Disclaimer: I own none of these characters or places.

Bold type means a dream while italics says a flash-back that has no influence on the story other than informational

This my first Fan Fiction so be gentle.

Does anyone have ideas on how Arram changes his name or meets Alanna/Geogre/Raoul?

Hopefully, I have fixed many grammar problems that I have been told I had. I thank you readers to alerting me to those problems. (We haven't worked much on dialogue grammar yet in school.)

Riches to Ruin

Sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can change your life forever."

Chapter One: A Card Trick

"You've lost, Arram. Admit it." Ozorne's voice was triumph and arrogant together. He stood, gold paint placed meticulously over his cruel features. He stalked forward, his upraised hands cupping a glowing mage fire.

"What did I do!" shouted Arram, the confused mage backing up, holding a glittering white filled black shield in front of him. His once fine robe was in tatters, gashes torn into the fine cloth. Ozorne could not defeat him alone; it would be like a flea trying to take on a tiger. However, Arram couldn't bring himself to launch a spell at his friend, his hesitation forcing him into a corner he could not get out of.

Shouts rang from beyond the doors, emitting from the marble corridors: mages and guards coming to the aid of their emperor. He glanced around desperately; his mage-shield fending off Ozorne's spells with out difficulty. "Burn, Arram! Bow down to your fate!" shrieked the emperor-mage as his guard rushed at the black-robe.

Arram bolted up right, jaw aching from smothering his own screams. His left arm was raised, unconsciously, in a gesture that would have thrown a spell if he had not caught himself. The only light came from the smoldering coals in the common hearth, casting everything in dancing shadows. Three cloaked lumps lay scattered around him, stirring restlessly and holding enemies to Arram's sleep-blurred eyes. He stilled instantly, heart pounding wildly as he exerted his self-control over himself.

No magic, he thought, taking deep breaths, Ozorne can track me. Two years on the streets had instilled a deep sense of self-preservation. His voice, once cultured and elegant had, within a few weeks, adopted the street cant of the lower world. Nails that had been carefully manicured were now ragged and teeth-bitten, a habit the mage had picked up even before his exile, a problem only now because there was no way to fix them. He managed to get to his feet without waking his fellow travelers, who were all light sleepers, and slip out the door, tugging a ragged cloak around his broad shoulders.

The small village of Hartsford lay in the bend of a small river that eventually ran into the Emerald Ocean. Newly sowed farms were dusky in the predawn light, all ranged around the small cluster of buildings that made up Hartsford. Past the worked land lay forest just waking from the winter slumber, brimming with new bird song. The houses were made of thatched roofs and solid wood walls. No candlelight came from behind the dark shutters that covered most of the glassless windows. The skies were clear, but cold winds predicted a cold snap or at least cold days ahead.

Arram made his way north on the rutted road, looking keenly around for any signs of life. He loathed to leave the peaceful village but here offered no work for a man with no planting experience and only small magic tricks for a payable skill. His six foot five frame would have been broken under the toil anyway and even years of living moving from place to place had not added any strength to the bony body. His calluses came from juggling, not planting and his only skill was with his Gift that was useless unless in the small forms Ozorne could not sense. He could lecture the farmers on the biology and origin of their plants but that would end up with a suspicious set of people who would think him mad or worse. There was a regret over leaving his fellow travelers but was covered by the fact Hedson Dale had been probing a little too deeply into the tall juggler's history.

Arram's long legs made quick work of the walk distancing him mile by mile from the village. He silently complemented his next move. The closest city that offered pickings for a street entertainer was Port Legann but that was south and west. He could manage it in two to three weeks at a slow pace but in all possibility his meager store of food would not last that long. Pushing his endurance, he could make it in a week or so but it would leave him exhausted. The only thing he had in ready supply was water from the stream rushing twenty or so meters deep in the forest to his left but it would end in ten miles were it would turn west too soon. Maybe he could gain a few coppers in Edilon and Newtown, the two towns between Hartsford and Port Legann but a harsh winter could limit the money the peasants were willing to part with.

Arram had a handful of copper bits and three jealously guarded copper nobles. He had wanted to save them for hard times but that might not be possible if he wanted to get proper lodgings in Port Legann.

µ

"Pick a card," he told the young girl in front of him, his dark face covered by the cowl of his cloak, "Any card but don't show me." She gave him a frown but reached forward and grasped a black backed card. It might not work, as he was relying on the concentration of a seven-year old but the spell needed little to work. Base impressions flickered vaguely over his thoughts until it solidified for an instance into the fourth of swords. A tired smile flickered over his face, a gentle, silent laugh at the look of fierce concentration on the dirty girls face.

"Well?" the girl demanded, "Which one es it?" Arram leaned forward quickly and pinched his fingers just behind her ear.

"You should wash your ears better," he told the surprised little girl as he pulled a duplicate of her card from behind her ear. With a flourish, he laid the card face up on the ground in front of him.

She looked at it for a moment before shrieking, "Yous cheated!"

He gave out a low chuckle before shuffling up the cards again. After three more games, the girl finally conceded defeat. "You should run along to your mother." he informed his young customer. He cocked his head and placed a hand behind his ear, listening, "I think she's calling."

She gave out a snort of disdain and drew herself up proudly. "She en't becose she's talking to the baker." The girl pointed at a stern faced woman who looked to be in an argument with the plump baker.

Flurry of activity flared in the corner of his eye and he spun around in time to see a mob of thin, dirty street rats rushing away from the side street that lead to the poorer market. A man, red faced with fury, raced after them with a raised staff. "Thieves, thieves!" the man screeched, the thin bony fingers of his free hand pointing at the urchin crowd. A thin veil of almost gold hung around one of the boys in the front, telling Arram that the thief had a small amount of Gift. People turned and chaos erupted as several of the vendor guards broke after them. Most of the coves and mots began fading into the alley mouths and doorways. Arram scooped up his cards and grabbed the little girls hand to pull her into the wall. The crowd bolted past, hands full of bruised fruit in good enough condition to make his mouth water.

When they passed he let go of the girl. The women at the baker looked around and called out "Merie!" The little girl started a little then began fumbling in the thin pockets of her worn blue dress.

Merie pulled out three small coins. "'hank you, Mister." She said and pushed them into his palm and before he could protest, she was gone, running through the dusty square to her mother. He uselessly raised a huge hand before turning and rapidly sliding into the alley to his right. Cool shade took much of the edge off the unusual heat and hid him from sight from much of the people in the market. The three coins were placed into the small bag that hung around his neck by a leather cord and he unwrapped a threadbare cloth from around a week old loaf that last weeks petty earnings had bought.

He crammed half the loaf into his mouth, his hand hovering under to catch the crumbs he learned he could not afford to lose. It was tough and barely filled his empty stomach but took the edge off the hunger. His last meal had been yesterday, an over ripe orange that had fallen off the stall of a foreign fruit seller. Vague memories drifted to his tired mind of the imperial feasts that Ozorne had thrown, the grand dinners at the University. It made his stomach hurt even more and he harshly shoved the thoughts out of his head. It did him no good to try to hang onto the past. His days as the Carthaki Emperor's friend and the world's youngest black-robe had ended the moment Ozorne had accused him of treason and had him thrown in to the cells beneath the palace.

Why did he turn on me? I did nothing. Arram's mind ran in circles, endless circles. The question why did he do this to me? had pounded in his thoughts since the day Ozorne had betrayed him.

"Arram." called Lindhall, the older mage standing in the doorway of his study, "The emperor requests your presence." The twenty year-old mage turned to look at his former master's face. The cramped room was lit by only a few burning candles. The window was locked and shuttered, making the room retain much of the summer's heat. Arram was curious. Ozorne hadn't spoken to him in several months, too busy organizing affairs between his nobles and state to talk much to his old friends. He shrugged it off.

The current experiment he was working on involved delicate calculations and testing but he supposed he could put it off for a few hours maybe a whole day if no one disturbed the room. It was more that he didn't want people seeing what the work was more than that they would ruin it. The complicated wards placed around the study by Arram himself and charged with enough power to blast anyone who attempted to get in through force. Lindhall had a charm that let him into the room without activating the wards. "A moment, Lindhall." he said back. Quickly he turned to straighten his notes and close several of the books he had taken from the library. "Could you return these for me?" he asked, picking up a couple he had found useless or had already studied to exhaustion.

"Of course Arram. Will you finally tell what you're working on?' asked the other mage, "You've been working on it for weeks." Lindhall easily carried the big leather-bound books. "And when was the last time you had left your rooms?"

Arram smiled easily, glimpsing his slightly pasty complexion in a nearby mirror. His naturally dark skin made it impossible to achieve true white skin but weeks of intense study and meals taken only when he remembered to, had turned him into a dark waif. He starched out his long limbs, bones popping and cracking as he worked out most of the kinks in his system. "Maybe a week ago," he said vaguely, waving a broad hand as they walked past apprentices in pale robes. "And for what I've been doing, it's an idea you gave me."

Lindhall looked at him suspiciously. "And…" he said, clearly waiting for an explanation. After a moment, he let out a low groan. "You're not going to tell me, are you? Gaining black-robe rank has clearly made you insufferable."

Arram laughed. "According to you I've always been insufferable. Moreover, you are right. I am not going to tell you until I am sure it is going to work. It would be disappointing to have it fail and ruin your expectations." They parted at the library doors and the black-robe turned to head to the streets. He spoke to no one as he made his way to the imperial palace. His dress, a heavy black robe that marked his status as one of the most powerful mages in the world, one of only eight got him into through the gates with no opposition and he lengthened his stride. It did no good to keep the Emperor-Mage of Carthak waiting. A cluster of men and women by the doors that lead to the hall where Emperor Ozorne received foreign visitors displayed a variety of auras rippling over their skins; pale red, sky blue, emerald with violet streaks. He wondered what such a large group of Gifted would be doing at the doors but dismissed it as a common gathering of the University's mages.

Ozorne was sitting arrogantly on his throne. His necklace of black opals stranded on gold wire rippled with brilliant colors, making Arram aware of his own opal hanging around his neck. He had bought it after archiving black rank, which was within the last two months. He had not had a chance yet to tell Ozorne of it, for he was testing its properties first. He stooped into a proper bow, saying "Your Imperial Majesty" in a clear cultured voice that his father would have been proud of.

The emperor started at him coldly for a moment, before saying "Arram." His voice held nothing of the friendliness that Arram was accustomed to after years of friendship. His robes swished as he stood up, elegant red robes embroidered with decorations of gold thread. Gold beads were stranded in his hair and exotic scents perfumed the air around him. The puzzled mage watched him, waiting for an explanation for the summons.

Finally unable to stand it any longer, Arram asked, "Why was it you wanted…."

He was cut off as Ozorne snapped "Silence!" He stopped short and stared at the emperor in absolute confusion. What was this? True Ozorne had always acted as arrogant as he was now but never to Arram; he never demanded that Arram stand on all the court etiquette when they were alone. Ozorne had changed since the mage had begun studying for the black robe but not by this much. What had happened in the past months?

A sudden change passed over Ozorne, as he spun and rapidly mounted the steps to his throne. Cold had had replaced anger and calculation had replaced passion. "How have you been Arram?" inquired the emperor, the shocking shift in personality catching Arram off guard.

He starred warily at Ozorne before speaking, relaxing as he fell again in too the rhythm he and he boyhood friend had made. "I've been doing several experiments, many involving the barrier between here and the Divine Realms. The Theory of Alegreaton has explored many of my views and Lesment of Arye's Journal is truly a valuable resource in unraveling the barriers complexity." He decided to keep his most recent research a secret. Like he told Lindhall, what he was attempting was complicated and he did not want to disappoint his friend.

"Fascinating, Arram. Truly fascinating." The emperor's bland tone caught the black-robes attention. He peered closer at the imperial, slowing his talk. A strange gleam was in the other mages eyes and sweat beaded his upper lip.

"Ozorne, are you well? You don't look as if you are feeling well…"

"I'm fine, Arram" said the emperor, his eyes gleaming icily, "Except for the fact that my best friend betrayed me." The words, so clearly and coldly spoken took Arram's breath away. He stiffened and realized it was a mistake. To Ozorne, who had been paranoid since taking the throne three years ago, would view this as a sign of guilt. A sneer touched the emperor's mouth and he sprang to his feet, a lash of flame leaping out of his tanned hand. Arram threw up a shield, the glittering wall made of opaque black filled with white stars.

Attacks slammed repeatedly into his shield. It took little effort to maintain it. To be a black-robe meant you had more power than almost any other mage in the world. However confusion slowed his reactions, making him too shocked to do little more than hold up the shield. His mind, a genius in academics, able to work through a library shelf in one night, obsession enough to work on a problem unceasing for weeks at a time, failed him. Arram stared into the eyes of his oldest friend and panicked. He threw magic at the doors, blocking them from being opened. He remembered sharply the group of red level mages hanging out in the entrance. It would take them time to get through the door but they would get through, along with perhaps an entire regiment of the Emperor's guards. Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith! How could he attack the emperor of Carthak, the friend of his boyhood? Arram knew his friendship was getting in the way; that his morals prevented him from effectively defending himself. Ozorne's attacks sometimes managed to get through the shield. Arram had had limited time to practice practical magic, preferring to lose himself in his studies. The one sided war raged for several minutes. The young black robe was soon bleeding in several places.

"You've lost, Arram. Admit it." Ozorne's voice was triumph and arrogant together. He stood, gold paint placed meticulously over his cruel features. He stalked forward, upraised hands cupping glowing mage fire.

"What did I do!" shouted Arram, the confused mage backing up, holding a glittering white filled black shield in front of him. His once fine robe was in to tatters, gashes torn into the fine cloth. Ozorne could not defeat him alone; it would be a flea trying to take on a tiger. Arram though couldn't bring himself to launch a spell at his friend, his hesitation forcing him into a corner he could not get out of.

Shouts rang from beyond the doors, emitting from the marble corridors: mages and guards coming to the aid of their emperor. He glanced around desperately; his mage-shield fending off Ozorne's spells without difficulty. "Burn, Arram! Bow down to your fate!" shrieked the emperor-mage as his guard rushed at the black-robe, launching an enormous blast of flame.

The twisting alleys of Port Legann sheltered all of those like Arram: the homeless, the beggars, the thieves and travelers too poor to pay for a proper lodging. None of them spared much of a glance for the juggler but even so he kept the walls of the alleys firmly on one side so he could not be jumped from that direction. Street rats lay in huddled groups, dividing out a haul or sharing the local gossip. Mumpers, the crippled beggars of the streets, slept in piles of rags to get past the hottest part of the day.

Arram had been in Port Legann for two weeks, getting petty pay from the bored, the naïve, and the interested children who had money to spare. No one asked him where he had come from and he had not attempted at making friends other than finding out where the Court of the Rogue was so he could avoid it. Those who lived in the Court would be a little too interested in a new entertainer in town. He was lucky Tortall was not a slave country like Carthak; otherwise, he would have had to worry about slavers who thought a large man like Arram would fetch a good profit. Slavery though, had not been run legally in Tortall for the past hundred years. While many slave-country foreigners viewed this as Tortall being weak (Carthak included) many people, including his old master Lindhall and himself, viewed it as a disgusting practice.

He had personally seen the horrors of the slave pens up close when Ozorne had wanted to purchase new slaves for his place, just after his coronation. Accompanied by 15 guards, several mages, clerks, a few of his higher-ranking nobles and Arram himself, they had visited the slave market out on the docks. The new emperor had not even bothered to get off his horse. Each slave had been dragged in front of him for inspection and either found lacking or bargained over. Arram had always wondered why Ozorne had gone personally but he had not wanted to think too much about it. He had had symptoms of nausea for the rest of the day. The smell of unwashed humans combined with blood and metal had permeated the air for blocks away. Ocean winds had only managed to blow the scent inward instead of outward.

Arram's new 'home' consisted of a dead-end ally behind one of the better eating-houses. No one noticed he was there for most of the time and the rare trash that sometimes was thrown out the back door got Arram a few more meals than he could have gotten on his own.

A stray piece of warped wood had allowed him to make some sort of roof for shelter where it leaned at an angle against one of the corners. Pieces of cloth he had managed to find, along with his rather bland cloaked made the usually hard ground more bearable. Under the rags was a bag of eight juggling balls, a spare pack of cards and some more articles a street magician should have. Sitting with his back against the wall, the street mage mused vaguely. There was festival coming to town in a mater of weeks and rumors were flying around that the King's Champion, Alanna the Lioness was coming along with Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak, Commander of the King's Own. From what he had gathered about the Champion told him he should avoid her as much as possible. Alanna, it was said, could spot magic a mile away. He was fairly certain the shields he had around himself could block any scrying attempt or basic magic searching spell and being a street magician meant no one would be inclined to look to closely at any magical residue. Nevertheless, to be safe, avoid her as much as possible.

I will be leaving for London during spring break. I do not know if I am going to bring my laptop so the next update might be late.

Reviews please!