In the Hand of the Goddess by Tamora Pierce Page A

sentry. Jonathan’s men had suffered the worst losses in the big Tusaine attack, and they welcomed even one small relief guard.
    One evening in late July she and Faithful were standing watch just below the falls. They were alone at the moment. The soldier sharing the watch with them was having trouble with a healing leg, and Alanna had sent him back to camp for a replacement. He had not been gone long when a twig snapped behind them. Alanna spun, leveling her spear at her visitor.
    Orange light flared against a hand, making Duke Roger’s face briefly visible. Faithful pressed against Alanna’s ankles, hissing and spitting.
    â€œStop it,” Alanna told him, slowly lowering the spear. Faithful obeyed. “Your Grace. Aren’t you out late?”
    â€œNot really. Sit down, please. I know you still tire easily.”
    Alanna obeyed, sitting on a large rock. Faithful hopped up onto her lap. “I’m honored by Your Grace’s concern.”
    â€œYou did a brave thing, tracking down the man Thor and hearing his story. It’s a pity you collapsed before you made it back to camp; you might have captured the traitor.”
    Alanna shrugged without taking her eyes off Jonathan’s cousin. “Don’t think I haven’t kicked myself about that, sir, several times.”
    Silence fell between them, stretching out over endless moments. I won’t ask why he’s here , Alanna told herself grimly. He’ll get to it in his own time. He didn’t come up here just to be polite.
    Suddenly Duke Roger said, “We are not friends, are we, Alan?”
    Alanna tightened her hands on her spear. This wascoming to grips with a vengeance! “No, Your Grace, we’re not,” she replied evenly.
    Without the light of his Gift it was hard to read the Duke’s face. “Might it be possible we are enemies?”
    Alanna thought about this, and about his reasons for asking. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Perhaps you should tell me. ”
    â€œI could be a very good friend, Alan.”
    Her throat was dry. What kind of game was he playing? Was this a warning—or a threat? “I have no desire to make you my enemy; sir. I’d like to live to a ripe old age and die in my sleep.”
    White teeth flashed in a grin against his shadowed face. “I can sympathize. Such an ending could be yours—if we were friends. Many things could be yours.”
    Alanna shifted her hold on the spear; her fingers were getting numb. “I would have to be assured that my other friends have the same chance, Your Grace,” she said boldly. “Frankly, I doubt that’s your aim.”
    For a long moment he said nothing. Then she saw his broad shoulders lift in a shrug. “I see. Thus, as long as you feel this way, we will be…”
    â€œLess than friends,” Alanna supplied diplomatically.
    Roger bowed. “I appreciate your honesty, Alan of Trebond. Not many dare to be so open with me.”
    She smiled crookedly. “Not many have insanity in their families, either.”
    This drew a laugh from him. “I see. Well—good night to you, Squire Alan.”
    Alanna stood, a little stiff from the dampness of the river. “Your Grace.” She watched Roger fade into the shadows. “He has style,” she remarked quietly.
    Style or not, he’s as treacherous as a snake , Faithful warned her.
    Alanna touched the ember-stone under her shirt. “I know,” she replied softly. “I just wish I had something to crush him with.” Give him time , the cat meowed. He’ll give you plenty to crush him with.
    Alanna frowned. “The problem is that by the time he does he’ll probably be invincible.”
    True. Faithful yawned. Fog’s rising. And with that he curled up and went to sleep.
    Alanna watched the ghostly white tendrils rising from the river’s surface, feeling very tired. “Just what I