From her belt hung Lightning and a double-headed ax with a special blade for ice. Over it all she wrapped a fur-lined cloak. Scanning the racks of snowshoes hanging over the bins, she selected the smallest pair and fastened them over the boots. “I hope I still remember how to use these things!”

Standing, she took inventory. Had she left out a single piece of clothing or a single tool that might help?

If she had, she couldn't remember it now. Gently she brought up her Gift, filling every stitch she wore with it and binding the stable's warmth to every layer of clothing. She fixed it there with a word of command,
just to be safe, and sealed it all with the ritual “So mote it be!” Heat settled over her like a blanket. Drawing a deep breath, she opened the stable door a crack and passed through. Before she closed it, she sent a bit of magic back to the sleeping boy, so he would wake in five minutes and bolt the door.

The stableyard held drifts of only a foot or so, protected as it was by the inn's high containing wall. She found the gate and opened it, bracing herself for the first unrestricted blast of the storm. When it came, it almost knocked her over. Slanting her body into the wind, Alanna passed through the gate and pulled it closed.

The wind made her gasp with its sharpness. Icy daggers bit into her chest as she started to shiver.
Cold,
a part of her wailed.
I hate the cold!

Alanna forced a foot out in front of her, trying not to think of ice or wind. She stepped again, shoving her shoed foot down.
Step two.
She could barely see in front of her. How would she know which way to go? She raised a foot and brought it down, moving forward against the wind.
Third step takes all.
Somehow she was moving. Given what she already knew—that whatever ruled the pass was going to make this as hard for her as possible—she walked directly into the wind.

She hadn't used snowshoes much in the years since she'd left Trebond. It took her a few minutes to make her legs and feet remember just how they worked: long steps, lift the shoes clear of the snow, then put them down. Stop every six or seven steps to shake off the snow that piled on the top of the broad, flat shoe. It was hard work for her leg muscles, but she welcomed it. She welcomed anything that took her mind off the cold. Even her Gift couldn't ward off all of it, and her magic was burning up dangerously fast in the attempt.

Was she mistaken, or had the ground begun to rise?

She wasn't mistaken. With a thump she collided with a tall stone pillar, the one that marked the point where the road left the valley floor and climbed into the pass. Alanna sheltered herself in the lee of the rock for a moment, panting with the effort it had taken to get this far.

On a stormless day this walk would've taken me five minutes. How long have I been out here? An hour?
She pushed away from her shelter and into the wind again.

A sudden gust shoved her to her knees. Clenching her teeth, Alanna got up and went on to ram into a tree. She stumbled and fell on her back in the snow.
Afraid she'd get buried in snow if she stayed in one place too long, she struggled up again, hissing words she'd forgotten she knew at the clumsy snowshoes. Inspiration struck. She seized a tree branch and hacked it off with her ax to form a staff.
Miache didn't have to put up with anything like this to get the Jewel,
she thought grumpily as she shook the snow from her shoes and set off once again.
She stole it from a nice, warm vault.
Now she tested the ground ahead with the wood, always heading face first into the wind. She decided she'd rather face a dragon than this storm.

It helped to recite poems as she walked. First she went through those the Mithrans had taught her in the palace. When they ended, she started with those taught her by foot soldiers, thieves, and hostlers. She was halfway through “The Tireless Beggar”—the song that had almost gotten Coram into trouble in Berat—when she ran out of voice. Stopping to rest, she wondered how far she'd come.

Her internal clock said dawn was still a few hours away and that she'd been at this almost two hours. The innkeeper had said it was two hours' hard walking from his door to the top of the pass, but under these conditions, Alanna knew it might take her an entire day to cover the same distance.

I wonder if I can sense the Jewel?
She reached for her Gift and stopped, feeling afraid. While she'd concentrated on pushing ahead, her Gift had poured itself into the effort of keeping her warm. It was dangerously low and flickering, burning itself up against the killer storm. She couldn't turn back—it would be gone before she reached the tree, let alone the valley.

Alanna climbed on. She thought wryly that she couldn't even blame Liam for forbidding her this climb and making her determined to do it. She was a grown woman, and the only person who had ultimate control of her behavior was she, herself.

Serves me right for losing my temper,
she told herself. Carefully she began to cut back the areas her warmth-spell covered until it was in force only around her feet, hands, and face. Trying to ignore the increased bite of cold on the rest of her, she plowed back into the wind.

It took five minutes of uphill walking before she realized that the wind had dropped. Halting, she looked up. Drifting snowflakes were all that remained of the blizzard. She slipped up her goggles and turned to look for her tracks. They lay behind her, following an eerily straight line as far as she could see. A cold that wasn't winter-brought raced up her spine. Her
trail should have swung back and forth in the snow. Instead it looked as if she could have drawn it with a straight-edge.

“I don't know if this is good,” she murmured. “With the wind in my face, at least I knew where I was headed.” Looking again at her tracks, Alanna shrugged and set off again. As her Gift burned lower and lower, staying in motion became a vital concern. Every few feet she'd look back to make sure she kept to her earlier course. Before her opened the pass, white and smooth along the road. Overhead the clouds broke up, revealing a sliver of new moon. The night was very quiet, the only sounds those of shifting snow and cracking rock.

Suddenly she heard in her mind a voice as terrible in its way as the Goddess's, filled with tumbling boulders and rushing streams. She dropped to her knees with her hands over her ears—it did no good.

So you have come this far. You took your time about it.

Alanna couldn't reply.

Look to your left.

She obeyed. A line of light stretched up the wall of the pass, over broken rock and pools of snow and ice.
The thing you came to take is at the end of this road—as am I.

The voice—it had to be the voice of the being that Mi-chi had called “old Chitral”—was gone. Alanna listened apprehensively for a moment, then remembered the cold's danger and scrambled to her feet again. Drawing a breath, she turned away from the smooth path, which lay so invitingly before her. She strengthened the spell on her hands and feet, drawing it away from her face and wondering how long her Gift could hold out even now. She was sleepy. A nap would be—

She shook off the cold's growing spell and made for the slope, stopping only to remove the snowshoes and strap them to her back. Her temper came back with a rush—not at Liam, this time, but at Chitral. “Am I supposed to entertain you?” she yelled, climbing into the rocks. “Where I come from it's considered honorable to kill a victim outright—not play with her first!”

There was no reply, but she didn't want one. All she really needed was the heat of her anger. She unhooked the ax from her belt once again, using it to pull herself up.

Her foot broke through a crust in the snow, and she went down, crying out as her leg got stuck between two rocks. Carefully she pulled herself out onto more trustworthy ground, using the ice blade on the ax. When she tried the leg, it throbbed but held.

“Are you
enjoying
this, Chitral?” No answer. On she climbed.

Within a few feet her staff slid on a hidden bit of ice. She struck the ground with her knees, biting into her lower lip. Alanna grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it against the mask, over her bleeding mouth. Adding another hurt to Chitral's account, she rose and went on. She knew she got hurt so much now because weariness and agitated nerves interfered with her judgment. The best solution was to stop and rest for half an hour, but she didn't dare try that. Instead she started to sing “The Tireless Beggar.” She'd finished it and had sung halfway through “The King's New Lady” when she stumbled into the cave.