Post by Shhasow on Nov 18, 2010 22:34:21 GMT 10
Burning Brightly
Summary: Page Alan has another person helping to train him against Ralon of Malven, and their relationship continues.
Rating: PG
This popped into my head after reading the Wyldon/Ladies thread. I realized that he would have been a squire when Alanna was a page, so what if they met?
Thank you Ankhiale
Part 1 of 2
________
Alanna trotted out to the training yard after a quick lunch and began stretching. She wanted to get in an extra quick work-out every day; as a girl, it wasn’t easy to keep up with the boys, and her slight frame did not gain muscle so easily as her friends.
Still, things were looking up. No one suspected her subterfuge, she finally adjusted to the grueling palace schedule, and she was making friends.
Real friends. Alanna, as a noble’s daughter completely uninterested in feminine arts, had never had a true friend. The acceptable girls – note, fiefs in the Book of Gold or Silver at most – wrinkled their noses at her, especially when she dropped the fact that she hunted in Trebond’s forests quite often and in breeches. The boys were never possible, either, for they scorned the weak Thom and thus had no reason to visit Trebond, especially not to advance the possibility of a marriage betrothal with the hoydenish Alanna.
The only dim spot was Ralon of Malven.
How she loathed that boy.
Ralon was more than half the reason Alanna trained constantly trained; she dearly wanted to get strong enough to destroy the fourteen-year-old. He had only recently become a squire, but he was still around the palace enough to make her life miserable, cornering her in the stables, punching and pinching her when no one would notice. When they did fight, Alanna lost; she was only ten, a slight ten at that, and a first-year page.
Alanna sat on the ground to finish her stretches. Leaning forward to touch her toes, she noticed a shadow on the ground right in front of her.
Turning around too late, she gave a strangled groan when the elbow smashed into the back of her head.
Through tear-blurred eyes, Alanna saw the retreating back of a familiar figure topped with sandy-blonde hair.
She cursed him thoroughly as she carefully laid back on the grass, every moment causing her head to spin and nausea threaten.
Eyes closed, Alanna only noticed the figure standing over her when the sun behind her eyelids blacked out.
She shot up only to roll to her side in an attempt to control her gorge, expecting at any second to feel another blow on her body, but the urge to vomit eventually passed and Alanna looked up suspiciously to see an unfamiliar squire.
He was tall and stocky with light brown hair and a strong face. His attire was perfectly practical for a day in the training yard, brown and tan colors not daring to show any stain or dirt. Alanna might have called him handsome if he smiled, but the severe expression on his large made him appear cold and prideful.
“What?” she asked rudely, wishing her blinding headache would cease.
He shifted, the only indication he gave that he was taken aback. “That wasn’t right,” he stated.
Alanna slowly rose to her feet to find that he was as tall as she had guessed. Everyone was taller than her; it wasn’t fair. She scowled at him, “That’s Ralon of Malven for you.”
“I am aware of him. He is in the year before me and his reputation precedes him. You are a first year page?”
Goddess, did this boy even have emotions? “Yes,” she said shortly, carefully moving around to find her motion-sickness had abated.
“He is a first year squire.”
“I am aware,” she snapped, echoing his previous words.
He shook his head again. “That’s unchivalrous, to bully the weak.”
Alanna’s dislike of him was growing with every word he said. “I’m not weak,” she retorted, gritting her teeth.
He shrugged. “Compared to him? Yes, just as he is weak compared to me, and I am to Duke Gareth. No offense is meant…”
It took Alanna a second to figure that he was asking for her name and another few seconds to decide if she cared. “Alan of Trebond.”
“What are you going to do about him?”
“I’m trying to train but I seem to be interrupted,” she said pointedly.
He somehow seemed amused at her though his countenance didn’t change. To him, it was as if a young puppy yapped angrily at a bloodhound, and he understood that the page’s pride was damaged. “My knight-master is currently stationed in the palace for the foreseeable future.”
Bully for you, Alanna thought.
“I would not be adverse to helping you train. There are tricks I could show you, ways to increase your strength, moves that he would not know.”
Alanna was beyond surprised. She stopped stretching and studied the boy. This stiff proud squire was offering to help a lowly first-year page against another squire? What did he want? “Why do you want to help me?” she asked slowly. “What am I to you?”
He looked thoughtful as he answered. “I don’t like bullies, and I don’t like Malven. You are just one of those he persecutes, and you seem to have the fire you need to beat him.”
Alanna stood at a crossroads. She could sooth her pride and sneer at the squire, could tell him that she was a noble and didn’t need his help. Things would continue as they were; Ralon would continue to beat her up for several months until she could muster up the training and strength. If she swallowed her pride and allowed this squire to help her, then she might be out from Ralon’s thumb even sooner.
The choice was easier than she thought.
“Was it my red hair?” She grinned. “I have been called Fire-Top.”
The squire seemed surprised at first, but he broke into a slight smile, his brown eyes showing a spark of life and light. “That was an indication, yes.”
“When can we meet?”
He considered. “Before morning workout would probably be best to get the most uninterrupted time. I assume you don’t want your friends to know?”
Alanna shook her head. “This is between me and Ralon. And you, I suppose.”
“No, this is a noble’s fight, just the two of you. I’m just your training master.”
Alanna was gratified. He was just another mentor, like Coram.
“I will see you tomorrow, Trebond,” he bowed slightly.
“Wait, what am I to call you, oh training master of mine?” she quipped.
“Oh? Didn’t I say?” He flushed a bit, embarrassed. “My apologies. I am Wyldon of Cavall.”
***
For the next few weeks, the two of them met every morning. Wyldon showed page Alan ways to use his small stature to his advantage in bare-handed fighting and exercises to increase his strength.
“I would teach you the lance as it is my best weapon, but I fear you are too small to excel at it,” Wyldon said regretfully.
Alanna learned to not take anything Wyldon said as an insult; he was merely brutally honest and expected everyone to be the same. It worked out in Alanna’s favor, for holding her tongue was more difficult than not, and she enjoyed the time with her friend where she could speak freely. Wyldon appreciated the quick-witted page who worked as hard as he did, and the squire often did his work-outs at the same time as the pages so he could monitor Alan.
“You’re getting complacent,” Wyldon told her bluntly one morning. “The drills with the sword, you’re just hitting and blocking. You’re not learning.”
“You mean the stick?” she muttered. “Hardly a sword. It’s boring and pointless.”
Wyldon disagreed. “It’s the precursor so that you can wield a sword later. If you get the motions down now it will become second-nature and sword-fighting will be greatly simplified.” At Alan’s grimace, he simply said, “Trust me.”
Alanna did trust the older boy. He was forthright, honorable, and simply hated deception of any kind. It made her uneasy to think of her own deep secret, but she decided that as long as she was honest about everything else it would have to do.
From that point, Wyldon began teaching her a rudimentary art of the sword. It felt just as awkward as the stick, but it was more real. Swordsmanship was vital to every fighting knight; he lived or died by the blade. She worked at it and, combined with her normal workouts and any additional ones she could sneak in during the day, thin ropey muscles began to appear on her arms. Alanna walked taller and more confidently; more than once a friend would shake his head at her and wonder how she managed to progress so quickly.
Alanna merely smiled a secretive smile and mentally thanked Wyldon.
***
When Alanna met George, she knew that he and Wyldon would not get along well, so she made no mention of him. Wyldon might appreciate George’s quick wit, but he would feel distinctly unamused at his occupation and might even feel pressured to report him to the Lord Provost.
Alanna lost more sleep after she asked George for training. After Wyldon, what was one more training master?
When Ralon broke her arm, both Wyldon and George insisted she continue fighting, but with her left arm, so with an irritated sigh, she worked her unsteady arm until it became just as natural to box and swing with it as with her right.
When Alanna felt ready to confront Ralon, her two training masters gave her separate advice that boiled down to the same message: she was only ready if she thought so, and to give him a good solid thrashing. “A noble thrashing,” Wyldon advised. “Like a dog,” George insisted.
In the end, with Ralon rolling on the ground, blood pouring through his clapped fingers, Alanna’s friends stood around and cheerfully congratulated her. She said little, still feeling jittery and beginning to get nauseated, but looked up to catch Wyldon’s eye and see his solemn nod.
Later he explained how he knew how she felt. “You were stronger than he, knew more than he, and you were ready, but if you hadn’t beaten him, he would have continued to harass you until you did. When the time comes where you have to kill a man, do it quickly, but do it absolutely. There is no fairness in war, only life and death.”
Alanna looked carefully at her friend. He was pale and his lips pulled into a thin line. She didn’t have to ask if he had killed someone, and he didn’t offer the information. She clapped him companionably on the shoulder.
***
Wyldon continued training Alanna. He had asked if she wanted the early morning lessons to finish, but Alanna fervently declined.
“There will always be a bully,” she declared to him, “and I want to be ready to stop him. Besides,” she blushed, “you’re my friend.”
Wyldon, delighted, gave her permission to use his first name. Rolling her eyes at his stiff formality, Alanna offered her own permission.
Alanna never left the palace for the summer, instead choosing to stay where there were the best training facilities. Wyldon’s knight-master remained at the palace and so the squire and the page happily continued their meetings.
When Jon and Raoul and Gary and the rest of her friends returned to Court, they were surprised at the change in their small friend.
“Alan! It’s as if you’ve grown, not taller, but larger!” Gary gasped teasingly.
Although Alanna was very pleased to have her friends back, she was unhappy that Wyldon had to leave. His knight-master was assigned to the south because of troublesome Bazhir, and he would be gone at least six months. Both were very saddened at the departure, and Alanna wished her good friend the best of luck, while Wyldon commanded her to avoid any scrapes while he was gone and unable to help. “Not as if you’ll actually be able to avoid it; you attract trouble, Alan.”
Therefore her friend wasn’t at the palace when the Sweating Sickness struck. It was the only time during his absence that she was glad he was gone; pages and squires were just as susceptible to the disease as the oldest and youngest.
When Wyldon finally returned for a brief stay in the palace, they gave each other a rough hug, inconspicuously checking each other for obvious injuries. He assured her that he was fine, though not for lack of trying by the Bazhir. He didn’t like even those who were allies of the king. “Too different,” he declared, shaking his head. “I cannot understand how they can live so happily in such a beastly place.” Wyldon did, however, praise their horses though he expressed his doubts on whether they would be effective for jousting. “Too thin-boned, you see. Wonderful stamina, faster than any of Tortallan horses; I don’t think they would hold up, but breeding their speed and our build…”
Alanna in turn reassured him that she never took ill with the Sweating Sickness, and that Duke Roger had come to teach Gifted pages. She hesitated whether to tell him that she didn’t trust the mage, but it wasn’t necessary.
“I don’t trust the Gift,” he said uneasily.
“I don’t either,” she replied flatly, “but I would rather know how to use a tool at my disposal than have it use me.”
They agreed on the practicality of training it and left the issue alone.
Alanna also told him about her sword Lightning and her new mare Moonlight. He uttered acceptable praise over the sword and was exceptionally verbose –for him -over the horse. She told him without hesitation about the ruins at Olau and he expressed concern for her that she waved away. She was fine, no harmful effects, she told him.
When asked where she found the horse – “she has Bazhir stock in her, Alan!” – Alanna told the truth, albeit abbreviated, that a friend found her and sold the mare. Wyldon was suspicious and a touch hurt that his friend was holding something back, but accepted that Alan would tell him if and when he could.
She did relate to him her failure with Geoffrey of Meron and the disastrous sword duel. Wyldon commiserated, pointed out that she had been neglecting her practice patterns, and mercilessly drilled her in more intricate patterns. “It will come,” he assured her. “When everything clicks together, you will be an excellent swordsman, so long as you keep practicing, and no, I do not care how boring it is.” He also suggested that Alan practice with a heavier sword than Lightning so that he trained his muscles with a large weapon and fight with a light one.
Wyldon remained in Corus for a month and during that time, they spent as much time together as possible, mostly training but during all times of the day when they were not otherwise occupied. Wyldon was halfway through his third year as a squire and he had learned much during his time with the Bazhir, which he gladly showed to his friend.
Alanna’s other friends asked where she went off to, but she tartly told them that they were not her only friends. Gary was the first to figure out who she spent her time with and when he told the others, they were all confused.
“Wyldon of Cavall? How did they even meet?” Alex asked.
“Why would Alan even like him? He’s so emotionless, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile,” Gary pointed out.
“He’s so stiff, I could paint him and use him as a shield,” Raoul jeered.
“It is curious,” Jon agreed, “but I am sure Alan has his reasons. He always does.”
They watched their friend and agreed that Alan was happier for Wyldon’s company. “Beats me what Alan sees in him,” said Raoul helplessly.
They were somewhat alarmed when Alan moped for a week after Wyldon left, this time for eastern Tortall, but managed to cheer him up when Gary pranked his father during supper and earned himself punishment duty for a month.
“You do it next time,” Gary grumbled to Raoul, Alex, Jon, and anyone who would listen.
Alanna appreciated her friends’ efforts and made an honest attempt to be her normal hot-tempered self.
Being closer to Corus, Wyldon visited the city whenever his knight-master reported, about once or twice a month. He and Alanna had impromptu lessons whenever they could, though increasingly Alanna began holding her own. She didn’t come close to beating him, but as she grew faster and stronger, Alanna no longer lost immediately.
They also spent more time enjoying each other’s company, trading stories of their adventures, hopes and fears, tales of hapless siblings. Alanna laughed at his painstakingly detailed description of his young sister Elsabenne and her fascination with his quills when she was younger and how she would sneak into his room at all times to nick one or five. Wyldon laughed when Alanna told stories about her twin brother and how he went an interesting shade of green when she caught and skinned a rabbit in front of him. “My poor brother, he was always the mage; he would have been completely helpless as a knight.”
Alanna finally introduced him to George after receiving an oath on his honor that he would let her explain everything. As she imparted to him about George’s lessons, his friendship, that he had sold her Moonlight, Wyldon listened carefully, his face blank. He was quiet for a few minutes and turned to the Thief, saying, “As long as our first priority is Alan, we shall have no trouble,” adding with a slight grin, “and you acquire a similar horse for me.”
When Wyldon returned for his Ordeal the midwinter of Alanna’s third year, she sat her own vigil all night, praying to the Mother Goddess for her friend’s safety and peace of mind. When he stumbled out of the chamber, pale and trembling, she restrained herself from rushing to help only because she knew he would not appreciate it. He was a stubborn man, she thought fondly. Later he told her that he knew what she was thinking and that just knowing it gave him the strength to walk under his own power –“lest you charge over to drag me away to my rooms.” Alanna had blushed but couldn’t deny it.
***
As the months wore on, Alanna’s friends saw her friendship with Wyldon as increasingly worrying. They all had their suspicions about the intensely shy and effeminate Alan, how he refused to swim with them, how his voice hardly changed at all and remained quite high, how he never showed any interest in girls, though they were disturbed in different amounts at the thought. Regardless, they all were fiercely protective of him and suspicious of Sir Wyldon of Cavall.
“I haven’t heard anything incriminating,” Gary admitted as they all, but Alan, sat in his room. “He is the heir to fief Cavall, which is famous for its kennels and stables, and there isn’t a whisper of improper behavior, anywhere.”
“Now that’s suspicious right there,” Alex drawled from his. “He’s a knight now. All of us but Jon here are squires, and we’ve all been caught with the ladies once or twice.”
Gary blushed as he stroked his mustache. Raoul coughed lightly, looking away. Jon rolled his eyes. Even though he was only a fourth-year page, he wasn’t an idiot, or inexperienced.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how?” Raoul said, almost pulling off a straight face.
“It appears that he doesn’t,” Gary said in an attempt to get the conversation back on target. “Or at least, he is very very discreet.”
“Are we sure about Alan?” Raoul asked doubtfully.
Jon shook his head. “No, but neither are we sure about Cavall.” He drummed his fingers on his knees. “Make no moves, but monitor them, discreetly,” he ordered.
By the time Alanna was a fourth-year page, she was sure of several things.
She loved being a page and learning how to fight. It was much harder than she had ever expected, but more gratifying. There was little more pleasing than knowing exactly where her sword blade would strike, or combining her practice dances and increasing the speed until the blade was a steel whirlwind, or controlling her mount with only her body, striking out with sword in one hand and shield in the other, giving and fending off blows at the same time.
She had the best and most annoying friends in Tortall. Although they were gone from the palace at times, they always sought her out when they returned to catch up on all the palace gossip and her adventures. Her friends also had an irritating tendency of following her around, which made ditching them for practices with Wyldon more difficult.
Wyldon was another certainty. He was her best friend, even better than Jon. Even though he was a knight, whenever he was in Corus Wyldon always had time for her. He understood her completely, complemented her absolutely. Where he was quiet, she was raucous, when she was tired, he convinced her to continue, aiding her with his strength and example. Wyldon accepted her swiftly changing moods and hot temper; he balanced her with his solemn calmness and level-headedness. Both of them altered for the better in each other’s company. Wyldon smiled more and even laughed on occasion. Alanna, affected by his unruffled demeanor, considered her words before she spoke and attempted to curb her temper, though she never amended her biting honest sarcasm because it amused her quiet friend.
“You are a wicked creature,” Wyldon said once, laughing.
Alanna was certain that she had a major, incontrovertible, embarrassingly large crush on Wyldon.
It wasn’t her fault that he had grown into his strong face, which was now handsome instead of awkward, or she started noticing how nicely he filled out his tunics. It wasn’t her fault how his deep voice caused a pleasant tingle and made her heart beat just a little faster, how when he touched her to correct her stance or grip it made her skin jump and warm, how it made her happy just to look at him.
It wasn’t her fault that he was the most honest person she knew, the most honorable, and a most loyal friend. Nor was it her fault that he took the time from his life to listen to hers, to advise and counsel, to make her feel important and equal to him.
It wasn’t her fault, but it was the truth.
Alanna had no idea what to do besides continue on as before. She was a boy to him, not even a girl let alone a woman.
Wyldon spent more time than usual in Corus at the beginning of Alanna’s fourth year as a page. His father had died, making him the lord of Cavall, so he was granted leave to take over management of his fief. Wyldon traveled between Cavall and Corus, seeking advice from people and visiting Alanna. By now she was skilled enough with a sword to best him at times, and though she gloated every time, Wyldon shut her up with a raised eyebrow and an invitation to joust. Alanna preferred life, as she told him pointedly. She spent all of her time with her sword; Wyldon switched between tilting and the sword.
“There’s just something so right about it,” he told her once. “There is a feeling of completion, from the ground through the horse and out the lance. Does that make sense at all?”
She grinned and replied, “It’s exactly how I feel with Lightning.”
Wyldon surprised her at midwinter with the gift of a puppy from the Cavall kennels, half-trained.
“You’ll have to continue her training,” he warned as he watched his friend twirl around with the dog in her hands. “She knows the commands and I’ll give you the list. If you slack, she will forget them, or she’ll ignore you.”
Alanna solemnly promised not to ruin her training as she held the pup and let her nibble her hair. Wyldon rolled his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. When Alanna asked for the dog’s name, he smirked –causing her heart to beat erratically – and answered wickedly, “Firetop.”
Alanna blushed deeply and agreed that it was a fine name for a dog whose coat was a shiny red, the same color as her hair.
Later that day, Jon and the others walked in on her playing with Firetop and practicing the commands.
Jon, leading, stopped just inside the entrance in surprise. Raoul, Gary, and Alex ran into his back, swearing.
“Who is that, Alan?” Jon asked.
Alanna frowned. Jon had an odd tone in his voice. “This is Firetop,” she said proudly as she commanded the dog to “sit.”
“Where did you get him?” Jon continued, the same note in his voice. Raoul and Gary looked at each other and silently agreed to let Jon handle it.
“Where do you think?” Alanna snapped. “It’s not like Wyldon is a secret; you’ve met him before.”
“Yes we have, but you spend a lot more time with him than we do.” Jon was worried; Alan was hiding something. He felt his heart drop a bit as he considered the rumors might be true. Alan would always be a good friend, but Jon felt defensive about his small companion and very concerned about the possibly unscrupulous knight.
Alanna twisted her fingers in Firetop’s coat. “He’s a friend, Jon, like all of you. I just don’t get to see him as often because he’s always away. You and Gary and all of you, your knight-masters stay close to Corus, so it’s as if we’re all still pages, almost. Wyldon,” she paused and shook her head, hunching her shoulders and mumbling, “he’s always been there when he could.” Try as she might, she couldn’t contain her blush.
Her friends gave each other very significant looks and after a half bell of idle talk, made their excuses to go. After a brief tussle, they decided to let Jon be the spokesman for the group and to take Gary, who was nearly the same size as Raoul and more tactful, less likely to insult Wyldon unnecessarily.
Jon and Gary knocked on the door to Wyldon’s chambers. It opened to reveal a neutral Wyldon, a newly bound book in one hand. “May I help you, Prince Jonathon, Naxen?” he asked dryly.
“I believe you know why we are here, Cavall,” Jon replied coolly. “May we enter?” he asked as he walked through the entrance.
“Quite,” Wyldon muttered as he shut the door firmly. He carefully put down the book on his desk.
“Midwinter gift?” Gary asked pointedly, sidling over to read the title.
“From Alan.”
“This is a very rare book, Jon,” Gary murmured. “Very impressive of Alan.”
“I believe he had assistance from George,” said Wyldon, irritation rising.
“Alan told you about George?” Jon was very surprised; it had taken the page two years to introduce him to George, and he was Alan’s best friend. Or at least, he thought he was.
“I’ve known him for about a year, interesting fellow,” Wyldon’s eyes pierced Jon. “An especially interesting character for a future King to associate with, wouldn’t you say?”
Jon refused to look away or to show any discomfort. “Certainly,” he said regally.
Wyldon’s mouth twisted and he hinted, “I am sure you did not come here to question me about George, but our other mutual friend.”
Gary looked to Jon, glad he wasn’t the one to speak to such a prickly person. What did Alan see in Wyldon that he couldn’t get from them? He didn’t really want to know the answer.
“I want to know what your relationship is with Alan,” Jon said bluntly.
Wyldon’s blank face broke as he stared at Jon in shock. “Certainly you don’t mean-“
“Alan has a lot of friends,” Jon continued softly, “friends who are eager to see him happy and who would be quite upset if he were toyed with.” He felt Gary move behind directly over his shoulder.
Wyldon shook his head disbelievingly. “This is an outrage-“
“We are quite protective of our small friend,” Gary cut in. “People who have hurt him were dealt with.”
Wyldon finally found his stride and he struck a solid blow. “Your intimidation tactics do nothing to me. I know exactly what happened with Ralon, more than you, I suspect. This is an incredibly improper and outrageous conversation and I refuse to have it. Suffice to say that we all care for Alan’s well-being and that is all we must agree upon.”
He strode to the door and opened it, gesturing pointedly.
Jon and Gary followed slowly, but before they exited, Jon had one last parting shot. “If you hurt him, I will do everything in my considerable power to make you pay.”
“At least you are loyal to Alan, if nothing else,” Wyldon answered bitterly, shutting the door with a resounding clunk.
Wyldon went to Alanna the next day and informed her of his assignment. He had been posted to the Southern Desert for another six months, ending just after midsummer. Wyldon had expected it, for there was still trouble with some Bazhir tribes and at least he had a desert-bred horse courtesy of George. Alanna was resigned; it was the life of a knight to be at service to the crown. Before he left, Wyldon took her aside.
“You will be a squire in a few months, Alan. Have you given your knight-master any thought?”
“Yes Wyldon, I’ve given him many thoughts,” said Alanna cheekily. “It’s just too bad that he’ll be gone for so long that I can’t give him even more.”
“You’ll wait for me, then?” he asked, staring into the bright violet eyes.
Alanna was caught in his gaze, his innocent words flinging themselves through her brain and taking on a deeper meaning. Wait for me, wait wait wait for me you’ll wait for me, then?
“Of course,” she whispered, too fervently. Wyldon was a bit disconcerted, but he was too glad to secure his best friend as a squire over the Prince. It didn’t take much to realize that the Prince was jealous over his friendship, but more the fool him for not having already asked Alan.
They parted after a manly hug, though if Alan held him a little too tight, Wyldon didn’t think anything of it. Alan felt deeply even though he pretended to be antagonistic and uncaring, assisted by his quick temper.
***
The months passed. Alanna was cheered by her new dog even through Wyldon’s absence, and Jon and the rest were relieved to see that their friend seemed to suffer no ill-effects from the knight’s absence. Training took up the time not spent with them so that by the time it was summer, she seemed to have blinked and made time race from midwinter to the month before midsummer.
It was then that Alanna was informed of her inclusion in the squire’s trip to Persepolis. She was ecstatic for she hadn’t been looking forward to a month without any of her friends, and besides, there was the slightest possibility that Wyldon would be there.
The journey there was as expected, hot and sandy, exactly as Wyldon had said. She did learn a lot from Myles and Lord Martin and more from the governor of Persepolis, Ali Mukhtab. The meeting with Duke Roger was also quite informative, though not in the same way. Having never trusted the charismatic Duke, Alanna saw easily that he was persuading Jon to go to the Black City using the jewel as a focus.
After the meeting, Alanna intended to talk to Jon but was distracted by a familiar face in the dining hall.
“Wyldon!” she called gleefully, trotting up to him. They exchanged a quick hug and Alanna sat next to him to listen to all of his tales of the past few months, and she told him about her first experience in the Southern Desert.
“Just as you said.” She wrinkled her nose. “The dratted sand gets everywhere and it’s so hot that I feel I’m taking a bath in my clothes, I sweat so much.”
Wyldon grinned at his fastidious friend and ruffled his hair to see him make a face. At Alanna’s question, he explained that he was just finishing up his assignment here and was to help escort the squires (and Alan) due to his knowledge of the desert and Bazhir. Wyldon admitted that he appreciated the Bazhir a bit more than the time he was here with his knight-master, for though he still couldn’t understand their ways, he appreciated their stoicism; he related a story in awe about a tribesman who stitched his own wound close without a healer and without cries of pain.
They enjoyed the company and by the time they parted amicably, Alanna had forgotten all about Jon and Roger and the Black City.
She woke up in the night, nerves thrumming and body tense. Alanna dressed quickly, firmly commanded Firetop to stay and guard the room, and went out to the hallway to see Jon just leaving his room. They hesitated and shrugged at each other, but before they could leave, they heard a low voice behind them.
“Alan, what are you doing? Even if it weren’t in the middle of the night when you should be asleep, I would know you were up to something. You always get a sneaky suspicious look whenever you’re about to do something incredibly stupid.”
Alanna gaped in fury and spun around to vehemently deny it when Jon put his hand on her mouth and nodded at the knight. “He’s right, Alan. Lord Wyldon, you are quite perceptive,” he said as if he hadn’t realized it before.
Alanna tore away Jon’s hand and gave him a deathly glare before whispering harshly, “It doesn’t matter. You’re not going with us, Wyldon. This deals with magic and you don’t have the Gift; you could be hurt.” As she said it, she realized it was true. Somehow, Alanna felt to her bones that this was evil magic at work.
He looked at her steadily. “Either I come with you or I wake up Duke Gareth.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“Is it?” he raised an eyebrow. “Or is it my duty to guard the squires and you?”
Jon impatiently interrupted their battle for dominance. “Are you coming or not, Alan?”
All three snuck out and rode to the Black City. At the perimeter, Alanna gave one last attempt to convince Wyldon to leave, but it was like trying to bend stone.
As they walked through the City, they felt the presence of something older than themselves, something certainly not benevolent, and Alanna felt increasingly worried for her non-Gifted friend. The Gifted had an innate defense against some magics.
When the Ysandir appeared, the three of them grouped together, all fighting to get to the forefront before Jon won out. Alanna and Wyldon were relegated to the back, both of them wearing a mulish expression.
Alanna’s fears were realized when one of the Ysandir threw a spell at them and Jon, a better mage than Alanna, was too late in shielding Wyldon. The knight collapsed to the floor, unmoving. Alanna felt her heart stop, then beat again when she saw his chest moving up and down, very slowly.
Enraged, she clasped hands with Jon and the pair routed the Ysandir, though only after her true identity was revealed.
Afterwords, they carried Wyldon between them back to the oasis and horses, Jon still reeling over the discovery.
“Does he know?” Jon asked her after they washed in the pool.
Alanna blushed and shook her head. “Don’t tell him, either,” she warned. “Wyldon hates deception. I want to keep his friendship for as long as possible until I have to tell him and ruin it forever,” she ended sadly.
“Do you really think he would reject you, Alanna?” Jon said incredulously. “He is absolutely devoted to you; he nearly bit off my head when Gary and I confronted him.”
“Wait, what did you do?” she sat up in alarm.
Jon blushed lightly. “Your… more feminine characteristics have not gone unnoticed by your friends. We don’t care,” he rushed, then corrected himself, “Well, we didn’t care, no, we wouldn’t have cared, and we were concerned that Wyldon was taking advantage of you in some way.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Alanna said tartly. “Wyldon is not, well, he just isn’t. We’re friends.” She looked away, Jon noticed, and gleaned a hint of the truth.
“
Am I to assume that you’re already taken?”
Alanna frowned in confusion. Jon clarified, “I was going to ask you to be my squire before Raoul or Gary, but I take it someone already has?”
Alanna’s face smoothed and she gave the unmoving form under a tree a fond look that she didn’t intend Jon to see. She murmured, “He asked just before he left, back in Midwinter, but there was never a chance for anyone else. I am sorry, Jon,” she added guiltily. The prince was her next best friend after Wyldon, and she hated hurting him.
Jon shrugged and clapped her on the shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly. “You were my only choice, too.”
Alanna blushed uncomfortably and fidgeted.
The three of them, two alert and one unconscious, sat under the full moon, connected in bonds of friendship that burned brightly, illuminating the darkness, but also casting shadows that would be revealed in the years to come.
Summary: Page Alan has another person helping to train him against Ralon of Malven, and their relationship continues.
Rating: PG
This popped into my head after reading the Wyldon/Ladies thread. I realized that he would have been a squire when Alanna was a page, so what if they met?
Thank you Ankhiale
Part 1 of 2
________
Alanna trotted out to the training yard after a quick lunch and began stretching. She wanted to get in an extra quick work-out every day; as a girl, it wasn’t easy to keep up with the boys, and her slight frame did not gain muscle so easily as her friends.
Still, things were looking up. No one suspected her subterfuge, she finally adjusted to the grueling palace schedule, and she was making friends.
Real friends. Alanna, as a noble’s daughter completely uninterested in feminine arts, had never had a true friend. The acceptable girls – note, fiefs in the Book of Gold or Silver at most – wrinkled their noses at her, especially when she dropped the fact that she hunted in Trebond’s forests quite often and in breeches. The boys were never possible, either, for they scorned the weak Thom and thus had no reason to visit Trebond, especially not to advance the possibility of a marriage betrothal with the hoydenish Alanna.
The only dim spot was Ralon of Malven.
How she loathed that boy.
Ralon was more than half the reason Alanna trained constantly trained; she dearly wanted to get strong enough to destroy the fourteen-year-old. He had only recently become a squire, but he was still around the palace enough to make her life miserable, cornering her in the stables, punching and pinching her when no one would notice. When they did fight, Alanna lost; she was only ten, a slight ten at that, and a first-year page.
Alanna sat on the ground to finish her stretches. Leaning forward to touch her toes, she noticed a shadow on the ground right in front of her.
Turning around too late, she gave a strangled groan when the elbow smashed into the back of her head.
Through tear-blurred eyes, Alanna saw the retreating back of a familiar figure topped with sandy-blonde hair.
She cursed him thoroughly as she carefully laid back on the grass, every moment causing her head to spin and nausea threaten.
Eyes closed, Alanna only noticed the figure standing over her when the sun behind her eyelids blacked out.
She shot up only to roll to her side in an attempt to control her gorge, expecting at any second to feel another blow on her body, but the urge to vomit eventually passed and Alanna looked up suspiciously to see an unfamiliar squire.
He was tall and stocky with light brown hair and a strong face. His attire was perfectly practical for a day in the training yard, brown and tan colors not daring to show any stain or dirt. Alanna might have called him handsome if he smiled, but the severe expression on his large made him appear cold and prideful.
“What?” she asked rudely, wishing her blinding headache would cease.
He shifted, the only indication he gave that he was taken aback. “That wasn’t right,” he stated.
Alanna slowly rose to her feet to find that he was as tall as she had guessed. Everyone was taller than her; it wasn’t fair. She scowled at him, “That’s Ralon of Malven for you.”
“I am aware of him. He is in the year before me and his reputation precedes him. You are a first year page?”
Goddess, did this boy even have emotions? “Yes,” she said shortly, carefully moving around to find her motion-sickness had abated.
“He is a first year squire.”
“I am aware,” she snapped, echoing his previous words.
He shook his head again. “That’s unchivalrous, to bully the weak.”
Alanna’s dislike of him was growing with every word he said. “I’m not weak,” she retorted, gritting her teeth.
He shrugged. “Compared to him? Yes, just as he is weak compared to me, and I am to Duke Gareth. No offense is meant…”
It took Alanna a second to figure that he was asking for her name and another few seconds to decide if she cared. “Alan of Trebond.”
“What are you going to do about him?”
“I’m trying to train but I seem to be interrupted,” she said pointedly.
He somehow seemed amused at her though his countenance didn’t change. To him, it was as if a young puppy yapped angrily at a bloodhound, and he understood that the page’s pride was damaged. “My knight-master is currently stationed in the palace for the foreseeable future.”
Bully for you, Alanna thought.
“I would not be adverse to helping you train. There are tricks I could show you, ways to increase your strength, moves that he would not know.”
Alanna was beyond surprised. She stopped stretching and studied the boy. This stiff proud squire was offering to help a lowly first-year page against another squire? What did he want? “Why do you want to help me?” she asked slowly. “What am I to you?”
He looked thoughtful as he answered. “I don’t like bullies, and I don’t like Malven. You are just one of those he persecutes, and you seem to have the fire you need to beat him.”
Alanna stood at a crossroads. She could sooth her pride and sneer at the squire, could tell him that she was a noble and didn’t need his help. Things would continue as they were; Ralon would continue to beat her up for several months until she could muster up the training and strength. If she swallowed her pride and allowed this squire to help her, then she might be out from Ralon’s thumb even sooner.
The choice was easier than she thought.
“Was it my red hair?” She grinned. “I have been called Fire-Top.”
The squire seemed surprised at first, but he broke into a slight smile, his brown eyes showing a spark of life and light. “That was an indication, yes.”
“When can we meet?”
He considered. “Before morning workout would probably be best to get the most uninterrupted time. I assume you don’t want your friends to know?”
Alanna shook her head. “This is between me and Ralon. And you, I suppose.”
“No, this is a noble’s fight, just the two of you. I’m just your training master.”
Alanna was gratified. He was just another mentor, like Coram.
“I will see you tomorrow, Trebond,” he bowed slightly.
“Wait, what am I to call you, oh training master of mine?” she quipped.
“Oh? Didn’t I say?” He flushed a bit, embarrassed. “My apologies. I am Wyldon of Cavall.”
***
For the next few weeks, the two of them met every morning. Wyldon showed page Alan ways to use his small stature to his advantage in bare-handed fighting and exercises to increase his strength.
“I would teach you the lance as it is my best weapon, but I fear you are too small to excel at it,” Wyldon said regretfully.
Alanna learned to not take anything Wyldon said as an insult; he was merely brutally honest and expected everyone to be the same. It worked out in Alanna’s favor, for holding her tongue was more difficult than not, and she enjoyed the time with her friend where she could speak freely. Wyldon appreciated the quick-witted page who worked as hard as he did, and the squire often did his work-outs at the same time as the pages so he could monitor Alan.
“You’re getting complacent,” Wyldon told her bluntly one morning. “The drills with the sword, you’re just hitting and blocking. You’re not learning.”
“You mean the stick?” she muttered. “Hardly a sword. It’s boring and pointless.”
Wyldon disagreed. “It’s the precursor so that you can wield a sword later. If you get the motions down now it will become second-nature and sword-fighting will be greatly simplified.” At Alan’s grimace, he simply said, “Trust me.”
Alanna did trust the older boy. He was forthright, honorable, and simply hated deception of any kind. It made her uneasy to think of her own deep secret, but she decided that as long as she was honest about everything else it would have to do.
From that point, Wyldon began teaching her a rudimentary art of the sword. It felt just as awkward as the stick, but it was more real. Swordsmanship was vital to every fighting knight; he lived or died by the blade. She worked at it and, combined with her normal workouts and any additional ones she could sneak in during the day, thin ropey muscles began to appear on her arms. Alanna walked taller and more confidently; more than once a friend would shake his head at her and wonder how she managed to progress so quickly.
Alanna merely smiled a secretive smile and mentally thanked Wyldon.
***
When Alanna met George, she knew that he and Wyldon would not get along well, so she made no mention of him. Wyldon might appreciate George’s quick wit, but he would feel distinctly unamused at his occupation and might even feel pressured to report him to the Lord Provost.
Alanna lost more sleep after she asked George for training. After Wyldon, what was one more training master?
When Ralon broke her arm, both Wyldon and George insisted she continue fighting, but with her left arm, so with an irritated sigh, she worked her unsteady arm until it became just as natural to box and swing with it as with her right.
When Alanna felt ready to confront Ralon, her two training masters gave her separate advice that boiled down to the same message: she was only ready if she thought so, and to give him a good solid thrashing. “A noble thrashing,” Wyldon advised. “Like a dog,” George insisted.
In the end, with Ralon rolling on the ground, blood pouring through his clapped fingers, Alanna’s friends stood around and cheerfully congratulated her. She said little, still feeling jittery and beginning to get nauseated, but looked up to catch Wyldon’s eye and see his solemn nod.
Later he explained how he knew how she felt. “You were stronger than he, knew more than he, and you were ready, but if you hadn’t beaten him, he would have continued to harass you until you did. When the time comes where you have to kill a man, do it quickly, but do it absolutely. There is no fairness in war, only life and death.”
Alanna looked carefully at her friend. He was pale and his lips pulled into a thin line. She didn’t have to ask if he had killed someone, and he didn’t offer the information. She clapped him companionably on the shoulder.
***
Wyldon continued training Alanna. He had asked if she wanted the early morning lessons to finish, but Alanna fervently declined.
“There will always be a bully,” she declared to him, “and I want to be ready to stop him. Besides,” she blushed, “you’re my friend.”
Wyldon, delighted, gave her permission to use his first name. Rolling her eyes at his stiff formality, Alanna offered her own permission.
Alanna never left the palace for the summer, instead choosing to stay where there were the best training facilities. Wyldon’s knight-master remained at the palace and so the squire and the page happily continued their meetings.
When Jon and Raoul and Gary and the rest of her friends returned to Court, they were surprised at the change in their small friend.
“Alan! It’s as if you’ve grown, not taller, but larger!” Gary gasped teasingly.
Although Alanna was very pleased to have her friends back, she was unhappy that Wyldon had to leave. His knight-master was assigned to the south because of troublesome Bazhir, and he would be gone at least six months. Both were very saddened at the departure, and Alanna wished her good friend the best of luck, while Wyldon commanded her to avoid any scrapes while he was gone and unable to help. “Not as if you’ll actually be able to avoid it; you attract trouble, Alan.”
Therefore her friend wasn’t at the palace when the Sweating Sickness struck. It was the only time during his absence that she was glad he was gone; pages and squires were just as susceptible to the disease as the oldest and youngest.
When Wyldon finally returned for a brief stay in the palace, they gave each other a rough hug, inconspicuously checking each other for obvious injuries. He assured her that he was fine, though not for lack of trying by the Bazhir. He didn’t like even those who were allies of the king. “Too different,” he declared, shaking his head. “I cannot understand how they can live so happily in such a beastly place.” Wyldon did, however, praise their horses though he expressed his doubts on whether they would be effective for jousting. “Too thin-boned, you see. Wonderful stamina, faster than any of Tortallan horses; I don’t think they would hold up, but breeding their speed and our build…”
Alanna in turn reassured him that she never took ill with the Sweating Sickness, and that Duke Roger had come to teach Gifted pages. She hesitated whether to tell him that she didn’t trust the mage, but it wasn’t necessary.
“I don’t trust the Gift,” he said uneasily.
“I don’t either,” she replied flatly, “but I would rather know how to use a tool at my disposal than have it use me.”
They agreed on the practicality of training it and left the issue alone.
Alanna also told him about her sword Lightning and her new mare Moonlight. He uttered acceptable praise over the sword and was exceptionally verbose –for him -over the horse. She told him without hesitation about the ruins at Olau and he expressed concern for her that she waved away. She was fine, no harmful effects, she told him.
When asked where she found the horse – “she has Bazhir stock in her, Alan!” – Alanna told the truth, albeit abbreviated, that a friend found her and sold the mare. Wyldon was suspicious and a touch hurt that his friend was holding something back, but accepted that Alan would tell him if and when he could.
She did relate to him her failure with Geoffrey of Meron and the disastrous sword duel. Wyldon commiserated, pointed out that she had been neglecting her practice patterns, and mercilessly drilled her in more intricate patterns. “It will come,” he assured her. “When everything clicks together, you will be an excellent swordsman, so long as you keep practicing, and no, I do not care how boring it is.” He also suggested that Alan practice with a heavier sword than Lightning so that he trained his muscles with a large weapon and fight with a light one.
Wyldon remained in Corus for a month and during that time, they spent as much time together as possible, mostly training but during all times of the day when they were not otherwise occupied. Wyldon was halfway through his third year as a squire and he had learned much during his time with the Bazhir, which he gladly showed to his friend.
Alanna’s other friends asked where she went off to, but she tartly told them that they were not her only friends. Gary was the first to figure out who she spent her time with and when he told the others, they were all confused.
“Wyldon of Cavall? How did they even meet?” Alex asked.
“Why would Alan even like him? He’s so emotionless, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile,” Gary pointed out.
“He’s so stiff, I could paint him and use him as a shield,” Raoul jeered.
“It is curious,” Jon agreed, “but I am sure Alan has his reasons. He always does.”
They watched their friend and agreed that Alan was happier for Wyldon’s company. “Beats me what Alan sees in him,” said Raoul helplessly.
They were somewhat alarmed when Alan moped for a week after Wyldon left, this time for eastern Tortall, but managed to cheer him up when Gary pranked his father during supper and earned himself punishment duty for a month.
“You do it next time,” Gary grumbled to Raoul, Alex, Jon, and anyone who would listen.
Alanna appreciated her friends’ efforts and made an honest attempt to be her normal hot-tempered self.
Being closer to Corus, Wyldon visited the city whenever his knight-master reported, about once or twice a month. He and Alanna had impromptu lessons whenever they could, though increasingly Alanna began holding her own. She didn’t come close to beating him, but as she grew faster and stronger, Alanna no longer lost immediately.
They also spent more time enjoying each other’s company, trading stories of their adventures, hopes and fears, tales of hapless siblings. Alanna laughed at his painstakingly detailed description of his young sister Elsabenne and her fascination with his quills when she was younger and how she would sneak into his room at all times to nick one or five. Wyldon laughed when Alanna told stories about her twin brother and how he went an interesting shade of green when she caught and skinned a rabbit in front of him. “My poor brother, he was always the mage; he would have been completely helpless as a knight.”
Alanna finally introduced him to George after receiving an oath on his honor that he would let her explain everything. As she imparted to him about George’s lessons, his friendship, that he had sold her Moonlight, Wyldon listened carefully, his face blank. He was quiet for a few minutes and turned to the Thief, saying, “As long as our first priority is Alan, we shall have no trouble,” adding with a slight grin, “and you acquire a similar horse for me.”
When Wyldon returned for his Ordeal the midwinter of Alanna’s third year, she sat her own vigil all night, praying to the Mother Goddess for her friend’s safety and peace of mind. When he stumbled out of the chamber, pale and trembling, she restrained herself from rushing to help only because she knew he would not appreciate it. He was a stubborn man, she thought fondly. Later he told her that he knew what she was thinking and that just knowing it gave him the strength to walk under his own power –“lest you charge over to drag me away to my rooms.” Alanna had blushed but couldn’t deny it.
***
As the months wore on, Alanna’s friends saw her friendship with Wyldon as increasingly worrying. They all had their suspicions about the intensely shy and effeminate Alan, how he refused to swim with them, how his voice hardly changed at all and remained quite high, how he never showed any interest in girls, though they were disturbed in different amounts at the thought. Regardless, they all were fiercely protective of him and suspicious of Sir Wyldon of Cavall.
“I haven’t heard anything incriminating,” Gary admitted as they all, but Alan, sat in his room. “He is the heir to fief Cavall, which is famous for its kennels and stables, and there isn’t a whisper of improper behavior, anywhere.”
“Now that’s suspicious right there,” Alex drawled from his. “He’s a knight now. All of us but Jon here are squires, and we’ve all been caught with the ladies once or twice.”
Gary blushed as he stroked his mustache. Raoul coughed lightly, looking away. Jon rolled his eyes. Even though he was only a fourth-year page, he wasn’t an idiot, or inexperienced.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how?” Raoul said, almost pulling off a straight face.
“It appears that he doesn’t,” Gary said in an attempt to get the conversation back on target. “Or at least, he is very very discreet.”
“Are we sure about Alan?” Raoul asked doubtfully.
Jon shook his head. “No, but neither are we sure about Cavall.” He drummed his fingers on his knees. “Make no moves, but monitor them, discreetly,” he ordered.
By the time Alanna was a fourth-year page, she was sure of several things.
She loved being a page and learning how to fight. It was much harder than she had ever expected, but more gratifying. There was little more pleasing than knowing exactly where her sword blade would strike, or combining her practice dances and increasing the speed until the blade was a steel whirlwind, or controlling her mount with only her body, striking out with sword in one hand and shield in the other, giving and fending off blows at the same time.
She had the best and most annoying friends in Tortall. Although they were gone from the palace at times, they always sought her out when they returned to catch up on all the palace gossip and her adventures. Her friends also had an irritating tendency of following her around, which made ditching them for practices with Wyldon more difficult.
Wyldon was another certainty. He was her best friend, even better than Jon. Even though he was a knight, whenever he was in Corus Wyldon always had time for her. He understood her completely, complemented her absolutely. Where he was quiet, she was raucous, when she was tired, he convinced her to continue, aiding her with his strength and example. Wyldon accepted her swiftly changing moods and hot temper; he balanced her with his solemn calmness and level-headedness. Both of them altered for the better in each other’s company. Wyldon smiled more and even laughed on occasion. Alanna, affected by his unruffled demeanor, considered her words before she spoke and attempted to curb her temper, though she never amended her biting honest sarcasm because it amused her quiet friend.
“You are a wicked creature,” Wyldon said once, laughing.
Alanna was certain that she had a major, incontrovertible, embarrassingly large crush on Wyldon.
It wasn’t her fault that he had grown into his strong face, which was now handsome instead of awkward, or she started noticing how nicely he filled out his tunics. It wasn’t her fault how his deep voice caused a pleasant tingle and made her heart beat just a little faster, how when he touched her to correct her stance or grip it made her skin jump and warm, how it made her happy just to look at him.
It wasn’t her fault that he was the most honest person she knew, the most honorable, and a most loyal friend. Nor was it her fault that he took the time from his life to listen to hers, to advise and counsel, to make her feel important and equal to him.
It wasn’t her fault, but it was the truth.
Alanna had no idea what to do besides continue on as before. She was a boy to him, not even a girl let alone a woman.
Wyldon spent more time than usual in Corus at the beginning of Alanna’s fourth year as a page. His father had died, making him the lord of Cavall, so he was granted leave to take over management of his fief. Wyldon traveled between Cavall and Corus, seeking advice from people and visiting Alanna. By now she was skilled enough with a sword to best him at times, and though she gloated every time, Wyldon shut her up with a raised eyebrow and an invitation to joust. Alanna preferred life, as she told him pointedly. She spent all of her time with her sword; Wyldon switched between tilting and the sword.
“There’s just something so right about it,” he told her once. “There is a feeling of completion, from the ground through the horse and out the lance. Does that make sense at all?”
She grinned and replied, “It’s exactly how I feel with Lightning.”
Wyldon surprised her at midwinter with the gift of a puppy from the Cavall kennels, half-trained.
“You’ll have to continue her training,” he warned as he watched his friend twirl around with the dog in her hands. “She knows the commands and I’ll give you the list. If you slack, she will forget them, or she’ll ignore you.”
Alanna solemnly promised not to ruin her training as she held the pup and let her nibble her hair. Wyldon rolled his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. When Alanna asked for the dog’s name, he smirked –causing her heart to beat erratically – and answered wickedly, “Firetop.”
Alanna blushed deeply and agreed that it was a fine name for a dog whose coat was a shiny red, the same color as her hair.
Later that day, Jon and the others walked in on her playing with Firetop and practicing the commands.
Jon, leading, stopped just inside the entrance in surprise. Raoul, Gary, and Alex ran into his back, swearing.
“Who is that, Alan?” Jon asked.
Alanna frowned. Jon had an odd tone in his voice. “This is Firetop,” she said proudly as she commanded the dog to “sit.”
“Where did you get him?” Jon continued, the same note in his voice. Raoul and Gary looked at each other and silently agreed to let Jon handle it.
“Where do you think?” Alanna snapped. “It’s not like Wyldon is a secret; you’ve met him before.”
“Yes we have, but you spend a lot more time with him than we do.” Jon was worried; Alan was hiding something. He felt his heart drop a bit as he considered the rumors might be true. Alan would always be a good friend, but Jon felt defensive about his small companion and very concerned about the possibly unscrupulous knight.
Alanna twisted her fingers in Firetop’s coat. “He’s a friend, Jon, like all of you. I just don’t get to see him as often because he’s always away. You and Gary and all of you, your knight-masters stay close to Corus, so it’s as if we’re all still pages, almost. Wyldon,” she paused and shook her head, hunching her shoulders and mumbling, “he’s always been there when he could.” Try as she might, she couldn’t contain her blush.
Her friends gave each other very significant looks and after a half bell of idle talk, made their excuses to go. After a brief tussle, they decided to let Jon be the spokesman for the group and to take Gary, who was nearly the same size as Raoul and more tactful, less likely to insult Wyldon unnecessarily.
Jon and Gary knocked on the door to Wyldon’s chambers. It opened to reveal a neutral Wyldon, a newly bound book in one hand. “May I help you, Prince Jonathon, Naxen?” he asked dryly.
“I believe you know why we are here, Cavall,” Jon replied coolly. “May we enter?” he asked as he walked through the entrance.
“Quite,” Wyldon muttered as he shut the door firmly. He carefully put down the book on his desk.
“Midwinter gift?” Gary asked pointedly, sidling over to read the title.
“From Alan.”
“This is a very rare book, Jon,” Gary murmured. “Very impressive of Alan.”
“I believe he had assistance from George,” said Wyldon, irritation rising.
“Alan told you about George?” Jon was very surprised; it had taken the page two years to introduce him to George, and he was Alan’s best friend. Or at least, he thought he was.
“I’ve known him for about a year, interesting fellow,” Wyldon’s eyes pierced Jon. “An especially interesting character for a future King to associate with, wouldn’t you say?”
Jon refused to look away or to show any discomfort. “Certainly,” he said regally.
Wyldon’s mouth twisted and he hinted, “I am sure you did not come here to question me about George, but our other mutual friend.”
Gary looked to Jon, glad he wasn’t the one to speak to such a prickly person. What did Alan see in Wyldon that he couldn’t get from them? He didn’t really want to know the answer.
“I want to know what your relationship is with Alan,” Jon said bluntly.
Wyldon’s blank face broke as he stared at Jon in shock. “Certainly you don’t mean-“
“Alan has a lot of friends,” Jon continued softly, “friends who are eager to see him happy and who would be quite upset if he were toyed with.” He felt Gary move behind directly over his shoulder.
Wyldon shook his head disbelievingly. “This is an outrage-“
“We are quite protective of our small friend,” Gary cut in. “People who have hurt him were dealt with.”
Wyldon finally found his stride and he struck a solid blow. “Your intimidation tactics do nothing to me. I know exactly what happened with Ralon, more than you, I suspect. This is an incredibly improper and outrageous conversation and I refuse to have it. Suffice to say that we all care for Alan’s well-being and that is all we must agree upon.”
He strode to the door and opened it, gesturing pointedly.
Jon and Gary followed slowly, but before they exited, Jon had one last parting shot. “If you hurt him, I will do everything in my considerable power to make you pay.”
“At least you are loyal to Alan, if nothing else,” Wyldon answered bitterly, shutting the door with a resounding clunk.
Wyldon went to Alanna the next day and informed her of his assignment. He had been posted to the Southern Desert for another six months, ending just after midsummer. Wyldon had expected it, for there was still trouble with some Bazhir tribes and at least he had a desert-bred horse courtesy of George. Alanna was resigned; it was the life of a knight to be at service to the crown. Before he left, Wyldon took her aside.
“You will be a squire in a few months, Alan. Have you given your knight-master any thought?”
“Yes Wyldon, I’ve given him many thoughts,” said Alanna cheekily. “It’s just too bad that he’ll be gone for so long that I can’t give him even more.”
“You’ll wait for me, then?” he asked, staring into the bright violet eyes.
Alanna was caught in his gaze, his innocent words flinging themselves through her brain and taking on a deeper meaning. Wait for me, wait wait wait for me you’ll wait for me, then?
“Of course,” she whispered, too fervently. Wyldon was a bit disconcerted, but he was too glad to secure his best friend as a squire over the Prince. It didn’t take much to realize that the Prince was jealous over his friendship, but more the fool him for not having already asked Alan.
They parted after a manly hug, though if Alan held him a little too tight, Wyldon didn’t think anything of it. Alan felt deeply even though he pretended to be antagonistic and uncaring, assisted by his quick temper.
***
The months passed. Alanna was cheered by her new dog even through Wyldon’s absence, and Jon and the rest were relieved to see that their friend seemed to suffer no ill-effects from the knight’s absence. Training took up the time not spent with them so that by the time it was summer, she seemed to have blinked and made time race from midwinter to the month before midsummer.
It was then that Alanna was informed of her inclusion in the squire’s trip to Persepolis. She was ecstatic for she hadn’t been looking forward to a month without any of her friends, and besides, there was the slightest possibility that Wyldon would be there.
The journey there was as expected, hot and sandy, exactly as Wyldon had said. She did learn a lot from Myles and Lord Martin and more from the governor of Persepolis, Ali Mukhtab. The meeting with Duke Roger was also quite informative, though not in the same way. Having never trusted the charismatic Duke, Alanna saw easily that he was persuading Jon to go to the Black City using the jewel as a focus.
After the meeting, Alanna intended to talk to Jon but was distracted by a familiar face in the dining hall.
“Wyldon!” she called gleefully, trotting up to him. They exchanged a quick hug and Alanna sat next to him to listen to all of his tales of the past few months, and she told him about her first experience in the Southern Desert.
“Just as you said.” She wrinkled her nose. “The dratted sand gets everywhere and it’s so hot that I feel I’m taking a bath in my clothes, I sweat so much.”
Wyldon grinned at his fastidious friend and ruffled his hair to see him make a face. At Alanna’s question, he explained that he was just finishing up his assignment here and was to help escort the squires (and Alan) due to his knowledge of the desert and Bazhir. Wyldon admitted that he appreciated the Bazhir a bit more than the time he was here with his knight-master, for though he still couldn’t understand their ways, he appreciated their stoicism; he related a story in awe about a tribesman who stitched his own wound close without a healer and without cries of pain.
They enjoyed the company and by the time they parted amicably, Alanna had forgotten all about Jon and Roger and the Black City.
She woke up in the night, nerves thrumming and body tense. Alanna dressed quickly, firmly commanded Firetop to stay and guard the room, and went out to the hallway to see Jon just leaving his room. They hesitated and shrugged at each other, but before they could leave, they heard a low voice behind them.
“Alan, what are you doing? Even if it weren’t in the middle of the night when you should be asleep, I would know you were up to something. You always get a sneaky suspicious look whenever you’re about to do something incredibly stupid.”
Alanna gaped in fury and spun around to vehemently deny it when Jon put his hand on her mouth and nodded at the knight. “He’s right, Alan. Lord Wyldon, you are quite perceptive,” he said as if he hadn’t realized it before.
Alanna tore away Jon’s hand and gave him a deathly glare before whispering harshly, “It doesn’t matter. You’re not going with us, Wyldon. This deals with magic and you don’t have the Gift; you could be hurt.” As she said it, she realized it was true. Somehow, Alanna felt to her bones that this was evil magic at work.
He looked at her steadily. “Either I come with you or I wake up Duke Gareth.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“Is it?” he raised an eyebrow. “Or is it my duty to guard the squires and you?”
Jon impatiently interrupted their battle for dominance. “Are you coming or not, Alan?”
All three snuck out and rode to the Black City. At the perimeter, Alanna gave one last attempt to convince Wyldon to leave, but it was like trying to bend stone.
As they walked through the City, they felt the presence of something older than themselves, something certainly not benevolent, and Alanna felt increasingly worried for her non-Gifted friend. The Gifted had an innate defense against some magics.
When the Ysandir appeared, the three of them grouped together, all fighting to get to the forefront before Jon won out. Alanna and Wyldon were relegated to the back, both of them wearing a mulish expression.
Alanna’s fears were realized when one of the Ysandir threw a spell at them and Jon, a better mage than Alanna, was too late in shielding Wyldon. The knight collapsed to the floor, unmoving. Alanna felt her heart stop, then beat again when she saw his chest moving up and down, very slowly.
Enraged, she clasped hands with Jon and the pair routed the Ysandir, though only after her true identity was revealed.
Afterwords, they carried Wyldon between them back to the oasis and horses, Jon still reeling over the discovery.
“Does he know?” Jon asked her after they washed in the pool.
Alanna blushed and shook her head. “Don’t tell him, either,” she warned. “Wyldon hates deception. I want to keep his friendship for as long as possible until I have to tell him and ruin it forever,” she ended sadly.
“Do you really think he would reject you, Alanna?” Jon said incredulously. “He is absolutely devoted to you; he nearly bit off my head when Gary and I confronted him.”
“Wait, what did you do?” she sat up in alarm.
Jon blushed lightly. “Your… more feminine characteristics have not gone unnoticed by your friends. We don’t care,” he rushed, then corrected himself, “Well, we didn’t care, no, we wouldn’t have cared, and we were concerned that Wyldon was taking advantage of you in some way.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Alanna said tartly. “Wyldon is not, well, he just isn’t. We’re friends.” She looked away, Jon noticed, and gleaned a hint of the truth.
“
Am I to assume that you’re already taken?”
Alanna frowned in confusion. Jon clarified, “I was going to ask you to be my squire before Raoul or Gary, but I take it someone already has?”
Alanna’s face smoothed and she gave the unmoving form under a tree a fond look that she didn’t intend Jon to see. She murmured, “He asked just before he left, back in Midwinter, but there was never a chance for anyone else. I am sorry, Jon,” she added guiltily. The prince was her next best friend after Wyldon, and she hated hurting him.
Jon shrugged and clapped her on the shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly. “You were my only choice, too.”
Alanna blushed uncomfortably and fidgeted.
The three of them, two alert and one unconscious, sat under the full moon, connected in bonds of friendship that burned brightly, illuminating the darkness, but also casting shadows that would be revealed in the years to come.