Edit April 2010: FFN decided to eat all the scene dividers so I'm having to go back and add them all in again. I'm also removing the review responses. NOTHING ELSE HAS BEEN ALTERED; if you've read this story before, you don't need to read it again (although you're more than welcome to).
Okay, a few people have raised the question of Numair's shapeshifting. I'm almost completely certain that Numair doesn't lose his clothes when he shifts; it would surely have been explicitly mentioned if he did, as Daine's frequent nudity is, since he shifts several times throughout the series and in this case there is no way he could have brought clothing with him. I don't think we're ever told for sure. I know he was naked when he shifted back at the start of Wild Magic, but I decided that was because Sinthya took his clothes when he was arrested – it's a pretty standard way to begin torturing someone. We know shifting with the Gift is not the same as shifting with wild magic; I assume that the Gift has some way of binding clothing to the mage, although they don't seem able to carry things since in Realms of the Gods Numair refuses to shapeshift because they have to keep their possessions. I have to admit I'm not totally sure, though. If anyone has any solid evidence either way, I'd appreciate some clarification.
And I know it's only been two days since my last update, but it's my birthday today and I wanted to share the joy. Besides, I know you're all desperately looking forward to this part.
"Numair, look."
He turned and followed her hand as she pointed. Another hurrok flew overhead, with a familiar figure on its back; the pair were being mobbed by crows. There you are, Staghorn. Smiling grimly, Numair crouched to put Kitten down, straightening as Daine coolly shot the hurrok in the throat. Tristan's magic caught him and he landed nearby; black fire gathered around Numair's hands as he walked towards the other mage.
"Tristan, I am very disappointed in you," he said mildly. Despite himself, he couldn't help enjoying the look of maddened fury on his opponent's face; part of him had been waiting for this for a very long time. Almost absently he shielded himself against a flurry of yellow lightning, a little surprised to discover that now it came to it he wasn't even particularly angry any more.
That changed when Tristan sent a blast at him that tore the air with an explosion. Abruptly Numair remembered the charred flag he had sent to Jon, and his jaw tightened as he recalled how the Riders had died. Did Tristan think he would die so easily? Almost contemptuously he answered with the same spell, his own explosion shaking the castle. I'm stronger than you, you idiot. Use your head.
The next attack tore the ground around him; sidestepping, Numair found rock under his feet and braced himself as the earth surrounding it collapsed on itself and filled the air with dust; he realised it had been a distraction at the same moment as Tristan's real attack slammed into his shield. Tasting blood in his mouth, he noticed a briar growing by Tristan's feet and almost laughed, moving a hand and giving it a little encouragement.
Tristan screamed in outraged fury more than anything as he struggled with the thorns. The spell was somewhat childish, after all; Numair had meant it as an insult more than a serious attack. "You can't beat me, Arram! You never had the belly for combat magic!"
"Things change, Tristan," he replied calmly. "People change. At least, the smart ones do." Black fire streaked across the space between them, splintering on a shield of yellow flame. "I'm not Arram any more. Did you really think I would run away with my tail between my legs and let you come here, to my home, and threaten my friends?"
"Why not?" Tristan hissed at him savagely, flames lashing at him. He didn't have room to step back, and suppressed the fire with a movement of his hand. "You never had the courage to stand up to me, or to anyone."
"That isn't how I remember it," Numair answered quietly. "You're the one who never faced me unless your friends were there to back you up. And I never ran away from you, even when I should." Shaking his head, he sent a flurry of black darts hissing through the air. Now it came to it, he no longer particularly wanted to kill Tristan. "Why did you do all this? Even if it worked, what difference does it make to you who rules in Tortall? You'll never leave Ozorne's heels."
Tristan sneered at him, gathering fire for another blasting strike. "I am loyal to my emperor, you snake. And why not? If we have the power to take something, we should take it. You never understood that. Your power was always wasted on you."
"You talk of loyalty to me?" Numair asked somewhat incredulously. "You really do think I'm stupid, don't you? Tristan, you wouldn't know what loyalty meant if it was tattooed on your face. You follow Ozorne because he lets you do what you want." Shaking his head, he caught the blast on his shield, and retaliated with a strike that smashed the flagstones to gravel. "You've lost, Tristan. It's over. Your emperor will throw you to the wolves – " now that's an ironic phrase, under the circumstances "– without a second thought and claim that this was all your idea. He'll sacrifice you to protect his gilded hide, and you know it."
His opponent laughed breathlessly, fire gathering around his hands once more. "He won't, because I won't lose. Who's going to stop me, Arram? You?"
"I hate to interrupt your hallucination, Tristan, but perhaps you should look at reality. Your allies are by now dead or captured, or soon will be. Dunlath is surrounded. Ozorne won't help you. Your barrier has fallen, and the bloodrain is gone – and why bloodrain, of all things? Have you completely lost your mind?" Two strikes collided in midair, and the courtyard was filled with black and yellow sparks.
"What do I care? This place means nothing to me, you were right about that much at least. The others allowed themselves to be caught; that's their lookout. You're the only one stopping me now. I've been ordered to take you alive, but you're not worth it. I've wanted you dead for a long time, Arram."
"And yet you've never been able to manage it," he retorted, the courtyard trembling with another explosion. "I'm not sure if you were trying to drug me or poison me last week, but you made a very poor attempt at it. Don't look surprised; of course I saw you. What do you think I've been doing for the last few years, Tristan? Sitting on my backside admiring my reflection? My fourteen-year-old friend is smart enough to know that people change; why didn't you realise it?"
"Oh, shut up!" Tristan snarled. "You haven't changed, however much you prattle about it. Look at you. If you're really as powerful as they said, why did you never beat me in any class? Why haven't you killed me already?"
"Unlike you, Tristan, I don't follow my king's orders only when it suits me," Numair replied – somewhat untruthfully. "He wants you alive to stand trial. I assure you, it will be a far fairer hearing than Ozorne intended to give me, although the outcome will probably be the same." He stopped talking as a new spell hit him, something akin to liquid fire; his shield stopped most of it, but the rest would require a few moments to deal with. Moving his hand rapidly, he tangled Tristan in a cocoon, mostly for the annoyance value of it; Tristan couldn't fight properly when he was angry. That done, he used the brief interval to begin dissolving the fire that coated him.
"You are not taking me to that weak-willed idiot in Corus!" his opponent cried, tearing the cocoon apart as Numair rid himself of the last of the liquid fire. You don't understand what real strength is, Tristan. He left the retort unvoiced as a storm of yellow fire-arrows burst from the other mage's raised hands, shielding himself. Tristan was swaying visibly and breathing hard, obviously weakening.
Give up, you fool. A red robe could not beat a black. Unless Numair made a serious mistake, Tristan stood about as much chance as a flea did of beating a tiger. "Tristan, enough," he snapped, losing patience. He'd given his opponent a fair chance to surrender, more than the man deserved; it was time to end this, one way or another. "If you rush me, I'll do something we'll regret. Your death would be a criminal waste of your talents." Not a waste of much else, though, he added uncharitably to himself.
Tristan glared at him with pure hatred on his face. By now that reaction was probably more than justified, but the other mage had hated him just as intensely since they were boys. Numair had never really understood why, but it hardly mattered now. "You puling, gutless bookworm," Tristan hissed malevolently, fire beginning to flicker slowly around his feet as the debris from the fight ignited. "You think you'll come away golden, don't you?" The flames rose rapidly and began to move; Tristan was hidden for a moment behind a wall of fire. The voice continued over the roar and crackle, rising in near-hysterical fury. "You and your 'honour code' – your sermons on what we owe the un-Gifted – you made me sick in Carthak and you still do."
Despite the severity of the situation, Numair couldn't quite stop himself from flushing. He really had been an insufferable idiot back then, but at least his intentions had been good. He shifted his weight on the stone pedestal that was all that remained of his part of the courtyard, watching the fiery tornado narrowly; what was Tristan up to?
"Well, you will not walk away unscorched!" Tristan snarled. Lifting a hand, he pointed – not at Numair, but at Daine. He hadn't even seen her return to the fight. The fire leaped towards her, and Numair panicked, reacting instantly and shouting the first spell he could think of without pausing to consider the consequences.
Tkaa had been right; the mortal mind did do strange things with time. In the seconds it took for the spell to take effect, Numair had more than enough time to realise exactly what he had just done. As the world bent and distorted around him and the air screamed, horror filled him; he had never even considered using a word of power before. By the time he had learned the words, he had already learned exactly why they were restricted knowledge and what they could do; truthfully, he had always thought that there wasn't really anything he wanted that badly. Until now.
Magic began to stream out of him, and he wondered distantly if he'd got it right or not. Those spells were not meant to be cast haphazardly out of terrified impulse. His breath caught as the energy flowing through him rose to a flood, fire burning through his veins, more than any mage he knew would be able to survive. Power overwhelmed every sense he possessed, and for a moment Numair understood the warnings that had been a large part of his training. This level of power was beyond intoxicating. It was wonderful, frightening, ecstatic and painful all at the same time; it would be so easy to surrender to it.
Reality twisted around him; it was the only way he could describe it. For one final moment he couldn't see or hear; it felt as if his blood had caught fire, and if he had been able to draw a breath he would have screamed, suddenly certain that he was about to die. Then, abruptly, everything stilled and the only sound was his heartbeat pounding in his ears as his vision returned in stages. Utterly stunned, Numair stared at what he had just done, too numb to really feel anything but a faint sense of surprise as Daine's arrow buried itself to the fletchings in the tree that had been Tristan Staghorn.
"So," Daine remarked unsteadily nearby, looking utterly bewildered. "Um – thank you. Was that a word of power?"
"Yes," he replied distantly, realising vaguely that he was on the verge of going into shock. Trying not to shiver, with limited success, he continued staring at the tree. "What is he, can you tell?"
"I think it's fair rude to make him a tree and not know what kind he is."
"Daine – " he began plaintively.
"Apple. Knowing him, prob'ly a sour apple tree." Numair wished she would stop trying to make a joke of it. This wasn't funny, and if he started laughing he was going to go into hysterics. "Will this hurt some other part of the world?"
He sighed; why a tree, anyway? The transfiguration spell wasn't specific, as far as he remembered. "As I recall, this word's use means somewhere there is a tree that is now a – a two-legger." I bet that came as a shock, he thought, and desperately bit his tongue to stop himself giggling. Oh, gods, what have I done? Shivering fitfully, he stared at the crater surrounding him. "How do I get out of this thing?"
"Use a word of power, or something," Daine told him dismissively, turning away and jogging off. She called back over her shoulder, "I need to find Belden and Yolane!"
Left alone – except for Kitten, who was staring between him and the tree in fascination – Numair slid into the crater and somehow managed to drag himself out of the other side. Keeping as far away from the apple tree as possible, as if that would make it easier to forget about it, he crawled across the courtyard to the steps and folded up with his head on his knees as the world started to swim around him.
He had no idea how long it was before Daine ran back outside. It could have been minutes or hours; he'd simply sat with his eyes closed, trying very hard not to faint. "Yolane's gone," she said. "We have to go after her."
"Daine, I can't," he replied weakly. "I'm used up for the moment." He lifted his head carefully to look at her, struggling to focus on her face. "What about Belden?"
"He killed himself. He's in there," she told him, jerking her head towards the castle. The news didn't really mean much to him at the moment. "If she's to get away clean, she must be headed west," Daine went on thoughtfully; he tried to listen past the buzzing in his ears. "She could see from here the north and south passes are pretty hot right about now."
"Daine?" a new voice called. "You here?" The newcomer turned out to be Iakoju and the Long Lake pack; the wolves promptly mobbed the humans. Numair hadn't been expecting to be included and was knocked over; sprawling on his back on the steps, he weakly attempted to fend off Short Snout, Fleetfoot and Russet, who seemed determined to lick every inch of exposed skin he possessed.
"Get off me," he protested feebly, laughing despite his exhaustion and shock as he pushed them away. Okay, maybe being part of a pack wasn't so bad. Sitting up, he wiped his face, panting wolves leaning on him or sprawling next to him, and focused on the conversation once more.
"You look bad," Iakoju told him, sounding vaguely sympathetic.
He smiled wryly, deciding that maybe being in shock wasn't as bad as it seemed. Certainly it seemed better that he couldn't think about it clearly yet. "So do you," he replied mildly.
Daine had wandered off; Numair patiently tolerated the rest of the pack sniffing him over and settled into a blank numbness that was broken only when she returned with a handful of expensive-looking silk clothes, which she dropped to the ground for the wolves to sniff before beginning to shed most of her possessions briskly.
"What are you doing?" Numair asked blankly, unable to make sense of this.
"The pack's going to find her, and I'm going with them, sort of. I have to sit in the lake, though, to help with the magic. I'm awfully tired, and I'm not going to risk her getting away! Head out, Brokefang. I'll follow."
He knew he should be trying to stop her, but it was all too much to deal with right now. His head was swimming, and the only real emotion he could manage to dredge up was a faint amusement; Daine really did not like Yolane. Hardly surprising, really. He hadn't liked her much, either. Damn. I never did pay Tristan back for what he said to Daine. Then again, maybe I did... Shivering again, he watched silently as she raced off towards the lake.
Numair hadn't fully understood what Daine had been planning. Or maybe he had, and she herself hadn't realised. His mind really wasn't functioning properly at the moment; he watched without understanding as the copper fire of her magic shimmered over her skin and flared brightly. When she shapeshifted, all he could do was stare blankly as the wolf raced to join the rest of the pack and they all ran off down the road, noses down and tails wagging. "I think my life just became very complicated again," he told Kitten quietly, and put his head on his knees once more.
When Alanna and Raoul arrived at the castle, Numair was still sitting on the steps in the courtyard, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Everyone else had showed up eventually; Tkaa, Maura, the horses, Tait and an injured squirrel. The two soldiers exchanged puzzled glances before Alanna advanced on him cautiously. "Numair? Is everything all right?"
He looked at her dully, feeling cold and ill. At least everything had stopped spinning every time he moved. "You missed a lot," he told her quietly. "Belden's dead. Suicide. Yolane's fled, but Daine's following her."
"How?" Alanna asked blankly. "Isn't that her horse over there?"
"Daine can shapeshift now. It's a long story. I don't really know all the details myself; we haven't had much time to talk."
There was a pause as she processed this, and finally decided to move on from it. "You look terrible. What's happened? Did Tristan show up? I thought I felt your Gift earlier..."
"Yes, he did," Numair replied hollowly.
"Where is he?"
Silently, he lifted a hand and pointed to the tree on the other side of the courtyard. Alanna looked blankly at him, then equally blankly at the tree before her eyes narrowed slightly in concentration; she could see magical residue too, although probably not in the same way he did. "Goddess bless," she whispered after a moment, stunned. "Numair... what..."
"I don't really know," he answered distantly. "I didn't plan to do that."
"Are you all right?"
"I don't know that, either. I'm not hurt, if that helps." He didn't protest as she crossed the courtyard and took his head in her hands, and he was so drained he couldn't have resisted her healing magic if he'd wanted to.
"You're right, you're not hurt. That must be something of a record for you." When he didn't answer, she hesitated before walking back over to Raoul for an intense discussion in low voices. Eventually she padded back to him. "We need to head out and catch up with Daine; Yolane will need to stand trial. Will you be all right here?"
Something finally cut through the numbness that had filled his head. "I'm coming with you."
"Numair, that's – Are you sure that's a good idea?"
With an effort, he summoned the faint ghost of his usual smile. "No, but when has that ever stopped me?" Steeling himself, he stood up, and waited for everything to stop spinning. Spots obligingly came closer without being asked, and stood patiently for Numair to haul himself into the saddle. Alanna touched his arm, looking up at him.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"Not really," he told her calmly. "But I'll be fine until the shock wears off, and thanks to adrenaline that won't be until everything's over. I can collapse later."
"You do abuse yourself sometimes," she muttered. "How you've lived this long, I don't know."
"Nor do I, but I'm not arguing. Shall we?"
Daine was human again when they found her, walking in front of the pack, who had surrounded Yolane. Dunlath's ruling lady wasn't looking so attractive now, Numair noted vaguely, watching the circling wolves who were plainly tormenting her. That's a shame. They reined in beside the odd little group, and Alanna grinned. "I hear you can shapeshift these days."
"Any ill effects?" Numair asked interestedly; he was feeling a little better.
"I didn't have my clothes when I changed back," she said ruefully, startling him; he hadn't considered that. "Luckily, we were by the caves. How are Tkaa and Maura and Tait and Flicker?"
"Waiting at the castle," he told her. "The squirrel needs some of your help."
"Good work," Raoul told her genially, dismounting and ruffling her hair. "We'll make a king's officer of you yet. Speaking of which..." The Knight Commander threaded his way between the gathered wolves and laid a heavy hand on Yolane's shoulder. "Yolane of Dunlath, I hereby arrest you in the name of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet of Tortall, for the crime of high treason." The wolves began to howl, causing almost everyone to shudder.
Traitor the woman might be, but Numair had to admit that she had courage. "I am guilty as charged," she responded, her head high despite everything that had happened. "Now will you get me away from these monsters?" Stupidity rather than courage, perhaps, Numair corrected himself as Brokefang growled.
"They have a different idea of who's the monster here," Daine snapped at her. "And I think they have the right of it." Turning away, she added in a plaintive tone, "Will someone give me a ride? My pads – my feet – are killing me."
Numair started laughing at that. Once again, she'd managed to make his life stranger than ever just when he had thought it was impossible. Nudging Spots forward, he reached down and offered her a hand. "Come on, wildmage," he told her, smiling, and braced himself as she scrambled into the saddle in front of him; from the way she leaned back against his chest, she was far more tired than she would ever admit.
"Wildmage?" she asked quietly as they began to ride back towards the castle.
"It's a good word, isn't it?"
She thought about it for a while. "Well, I s'pose it sounds more impressive than 'magelet'," she said finally, turning to smile at him.
He grinned at her. "You're stuck with that one as well, I'm afraid. It's a habit now. Does it bother you?"
"Not as much as it did," she admitted, trying not to yawn. "I'd prob'ly miss it if you stopped."
"So I'm forgiven, then?"
"For what?"
He smiled wryly, no longer quite so bothered by the memory. "A mutual friend informed me that you were angry with me."
It took her a few moments to work that one out. "The badger told you?" She blushed. "That wasn't fair of me. I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter. You weren't entirely wrong." He smiled as she yawned again. "Stop it, or you'll set me off."
"Can't help it," she muttered. "I'm tired."
"So am I," he agreed. "How are you feeling? And don't tell me you're fine," he added before she could answer. Mumbling something probably uncomplimentary, she rested her head against his shoulder.
"Sore," she admitted finally. "Is shifting supposed to hurt this much?"
"The first few times will," he said reflectively, thinking back to when he had learned to shift. "Your body isn't used to it. It will get easier; at least, it should do. I don't know how shapeshifting works with wild magic. I didn't know it was possible until the badger told me."
"Will you be able to help me with it?"
"I hope so," he replied honestly, then grinned. "You're not getting rid of me that easily." Daine laughed sleepily.
"I don't want to try it again for a while."
"Probably just as well," he answered. "Alanna might be able to help with the soreness. When I've had some sleep I'll put some medicine together, but I'm not sure how I'm still conscious, so it's going to have to wait."
"Are you all right?" she asked a little hesitantly.
"I'm so tired I can't tell," Numair told her candidly. "We'll talk about it – about everything when we've both rested. It's going to be a while before we can start for home anyway. Lots of things to sort out, and I'm very glad we don't need to be involved in most of it."
"Me too," she agreed drowsily, and he smiled.
"Go to sleep, magelet. I'll wake you if anything important happens."
Poor Numair! This won't be Elder Brother compliant, by the way. I've read it, now, but I found it a bit strange and disjointed. I don't think it works well as a short story; it needed fleshing out more.
There will be one more chapter of this story – it's actually longer than Teacher was, but ended up being the same number of chapters. Go figure. I'm not ending it in the same place as in the book (because it ends in an odd place, to my mind); my epilogue is completely non-canon, actually, but there's lots of important conversations in there – including why Numair hates Tristan and why black robes shouldn't use words of power. Plus some utter silliness that probably isn't in character but that I couldn't resist including.
So, reviews please. It's my 22nd birthday today, so I want to receive reviews from ALL my readers for this chapter – I know many more people read it and don't review. So as it's my birthday, lurkers, drop me a line and tell me what you think? Thank you.
Loten.