If this were a book, it would suck. As a fanfic, it's okay, I suppose, but this is another chapter where unfortunately nothing really happens, but it has to be here. I promise, the next chapter will be much more intense! Anyway, I don't really like this chapter, so I may rewrite it eventually, but for now I'll just work on the next chapters. They're going to be much more fun to write anyway.
Irish Ninja Chick and Fyliwion - thank you!
grayscales - Oh, wow, I don't think I could possibly live up to Tammy, but thank you! I love writing dialogue, because it makes the characters more real to me for some reason, more than descriptive paragraphs, so I usually end up with too much dialogue and nowhere near enough description. Ah, well. Haha, don't worry, I'm not an A/J shipper or anything, but I wanted to put a sweet moment between them. They're still friends, as much as they argue with each other.
Jess - Well, the plot's kinda come to a standstill in these last few chapters, but it'll pick up! Thanks so much!
EDITED
Yawning, Daine stood and picked up her now-empty porridge bowl. The sun was starting to get fairly high, and from what she knew about deserts, it was never good to be traveling in the heat of the day. They probably should have started moving an hour ago, but, as usual, Numair was far too concerned with her well-being.
"We had best start on our way," said the mage, echoing her thoughts. He rose, too. "Since desert land is so barren, the sun - "
"Scorches your skin and the wind burns your face," finished Daine, smiling. "I know. You made me go through that book on desert mammals before we got here, remember? It had a preface about weather, of all things."
"It did, didn't it?" said Numair curiously. Daine laughed, shaking her head as she tried to take a step forward. But the edges of Numair's long cloak caught under her toes, and she stumbled across the sand, before she found herself once again in Numair's firm grip.
"Why am I so clumsy lately?" she muttered, refusing to look up at his face. She knew she'd start laughing if she did.
"It's because I'm here, magelet," he said pompously. "It is in the nature of women to act as if they are in need of aid when they are around handsome men. The dropping of a handkerchief, the tripping…."
Daine couldn't help it, she started laughing again. Punching him in the arm, she righted herself and placed her hands defiantly on her hips. "I always knew you were a Player," she accused.
Numair sighed heartily. "If I were a Player, I would have been banished from Tortall or placed upon Traitor's Hill because of all the treasonous things I have said in regard to my king. As it stands, I just get my rear soundly kicked by his Champion each time she forces me to learn swordplay."
"You fought the Lioness? No. You'd be dead."
"Probably, if I hadn't devised a spell to protect me from sword cuts. Unfortunately, it does not remain powerful for long periods of time, so it can't be used in practical situations. And before I thought of that, she managed to give me this." Rolling up his left sleeve, Daine put a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry of half-laughter, half-worry at the long, thin scar that ran from his elbow to wrist. Eventually, the laughter won out.
Numair glared at her mischievously. "Enjoying my pain, magelet?"
"No," she said, still trying to smother a fit of giggles. "No, I'm just laughing because it's so you. To try and spar against the Lioness. Because you've read about swordplay, haven't you?" She ran her fingers over the scar, feeling the unusual coolness against Numair's warm skin, just as the mage quickly pulled his arm away and pushed down his sleeve. Bewildered, Daine stared at him.
"Of course," he said hurriedly. "But, like anything you read, it looks a lot easier than it actually is. That is one of the first lessons you learn - and yet are never taught – when you are studying at the University." He moved over to their bags, keeping his back turned to Daine as he spoke. "You might want to change out of that cloak now. It's getting a little worn, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said, coming up beside him and trying to look up at his face. He was determinedly not facing her, apparently gazing at the rising sun. She turned back to their bags, extracting a set of breeches, shirt, and undergarments.
"Ready?" asked Numair after a short moment.
"I'm decent," she said, holding out Numair's cloak as he turned around.
"Knowing you, we may need this again, whatever condition it's in," said Numair dryly, shoving the ruined cloak into a bag. Tugging his long nose, he stared at their campsite, then back up at the sun. Apparently coming to a decision, he flicked his arm and a few streams of sparkling black fire rolled up the bedrolls, cleared away the fire pit, cleaned the dishes, and fit everything neatly into the two bags. Daine frowned at him.
"You're supposed to save your magic for important things, aren't you?"
"This is important," he said, pointing at the sun. "We need to proceed quickly, or the sun will rise too high and we won't be able to make any progress."
"I think you were just showing off," Daine muttered, picking up one of the bags and slinging it over her shoulder. "Are you going to spell these again?"
"No, that would be showing off, magelet. Because I know you're plenty strong enough to carry one on your own, and, of course, nothing is too large for yours truly."
"See?" Daine accused, smiling again. "You're a Player at heart, master mage!"
He smiled back at her while picking up the other bag, the larger one. No matter how much Daine protested, he always carried the heaviest of their supplies, and eventually she just gave up. "Maybe I am," the man conceded.
"Don't worry," Daine assured him, "I'd still love you even if you were one of them annoying Players."
Numair's mouth fell open slightly, and he stared at her without saying a word. Daine frowned back, confused.
"What?"
Numair shook his head quickly, breaking eye contact. "Nothing. Let's get moving, shall we?" He took off at a brisk walk, and Daine followed along behind him, deciding to put off her questions. Numair could be fair odd at times. She'd gotten used to it.
The days blended seamlessly into one another as they walked, camped, and tried to think of a way back to Tortall. Endless stretches of hot sand extended in every direction – never varying in the slightest, remaining the broad, deadly desert that became more dangerous with every passing day.
Numair noticed Daine growing increasingly anxious as they moved farther and farther into the Carthaki wasteland. On their third day on the move, the girl hurried over to him, grabbing his arm firmly. Numair, instantly worried, glanced down at her. "Daine? Is something wrong?"
She shook her head, looking resolutely at the ground, but she didn't let go of Numair's arm. "It's just so quiet here," she murmured, hardly audible. "The People don't come this far out. I talked to sparrows before, but even they've had to leave."
Numair took her hand, lifting it off his wrist and giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. "It must be strange, to not hear any of the animals, isn't it?"
She nodded sadly. "Talk to me," she said suddenly. "I don't care what about, but just talk. I like hearing your voice."
Something like joy and pride shot through Numair. He forcibly ignored it, instead smiling at the young wildmage. "All right," he gave in. "What would you like to hear?"
"Anything."
"That's helpful," said Numair dryly, making Daine laugh a little. "Myths, legends, true stories, lessons?"
She paused, apparently thinking. "Tell me stories of Tortall, before I came here," she said at last. "All I ever heard in Galla was that Tortall had a female Champion - the Lioness - and that she was ten feet tall and killed trolls every day."
Numair laughed, trying to imagine Alanna significantly taller than he himself was. Already intimidating despite her small stature, a giant-sized Alanna would surely be an extremely formidable figure.
"Well, there is the tale of the Dominion Jewel. Have you heard that one?"
She shook her head, looking at him expectantly. "Tell me it."
Nodding, Numair gathered all his memories of the stories he had heard in Tortall. He'd still been in Carthak when it had happened, but he could remember clearly all that Alanna had told him – the tale was fascinating.
"It was the second year after she'd gotten her shield and revealed that she was a woman," he started, "and she knew, in order for the country to accept her, she'd have to do something no one else had before."
"And being a woman warrior didn't count," interrupted Daine.
"No, my dear, it did not. Jon, as her friend and her king, was perfectly happy to accept her as a knight. The majority of the populace, however? They were not quite so open-minded."
Numair lost track of the time as he spoke. He tried to lose himself in the story, as he often did, but he found that whenever Daine gasped, or squeezed his hand, he nearly lost his train of thought. Just as the sun reached its peak in the clear sky – the heat was nearly unbearable, but he somehow found a way to put the discomfort out of his mind - Numair finished the story. "Alanna killed Duke Roger – again – and the tremors stopped. But the power in the Jewel that Jon had to use had to come from somewhere, and the next year, there was a terrible famine. But, from then on, Tortall has always had the Jewel, as a symbol of power only to be used in the most desperate situations."
Looking at Daine again, Numair saw that she was staring at him, entranced. She shook her head. "You're good at telling stories," she told him.
"Player at heart, remember?" he said, pointing at his chest. She laughed and used her free hand to wipe her brow. No longer so distracted, Numair realized how much the heat was reaching him, as well. They had to stop now, or risk heat fever, dehydration, and all kinds of dangers. They were already running low on water; it was not an endless commodity.
"Let's rest over there," Numair suggested, pointing to a dune that would provide a sliver of shade. Daine nodded and set her bag down, flopping onto the ground in exhaustion. Numair settled down a little more calmly beside her, but he felt just as exhausted - he wished that he could just sleep. But, earlier in their journey, he had insisted that during their afternoon rest, Daine would sleep first while Numair kept watch, and then they would switch.
Generally, though, Numair found that he could never really fall asleep. He kept sneaking glances at Daine, both to make sure she was safe and just to see her. Now he watched her again, breathing peacefully, with her curly hair fanning out over the sandy ground. She shifted, moving her head so it was laying against his thigh. Numair froze. Cautiously, he reached out a hand and brushed a few strands of hair away from her eyes.
She stirred, and Numair quickly pulled his hand back, but her eyes remained closed.
What was he thinking? She was his student, and nothing more. But if that were true, why did he always smile when he was around her? Why did he feel like he'd to anything to make her happy? He looked away from her and back at the sun, which was slowly sinking towards the west. Inside, he knew the answer, but it was too hard to admit it to himself. He didn't want to be in love with her, so therefore, it followed logically that he couldn't be. It just wasn't possible.
Lately she hasn't really been just a student, a sly voice inside his head pointed out. She's been a friend. A companion. He remembered how, at the large feast that was held when they arrived in Carthak, Daine had remembered that he couldn't eat such intricate foods after long travels. She had sent a dog to help clear his plate, so he wouldn't appear rude in front of Varice and the emperor. She always knew what he needed – and, on the other end, Numair knew there were times when he could just tell what was bothering Daine. That kind of insight into another person, when one could just inherently know what was wrong, was almost always used to describe those in love. George and Alanna were like that.
It's just because we've been together for so long, he told himself wearily. That's all it is. And she's becoming a beautiful woman; I'm not immune to that.
Looking at the sun again, he guessed that it was probably time for him to wake Daine and let her take watch. But he didn't want to move; it was so peaceful with her resting against him. He knew Daine better than that, though – she would be furious if he tried to take her watch as well as his own. Sighing, he placed at hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Daine," he murmured. "Time to switch watch."
Groaning, she pulled herself into a sitting position, and Numair was grateful that she didn't seem to notice how she had moved in her sleep. "It's not like there's anything out here that could attack us," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "And I can't do much without a bow anyway."
"Of course you can," grinned Numair, leaning back to make it look like he would soon be falling asleep. "You can give yourself the claws of a lion. If that does not constitute itself as deadly, then I don't know what does."
She smiled, sending a warm tingle through Numair's body. Quickly he shut his eyes. "Wake me - "
" - if anything happens," finished Daine. "I know."
Numair just smiled, not bothering to respond. Cracking open one eye, he watched Daine settle down comfortably in the sand with her back to him. Her thick, curly hair was still sandy and mussed, but he knew that would never bother her. She was never one for appearances, unlike Varice, who he could tell had gone over-the-top to make sure she was looking her best when he had arrived. Daine, however, had never tried to be anything she wasn't.
Here I go again, he thought bitterly to himself. Thinking about her. Closing his eyes and forcing himself to keep them shut, he recited ancient texts that he had memorized over and over again in his head. It worked, and soon enough he found himself falling asleep, as much as we wanted to stay awake if only to keep Daine safe. She can look after herself, he thought, before letting the weariness of three days' traveling overtake him.
Ozorne threw his hands in the air in frustration, emerald glimmers sparking at his fingertips. "Take me to them, you damned Hag!" he shouted, spit flying from his lips. The Graveyard Hag looked idly at her filthy fingernails. A bit of the girl's dried blood still lingered under the tips.
"You could ask nicely," she said, not looking at him. "I don't like threats."
"But," growled the emperor, seemingly on his last nerve, "you are under my control, so what you desire does not matter."
The Hag still ignored him, barely containing a snort at the thought. She scratched at one of the silver shackles, wishing she could blow it to pieces, just to see the look on his face. A jovial voice, audible only to her, sounded from somewhere beside her ear.
"Dearest sister. I have upheld my end of the bargain. You are now in my debt."
The Hag flicked her fingers, creating a thick, enveloping mist to shield her conversation from Ozorne. "Debt acknowledged," she muttered. "You won't regret it. My aid can be useful."
"It had better be," said the voice. "This wasn't a very exciting job. It was too human. My next plan will be far better."
"Of course it will," said the Hag irritably. Despite the fact that he was extremely easy to dislike, it was undeniable that he had his uses. "I'm busy. Go."
"Fine," he said. "I'll just get in touch with you later, shall I?"
The Hag grumbled as the voice vanished, as did her opaque mist. It dissipated to reveal a very red-faced Ozorne, despite all the paints he had caked upon his face. Somehow, despite his separation from the palace, he still had the time and resources to make himself look like an idiot.
"I did not tell you to do that!" he screeched.
"No, you didn't," agreed the Hag. Changing tactics in the hope that he'd forget, she said quickly, "But now I know where the girl and the mage are. Do you want to know?"
"Tell me," he ordered, his eyes shining madly. The Hag glared at him. Being forced to help someone was one thing, but pretending to be under this man's control was torture. Sighing, she flicked her arm again to conjure an image, hoping it would all be worth this humiliation in the end.