Disclaimer: Now, do you honestly think that these characters and their world are mine? If you do, you're dreaming. I may have a small amount of talent in terms of writing, but my gift is not nearly asbig as Tamora Pierce's. See, I'm just playing in her wonderful sandbox. It's quite a nice sandbox, actually. But still, it isn't mine. However – the plot IS all mine! Yay! And – joy to top all joys – so it Ewan!
Author's Note: Y'all asked for more – so I'm giving you more. I think I would've given you more whether you wanted it or not; but positive reviews always help. So hopefully this will appease your tastes for a while, so I can work on chapter three. That's right – we're not done yet. So double-check your seatbelts, folks, because I can be a crazy driver sometimes!
((--))
Scrying was not working. All Jon could see was a grayish fog, no matter what he used. Water, glass, air, fire, even oil - nothing worked. He'd even asked Thom - her twin brother, for the sake of the Gods! - and he couldn't see anything, either. It was all highly frustrating.
He wanted to help her, find out what trouble she'd gotten into this time. But how to go about it when he had no clue where she was? Continuing down the hallways, he was staring at the ground and in doing so, managed to bump into Raoul.
"Damn, Jon, watch where you're going!" Raoul's tone was laughing despite his harsh words. The stack of books and papers he'd been carrying fluttered or crashed to the floor.
"Raoul? Are you running errands for Gary again? You know you're supposed to be…" His eyes caught his friend's and he stopped.
"Look, I'm trying to help you find Alanna, all right? She's as much my friend as yours…" The big knight flushed crimson. "Well, not really, but you know what I mean. She's important to me."
"I know she hates it, but I worry about her," Jon replied. "It's stupid to be a woman traveling alone. Even one who happens to have her shield. And no matter how good with Lightning she is, she can't hold off five or more people at once. It's just not physically possible."
((--))
Alanna woke slowly, drifting like a butterfly from the field of dreams. Rubbing her sleep-encrusted eyes, she looked around the room. Although it wasn't very large, it was comfortably appointed, with the bed, a small chest of drawers, and a night-table with a fat candle on it. Currently, the candle wasn't lit, as sunlight streamed in through the open window. Filmy white curtains belled out in the breeze, which signified that the day was absolutely perfect.
Looking around further, she discovered that clean clothes had been left for her; a forest green shirt and soft deerskin breeches. Getting up, she found supple leather boots at the foot of the bed, and to her delight, Lightning in its sheath hung on the door handle. Dressing quickly, she buckled the sword-belt around her waist, hooking the sword to it. Drawing her familiar fighting companion, she stared at it.
It wasn't Lightning, the sword she'd had for years. Instead, although the battered crystal and elegantly jeweled hilt were the same, the blade was slightly wider and made of extremely valuable blue steel. A strange magic had been placed on it, so that it hummed slightly in her hand, as if just waiting to be used.
Wrinkling her forehead in puzzlement, Alanna shoved it back into its place at her hip. She pulled open the door, and faced with the decision, she turned left down the long stone hallway. Funny, my room didn't look like it belonged in a building… castle? this big. Oh well. Hand on the hilt of her sword, she continued wandering aimlessly until, by chance, she came upon a large hall with several comfortable chairs. Perching herself on the edge of one, she jiggled her foot on the floor to pass time.
"Ah, my child. You're awake." The Great Mother Goddess' voice was calm as always, but she seemed much more relaxed, much less goddess-like than normal.
"Where I am? Why I am here? What should I do? How do I get back?" Alanna's questions tumbled out in a stream.
"Slow down! I can only answer them one at a time. You're in the realms of the Gods. Yes, I know," she said, holding up a hand in response to Alanna's open mouth. "You said you needed a break – so you have one. What should you do? Why, enjoy yourself! Take your sword outside; there are certainly people who would like to joust against the only full-fledged female knight. The stables are there for your use; you may ride any of the horses you please so long as you do not stray off my property. And trust me, child, you will know where the boundaries are. As to how you get back – I'll let you figure it out. It's a good challenge for you, at least for now."
Excited at the prospect of exercise without a weary horse and sand continually blowing in her face, Alanna gave a very unfeminine whoop and ran outside. The grass was lush and vibrantly green, the trees in full summer leaf. However, the temperature was relatively mild, with a slight breeze blowing from what she guessed was the west. Off to the left were open-air practice courts with not only fencing rings but tilting quintains, jousting lanes, and targets for shooting. Behind the courts was a stone building that Alanna assumed was the stable block. To the right was a gigantic sand riding arena with log-pile jumps and weave-poles.
Seeing only two people engaged in combat, content to fence with each other – gods really have mock sword-fights? – she headed towards the stable. Inside, it was dark and cool. Walking down the center aisle, she paused in front of a stall. Inside was a silver bay charger – a color she had only heard about, sleek brown with black stockings and a white mane and tail. Reading the elegant brass stall-plate, she found that his name was Prideful Gain. "Hey, Pride boy. Wanna go for a ride? Let me go find a brush and hoof-pick and your tack. I'll be back."
The gods really do get the best deal. Look at this! The brush alone had a mahogany grip with soft horsehair bristles, the hoof-pick had an elaborately carved handle inlaid with silver, and the tack… The saddle, bridle, and breastplate were made of the finest chocolate brown leather money could buy, with silver accents on the saddle's cantle, the center of the breastplate, and the browband of the bridle. Not even Jon's parade tack was this fine! And he was crown prince!
Alanna stopped short. Stop thinking about Jon this instant, damn it! You don't love him, remember? You're trying to forget everything!
Taking her time, she groomed Pride until the stallion shone, and then carefully laid the saddle and crisp white saddlecloth over his back, cinching it up slowly. Holding his nose firmly in one hand, she slid the bit into his mouth and the headstall over his ears. "There you go, buddy. That really does look gorgeous on you." Grabbing his reins, she led him out towards the riding arena.
Mounting in a single, practiced motion, she and Pride walked amiably around the arena before picking up a steady trot. Quickly getting used to each other, Alanna squeezed slightly for a canter. After going several times around, she slowed to a walk. She studied the jumps, picking out a simple course, kicking Pride into a gallop, and popping over each fence in turn. Slowing to a walk, Alanna thought about how nice it was to ride for fun, rather than for training for war or in a war.
A voice came from the edge of the arena behind her. "You handle that stallion well. He's a lot of horse for one so small as you."
Alanna whipped around in the saddle, her movement causing Pride to half-rear and spin on his haunches. "Watch who you call little! I'm a full knight, back home. My warhorse is even bigger than this guy here."
"I apologize for offending you."
That's strange, Alanna thought. If this is the Divine Realms, then he's a god, and gods don't usually apologize for offending mortals.
"I am Ewan, patron god of foot soldiers in Galla." Alanna jumped to the ground, bowing at the waist. His human form was young, mid-twenties or so, with a slightly hooked nose too big for true good looks. His eyes sparkled green and his hair was a wavy light brown. A sword was buckled around his waist and a bow and quiver of arrows hung over his back. "I was coming out to practice my archery – keep in shape, you know – and couldn't help but notice you." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You said you were King's Champion back home. May I ask where you're from, that they would let a woman not only earn her shield, but also become Champion?"
((--))
Jon was frustrated. Sleepless nights spent reading ancient texts in hope of discovering a better way to find Alanna did not help matters. Where could she have gone, that he couldn't find her? Rubbing a hand wearily across his face, he pulled the last book towards him. If there was nothing in here… She had to still be alive, she had to.
Illusionary Spells… Invisibility Spells… Protection Walls… Scrying. There. Page 783 to page 948. Flipping through the book, he skimmed over the pages in question. General Scrying… Tools of the Seer/Scryer… Advanced Scrying Techniques – finally, something that could possibly help. Bending over the book, Jon began to read closely.
When the average scrying techniques, such as glass, mirrors, water, fire, and smoke do not work, there are several alternatives. Many come at great risk to the mage who attempts them; however, they usually succeed in showing what the mage or mages want to see. For many of these techniques, a personal link with the person, place, animal, or thing that you desire to see is necessary.
The first technique to be covered is Blood Scrying, the most potent of all scrying magics. In order to practice blood scrying properly, a direct link with the object is necessary. It must be a place you have visited, an animal who is a pet of the mage's, or an object that has been touched by the mage. In the cases of scrying to find people, the mage must have an extremely direct link. The person must be either immediate family or a lover with whom the mage has been most intimate.
Well, thought Jon, it's worth a try. Alanna and I have certainly been "most intimate" before.
Continuing, he read: In order for blood scrying to work, the mage must slit his forearm from wrist to elbow, allowing the blood to collect in a shallow dish. Once this dish has a layer of blood fully covering the bottom, the mage should speak the appropriate scrying spell (Appendix D, Section 4, "Blood Magics") and draw the corresponding rune just above the surface of the pan.
When attempting blood scrying, the mage should be aware that loss of too much blood will put them in danger of death, as will the amount of magic necessary. Also, attempting this variety of seeing magic on an object, animal, place, or person with whom the mage does not have the direct links described previously will cause the blood to boil in the mage's veins, resulting in a slow, painful death.
Quickly, Jon skimmed the remainder of the chapter, finding no technique as powerful as this one. I wonder how many people realize that you can scry using your own blood. He rang the bell and a servant came dashing up. "I need a shallow baking pan, quickly! Don't dawdle!" Normally, he wasn't this sharp with servants, but worry for Alanna and his tiredness made him snappy. At the servant's odd look, he waved her away impatiently.
When she returned bearing a small metal dish, he gestured for her to leave, whispering locking spells on the door and windows after her. It would do no good to have someone walk in on him.
Gritting his teeth, Jon drew his belt knife. Holding his lower left arm over the surface of the pan, he slit it as described in the book. Closing his eyes against the sudden wash of dizziness, he began whispering the incantation, sketching the runes in the air just above the pan with a finger burning blue. His breathing grew heavy, so that he was nearly panting. When he opened his eyes… Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.
It was more of that damned gray fog, but now – it parted. Only slightly, as if there was a rip in a semi-sheer cloudy curtain – but there was a tear. It slowly grew wider, and the image simultaneously grew larger. The woman – there, on the horse – she had to be Alanna. That red hair, which she'd chopped once again to chin-length, was unmistakable. The charger she was mounted on was a silver bay – he doubted that even Stefan, the hostler, had seen a silver bay up close. She cantered steadily around a sand riding ring, bigger even then the castle's, and now rode over a jump, then another. Stopping, she mouthed something and her horse spun, whinnying without sound. The angle of the picture changed to show a handsome man, lips moving, and Alanna's reply.
Jon wanted to see no more. Screaming the spell to cut off the vision, he flung the tray of his own blood at the wall, stood up, and promptly fainted.