Alanna The First Adventure - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,37

she had been dropped on her head at birth; she would never be a full-fledged knight, only a “Lord,” fit to do nothing but sit at home and write poetry. Alanna took the abuse and practiced doggedly, trying to deafen herself to the old villain’s talk.

“How d’you expect me to be confident if you’re bellowing at me all the time about how bad I am!” she yelled at him once.

Sklaw grinned without humor. “Well, laddie, if you’ve let an old buzzard like me hurt your confidence, you couldn’t have had much in the first place.”

Alanna bit her lip rather than answer him back, after that.

Spring came, and Duke Gareth returned to their class.

“We’re trying something new today, girls,” the Guard Captain growled as the Duke of Naxen took a seat. He tossed two sets of padded practice armor at Geoffrey and Douglass. “Meron. Veldine. Let’s see if you can use what you’ve learned on the move.”

The two boys put on the padding and assumed the “guard” position. “Begin!” Sklaw barked.

After a few moments Alanna closed her eyes. She had seen Duke Gareth fencing with Alex, who was the best swordsman among the squires. This was a mockery of that kind of fencing. Geoffrey would lurch forward and swing his sword at Douglass. Douglass would hurry to block the swing, stumble back, then lurch forward to try a swing at Geoffrey. After a while Duke Gareth called a halt. Between them, he and Sklaw went over the duel, showing each boy how he could place his feet better, how he could move quickly without stumbling, how he could improve his balance. Finally they were permitted to strip off their now sweat-soaked padding.

“Wellam. Trebond.” Sklaw shoved two fresh suits of padding at them. “If you can do as well, I’ll be much surprised.”

Alanna assumed the “guard” position, feeling her knees trembling. It was like taking any other kind of test, only ten times worse. A knight lived or died by his swordsmanship. Without a mastery of swordplay, she would be no knight, have no great adventures. Suddenly Sacherell, who was a friend and a sometimes companion, looked like a menacing ogre—a tall, bulky, menacing ogre.

“Begin!” Sklaw ordered. Alanna stumbled backward as she tried to avoid Sacherell’s lunge. Recovering her balance, she brought her sword up just in time to block Sacherell’s down-coming swing. She stumbled again and recovered only in time to block another swing—and another—and another. She stumbled and blocked, without making any swings of her own and without really getting her footing. The boy lunged forward suddenly, his sword point headed straight for Alanna’s throat. She tripped and fell over her own feet, dropping her sword. When she looked up, Sacherell was standing over her, his sword in the “kill” position at her throat. She closed her eyes as Sklaw let out a full-throated roar of laughter.

That night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Over and over she “fought” the duel with Sacherell in her mind. What had gone wrong?

She heard Coram moving around in his room, getting ready to take up the predawn watch. When he left the chambers, she went with him, a small, silent shadow. Wordlessly she accompanied him down to the kitchens, sitting beside him as he flirted with a sleepy scullery maid and ate his breakfast. Still silent, she followed him up to his post on the castle walls. Together they watched the sky over the Royal Forest go from gray to red-orange as dawn came.

At last Coram remarked, “Sleep at all?”

Alanna shook her head.

“I’ve seen worse.”

“You were there?”

“Aye.”

Alanna closed her eyes and shivered. The humiliation for Coram would have been terrible, and that made her own humiliation worse. It was bad enough to look like an idiot in front of her friends and Duke Gareth. But Coram was the man who had taught her how to use a dagger as a weapon, to shoot an arrow, to ride her pony. Coram had encouraged her all this way, had made himself a wall between her and the people who might have discovered who she really was. She had failed Coram, and he had seen it.

“I don’t understand it,” she whispered finally. “It—it was like—my body wouldn’t do anything I told it to. My mind was saying, ‘Do this! Do that! Do something!’ And my body just wasn’t connected. Sacherell—”

“Sacherell was well enough.” Coram yawned. “He’s a bit of a natural. Ye’re just not a natural with a sword, Master Alan. Some are born to