Read Online The Woman Who Rides Like a Man by Tamora Pierce - Free Book Online
Authors: Tamora Pierce
Tags: General, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Children's Fiction, Girls & Women, Royalty, Legends; Myths; Fables
Ads: Link
hands around her chest area, turning redder than before.
Quick-witted Kourrem saved her. "You mean you bound your chest so it was flat, and he cut through the binding."
Alanna nodded. "When he found out—when everyone found out—that I was a girl, he went crazy. He attacked with a sword and with magic, but he didn't attack just me. His sorcery would've killed the King, or Jonathan. I had to stop him, so I killed him. Ever since then, I've felt magic—any kind of magic—is too easily used for evil." She drew a deep breath. "But ignoring magic is worse. It's like this crystal sword." She touched the blade she now wore at her waist. "I ignored it, and Ibn Nazzir was able to turn it against me. I have to keep it for myself, and master it, so it can never be used against me again. That's what you three must learn to do with your magic, or it will turn on you." She rubbed her nose, embarrassed. She was not one for speeches. She was just realizing that she had let herself in for a large number of them. "We start in the morning. You'd best get your sleep."
The next minute she was drowning in gleeful teenagers who insisted on hugging and kissing her. She shooed them out and closed the tent flap for the night, shaking her head. "This training will be good for them," she told Faithful as she prepared to go to bed.
The cat watched her, his tail twitching lazily. It will be good for you, too, he commented. It might even make an adult of you, but I doubt that.
Alanna glared at him as she wound herself into her blankets. "I'm glad I have you to keep me humble," she muttered as she readied herself for sleep.
I'm glad you do, too, Faithful replied, settling himself by her nose.
*
The tomb was dark and still. Behind her the door was sealed shut by a slab of rock the palace servants had placed there. Before her, on a granite block, lay the body of Duke Roger of Conté. He looked as if he slept, well-preserved by the arts of the Black God's priests. His black velvet tunic hid the shoulder wound and the thrust through his chest that had ended her duel with him. There was no sound in the tomb. He was dead.
His eyes snapped open. She stepped back, her heart thudding with horror. He smiled.
Alanna threw her covers aside and rolled out of bed, shaking. Lurching to her feet, she ran out of the tent with Faithful just behind her. Once outside she stood panting in the cold night breeze, feeling chills as it struck her sweat-soaked body.
*
The first magic you learn is fire-making," she told her pupils. They were in the desert not far from the village. Alanna didn't want to be near people or tents, in case of accidents. A warrior of the tribe stood a safe distance away, his bow strung and ready. The hillmen were too near for anyone to risk going far without a guard.
Alanna put a twig down on top of several others. "It's easy for anyone who has the Gift at all to make a fire or to create light," she went on, feeling uncomfortable. She had taught combat arts to pages and squires before, but never sorcery; she was worried that she might do something wrong. "You look at what you want to burn—later you won't have to look at it—and you picture it burning. Then you want it to burn."
"What if I don't want it to burn?" Kara asked.
"You have to want it to burn," Alanna said. "Otherwise why would you be trying this spell?"
"Oh."
"The source of all your magic lies in your own will," Alanna continued. "Things happen because you want them to. It's like anything else in life—becoming a warrior, or a good shaman, or a good cook—it will happen if you want it badly enough. If you focus your will, and see that thing burning in your mind, then what you want becomes real. The thing will burn. Kara, you try first."
The taller of the girls squinted at the pile of twigs, sweat pouring down her face as she concentrated. A tiny puff of smoke drifted up, but it soon died. "That's good for the first time," Alanna told her. " I couldn't raise a little
Quick-witted Kourrem saved her. "You mean you bound your chest so it was flat, and he cut through the binding."
Alanna nodded. "When he found out—when everyone found out—that I was a girl, he went crazy. He attacked with a sword and with magic, but he didn't attack just me. His sorcery would've killed the King, or Jonathan. I had to stop him, so I killed him. Ever since then, I've felt magic—any kind of magic—is too easily used for evil." She drew a deep breath. "But ignoring magic is worse. It's like this crystal sword." She touched the blade she now wore at her waist. "I ignored it, and Ibn Nazzir was able to turn it against me. I have to keep it for myself, and master it, so it can never be used against me again. That's what you three must learn to do with your magic, or it will turn on you." She rubbed her nose, embarrassed. She was not one for speeches. She was just realizing that she had let herself in for a large number of them. "We start in the morning. You'd best get your sleep."
The next minute she was drowning in gleeful teenagers who insisted on hugging and kissing her. She shooed them out and closed the tent flap for the night, shaking her head. "This training will be good for them," she told Faithful as she prepared to go to bed.
The cat watched her, his tail twitching lazily. It will be good for you, too, he commented. It might even make an adult of you, but I doubt that.
Alanna glared at him as she wound herself into her blankets. "I'm glad I have you to keep me humble," she muttered as she readied herself for sleep.
I'm glad you do, too, Faithful replied, settling himself by her nose.
*
The tomb was dark and still. Behind her the door was sealed shut by a slab of rock the palace servants had placed there. Before her, on a granite block, lay the body of Duke Roger of Conté. He looked as if he slept, well-preserved by the arts of the Black God's priests. His black velvet tunic hid the shoulder wound and the thrust through his chest that had ended her duel with him. There was no sound in the tomb. He was dead.
His eyes snapped open. She stepped back, her heart thudding with horror. He smiled.
Alanna threw her covers aside and rolled out of bed, shaking. Lurching to her feet, she ran out of the tent with Faithful just behind her. Once outside she stood panting in the cold night breeze, feeling chills as it struck her sweat-soaked body.
*
The first magic you learn is fire-making," she told her pupils. They were in the desert not far from the village. Alanna didn't want to be near people or tents, in case of accidents. A warrior of the tribe stood a safe distance away, his bow strung and ready. The hillmen were too near for anyone to risk going far without a guard.
Alanna put a twig down on top of several others. "It's easy for anyone who has the Gift at all to make a fire or to create light," she went on, feeling uncomfortable. She had taught combat arts to pages and squires before, but never sorcery; she was worried that she might do something wrong. "You look at what you want to burn—later you won't have to look at it—and you picture it burning. Then you want it to burn."
"What if I don't want it to burn?" Kara asked.
"You have to want it to burn," Alanna said. "Otherwise why would you be trying this spell?"
"Oh."
"The source of all your magic lies in your own will," Alanna continued. "Things happen because you want them to. It's like anything else in life—becoming a warrior, or a good shaman, or a good cook—it will happen if you want it badly enough. If you focus your will, and see that thing burning in your mind, then what you want becomes real. The thing will burn. Kara, you try first."
The taller of the girls squinted at the pile of twigs, sweat pouring down her face as she concentrated. A tiny puff of smoke drifted up, but it soon died. "That's good for the first time," Alanna told her. " I couldn't raise a little
Similar Books
