Alanna The First Adventure - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,50

noblest families of Tortall. Everyone liked the big, somewhat shy Raoul. While Gary’s sharp wit and sharper tongue had made him enemies, he was also respected. Alex was Duke Roger’s squire, and some of the Duke’s popularity had rubbed off on him. The squires and the pages who would be made squires at Midwinter worked relentlessly, particularly when one of the four was in sight.

All, that is, except Alanna. Although she was to be made a squire that Midwinter, she did not consider herself to be in the running, and she said so. The other boys wanted to know why.

“It’s easy,” she explained wearily. “Look at me. I’m the shortest, skinniest boy in the palace. My wrestling is terrible, and I’m not that good a swordsman. No one will want a weakling like me for a squire.”

“But you’re best on horseback, especially since you got Moonlight,” Douglass protested. “And you’re best at archery and tilting and staff fighting and weapons. And you’re a good student—all the Masters say so, behind your back. Are you saying even Jonathan won’t pick you?”

Alanna made a face. More than anything she wanted to be Jonathan’s squire. “Jonathan most of all. The Heir needs the best squire the kingdom can supply. My swordsmanship’s too weak, and I’m too little. Geoffrey of Meron’s good. The Prince should pick him.”

That was what she told her friends. She knew they didn’t believe her, but she didn’t care. The truth was, she didn’t feel worthy of being someone’s squire. She was a girl, and she was a liar. And at any moment, the truth could surface. In the meantime, the fact that she could always be beaten at wrestling and that she was only an average swordsman would do. Jonathan would pick Geoffrey or Douglass, and that would be the end of it.

In April that changed. Lord Martin of Meron—Geoffrey’s stern-faced father—rode north to visit his son and to request additional troops for his fief. Fief Meron was better known as the Great Southern Desert: leagues of sand stretching from the Coastal Hills to the Tyran Peaks. This harsh land was the home of the Bazhir, tribesmen not all loyal to the King or to his governor, Lord Martin.

The morning after Lord Martin’s arrival, he conferred with the King and Duke Gareth for several hours. The King had decided that Jonathan and the boys who would soon be knights should take this chance to see what the Bazhir were like. The situation in the desert being what it was, the odds were good that each knight would fight against the Bazhir at least once in his lifetime. The squires, under the guardianship of Sir Myles and Lord Martin, would ride south with the new troops. The pages would have their own long ride later in the summer to Fief Naxen, in the east.

After this decision was made and lunch was eaten, Duke Gareth and Lord Martin went out to the fencing yards. Lord Martin had once been famed for the quality of his swordmanship, and he and the Duke had already had one friendly match, the evening before. Now the two men took their seats at the side of the yard, prepared to see what the older pages and younger squires looked like.

“Let’s see what they can do, Captain Sklaw,” Duke Gareth instructed.

Sklaw looked around the yard, his one eye twinkling viciously. “Meron.” Geoffrey bowed gracefully and picked up his padded cloth armor. Captain Sklaw was grinning as he pointed. “Trebond. You haven’t done freestyle since that first time. Let’s see you fall over your own feet again.”

Alanna felt herself turning hot and cold with terror. Someone was shoving her practice padding into her hands; numbly she put it on. Sklaw was right. She hadn’t fought freestyle—without each pass and move already assigned to her by Sklaw—since that awful first bout with Sacherell just a year before. She had done drill—endless repetition of the same movement—or one-on-one “plotted fighting” in which each member of the team had to make a certain set of movements dictated by Sklaw, while the other member used the countermoves Sklaw had given him. That sort of thing went back and forth between two duelers all afternoon, and it certainly didn’t prepare anyone for freestyle dueling. In addition, she had her night practice and morning practice, but she was always alone, and it was only drill. Alanna drew deep breaths, feeling faint. Once again, here was Duke Gareth and Captain Sklaw, and Coram was clearing