Disclaimer: I own nothing from the world of Tortall, created by Tamora Pierce, except for this plotline and a few characters that I'll mention as they appear
Authors Note: Ok, this is the first chapter to Where a Knight's Heart Lies and I hope you enjoy it. But it would be a great help if someone could post a review or even just a simple note. I normally don't write fanfics, so any info would be appreciated by yours truly ^^
Chapter One
Alanna screamed as she fell from the bed where she slept, landing on the stone floor. She laid there without moving allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. Her breath formed white clouds before her, created by the cool air, yet she was covered in perspiration. Turning her head to the side, she noticed that the fire in the heath had died sometime during the night, letting the bedroom's temperature drop drastically.
"Weird dream" she muttered to herself to break the eerie silence that surrounded her like a cloak or like arms—no! She shook her head, refusing think of the nightmare, after all it had been a dream.
Sighing, Alanna propped herself up with her left arm, using the right to wipe away the sweat that had formed on her forehead as she leaned against the smooth wood of her bed, taking deep breaths. She pulled her legs up to her chest and let her head fall to rest upon her knees. Eventually her breath deepened, but her heart rate was still beating sporadically.
She took a few more breaths before looking up to stare at the opposite wall still thinking, it was just an ordinary nightmare, everyone has them; this one was no exception either.
"Just a dream" she repeated the thought louder to convince herself of it, yet even as she said it, she knew that she was only lying to herself. In the past her dreams had been border lining the truth or at least contained a message to portray; yet this time it had to be wrong, it was impossible. Roger had died forty four years ago, by her sword, Lightening.
Besides there was no one strong enough to raise him this time either. Only Thom her brother could've done it—after all he did it last time—but Roger had killed him shortly before his own death delivered by Alanna herself. Now there was no one that existed with such power; and even if there was, the council of mages in the City of the Gods would have heard of them.
A sigh escaped her mouth as she turned her head to the side, glancing around her empty room, where she was the only breathing being. Alanna blinked, glaring at the empty bed.
He never came to bed last night, she thought, dropping her head back onto her knees, that idiot, he doesn't know when enough is enough.
Ever since Myles, her adopted father and previous Spy Master had died, her husband was up until unspeakable hours and constantly skipping meals and sleep. Alanna sighed, knowing that he loved his job just as much as she loved her own, but at this pace he was going to kill himself. After all, he almost died last fall when he had a surprise heart attack. Alanna herself had been in Corus for the month, but thankfully her son, Thom II, had been at home and was able to save his father.
"But what about next time?" she thought aloud, "What if neither us are there to save you? I don't think I could live without you George" a single tear slipped from her control, slowly trailing a gleaming line down her face. Roughly, she brushed it away.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a piece of cloth held securely in her right hand. Dazedly, she opened her hand to study the torn cloth. It felt like silk, yet seemed much more durable than such flimsy material. Lifting it to her nose, she sniffed it.
It was a strange smell, yet faintly familiar. An intoxicating mixture, of an exotic herb and the smell that is left in the air after a lightening storm, filled her delicate nose. Not only that, but it reeked of power that made her sneeze. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She recognized the smell now.
"No…that's—impossible" she whispered, her grip tightening on the material. With her free left hand, she grasped the gem—known as the Tear of the Goddess—that hung around her neck. With this token from her patron goddess, Alanna was able to see any traces of magic that lingered even after the spell was complete. It had saved her too many times to count, including the first time she killed Roger, when he had used an illusion to confuse her during a court duel. In the end she had won, but only because the Goddess had foreseen the Dukes tricks.
Yet as she held the gem, a scream caught in her throat. There was a stain of blood red magic drenching the cloth, a magic that only one being Alanna had ever known had. As if it was contaminated—which technically it would fall under that category—Alanna dropped the fabric that she had torn from Roger's, the Duke of Contè, robe. It drifted slowly to the floor, as if mocking her.
"No," she muttered in horror, "Please, Goddess, it can't be" Alanna pushed herself from the side of the bed away from the shredded cloth and crawled almost frantically over to the chest that sat at the opposite wall. Her hands shook as she unlocked it and dug through the clothes she had placed in it. Finally, her hand found the cool metal handle that lurked in the depths of the chest.
Holding her breath, she brought the mirror—an old gift her son had given to her when he was only a child—to her face. The same young woman from her dream stared back at her.
She was young again, and it was no illusion.
The mirror dropped from her numb hand, shattering onto the floor. Alanna hardly noticed its absence from her fingers. Instead she stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused on the wall and her heart beating in her throat. Her normally calm mind went blank and suddenly Alanna felt her throat closing, making it harder to breathe.
No longer able to remain standing, Alanna fell to her knees, "This can't be happening" she whispered leaning forward as her outstretched hands reached out, halting her descent. Her body shook of its own accord as broken glass cut into her skin, but she ignored both the pain and blood that formed around her hands.
He—being Roger—did it, but she couldn't comprehend why he would do such a thing or how any of this was possible.
"Why?" Alanna asked the silence of her room, but got no answer. In its place a coldness spread down her back making the hairs on her neck stand on end. She was truly scared now, but the Lioness was never known for being a coward—in fact, there was nothing she hated more than being afraid. No, she was famous for being able to turn that fear into pure rage. Now that infamous fury crept into her bones, and suddenly she grabbed the mirror frame that laid innocently next to her side. Rising back to her knees, she threw the broken mirror against the far wall, where it broke into two pieces.
As she stalked toward the broken remains of the mirror, Roger's voice drifted through her head, "All you need to know is that the game has begun and your king may be in danger, knight"
Alanna stopped moving, her purple eyes widening.
"Fuck!" she hissed, realizing the hidden meaning behind his words. How couldn't she, when she obviously was the knight, and her closest friend and previous lover, Jonathan represented the King that she had to protect? He was the King of Tortall.
New thoughts bombarded her mind: had she failed? Had Roger already gotten to Jonathan? Had Roger won whatever twisted game he was playing, where life was used as the playing pieces?
The world spun around her, and Alanna collapsed onto the bed. This is his doing, she told herself, he's trying to confuse me and catch me off guard—which Alanna hated to admit, but he already was succeeding; and just the notion of having Roger in the lead of some deadly game, made Alanna sick to her stomach.
Groaning, Alanna pressed her hands to her head. For once, she didn't know what to do. Part of her wanted to surrender, screw the rest of the world because she wanted to run for the hills. But another part—and thankfully the stronger part of her mind—refused to abandon her country. Yet even as she made the resolution not to disappear, Alanna still didn't have the slightest idea on what she was going to do next.
She had always fought a visible foe, and for the most part, not even fear could get in her way. But Roger was using back handed methods to fight this time and there was no frontal enemy before her. And that truly frightened her.
"Jon, where are you when I need you?" she whispered, pressing her hand to her throbbing head. As king, he always seemed to have the ability to make the impossible seem possible. He was, after all, the first man that actually accepted her as an equal to men and helped her achieve her shield. Besides George that is.
Jon was her closest friend, besides George, but there was something that Jonathan had that her husband never did. Sure both of them had an air of command around them, but George always seemed to be walking in the shadows, where Jon stood in the light. She loved George and always will, but when it came to Jonathan there was just something about him that made her feel needed and secure. He always seemed to emit an aura of calmness and clarity whenever everything else around them was falling apart.
If he was here, Alanna decided, Jon would be telling me to get dressed and be prepared for anything. With that thought in mind, she slid from the bed onto the floor, looking under the bed. Since her body had returned to a younger version of herself, she thought it would make sense if she also returned to her old cloths that she actually wore all those years ago.
Buried beneath the bed, was an old trunk that hadn't been touched in ages—evident from the layers of dust that rested atop of it. Pulling it out, she couldn't help sneezing as said dust rose into the air. Alanna picked the trunk up easily and placed it on the bed, not caring if the dirt it had collected over the years landed on the clean bed.
The lock on it had definitely seen better days, for the key that had resided in the keyhole had begun to rust while stuck in the lock. It took Alanna a few moments before she managed to turn the defiant key and open the trunk.
Her old cloths were neatly laid inside, and unlike the trunk itself, were untouched by age, despite being well used when she had worn them. She pulled out the first outfit that was on top.
In moments, she was dressed. Her old brown breeches that she found were worn, losing some of its original brown, turning the breeches more of a duller dirt color, and were slightly torn. She paired those with black leather boots that had lost some of its shine. The dark green tunic she pulled on was well fitted to her feminine form, including the special black corset made for movement but worn on the outside to prevent excess cloth that might diminished her speed. Black gloves covered her fingers and hands like a second skin; then lastly, she tied back her hair in a braid before she pulled on a belt that had her latest sword—which had been hung harmlessly over her bed post—around her slender waist where it came to a rest above her hips.
"Now what?" she asked herself, slightly hoping for some divine finger to point her in a direction.
As if on cue, a cry of pain reached her ears, and she recognized the voice, after all she was married to the man for forty three years. Fear laced through her being, as she sprinted from the room following the cry through her home to a room in an adjacent wing of their large house. What normally took a five minute walk, took Alanna a minute as she ran in her new body to reach her husband's office.
"George!" she yelled hoarsely as she kicked the closed door open, disregarding the lock on it. The lock shattered beneath her boot, revealing the work office of her husband.
It was reasonably small with a desk, a few chairs, a descent size hearth and numerous shelves crowded with books of all kinds. Her husband, the current Spy Master of Tortall, liked his privacy and had specifically requested this room at the far corner of their house. He said that he didn't want some of his "contacts" to interfere with his family life and Alanna had to agree with him at the time; after all, some of those acquaintances of his were very shady and remnants of his past life. Yet now, Alanna regretted that decision now more than ever as her eyes fell upon the crumbled body of her husbands.
Blood had pooled around his head and stained the almost nonexistent corner of the desk that was buried under piles of papers. Some of which now covered his limp form.
"No," Alanna whispered in horror, clinging to the door frame as her body threatened to fall, "George?"
Only a moaned "Alanna" answered her call. Stumbling from the door way, she ran over to him and fell to her already bruising knees. She pulled him into her arms and held him there, tears rolling down the sides of her face. Alanna buried her own face into his broad shoulder, ashamed by her tears but unable to prevent them.
George groaned, his deep voice rumbling in her ear, "Alanna?" he whispered sounding a little confused.
"I—I'm here, George" she hiccupped.
He pulled himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her slender waist. With a free hand, he reached up and gently slapped the back of her head, "What the fuck are you doing in my room?" he growled as he crushed her into his embrace. His tone, though deep, held a hint of sarcasm.
"What?" she replied, puzzled.
His arms tightened, "I asked you, why are you here."
"I heard you scream," Alanna snapped, furious that he had the nerve to be mad at her, even if he was only joking, "And I found you drowning in your own blood! Is there something wrong with being worried?!"
George chuckled, "I wasn't drowning in my own blood, I just happened to fall from my seat and I hit the side of the desk against my head on my down to the floor."
"Why did you fall?" she growled at him, hoping that he wouldn't notice the tears on her face.
He sighed, "I fell asleep and had a dream."
"And you fell because of it?" she questioned.
"It was only a nightmare, Alanna. Everyone has them" Alanna felt her blood run cold and didn't move, her heart beat pounding in her ears. Those had been her exact thoughts before. She stiffened in his hold, That's impossible—there's no way…Roger wouldn't—would he?
Only one way to find out, Alanna thought her mind made up. She lifted her head from his shoulder, to look at him, but he had placed his own head over hers, making it impossible to see his face.
"Funny, 'cause I had one too" the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them but it made George pull away from her and stare down at her for the first time since she had walked—well, stormed—into the room. Her heart seemed to stop beating as she gazed back at him, while he blinked unable to capture her in his vision.
George kept blinking, his normally hazel eyes covered by a transparent film, "Alanna, I think I'm blind" he stated with a calmness that amazed her.
Alanna couldn't move, yet tears began to run down her face. Her cold hands slowly reached up to touch her husband's face, looking for those old wrinkles that she had grown accustomed to over the years.
Except the man she held was no longer her elderly husband, but the young man in his late twenties whom she had fallen in love with. Short muddy brown hair fell across the sun kissed skin of his crookedly handsome face. His nose had the same broken look as before, but it was one of his quirks that she loved. He was still tall, taller than she remembered and just as strong as ever. The only difference was his eyes, his now blind eyes.
Biting her bottom lip until she could taste blood, she shook her head refusing to believe her eyes. He was young, just like her, yet she couldn't figure out why Roger would restore George's youth—it made no sense.
George's hand came up to cup her face, but then froze. His eyes widened and even though he couldn't see the transformation she had undergone, he could still feel the alien sensation of a smooth face beneath his calloused fingers. Alanna herself closed her eyes, wishing more than ever that this was all a bad dream.
"Your…face" George muttered, removing his arm from her waist so that both of his hands could touch her face. They were gentle, but moved with an anxious need to find something familiar, "What…?"
"That dream you mentioned," She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, "what happened in it?"
His hands still on her face, he replied evenly, "I don't really remember, except that I felt like I was falling down some kind of long tunnel. And there was this immense pain in my chest, I—I thought that I was having another heart attack." He paused shaking his head, "I think something caught me, because I could swear that I heard a voice saying, 'You're not to get in my way this time, bastard' and something, maybe a hand, covered my eyes where this bright light flared and when it cleared all I saw was darkness. And that's when I heard you're voice."
George suddenly shuddered, which scared Alanna more than anything he could have said. All these years that she had known him, George never actually showed fear—except when Ally, their only daughter, went missing. The fact that he now was showing his emotions that openly, made her face pale.
George's fingers found her mouth, "Now tell me, what on earth is going on?"
"I don't know for sure," she shook her head, grabbing his hands, "but I think I know who's behind this." Her voice held a hint of barely contained fury behind them.
Gripping her small hands harder in his own, George asked her, "Who? Who turned you this way and made me blind?"
Falling quiet, Alanna chose her words carefully, "That's not all that's happened, George," she bit her lip again in frustration, "you're like me—young again." He stared at her, without actually seeing her.
"I…I don't understand" he muttered, after moment, though it was said more to himself than his wife.
Needing him to recognize the danger the two of them were in, she took his hands and brought them to his own face. At first, his fingers didn't seem to touch his skin as if he refused to admit the truth, but slowly he rubbed the side of his face with his thumb, and then moved along until he reached his forehead.
Alanna dropped her hands and watched in silence as he explored his new found face. He seemed to have forgotten her, so Alanna pulled away. After a moment or two, his blind eyes turned in her direction as he lowered his hands, "What the fuck is going on, Alanna?"
She did not reply as she stood up, knowing that he would be able hear her action. She took a few steps farther from him, wrapping her arms around herself as she studied her blind husband, searching for words to explain. She decided on one, "Roger"
His eyes narrowed, "'Roger'? That's who is behind this? You're lying."
"Shouldn't you be able to tell, Spy Master?" She knew that she sounded unsympathetic, but she had to make him understand at all costs that this was real. If anyone could tell when someone was lying, it was her husband, blind or not. The corner of his mouth twitched as he turned away from her.
He lowered his head, muttering after a moments hesitation, "We're screwed, aren't we?"
"Basically" Alanna replied.
Suddenly George laughed as he leaned backward from where he sat, running his fingers through his hair, "So much for retiring." Despite his try at light humor, Alanna couldn't laugh and it made her angry that he could.
"Don't you see how freaking screwed we are?" she hissed at him, "Roger's back and you're thinking about retirement?!"
Turning to face her, he rolled his eyes, "Calm down Alanna, I was joking."
"But that's my point! How can you joke at a time like this?" She walked over to him, her hands on her hips.
His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her onto his lap. A yelp escaped her mouth as she fell. Wrapping his muscular arms around her, George held her tightly.
"Let me go!" she yelled, but he was too strong, refusing to release her from his grasp.
"No," he whispered in her ear, "not until you calm down and listen to me"
"Fine" she snapped back at him and stopped struggling.
He kissed the side of her face, "Thank you, Alanna"
"Don't thank me yet, asshole" she hissed, turning away from him, "now what did you want to tell me?"
George sighed, "Well, do we know what Roger wants? The last two times he was alive, he either wanted the throne of Tortall—or the complete destruction of Tortall. Personally, those seem to be at complete opposite sides of the spectrum, so what else is left?"
"How should I know?" she lied to her husband, not wanting to relive the dream.
His strong arms tightened around her, "Now you're lying, Alanna. What aren't you telling me?" George stared, letting the silence stretch out between them. Strangely enough, she was still unnerved by his eyes more than ever before. Even though he was blind now, she could have sworn that his eyes could read her soul.
She took a deep breath, "I had a dream too, but Roger actually appeared and told me—" Alanna stopped, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, "—that he wanted the death of those that ever prevented his goals before." Her eyes studied his face, hoping that he wouldn't see through the half truth. It was true that Roger wanted to kill those people, but that wasn't all that he wanted.
"Then why would he turn us young again? Wouldn't that be against him and in our favor?" George asked the question she too had been wondering.
Alanna released a sigh of relief, he doesn't suspect me. Shrugging, Alanna continued, "I don't know. But he did refer to this as a game, and when he—ah…changed me, he said, 'There the game has begun' or something along those lines." She shivered at the thought.
"I never could understand how a mage's mind works" George muttered, kissing Alanna's forehead.
"Me neither, and I am one" she retorted, forgetting that she had been mad at him a few moments ago, "But what confuses me the most is why he would curse you too, George. I didn't even know that he knew that you existed"
George fell silent, before he responded, "Remember Rolan? The boy you asked me to help you defeat?"
"If I remember correctly, I asked for your help to only teach me how I could defeat him" Alanna growled.
"That's what I meant," George chuckled, "Anyways, remember how I mentioned that he was helping Roger by trying to kill me? Well, I have a feeling that maybe Roger considered my killing Rolan an act that prevented his twisted dreams?"
Alanna considered his words, "Maybe"
"What about Jon?" George asked, "Jon is the King after all, and Roger tried to kill him numerous times—"
"Shit!" Alanna yelled, breaking George's hold on her, "I forgot about him!"
His hand captured her wrist again, "Alanna, before we race off to save Jon, we need to think this through. This could be a trap designed by Roger and we would be running head first into it."
"But it's my job to protect the king—wait," she turned her head sharply, her hair flying around her, "did you just say 'we'?"
"Did you think I'd let you leave here without me?" he raised an eyebrow in her direction.
"You're blind, for Goddess' sake!" she yelled at him, "And you expect me to take you along? You're insane!"
His grip tightened, "You aren't leaving me home. Even if you did, I'd just follow you anyway."
"I'm not taking you, George!" she snapped, trying to break from his hold. He only held on tighter, "Let go of me!"
"Not until you agree that we both will go. I'm not as helpless as you believe. Sure I'm blind, but I was the King of Thieves, and you of all people should know that I'm far from helpless. Being sightless is just one inconvenience that I can over come."
"I don't care if you were a freaking god! I'm not taking you with me!"
Standing, George towered over her, his free hand grabbing her chin, "Are you calling me weak? I dare you to say that again" he hissed.
"Is that suppose to scare me?" she challenged, "George, I don't know the extent of what ever Roger did to you, but I refuse to lose you! If I did take you with me, what if you were hurt or killed? What do you think I'd do without you?"
"I can take care of myself, Alanna" his voice growled, as he took a step towards her, "You mention that you're scared of losing me? Well, if I were to stay here, what would I do if something happened to you? I married you knowing that I'd have to remain at home when you were at war, not knowing if you'd return to me or not. Do you even know how that affected me?"
Alanna was taken back, "You never said that you had a problem with that—"
"And what was I too say?" he snarled at her, "That I didn't want you going away for months on end? How could I do that to you? You live in your battles, and if I tried to hold you back, you'd loath me for it. Instead, I had to kiss you goodbye, remaining behind and praying to the God of Death that he wouldn't take you from me!"
"George—"
He cut her off, "That's why, I don't care what you say, but I am going to accompany you this time. Nothing you say will change that." Still holding her chin with his fingers, he leaned down to kiss her. His free hand moved from her wrist to snake around her waist, pulling him closer to him. Surprised, Alanna tried to pull away at first, to demand why he never told her of such feelings. Yet as he held her there, with his lips coaxing her own mouth to open, Alanna was at a lost for words.
It had been so long since George had held her like this. Too long for her liking and it felt good to be in his arms again.
Sighing, she leaned against him and draped her own arms around his neck pulling him closer to her. He deepened the kiss and Alanna clung to him as if she let go he would vanish from her world forever. The only thing that kept her standing was his arms that pressed her body closer to his own.
"Now tell me," he whispered, breaking the kiss and ignoring her protests, "That you won't let me come with you"
"Evil bastard" she muttered, standing on the tip of her toes to in order to reach his mouth. But he evaded her touch.
"Alanna, promise me"
She tilted her head backwards to glare up at him with her own purple eyes, "Fine, but I want you to know that is one dirty tactic, George." George smiled as he leaned down again to kiss her. His tongue reached into her open mouth and Alanna groaned with pleasure, when suddenly, George pulled away again.
"What the fuck is it now?" she demanded of her husband.
He smiled crookedly at her, "I believe it would be in our best interest if we left now, otherwise, I have a feeling that I will not be able to control my…myself." Despite the situation, Alanna laughed, needing no decoder to decipherer his meaning. His grin broadened, "Besides, don't you have a kingdom to save, little Lioness?"
"And are you planning on helping me, my thief?" she replied, resting her head against his well toned chest. When he chuckled, she could feel his torso moving and suddenly she smiled, feeling safer than ever.
"Ex-thief," He corrected, resting his chin on top of her head, "But, of course I'll help, after all this is my country too."
Leaning back in his hold, Alanna tugged at his sleeve, "George, we probably should be heading out now. It's at least a day and a half ride to Corus, and it's the middle of the night right now."
Her husband nodded, "But you want to make it in half of that time, don't you?"
"The King is in danger, George. Besides, if we push the horse to the fastest that she can go and switch horses at least twice, we can make it there by midday."
"Horse, as in just one and not two?"
"You can't honestly expect me to let you ride your own horse in your current state?" she asked him, leading him from the room. He chuckled, but allowed her to pull him along.
Since it was midnight, no servant was up, which worked to their advantage. George normally dismissed their serving staff after they had finished their last meal for the day and they weren't required to come in till shortly after dawn. She was never more grateful for her husband than now, for it would certainly arouse suspicion if the two of them were young again.
Unfortunately, that meant that the stable would be empty and George's stallion wouldn't be saddled. No matter, she thought to herself, I used to be the fastest when it came to saddling a horse, so it shouldn't take too long.
Arriving at the stables, she noted that as she had foreseen, the stable only had the sleeping horses inside, the stable boy no where in sight.
"Hold on, I'll have to saddle one" she let go of George's hand and moved toward the handsome black stallion that resembled Darkness, Jonathan's horse when he had first become a knight.
She smiled at George—even though he couldn't see her grin—having finished the chore just as quick as she did when she was a squire. Wiping her hands, she brought the horse over to George and handed him the reigns.
"Still the fastest, huh?" he asked jokingly, as his foot found the stirrup.
Alanna rolled her eyes, but held Shadow, the name George had given the stallion, steady while her husband swung his leg over the side of the horse. Once settled, he held out his hand to her. She took it and George hauled her up to the saddle in front of him.
Placing his hands along her waist, he removed his feet from the stirrups to allow her own tiny feet to occupy them. Alanna acquired the reigns from his hand and pulled on them, stirring Shadow to the locked exit.
Transferring the reigns to one hand, she raised the now empty hand to point at the door. A ball of purple magic swelled around her finger, before flying from her finger tips to slam into the wooden door like an arrow shot from a bow.
Purple sparks danced along the wooden surface, glowing and crackling until it found the hinges. Steadily, as if it were a magnet, the magic gathered around the pieces metal, slowly beginning to eat at it. The metal began to melt, making a hissing noise in protest against the magically assault. Then, the hinges disintegrated, allowing the door to collapse where it fell outward.
The horse moved forward, prodded by Alanna's knees. Its hooves made a clanging noise as it stepped onto the door before it entered the night outside.
"Was that absolutely necessary, Alanna?" George asked her. Though he hadn't seen what she did, he still heard her magic and the door falling to the ground.
She shrugged, "Maybe not, but I'm in a hurry." Kicking at the sides of the stallion, Alanna and George flew from the stables and into the courtyard and then finally onto the road that lead to Corus.
Alanna pushed Shadow to his limits as he galloped at full speed, were all the scenery around them blurred into one fast moving streak. Yet Alanna didn't care. She had wasted enough time already when she had kissed George; she couldn't let anything else stop her now.
Right now Jonathan was her first priority; he was still the king and it was her job to keep him safe. She just only hoped that she wasn't too late.
To her relief, they only had to replace Shadow after half the journey was done, leaving him at a friend's inn, which they had to stop at shortly after the sun began to rise. The innkeeper, an old friend of Alanna's, lent them their best mare and promised to treat Shadow to a well deserved nap and bath. Alanna thanked the couple, tossing them a tip in thanks, before kicking the fresh mare into a gallop.
The wind blew her hair behind her, and George tightened his grip around her waist. Since she had awoken, Alanna felt truly alive. All her worries of Roger left her mind for the time being. Now all that mattered was the fact that her King needed her. Nothing would be able to rob her of that right, not now or any other time.
Raising her face to the breeze, she smiled, her violet eyes glowing brightly. Her hair whipped into her face, but Alanna didn't even seem to notice it.
Ahead of her the capital of Tortall, Corus, loomed ahead. The gates were locked, but that didn't matter any more. Biting the reigns with her teeth, Alanna freed her hands and held them out at her side, drawing magic out from her core.
Trails of her magic tainted the air as the horse ran forward. She tugged at the reigns, gently, bringing the mare to a trout, before she pointed one hand at the dark gates.
Like the stable door, her magic flew forward, striking the gates. This time though, her magic moved toward the lock at the center of the gate. Finding the lock, it penetrated it, and in seconds the metal lock fell to the ground.
With her other hand, still crackling with power, she shoved the magic from her palm at the unmoving gates while simultaneously urging the mare back into a gallop. The gates swung inward, letting them pass through. She didn't have enough time to worry about the alarms, as the mare ran through the empty streets.
Only a few more minutes, she thought to herself.
"Alanna," George whispered in her ear, "I don't sense anyone about. Yet it has to be past dawn." He pointed out from behind her.
Returning the reigns to her hands, Alanna looked around for the first time since they had left. The streets that the mare ran through were empty of its normal crowds. In all the time she spent her life at Corus, she never had seen the streets this empty. Normally the time of day didn't matter, because there was normally at least a small crowd that lounged about. Yet now, there was not a living soul besides them. Absently, she slowed the horse down.
"Strange" she whispered as the mare rounded a corner, and right into an ambush.
Twelve men materialized from the darkness, all wielding daggers or swords. They were dressed in dark clothes and covered their faces with a cloth over their mouths and noses. One aimed a crossbow at her and fired.
Alanna managed to raise her sword just in time to deflect the arrow. Gripping the reigns one handedly, she threw the sheath to the side, freeing her blade. Three men advanced towards them, one of them having to dodge the sheath where it clattered to the streets, harmlessly.
The mare, unaccustomed to battles, reared up and Alanna felt George sliding backward. Fearing that he would pull her off, he released his hold on her and fell to the cobblestone street.
"George!" Alanna yelled as she tried to control the mare. One of the men grabbed hold of the side of her saddle, attempting to slice the thick leather with his dagger. Instead, her booted foot kicked him in the face, sending him falling backwards into one of his unfortunate comrades. Together they fell to the ground, yet two more took their place.
"Sons of a bitch!" she spat, slashing at them with her sword. Though she was trained to fight on horse back, the men not only outnumbered her, but she had to worry about her blind husband who was somewhere behind her. Not even just that, but her horse was growing more frenzied by the second.
A blade cut into her side, and Alanna cried out, both in pain and fury, bringing her own sword down onto the man's shoulder. He stumbled backwards holding his shoulder as blood poured from the wound. Alanna raised her sword, but the mare shifted nervously to the side, moving her from his range and she couldn't deliver the final blow.
Suddenly, someone grabbed her bridal, pulling the mare to a stop, "Alan!" George snarled, wielding a dagger. Alanna blinked at the use of her old name that she had used when she was masquerade as a boy in the palace, "Get out of here now! I'll take care of these thieves!"
"What are you saying? George—," but before she could demand what he was doing, George slapped the horse's behind, sending the mare into a gallop that took her away from him.
Alanna tried to turn the frantic mare around, but someone had cut the reigns, leaving Alanna unable to steer her mount. She could have thrown herself off the galloping horse, but George knew that she never would. Between saving her husband or her king, she would choose the latter. It's my responsibility; I've sworn to protect Jon and the royal family at all cost. And as much as I hated to admit it, I can't go back to save George, she thought bitterly to herself.
Her stomach threatened to up heave, but it didn't matter. Her duty was first and foremost to the king, not her husband. She had made a promise out of blood to fulfill those obligations, and this was the price she had to pay. Yet even as she reminded herself of her oath, she felt her heart breaking, but this time she didn't know who was going to help her pick up the pieces.