An: Thanks to those who reviewed- as always, your input is heartening- Shang Leopard, Dragonfly 257, SarahE7191. And thanks, Kyrie, for betaing, as per usual. ;D Finally, I've written a chapter of my normal, proper length!

Chapter 10

The Demonstration

She did not pay much attention to the proceedings, but everyone had to be presented to the Chancellor, and when it was her turn, Deryne could not help but listen to the wind at her command as she and Alan bowed to Roger. He was laughing to himself, and making no effort to resist her intrusion. In fact, he welcome prying, magnanimously opening his mind, unable to sense her touch but superciliously certain she was there.

Here eyes slid to his; his blue eyes glittered.

"Welcome, friends," he said, the customary greeting mocking on his tongue. He dipped his head. "I hope your stay will bring a new understanding between our two nations." A thought bulged out of his collection of emotions and memories, extended tantalizingly before her gudruna like the end of an unraveling seam, begging for a tug. Cautiously, Deryne pulled it towards her, and the Chancellor's voice resounded inside her head.

I do wish I could salute you properly, my dear. Deryne had to fight the sudden scowl that came to her face; only the Chamber spoke inside her mind. Then, alarmed, she banished the thought, for fear that- somehow- Roger could hear her as well as she heard him. Alan turned, and she followed him to where those who had been presented waited, fighting down panic. I trust you will enjoy this… most informative visit. Her nails bit into her palms as she frantically searched the breezes for magic that might betray her consciousness to his, but there were none. She relaxed; this communication was like his projecting crystal- for her entertainment only. She glanced at the chancellor side-long, but he gave away no sign of the inner monologue he spilled out onto the breezes. I have missed you- it's been dull here, without proper adversaries. He missed not a beat as he welcomed the last few members of the Tortallan delegation. Even the Salmalin boy was a greater challenge to placate, to manipulate… for Malvyn, at least. There was the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips; Deryne doubted anyone else, ignorant to his smug little speech, would notice. But I remember it all… and you, of course, were always so perceptive. You and your lover kept me on my toes. Deryne's jaw flexed. But I survived, he drawled. I persevered for your sake. And now, you and your friends have a foe worthy of your talents.

Deryne closed her mind, despite her growing curiosity; indeed, she cut herself off before she was too fascinated to let go of his poison. She would find out his meaning in time; she did not need to stoop to this. Besides, since when had she done what he wanted? And he clearly wanted her listening to his taunts.

Well, she was not Rikash; this bating would not provoke her. It only strengthened her resolve, reminding her of why she was there. She let other, fresher gudruna, untainted by his bile, race through her mind and out again, following them on their merry hunt for news to please her.

Rikash leapt up into a fighting stance when someone pounded on the door; he nearly upset the chair he had been sitting on. With an amused look at his antsy friend, Han crossed the room to unbolt the latch and tug the door open to see a boy several years younger than them, breathing hard as he looked the earth-mage over. He swallowed heavily, tucking his blond hair behind his ears.

"Han?" he whispered, glancing side to side. Without a word, the tall country youth drew the visitor inside, where Rikash advanced with a scowl. "Deryne sent me." Rikash snorted, and the boy straightened, looking him in the eye. "She did," he retorted to Rikash's silent but obvious skepticism. "And she told me to say that she'd deal with you later, Rikash Salmalin." A small noise that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed chuckle left Han as Rikash's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in resentment.

"Even Malvyn could have told him to say that," he muttered, looking at Han, who shrugged.

"You two don't keep your friendliness a secret," he agreed, deadpan expression giving nothing away. Rikash scoffed, then raised an eyebrow.

"Deryne has a message? For us?" He had not even known that she knew their address; he guessed his father had up and told her, just in case of any emergencies…. He rolled his eyes. "What? That she's arrived? We know that- even the tiniest sack of rags in Hamrkeng knows that." From his place in the corner, Damek sighed.

"Leave the boy alone," he requested wearily, rising to his feet. The stilted arguments that had been having for the past few hours had exhausted him; it had been decided that he would not be able to leave the house, since his dark hair and copper skin would attract attention- now he was even more skittish than before, boarded up with another mage who disliked waiting.

"What's wrong?" Han asked, steering the messenger towards a chair.

"Nothing- she sends her greetings," the boy replied, to Rikash's derisive snort. "And she asks that you help me into the castle, later. When the fuss dies down."

"Trap," Rikash said shortly, turning on his companions. "Malvyn knows we're up and about-"

"She said that, if you're questioning me, to say that last time you were out Shadow-hunting, you saved her from a swarm that came up behind her while she was struggling with the- vent, I think she said?" He glanced at them for clarification; he clearly had no understanding of what he recited. Rikash nodded tersely, jaw flexing; she remembered. "And that she never thanked you for it," the boy finished, voice quieter. There was a long silence; Rikash caught Han sneaking a glance at him. A small sigh escaped the fire mage; he plopped back down into his seat, running a hand through his hair.

"I'll probably regret this," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "What's your name?" he asked, voice slightly louder as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Kol, sir." Rikash snorted again.

"I'm no sir, boy." He leaned back, then looked over at his Kyprian companion. "Damek?" The islander started. "Could you get out that speaking crystal?" Eyeing Rikash suspiciously, Damek nodded, wondering over the request- usually, with Salmalin, it was an order, coupled with an insult. "You remember the interception spell? The one that can use Cyne's crystal as a spying glass?" Rikash tapped his fingers against his chair. "It'll be another day before we can enter-"

"We?" Kol interrupted, curiosity gleaming in his pale eyes. "You're going-" Han nudged him as Rikash's sharp gaze flickered back to the boy before the fire mage continued.

"And, in the meantime, they're having talks in Frasluk." His amber eyes glittered with his voice grew hard and dangerously pleasant. "And I want to know every word that comes out of that bastard's mouth."

Her room was small but well-furnished, especially for Scanra, a nation that prospered little with such cold winters and short summers; Roger had probably added more décor just for this little gathering.

You blame him for everything, the Chamber noted, amused, as Deryne eased herself onto the bed; many others had had to share chambers and even sleep in one of the great halls of the huge, cold castle-fortress, but both she and her knight master had been among the fortunate few to receive snug rooms warmed by an elaborate steam system designed by Vikhard Moneustrak, a renowned builder from Scanran history. She even had it to herself.

"I blame Roger for that, too," she drawled, not entirely in good-humor; she had already searched the room for concealed passageways, traps- anything that the chancellor might have hidden to unnerve her.

He's very courteous, the Chamber observed, and she laughed at the sardonic remark as she plopped down on the mattress. She smirked as she stretched out, closing her eyes.

"Fit for a queen," she replied wryly, wondering if this was the sorcerer's intent, to soften her up before he struck her down. The thought made her jump up, away from the temptation to sleep. She sighed, running her hands through her hair; she would have to pin the loose strands back up. "How long until he calls us all together?" The kestrel stretched its wings.

He has not simply called the Tortallans and your friends. There are others who have been waiting- the Tusaine, the Gallans, Marenites- even a small embassy from Carthak. Deryne's gaze snapped to her bird.

"All of Tortall's allies?"

If you can call the Tusaine and Marenites allies to Tortall. Deryne bit her lip; this was true- perhaps they were smaller neighbors, but any chance to join an enemy of Tortall-

"But we still outnumber them," she muttered. "With power and size- the emperor of Carthak would not turn, not when his wife is Roald's sister, and the Yamanis are bound by marriage, and the Kyprians are indebted to us; they are no danger-"

Not counting your enemy's new friends, the Chamber answered darkly. Deryne frowned.

"What do you know? About them?" she added, taking a step towards her kestrel. She reached out, stroking his feathers gently.

You'll be seeing tonight; now that everyone is here, it added sourly. Roger does not want to waste a moment, and he can excuse his haste with our delegations because the others have been waiting. Deryne scowled.

"We were only a day or so late!" she exclaimed. "How did the Marenites arrive before us, if they went by ship?"

Because the chancellor wanted them there earlier, so he told them earlier, the Chamber answered, ignoring her huff of indignation. She glowered.

"And I'll bet he only told the Carthakis a little before us," she said to herself, crossing her arms as she paced, trying to warm herself. "And since their delegation is smaller, it took less time to put together and sail north." She scowled again. "And they did not have any magical storms delaying them- was that whole spell just to thumb his nose at us?" she demanded incredulously. She shook her head.

Do not bothering puzzling out the mind of the insane, the Chamber advised. Especially when he is so eager to explain his logic to you himself.


She was grateful for the furs and heavy clothing she had abhorred donning again, after the Tortallan winter; Scanra was far colder, even now, in early spring. She shivered as she walked a few paces down the corridor to her knight master's room, where she pounded on the door until he arrived. He grinned at her.

"Off to see the madman," he said quietly as he locked his door behind him. "I would hum a merry tune, except that Harailt would look at me oddly." Deryne smiled half-hearted at his poor jest, but she was more eager to go to the hall where the Tortallans and the Marenites would be dining before the conference began, and then to the amphitheatre, where Roger was to have his demonstrations at hand.

In fact, she was tempted to find the amphitheatre right then, glimpse what her old enemy was plotting- Alan patted her on the shoulder.

"We'll know soon enough," he whispered as they approached the great hall; Harailt was waiting outside it, eyes troubled. The university mage was second-in-command of the Tortallans and their direct communicator with Numair. He joined the knight and squire as they entered the small, sparsely decorated hall, with benches and tables but little more. A group of Marenites- well dressed and groomed- turned to glance at them before looking away with prudish airs. Deryne smirked slightly.

Before she and Alan could sit, Harailt grabbed them both by the elbow subtly, halting them. The girl looked at the mage questioningly, and he sighed.

"Master Harailt?" Alan prompted, lips barely moving. The other man- a blank smile on his face- turned his back to their surroundings so that he faced them.

"Lord Deuthe and other heads of the delegations are negotiating with Chancellor Heolstor now," he muttered, taking them several steps away from the entrance. Deryne frowned. "Ah- no scowling, look bored, please-" To ease his frantic tirade, she smiled, recomposing her face. Harailt ran a hand across his face. "And Scanrans won't even wait for Prince Liam," he murmured. Deryne's eyes widened with surprise, and the mage elaborated. "We needed a head of state, and His Highness usually does the job, but he was up north. A message was sent and he will take over as head of negotiations once he's ridden up, but they will not wait and to insist would start us off on poor footing-"

"Why are they talking now?" Alan whispered, glancing down at Deryne and back at the mage. Harailt grimaced.

"The chancellor is asking that each country select only several delegates to attend this first demonstration, as he calls it," he whispered. "He says that the talks will be later." Alan scowled, despite Harailt's instant reproof.

"I don't like the sound of it. What's he supposed to be demonstrating, anyway?" Harailt shook his head.

"The point is, he's trying to make this hard for us; Lord Deuthe doesn't know why you're supposed to be at everything, Deryne," he hissed. "All he knows is that you are to be there by the king's order, and that he isn't supposed to let the chancellor know, and the man's keeping Deuthe between a rock and the hard place, questioning his selection-" He glanced over Alan. "We had to leave you off the list," he added grimly. "-but that's raising even more questions, having the squire without-"

"R- Ma- Heolstor knows exactly why I'm going to be there," Deryne replied, irked. Harailt put a finger to his lips, and she let her voice drop. "He's just making Deuthe sweat it out… and he's having fun while he's at it." Harailt smiled at the sardonic sourness in her words. She shook her head in disgust. "Taunting- it's his favorite game. He prefers to leave the actual fighting to his lackeys." Alan put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it as Harailt winced, glancing around for anyone who could be in earshot.

"Best keep your temper, lass," the knight muttered. "He's got these halls spelled for listening, if he's half as good as you say." Deryne snorted; it mattered little what Roger heard- he knew that she would blast him into the Black God's realm if she wrangled half a chance to do so. She was less merciful than she had been last time they had met. She was ready to turn the tables on him, sense and manners be damned.

"No worries," she said shortly, looking Harailt in the eye. "He's playing his little games with Deuthe; trust me, he wants me there." A smirk curled across her lips. "And if Deuthe wants him to stop, he should pretend to leave me out; I'll wager you'll see the ol' chancellor have a quick change of tune." She outright grinned. "In fact, tell him that my knight master will come instead, and see what he'll give us for my presence at his exclusive little party." Harailt raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Deryne did not doubt she was right; she only wished she could be there to see Roger sweat. She made her way to the other Tortallans; she knew few of them and wished that they had been dining with the Kyprians tonight. Still, as she sat, she raised her goblet in good spirits.

"To clever negotiations," she drawled as her knight master caught up with her. Easing into the seat next to her, he toasted her in return, despite a glower from a conservative earl across the table.

"And devious minds," he replied solemnly, eyes twinkling. "Thank the Gods you're on our side."

Later that night, Deryne answered a quiet knock to come face-to-face with Harailt.

"You were right," the mage announced, eyes twinkling before he assumed a grim expression. The squire replied with a small, dark smile before sliding out of her room and shutting the door tightly behind her; Duskwing would take care of any intruders. "I will escort you back here after the demonstration, unless unforeseen events tie me up, but we will have someone there." Deryne snorted.

"I thought Master Numair told you everything," she said as they strode down the corridor. "If he had, you'd know I don't need any escort."

"Appearance is everything," he replied firmly, to which Deryne shrugged in acquiescence before opening her mind to their surroundings. She liked the way the gudruna bounced through the passageways of the old castle, from the outdoor winds, harmonizing in a chilling symphony of stirring whispers that echoed through her mind soothingly. They pulsed through her and temptingly drew her away from her current troubles on their dancing zephyrs, trickling tidbits of meaningless chatter from Frasluk's inhabitants filling her thoughts.

She liked the feel of the wind in Scanra; now, at Frasluk, she was becoming more and more aware of it- gudruna sang, frolicking through her ears with just enough power to remind her of what a tremendous force she commanded.

"Did Heolstor say anything else?" she prompted as they turned the corner, heading for the staircase. Harailt shook his head.

"Have you gleaned anything out of the Marenites?" he asked in return. Deryne shook her head; she had sorted information the gudruna brought from their neighbors during dinner.

"Heolstor- and Ingmar, for that matter- have been keeping tight-lipped about this new ally of theirs," she answered. "He gave the same speech to each of us, through those projections." Harailt's jaw set.

"Never mind," he said, voice dropping to a murmur as the head of the Carthaki delegation approached the stairs from the other end of the hallway. "We'll learn in a few minutes." After a nod of acknowledgement, the two men descended, Deryne behind the Tortallan mage. They did not speak again as they reached the doors to which Harailt had been directed and entered.

A soft murmur of surprise and grudgingly appreciation left Deryne's throat as she gazed down upon the sight that met her eyes; they were looking out over the enclosed amphitheatre, over the hundreds of seats and scads of people to the empty pit in the center of the enormous chamber. Huge columns extended graceful upward to support the ceiling of glass. Thick glass, and enchanted, by the odd buzzing that her gudruna picked up when they brushed up against the window to the stars.

"I didn't know how advanced Frasluk is," she whispered. Harailt nodded, turning his head to view their surroundings better. She looked down the steps, where the delegations each gathered around the sand-strewn pit. Only the first few benches were filled, all the way around, but she could pick out the Tortallans even from her high vantage point; someone had thoughtfully covered each section of the ring of seats with the colors of the respective countries of each delegation. The squire's lips pursed as she saw the Conte blue; she wondered if roger still considered himself the Duke of Conte. It seemed he nursed mightier ambitions than the Tortallan throne now; he had called a council of nations, gathered diplomats and nobles from the eastern and southern lands in numbers and from distances unprecedented, to come to Scanra, a restless and frigid world… ripe for the taking, yearning for promises of an end to upheaval.

The Chancellor stood next to the throne at the opposite end of the amphitheatre, a little higher than Deryne was now. His eyes scanned the masses, face alit with triumph. The monarch in front of him was a trifling obstacle; he was the commander, the conductor, the puppeteer- the architect of the events that now unfolded before him with the ease of a well-practiced play.

And now, the fruits of his labors were almost in his grasp, whatever they were-

Seeing his smug manner, Deryne wished she could break free of the course he had dictated for them all, but she would have to dance to his tune to learn what he had wrought in anticipation of her resistance.

And then she could crush him.

They parted from the Carthaki, taking their places a row behind Lord Deuthe, who looked oddly at Deryne before returning to his conversation with his wife. Harailt bent his head towards Deryne to explain.

"Sar Heolstor almost instantly insisted you come," he whispered. "After Deuthe agreed that even my protégée in state affairs-" Her cover. "-might not be a good choice for such an demonstration, the chancellor said that if youngsters were indeed interested in the tedious doings of their elders, then it was far from him to discourage." Deryne smirked. "In fact, he says he's given us the best view of the proceedings." He nodded to where they sat.

"I don't know what this is about, but I doubt it'll be tedious," she commented, leaning against the back of the bench. She crossed her arms as trumpets blew, then sat up, not wanting to seem petulant or childish. Deuthe gave her one last glance before he turned to King Hauk Ingmar, who stood with his hands aloft, calling silently for attention, not that there were any who did not fall silent as the fanfare. Roger lounged in the shadows, not far behind his king.

Deryne remembered one of the few interesting bits she had learned from the Marenites; they knew from recent observation that the Chancellor was the one running the snow, the one behind the throne and crown of Scanra. Perhaps she should have told Harailt, but the fact had come as no surprise to her, and it had slipped her mind that maybe that was not as obvious and outwardly apparent as she thought.

Across the pit before them, Deryne caught sight of Cyne in the flash of color as everyone rose and bowed.

"Sit, friends," the Scanran leader boomed; she was surprised, given his distance, how clear his voice was. "And meet our new allies, the Gotzan of the far north sea!" Deryne's eyes narrowed as a figure emerged from behind Roger; there must be an entrance behind the throne….

"Leave the theatrics to him," she muttered, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the one standing side by side with Chaos's slave, but the light was dim….

Her fingers itched, and a small breeze rose, winding up from her seat and across the pit, barely stirring the sand as it rose, reaching out towards the mystery dangling before her.

She suddenly wondered if Roger wanted her to use her magic; why else all the secrecy, the lurking in the dark? It was time for him to unveil his newest horror… but he was going about his little demonstration very sneakily. But she would follow his rules, to learn the reason behind the madness-

Her gudruna swept across Ingmar's rugged features, then Roger's smile… and slid into nothing; they swept around the figure, revealing nothing of him….

Deryne's brow furrowed; as Roger stepped forwards, strolling down the steps like an emperor, she sent a stronger breeze, one that stirred her hair as it made its way towards this person, whoever he was.

"Tezock is a great mage and soldier among his people," the chancellor said, his voice measured. "He has acquiesced to a demonstration-" His teeth flashed in a wild grin. "-of the skills of his people." The hairs on the back of Deryne's neck rose in warning.

Then the figure moved, out of the shadows and past the king, in a languid but fluid motion that somehow caught her by surprise; he- Tezock- descended after Roger, movements as calculated as his companion's words. His skin was whiter than the purest snow of the Grimhold Mountains, and his frame was unnaturally delicate… sinisterly fragile in the same way a single snowflake may seem unthreatening… until the full force of the winter storm strikes.

At the bottom of the stairs, where the aisles met the pit, Tezock glanced at the fifteen foot drop to the sand below, then swept over the railing to land without stirring a single piece of grit… and Deryne knew, because her mind was completely open to the winds now, to any gudruna that could tell her anything; she knew Harailt was watching her- his hope and curiosity overwhelmed her… he wanted to know what was going on, probably believed she knew everything by now-

She knew nothing. Since she had mastered her power, the gudruna had been her true vision, telling her what was there when her eyes could not perceive it. Now her eyes told her Tezock was there, but there was not a breath of him in the winds- strong as she dared- that she sent his way.

Another fanfare crowed triumphantly over the quiet hum of the crowd, and the door in the pit opened; a group of men were escorted by soldiers towards Tezock.

"Convicts," Harailt muttered to himself. "Expendable." Blood pounded in Deryne's ears.

"You may begin, Lord Tezock," Roger declared, smiling benignly down upon what Deryne realized would be a bloodbath in a matter of moments. She tried to stand, struggling to understand and instinctively rebelling against the order the chancellor had created, but she was too slow; the fair-skinned ally twisted his head, and the criminals froze in their tracks, eyes huge, faces almost as pale as their predator's. Simultaneously, they choked, falling to their knees, as Tezock observed, disinterest clear as his eyes roved along the crowd staring in stunned horror. The prisoners collapsed to the ground, spending their last breaths in the rough sand. As their executioner's gaze fell upon her, a shudder raced up Deryne's spine; instead of eyes, he had darkness, pits of emptiness that reached into centuries of despair and drew upon years of misery and terror to strike fear in all he gazed upon.

A pang of familiarity slammed into Deryne; he was familiar, somehow… in more than one way… like a suppressed memory, or nightmare….

And, as his eyes alit on the Tortallan delegation, a terrible smile crossed his face, making his features crueler, less human. Deryne fought a wave of panic; there was no way he could see her- he enjoyed the general terror of the shadowed chamber, the crowd he shook so completely as he basked in the light….

But even as she told herself to control herself- she was a squire of the realm, after all- something new prickled at her consciousness; the gudruna were stirring, weaving in their little circles, past her and through the crowd….a familiar sensation, their eager rush, streaming across the room and filling its high ceilings and encompassing all….

Except that it was not her to whom they spoke. Icy fear knifed her heart as she followed their path, leading her to look Tezock in the eye as he summoned her breezes to him and, pulling them tightly to him, sucked them into an oblivion from which she could not retrieve them.

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