Late March, 449 HE

[the_lioness]

Raucous laughter followed Alanna back to her small, stone-lined fire pit twenty paces west of the main camp. She bore it well, making do with a rude gesture behind her back as she stalked away. The men, twelve of the King’s Own and their attendants, had been bravely ribbing the Lioness about her stamina since the rain six days ago had left her soaked and seething. Now, dressed in every spare article of clothing she had, she moved more like a lumbering bear than a knight, but at least she was dry and relatively warm. Early spring was no time to sit and wait in the green dampness this close to the River Drell, bogged down in slowly drying mud puddles and cold gusts of wind. Give them a few more days without the signal to break camp, she thought, and they won’t be nearly as amused.

Once the fire was built and consuming the last bit of dry wood with crackling efficiency, Alanna sank to her haunches and bounced a linen bag of vervain in her chapped hand. She was due to update Jonathan, but there was a sad lack of news to share with the king. The whole operation was taking too long. While she’d admittedly never been good at this type of waiting, especially in the current climate, even the most patient of those in the know would be growing nervous without any word from their friend.

Why hadn’t he managed even the briefest of messages?

Alanna bit her lower lip and tossed a handful of the powdered herb over the fire. The flames danced violet as she began the invocation that would allow her to communicate with her liege lord in Corus. They burned higher, licking heat over her skin, until a jolt of someone else’s magic made the knight frown and open one eye. Scarlet fire flickered around purple, the colors moving together but not mixing.

“Onua Chamtong,” Alanna said with mild surprise. Last she’d heard, the hostler was in Galla on her annual purchasing mission.

“Horse Lords,” said the image in the flames, displaying both shock and relief. “Lioness. Where are you?”

Alanna hesitated before answering. “Inland of the River Drell, near the Great Road East.” More or less.

“Fortune favors us.” Onua closed her eyes and exhaled. “I have a friend who needs healing. He was attacked and barely escaped with his life. My young assistant -- I found her in Cria -- seems to think he won’t make it another day.” A pause. “She’s wonderful with the ponies and other animals.”

“A friend.” Alanna repeated the word with a thoughtful frown.

“Yes. A mutual friend.”

Straightening, the knight stared at the other woman, then asked, “Where are you, Onua?”

The K’mir glanced over her shoulder. When she looked back, her intent gray eyes provided all the answer Alanna needed. “On the road, fair west of Lord Sinthya’s marsh.”

“I’ll be there by midday. Goddess keep you both.” A wave of her hand broke the connection in a shower of purple and scarlet sparks, and Alanna quickly doused the flames. “So mote it be. Hakim,” she called next, knowing the man would be near enough to hear, “make ready to ride.”

Face grim, she began stripping off the extra layers and packing while the men broke camp competently and without question. Before long, it would be like they had never been there at all. “Fine by me,” Alanna growled, reaching for her mail. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

~

Thickening clouds cast shadows over the road as they headed west. Alanna made short forays forward, returning to ride beside the standard bearer and push the others, four rows of three abreast and the attendants bringing up the rear with spare mounts, into a steady canter. Onua and Arram couldn’t be far, and the rest of the company absorbed her palpable eagerness.

Not long before noon they pounded around a curve and faced a straight stretch of road lined with long grass and dense patches of trees. Alanna thought she saw a thin figure appear ahead in the middle of their path, but it disappeared just as quickly. They rode on, the regular rhythm of hooves striking the dirt reminiscent of a battle march. The figure soon reappeared, joined now by a taller feminine form. As they closed the distance, Alanna saw that the first was a girl, young and apparently awestruck. Casting her eyes over the woman, Alanna picked out Onua’s features and smiled under her golden helm. They each carried a bow, though the one in the girl’s hands looked too large for her to string.

Alanna raised her fist and called for a halt. Darkmoon stubbornly allowed his momentum to carry him forward until his head bumped the girl’s chest. “You beauty,” she whispered, gaze reverent, and stroked his mane. “Oh, you pretty, pretty thing.”

“Are you camped here?” Alanna asked Onua, who had laughed and come forward to press Darkmoon back. At her nod, the knight turned to the front rank of white-caped riders to say, “Hakim, this is it.” He nodded and called out instructions, ensuring that making camp in the nearby clearing was as orderly as breaking it had been the night before.

The girl couldn’t stop staring. Perhaps it’s the mail, Alanna thought as she secured her helm and shield, dismounted, and handed Darkmoon to Balen. Gold-washed and well-maintained, she had to admit it was a fine sight, something she’d been conscious of when she’d dressed. Still, it had its disadvantages. “I should’ve changed to leather. My back has been one whole itch the last mile,” she groused, removing her favorite amethyst-studded gauntlets and smiling at the girl. “The outfit looks nice, but it’s not very comfortable.” Still staring, the girl, taller than Alanna by two inches, failed to hide her confusion. Alanna bit back a laugh; she forgot, sometimes, how fun it could be to foil expectations.

“My wits have gone begging,” Onua put in. “Daine, this is Sir Alanna of Olau – the king’s champion. Alanna, this is Daine. Wait until you see what she can do with animals.”

Daine gaped at the hand Alanna offered, then looked up. “The champion? The knight they call ‘the Lioness?’”

Again, Alanna swallowed her amusement. “Don’t tell me,” she said dryly. “You expected someone bigger.”

Finally taking the proffered hand, Daine asked, “Can you help? I can’t fix ‘im at all.” She seemed unsettled and frustrated by that in a way Alanna recognized but didn’t fully understand.

“Alanna’s a healer and a sorceress – if she can’t come up with something, no one can,” Onua said, suddenly steering the knight away from Daine and the others, toward a haphazard arrangement of packs.

The words sobered Alanna instantly, and her mouth tightened when she caught sight of the black hawk resting on top of their gear. Arram. “Aren’t you going to be sorry if I can’t?” she countered.

Daine, following at their heels, didn’t seem to notice. She began to unwrap the bird from its bindings and heated stones, revealing a steady hand. “He won’t eat anything but a little honey and water. Not meat or fish. And he’s dizzy all the time.”

Dizzy? Alanna pinned Daine with a penetrating look. “How would you know that?”

“I just do. I’ve-“

“A knack with animals,” Onua finished at the same time. Her grin betrayed a fondness for the girl, and given the way Daine met her eyes, straightforward and firm, Alanna began to understand why.

Carefully, Alanna lifted Arram and noted with satisfaction that his wing had been well-splinted. She tried not to stiffen, but there was no denying the marked easing of tension in her shoulders when he seemed to recognize her and burrowed close to her heart. “He knows me. Good.”

Without a backward glance, she carried him into a tent that had been set up a short distance from the others.

~

Onua followed.

“Who else knows?” Alanna demanded, gently placing the hawk on a cot.

“No one else. I hid him from the human searchers, of which there were many. We killed all but one of the… others.”

Alanna looked up from her ministrations.

“Stormwings.” Onua answered the unspoken question in a hushed voice. “The Eaters. I’d heard tales of monsters attacking travelers this winter, but you know how rumors fly. These things aren’t supposed to exist.”

“What you’ve heard is true,” Alanna told her, reeling inwardly at the news. Jon and Myles would want to know straightaway. “I’ll need details later.”

“Later,” Onua agreed, taking position at the foot of the cot, ready to help.

The hawk, black velvet feathers matted and dull, stared at Alanna over its hooked beak. She pushed thoughts of impossible creatures aside and focused on the one in her care, grasping her emberstone and whispering the first crucial words of her spell. “Dark Goddess, Great Mother. Guide me, Mother of…”

Onua leaned forward. “What is it?”

“His eyes are wrong,” Alanna explained hurriedly. As she spoke, the hawk’s pupils rolled back in his head. She clutched the emberstone tighter and tried again. “Show me the way, open the path for me.” Purple light continued to flow from her fingers to the bird, enveloping his twisted wing and cradling him like a warm blanket. The emberstone glowed an eerie bright red, not unlike the scarlet of Onua’s Gift. Alanna reached inside, searching for that spark that made Arram Arram, and met with resistance. She pushed on, determined, asserting her will against the invisible barrier. It struck back, a mental slap that made her recoil and the color drain from her face. “Great merciful Goddess!” she swore. “Of all the gods-cursed, simpleminded-“

At the first shout, Onua jerked forward to catch the knight if she fell. Healings were never easy, but this was no ordinary winter cold they were trying to cure.

Alanna waved off the help. “I think he’s trapped,” she spat. “I can’t get through. The girl. She knew he was dizzy?”

“She seems to know things about animals we don’t or can’t. She found him in the marsh, by herself, and I could've sworn I saw her heal a dead or dying bird. The Gift, perhaps?”

“Whatever it is, she might be useful.” Temper flaring at both Arram and her own failure to reach him, she threw aside the tent flap and stomped outside. “I can’t see -- You, girl. Come here,” she ordered when she spotted Daine.

A huge gray dog growled his opinion of the way she’d delivered her command. Alanna eyed him and forced herself to smile. “I’m sorry. Daine, would you come here, please? I think I need your help." She led the girl back inside. "Onua says you found him under... unusual conditions. How?"

Daine looked back and forth between them, then at the hawk. "Honest, Your Ladyship-“

“Alanna,” the knight interjected, brushing off the title with as much care as she would show a speck of dust. The girl seemed to have trouble digesting that.

"I listened for him, is all. I sat down and just... listened," she said at last.

"Would you do it for me now, please?"

"But he's right there, mum. Lioness."

Alanna didn't bother correcting her again. "Turn your back to him, if that helps. Listen for him exactly as you listened back then." Her fingers returned to the emberstone.

They held their breath as Daine considered. The nervous look in her eyes gradually faded until she nodded and closed them, going somewhere the other two couldn't follow. "I hear him," she said softly, like she was waking from a dream. "He's a prisoner. He can't get out. But he's just on the bed-"

“Hush,” Alanna admonished kindly. The purple light of her spell rekindled and washed over them. "Call him, Daine, with your mind. His name is Numair Salmalin.”

“Alanna, maybe Arram’s better,” Onua suggested. "He's only been Numair for eight years. He's been Arram all his life."

“True. Call to him as Arram, Daine.”

“Why-“

“Call him,” Alanna insisted, working through layers of magic, lending strength to Daine’s words.

“Arram Salmalin?” Daine tried, resigned. It was calm, soothing. “Arram – come on. You’re too far off. It's all right, Arram. It's safe-"

An instant later, it worked. Alanna latched on to the tenuous connection, drew hard on her Gift and threw energy into the spell, pulling him out. The hawk shuddered and heaved, and for a brief moment was both man and bird before shattering his splints. A long and lean naked man reclined on the cot where the hawk had been. Alanna couldn’t resist quirking an eyebrow at the sight and smirking.

“Now look at this,” Daine said, gathering the splint shards and facing them with the look of an angry mother hen. "His wing won't get any better that way.” Her eyes widened at the man on the cot and her mouth fell open; Onua had the piece of mind to pull a sheet over him.

Arram smiled wearily. “Can I have something to eat?”

“Where did he come from?” Daine wondered, still visibly startled.

Alanna ignored her question, leaving Onua to handle her young charge. Relieved, she bent back to her patient and checked his eyes, then continued her examination as if he'd been man-shaped all along. "Soon," she promised him. "After I fix your arm. Then we talk."

*[Some dialogue and most situations are taken from Wild Magic, by Tamora Pierce.]