Haha! I DID IT! I should be given a medal. (or, at the very least, lots of reviews hinthint) It is a little shorter than usual, but hopefully acceptable. ;D THIS chapter WILL be the last until after Aug 2, but I have managed this last bit for you wonderful people. Thanks to all reviewers (whose comments helped me get this done!) : Shang Leopard, Dante Inferno, SarahE7191, Lemondrop xxx, Evil Strawberry, twilightm00n, BACswimma, dares to dream- you are great! And last but never least, my beta, KyrieofAccender. You are amazing, whether or not I actually send you the chappie. ;D

Enjoy!


Chapter 28

Awakening

October 5, 480 H.E.

"Hello, Inar." The squire nodded his greeting to Malvyn, who lay sprawled on his bed. Then Inar looked at the empty beds of the roommates Malvyn and Rikash continued to room with in the past few years. They could have moved their quarters to those of their current ranks, but Rikash had said they had decided to evade the unnecessary hassle. Privately, Inar felt that Malvyn liked to be close to his little followers, whom the young man viewed with a mixture of bemusement and pride. "Where are your worshippers?"

"Funny, Ferensfell." Malvyn sat up. "They left." Inar's eyes narrowed. He disliked how the other youth said his fief's name, with a touch of steel behind it as though he used it as a reminder.

"You sent them out?" Malvyn shrugged, unrepentant.

"We need elbow room tonight." Inar frowned. "Rikash will be in soon."

"I don't know if this is a good idea." Inar pressed his advantage; with Rikash there, it would be two against one. "So many things could go wrong." Malvyn laughed.

"I doubt it," he answered. "You've been siphoning energy off my friend for years now. Why shouldn't I get a chance to see this? It's a tricky working. Takes a skilled mage's touch to make certain everything pans out right." Inar ignored the subtle compliment.

"All the more reason not to move the location." A smile flickered across the mage's face.

"The only problem would be if you cannot use that-" He jerked his head to indicate the diagram in Inar's hands. "-to recreate the gate properly." Before Inar could retort, he added smoothly, "And I have complete faith in your abilities, my friend." Then he stepped forwards, a smile still on his face as his blue eyes searched Inar. "I have a question for you." The squire's jaw set.

"And what would this be?" he asked, irritated by the assistant mage's steady stare. Malvyn ignored him.

"I've actually been wondering about this for awhile," he said thoughtfully, leaning against the bed post as he contemplated the squire before him. "How did you and Sir Clement get separated?" Inar blinked; chills ran up his spine. Nobody had talked about his old knight master in years.

"What-"

"The day he died, you were separated," Malvyn said patiently. "What happened?"

"I- why would you say that?" Inar was not sure what scared him more: the sudden change of topic, the relaxed voice asking that direct, loaded question, or the idea that Malvyn had certainly been thinking about this for some time. A ghost of a smile crossed the student's face.

"Well, he wouldn't have left you alone in such a place," he explained pleasantly, as though he were discussing the weather with a child. "And you couldn't have been together. Not if he died and you survived." Bile rose in Inar's throat; his stomach churned. He felt hot, then cold, horrified at the calm challenge laid before him, even as the detached voice repeated its terrible words in his mind.

Let it happen, Ferensfell… you will wait here, boy…

And then those awful words after… after it happened…. Those terrifying, chilling words, in such an offhand voice….

He dared not open his mouth, lest the contents of his stomach empty out onto the floor. He closed his eyes, letting dizziness wash over him.

"I'm sorry." Inar's eyes opened to see a surprisingly remorseful Malvyn before him. "I shouldn't have brought it up. So suddenly, too. I'm sorry- My curiosity will be the end of me…." He trailed off, guilty grimace calming Inar's pounding heart bit by bit. Malvyn evaded his gaze by fiddling with the ring on his finger. "It must have been horrible." Inar could not speak; he only nodded.

"What did I miss?" Rikash stuck his blond head in the room.

"Nothing. We were waiting for you," Malvyn answered, passing Inar to speak to the other mage student. He clapped the squire on the back gently as he went by. Inar clenched the parchment in his hands tightly, trying to push back his thoughts.

"Inar, you look like a ghost," Rikash remarked off-handedly as he made his way to a place by the wall that was out of the way. Inar managed a laugh as he bent down to begin the sketch.

"Start with your feet as the center point," Malvyn commanded. "Make enough room so that you can stand there later." Inar's eyebrows rose, but he obeyed, occupying his mind with potential trouble Malvyn could be brewing, unintentional or otherwise.

"Later?" With a frown, he asked, "So what are you planning to change in this?"

"Just a few tweaks," Malvyn promised, smiling as Inar outlined the design on the floor in charcoal. It was an exact copy of the gate in the tombs below the palace; Inar was making certain of that. He did not relish any mistakes…. Malvyn had told them it was a gate when he first saw the sketch that Rikash gave him, used for all sorts of spells. One small change, and the entire working could be affected. "Nothing large; I have studied this sort of thing with Master Taraid." He glanced over at Rikash and gave the youth a small, sympathetic smile. "And you were stuck with Mistress Ianiad and her weavings." Rikash shrugged; frankly, he had not minded, except for that Malvyn had pestered him with little quips about thread spells all of the past year.

"I studied with Master Salmalin," Inar said darkly as he finished the gate. He made to leave the center of the drawing, but Malvyn shook his head. "And he never mentioned anything about gates."

"Maybe he didn't think you were ready. At the time, of course. If you worked with him now, I'm sure he would have brought it up at some time."

"I do work with him," the squire muttered, but Malvyn appeared not to have heard him. Rikash crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's my power we're binding," he reminded the two others. "I want to know what you're planning before I'm burnt up or flung halfway across the Emerald Sea, Malvyn." The other mage laughed, making Rikash feel foolish for complaining.

"No worries, Salmalin," he answered, bending over to make his own adjustments to the gate. "There'll be no burnings today." Then he tapped the edge of the circle gingerly; it glowed red: the color of his Gift. "Don't move, Ferensfell; there could be complications if you touch the Gate markings."

"Complications?" Inar echoed dubiously. "A very delicate way to tell me I'll burn up." Malvyn laughed. "Would you mind telling me why I have to stand here in the first place."

"You are a focusing point for the Gate," the youth answered, striding around the edge of the working. "The sword works as one for the other one."

"Why not find another sword?" Inar muttered, disliking the way the red magic surrounding him made his skin glow.

"And ruin the floor?" Inar rolled his eyes, not bothering to point out the absurdity of Malvyn's defense when all three boys in the room had the Gift. "Just… stay there. It's too late, in any case," he added smugly. Inar shot him a look.

"Malvyn…." The young man ignored him and put a hand down on the Gate. Inar flinched, but nothing happened. Malvyn craned his neck to look at Rikash, who was across from him.

"Salmalin, hands down, same places on that side," he said. "Ferensfell, picture the place you've been sending his Gift." Inar gritted his teeth; there was nothing to do but obey Malvyn's orders. The mage student probably knew more than he ever did, anyway….

When Rikash put his hands on the Gate, smoke snaked upwards from the place where his fingers touched the lines gleaming with Malvyn's Gift. His hands began to glow. The ring on his finger gleamed.

"You're directing Salmalin's Gift to where you usually place it," Malvyn told Inar, who raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing, then?" Rikash knew that Inar had been opposed to this, so much so that he refused to help until he learned Rikash would make the gate himself and the two students would try the working, anyway. Even so, the squire was acting very tetchy….

"Adjustments." The red glow brightened. "Now, Ferensfell!" The light pulsed, then exploded, leaving Rikash's sight dark. Images flashed through his mind: swooping over a desert… then Sarra was next to him, smiling- a younger Deryne tagged him before she and Cadel dashed off- Rikash remembered that day… later on, they would be hauled into his father's study for mixing up the nameplates in the nobles' stables…

Then he was looking in haMinch's dark eyes; the man scowled as he took in the boy before him… fights, sparring- he was running down a dark hallway made of uneven, black stone when the images faded out. Memories, he realized. From those inside the spell….

Then a temple he had seen before… the one Deryne had been left in by her kidnappers… the city… a gathering of people in a smoky, dim room… the University….

More images came, so fast that Rikash could only make out several….

A small, black cat with purple eyes… a sword that shimmered with an inner light that rose the hairs on the back of his neck… an immense, sprawling city made of black stone, so empty that the air sang around him….

This was where he sensed Malvyn tug away some of his Gift; Rikash suddenly realized his friend had been doing it all along… and Inar had been burying it in the city….

Malvyn whispered a string of words tautly, and Inar flinched; Rikash felt the motion rather than saw it….

Is this how Deryne feels? he wondered. All the time?

He forced his eyes open to look at his friend, standing in the center of the gate. Rikash could not see the squire; his features were blurred, doubled as the magics- amber and red twisted in a huge column with flecks of blue-white- whipped around him. Rikash blinked once to clear his vision, and Inar stood there, grimacing. His face was twisted, his head shaking back and forth. His body trembled as Malvyn stopped taking Gift from Rikash; he slumped, fists clenched as the wave of mixed amber and red Gifts collapsed back upon him, an orange cascade of magic that pounded down on the squire. It forced Inar to his knees, then disappeared. All Rikash could hear was the young man's heavy breathing as he moved his hand gingerly.

"What was that?" the student mage hissed, dashing to Inar's side. "Malvyn! What did you do?" He put a hand on Inar's shoulder. "Inar? You all right?" The youth winced.

"Pretty good, considering," he rasped, face turning up to Rikash. His eyes were confused, his brow furrowed as he thought. His faraway eyes made Rikash guess that he was trying to understand what had just happened.

"You should go and rest," Malvyn said, appearing by Inar's side. He kicked the details of the gate- once again only charcoal- away. "You should think a bit, I believe." Still disorientated, Inar turned to the other young man and nodded, letting his two friends help him up.

"I owe you," he said unsteadily, clutching Malvyn's arm. Then he took a few steps by himself and exhaled slowly. "Thanks. I'll… see you soon, then?" Rikash frowned.

"You're going back?" Inar nodded, still frowning.

"I need to, don't I?" he asked, voice faint. Rikash shot a worried look at Malvyn, who gestured for the squire to leave.

"Kasey can walk you to the palace, easily," the other youth said, naming one of the apprentices. "Just tell him I'm calling in the favor." Inar nodded silently and left. Rikash turned on his fellow student.

"What was that?" he hissed. Malvyn watched the door for another moment, then scowled.

"I thought he was stronger," he said simply, sounding disappointed. "But I kept him from losing control there in the end." He cleared his throat. "You see, Salmalin, you've been casting aside power since you and Inar have used this working to keep your Gift under control. Do you know how much of a waste that is?" Rikash snorted.

"I've always got more at my disposal." Malvyn eyed him with curiosity.

"Endless power, you think?" he said dryly, shaking his head. "Anyway… even if you are unstoppable, Salmalin, that sort of power could be invaluable for someone else, if you insist you don't need it." Rikash frowned.

"What are you getting at?" Malvyn grinned.

"Think about it; You know how healers and blasting mages tire. How everyone runs out of power in the midst of a long trial… remember the sickness, a few years ago? What about during wars? Salmalin, you could tap into this excess power, instead of abandoning it to rot, if you keep a link between yourself and that magic in the transport spell." His smile widened. "Think about it." Rikash's eyes grew huge.

"That's enough power to keep all of Scanra at bay," he breathed. "To fight back raiders… and the immortals…."

"Now you see it," Malvyn said, eyes gleaming. "And you could give other mages power when they ran dry, too… healers could save every man they touched, instead of being forced to watch men die because their Gifts were exhausted." Rikash shivered; could he do that? Did he have that much power? "All it would take are a few spells, surely…." Malvyn's teeth shone as he held up a glittering, red hand. "Nothing I- we- couldn't do."


"The young men have always snuck out to the Cursed City," the ancient man at the cloth booth complained. Sir Alan's face was composed into a polite, attentive gaze. "Fools, all of them. We old men remember the days when the demons ruled over there, before the days of the Bright Ones. It is folly to tarry there, not a way to prove one's manhood!" Deryne bit her lip; despite the amount of time she had spent with her knight master, she still felt awkward following him around like a pup. She itched to wander off by herself; there could be no huge surprises for her in an open city market.

But a squire followed his- or her- knight master around without a word; that was the point. And Sir Alan had waited until almost halfway through September to leave Corus. Deryne had had plenty of time to spend with her friends. Enough time to have Cadel defeat her unerringly, despite her unfair advantage, which he had glorified in as a way to improve instead of complaining about. Enough time to see both Mequen and Aloin leave. Enough time to dally days away with Vanora and sometimes nine-year-old Corine, too. Enough time to notice how Leo was alone without his older friends… and to see that Vanora sympathized with the poor prince.

So she could not blame anyone but herself if she was uncomfortable with Sir Alan after several months of being his squire. He was kind but reserved, for the most part. And Deryne had known he was kind; in fact, she remembered very keenly how he had seen her crying at the Swoop and seemed at a loss as to what he could do to help a little girl. But he had tried. And- somehow- he still had a good enough opinion of her to want the crier as a squire. Deryne cringed.

His mother must have made him, she thought, not feeling at all grateful towards the red-headed, temperamental legend.

"And then when Feram disappeared, they still went and came back with stories about shadows that moved across the buildings when there was no cloud nor bird in the sky! And they were proud, strutting about this city with their tales! But did they stop when others began to disappear? No! More started to go, and brag that they came back! But so many more didn't! It's getting worse! Soon, none of them will escape the Black City!" Deryne looked at Sir Alan, who nodded with a faint frown as he listened. "I told them-" By the way the old man was ranting, they could be there for awhile. She shook her head; the soft buzzing of gudruna was beginning to wear down the walls in her mind. The squire would need to leave soon, or risk having all the thoughts and motion of a busy marketplace running rabid in her mind. Already, the indignation of their new friend and the excitement of having two listening ears was blatantly staring Deryne in the face, as much as she strived to force a wall between her and her magic.

Anyone could see that, she told herself crossly. It's not because I can't keep the gudruna out that I can read him like a book…. With that thought, she sank into her own little world of thought, hoping that it might distract her from her surroundings. Her fingers turned a miniature kestrel around as she felt the carvings. Duskwing had come with them; she was accustomed to the occasional comments from the Chamber, which had subsided since her kidnapping. Perhaps he had been supposed to save her from that, and, though he had failed to do that, his duties with her were fulfilled. After all, she was not a small, frightened girl without a clue how to use her Gift anymore. She could fly. And Numair could not sneak up on her in his random tests of her connection with the gudruna. Finally, she could keep the voices in her head down to a minimum, and ignore motions to the point that they only came to her attention when the person in question was going to touch her. She was a squire now, with no more use for a talking bird than she had for her old page uniforms.

She was pleasantly surprised when she heard Sir Alan's goodbye to the merchant. "Come, squire," he ordered after dropping a coin in the man's hand, and Deryne smirked slightly as the old man finally noticed her plaited hair and eyed her again with suspicion in his eyes. Apparently- and fortunately- her loose clothes allowed her a subtle disguise as well as free movement. She resisted the urge to blow him a kiss and followed her knight master through the crowd. "I'll have to find a mage to send a message to the Own," he told her, brow furrowed. "But first I think we'll have to check out these shadows everyone's been fretting about; we don't want a fuss where there's no need." Deryne frowned.

"We're going-" As much as the idea intrigued her, she kept the danger in mind. Sir Alan smiled absently.

"To the beginning of my mother's legacy?" he asked dryly. "Surely her son has nothing to fear from bedtime stories she's long defeated?" Deryne wanted to argue, but she kept her mouth shut. Sir Alan was polite and as open-minded as a knight could be- with the Lioness as a mother, how could he be anything else?- but Deryne knew better than to interrupt a man to whom she owed respect and obedience. "No worries, squire?" Deryne shrugged, then made herself answer properly.

"Of course I do, sir, though it matters little." The knight smiled.

"You're very formal, Queenscove." The girl could not help but retort with the impudent reply on her tongue.

"Shall I take that an insult, sir?" Deryne asked with a small smile of her own. Her gamble was rewarded with a short laugh.

"Always," he chuckled, then sighed. "But these shadows sound like the immortals that-" He stopped; Deryne nearly ran into him.

"What immortals?" she asked quietly. Her knight master glanced over at the dried fruit displayed on a counter.

"Those are surprisingly fresh," he said, picking up a wrinkly berry as he pulled out coins. "Not a maggot in sight." Deryne smiled, but tasted the treat he bought her with the feeling that she had just been deprived of something worth far more.


A bedraggled youth in farmer's clothes wandered through the gates of Corus, mouth agape. In the few seconds that it took for him to take in his first sight of the bustling city, small hands grabbed the back of his shirt and cut his purse. Bewildered, the young man whipped around, but saw no one but a very large, grumpy merchant hauling a cart behind him. He smiled at the glowering man and slipped through the crowd, neck craned as he looked this way and that.

His purse was gone.


Burning. That was the last thing he remembered….

Stab by sword, death by flame.

It was amusing, at the time…. It seemed his vanquisher could not do without him; his arch enemy continued to leave a path which he could crawl, slowly but surely, back out of death's clutches. There would always be a way, for one as perseverant as he….

He refused to give up, to fade into the Black God's realm… why should he, when it was clear he was destined for greater? When he was offered better spoils for continuing to survive?

It would be easy, almost too much so. His old enemies were too weak, too old, to fight him, and the young were too naïve, too inexperienced, to stand up to him. He would cast his shadow across the world quickly… quietly. And by the time anyone realized that the impossible had happened once again in Tortall…. His teeth flashed in a wide grin; the world had changed since he had last stepped in it….

This time, there would be no bright-eyed Alan of Trebond to stand in his way, no Lioness to bar the way with her quick sword and sharp tongue.

A laugh that had been ended by his death suddenly bubbled back up to his lips. His body was young and strong; his mind as keen as ever.

The Sorcerer's Sleep had been broken once more….

And this time... there would be no death for him.


AN: Haha! Guesses, anyone? Any NO WAYs, I CAN'T BELIEVE ITs, or I KNEW ITs? Feel free to leave me a note! (and I'll write you sometime in early August ASAP- I want to find out what happens, too...) ;D As a rule of thumb, the more reviews I get, the faster I write! (it worked this time...)