Homeward Bound: An Alternate Version of In the Hand of the Goddess

By Saphron

A/N: Thanks for the concerns kiddies, but don't worry, I'm not sick or dead, just busy. College is hard! Anyway, I apologize profoundly for the delay…but better late than never, right? I'm sorry but all future installments are probably going to take some time. If that's too frustrating, I understand completely if you chose to no longer read this story. But I hope you decide to stick with it anyway, and be patient, patient, patient…and thank you, once again, for the lovely reviews. You guys are too much, my head is going to grow to be the size of a pumpkin, lol.

Warning: This chapter deals with some serious violent adult content. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter 38 – Every Woman's Worst Nightmare

Carthak:

"Now where in the hell is that damn knight stature?" Jon muttered to himself, searching eagerly around him in confusion. "She said east wing, fourth floor, up the stairs and to the left, right? Or wait, was it north end, sixth floor, behind a potted plant? Oh curses, why can't I remember! Gah!"

The Prince of Tortall stalked off, oblivious to the strange stares of passing nobles, lost as a traveler without a map. He had thought about asking directions, but his manly pride wouldn't let him. He'd prefer to find the way on his own, even if it took twice as long.

It was going to be a long night.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Alanna seethed, scampering to keep pace with her long-limbed slave master. Why in Mithros name was she born so gods cursed short!

"We'll talk about this in our rooms," he hissed barely above a whisper, motioning for her to keep her voice down.

"I will NOT be quiet!" Alanna hollered, stamping her foot angrily, "How dare you just assume—"

Lord Oppenheimer twirled on the spot, shooting her a dark look with stormy gray eyes. "You will choose of your own accord to cease this racket, or I will do it for you," he murmured frostily, raising a softly glowing hand. It was apparent that one more word out of Alanna's mouth would have earned her a quick silencing spell and then some.

The two were walking through the west wing of Emperor's palace, having left the ballroom mere minutes before. Lord Oppenheimer's little announcement had been met with hearty applause and a chorus of cheers, but even through the loud din Alanna made herself heard in her slave master's ear. And what he heard he did not like.

In order to deter her from making a scene in the ballroom that would attract obvious attention, he had quickly made his excuses and scurried out of the room, his red-haired slave girl in tow. Now the two were approaching their rooms in the palace, for what promised to be a long night of disagreement.

"Now then," Lord Oppenheimer began, shutting the door to his bedroom with an audible snap, "why in the Hag's name are you so upset? Most girls would be thrilled to have the Emperor's University Headmaster propose to them!"

"That's the thing!" Alanna cried in response, "you didn't propose, you-you just told the entire court—without even asking—I mean, it's just, it's just—"

"I didn't take you to be the kind of girl who reveled in all that maidenly slyness, but if you insist…" Lord Oppenheimer sighed wearily, bending down on one knee. "Will you, dear Alanna, jewel of my life, take me to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Alanna tried to keep from choking; the sight of her slave master on bended knee was just too surreal. She took a deep breath to calm her temper, and replied, "I'm sorry, I can't accept your proposal."

"Why not?" Lord Oppenheimer countered shrewdly, "you're a poor simple slave girl, I'm one of the richest nobles in the land. I could raise you to the status of gentle lady, lest you prefer to scrub pots and pans for the rest of your days…is such a fate really preferable to being my wife?" His voice dropped to a deep, soft murmur, "let me take care of you Alanna, let me buy you beautiful things and build you a beautiful house. You'd be the envy of every woman in Carthak. Let me love you Alanna…marry me. Just marry me."

Alanan trembled, completely overwhelmed by the adoring, almost fanatical, look in his eyes. George had made her feel this way once long ago, but then it was gentle, kind, soft. Lord Oppenheimer was relentlessly obsessive in his adulation. She could handle full grown knights and wild beasts, but this? This she was terrified of.

She closed her eyes, the better to protect herself from his piercing gaze. She steeled herself and said gently, "I'm sorry, but I don't love you. I never have and—I never will. The answer is still no."

Suddenly Lord Oppenheimer's eyes flashed dangerously, as he rose slowly to his feet. A dark rage swirled inside him, every molecule of his being churned with anger. He had spent years living in painful solitude, trying to forget the girl that broken his tender young heart nearly a decade ago. Oh how he had loved her, cherished her, worshiped her! But ultimately she had betrayed him, flittered away with an impish laugh, leaving him broken-hearted and shattered. He had completely lost his ability to ever love or trust a woman again…until Alanna had arrived on his doorstep one fateful sunny morn.

He hadn't planned to fall in love with her, all he had wanted was a gifted slave to help him complete his master project, but after weeks in her company, weeks of her sardonic sense of humor making him chuckle in delight, weeks of her feisty, adventurous spirit, weeks of gazing into her gorgeous violet eyes, he had fallen for her, deeply and completely. But to be rejected once again, scorned by the girl he had offered everything to…that he could not handle. A blind rage overcame him, maddening his senses, as he did the unthinkable and raised his fists in anger. It seemed he was more beast than man.

Thanks to six long years of knight training, Alanna saw the blow in time to attempt to duck away. But she wasn't quite fast enough in her heavy skirts; his hand made contact with her face, what would have been a solid punch simply grazing harshly against her cheek. She leapt back with wounded eyes—how could one who claimed to love her turn on her so quickly? How could he threaten to beat her? She had handled the same treatment from countless scores of bullies, but always then it had been a fair fight between consenting duelers, not some angry man who dared presume he had the right to treat a woman who displeased him in such a brutal, violent manor.

Lord Oppenheimer swung again, roaring in fury like a wounded animal. Alanna leapt back, stumbling awkwardly in her high heels. What she wouldn't give to be wearing her simple squire's uniform, Lightning tucked comfortingly by her side!

With one forceful move he grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her with all his force onto the bed. An audible gasp escape her lips despite the softened cushioning of the blanketed mattress. She scrambled to curl into a ball as he yanked her to his chest and shoved his tongue roughly down her throat. She gagged, clawing at him with tooth and nail to escape his iron clutches, but he was seemingly immune to the pain. He twisted her under him tighter, his hands working like mad to untie her laces, and inwardly she panicked.

She had never had to deal with a situation like this before.

For years she had hidden her true sex; disguised as a boy, she never had to worry about the ravaging nature of certain wicked men. She had first gotten a taste of the lingering barbarism of the so-called civilized human race when her gender had been revealed during her unceremonious dip in the river Drell a few months ago by the slave traders who had captured her. But although the experience of being objectified and humiliated had left a bitter taste in her mouth, she had survived no worse for the wear. Lord Penikth had thankfully never noticed her, and entrapped as she was in her old slave master's house, no other Carthaki man had either. Even the pitiful attempts of Chartres the royal greeter were nothing in comparison. She had handled him swiftly and effectively, barely pausing to punish him thoroughly without so much as a tremor of concern.

But this was something else entirely. This was terrifying.

Despite his gangly stature and untrained muscles, Lord Oppenheimer was a relatively strong man. Years of dedicated magery dealing with powerful spells that often stung the hands of those who dared wield them had carved his body into a iron frame of high pain tolerance. But his real strength lay in the blind fury that enveloped him, for despite Alanna's many defensive blows, he remained stalwartly unaffected.

And when Alanna attempted to use the remains of her gift, Lord Oppenheimer countered with ten times the force. Although she was feisty and physically fit, his magic made her feel as if she was wading through a thick pool of molasses. He was one of the country's most powerful mages…she was an untrained sixteen year old girl with a bit of healing magic. She felt languid and exhausted, and could barely move her arms to defend herself. It was not a question of heart, for Alanna had that in plenty. In this situation she was simply outmatched.

Her bodice barely hanging on by a stitch, her skirts ripped to shreds, her very heart pounding with horrified panic, Alanna was losing the battle, and losing badly. She was living every woman's greatest nightmare. She was living a rape.

"Ah-ha, there's the knight statue!" Jon cried triumphantly, a wide grin breaking out on his face. See! Who needed to ask directions anyway? He had found the place…eventually.

Suddenly Jon's ears perked up as he heard a faint cry from the other side of the door. He approached quietly and listened in at the keyhole, curious about the strange sound. What he heard he did not like, not one bit. It sounded like Alanna crying out…

Jon tried the door handle, but it was locked tight. He cursed and rattled it angrily, but that did little to help the situation. He had to hurry, Alanna was in trouble!

Jon's eyes narrowed sharply as he reached deep inside himself. He Gift was nearly exhausted from his attempts to break Alanna's cursed slave anklet, but still he managed to pull out a pulsating blue strand of magic. It was glowing weakly, but hopefully it would be enough. He didn't have time to try one of George's lock picking tricks.

The magic thankfully did the trick. The door swung open with an angry bang, revealing the crazed lord bent over the terrified Alanna. He had her wrists pinned above her head with one hand while the other tore at the shredded remains of her once dazzling dress. Jon seized up the situation in a second. He could barely believe his eyes. Could this awful thing really be happening?

Alanna's petrified eyes met his above the shoulder of her slave master; for one brief moment hope overcame her, before the darkness swirled above her again. She fought the urge to breathe properly and stay conscious, clinging to the fact that her Prince had found her once again.

Jon quickly pulled Lightning's scabbard from beneath his skirts, but realized with a shock that it was too dangerous to charge ahead with the blade unsheathed. If he missed by an inch, or the man moved, or the bed broke, he could accidentally end up stabbing Alanna instead. He made a split decision and tossed the sword aside; it landed with a dull metal clatter in a tall potted plant in the corner of the room.

Jon threw himself with all his might at Lord Oppenheimer, knocking him away from the bed and against a wall. A wild punch missed the mage by an inch, shattering a glass window beside him. Jon hissed in pain as his knuckles rapped sharply against the glass shards, as blood gushed in tiny rivulets down his wrist. The Carthaki man looked dazed for a moment, but soon recovered and threw an angry punch of his own. Thankfully the untrained lord had no idea how to really fight properly, and the full grown Tortallan knight was able to duck archly out of harm's way and counter with a swift kick to the man's stomach, causing him to clutch his sides and bend over double in pain.

Jon ran to the bed and pulled Alanna to his chest, screaming her name to call her back from the dark abyss she was floating in. Colorful lights swirled above her head and a man's voice sounded far away to her ears. How pretty, Alanna thought dazedly to herself, as the rainbow danced before her eyes, how pretty are those wonderful blue pools above, they look like tiny little sapphires…

With his back turned, Jon failed to see the mage leap to his feet and wrap his arm around his throat, but he felt the familiar tug of oxygen deprivation and let go of Alanna to defend himself. Lord Oppenheimer squeezed harder, tightening his grasp on Jon's windpipe, and for a second black spots danced before his eyes. A knight's training, which delt with the noble sports of fencing, jousting, swordplay and archery, did not handle such raw tooth and nail hand to hand combat…but a King of Thieves' training most certainly did. Later Jon would thank every god he knew for delivering George to him as a friend, but now he used the move the older man had taught him to twist away from the mage's grasp and tuck a neatly placed foot behind his ankle, tripping him effectively.

Unfortunately, Jon went down with the Carthaki lord, the two were so entwined together. They wrestled on the carpeted rug, each man fighting for dear life, one instant Jon victoriously on top, the next pinned in crushing defeat to the ground. Finally he managed to kick himself free and stumble to a corner of the room clutching his aching ribs and gasping for breathe. He began choking, his lungs screaming for oxygen, and fell to his knees winded and breathless.

Lord Oppenheimer looked just as bad, if not worse. Both his eyes were blackened and lip was bloodied, but with the last ounce of his strength he surged to his feet and raised his arms high above his head. Black thunder clouds dappled with little specs of lightening began to form and swirl around the ceiling forebodingly. The mage's hands glowed a frightful green, and the air grew decidedly chilly. Frost formed on the glassy shards of the broken window, and Jon's ragged breath came out in visible puffs of cold smoke. He coughed and glanced through sweat-matted hair at the mage. Power ripped through his body as he called on the Hag to help him. Jon knew surely that the strongest mage in the world couldn't channel this much magic without dire repercussions, but it seemed the made did not care about the dangers.

A large fiery ball of magic whirled above his raised arms, and suddenly Jon knew his time had come. He did not have the magical strength left necessarily to ward off such a potent attack. If the spell hit him, he would be killed.

The Carthaki mage laughed maniacally as pain seared his every nerve. Oh, to wield such frightful power! The joy and dream of every mage alive! He turned his cold steel eyes to the handsome young man, and smirked satisfactorily to himself. This fool was obviously Alanna's lover, to have rushed into the room and cried her name so fearfully. No wonder the girl had refused him…she had been entrapped by this unworthy boy-child before him. But once he was out of the way, Alanna would be all his! She would marry him and they'd live happily ever after! She'd belong to him and only him!

With one last angry cry, Lord Oppeneheimer hurled the fire ball at the fallen knight. Jon's first reaction was to close his eyes, but eh fought the urge. If he was going to die, then he'd die like a man, facing death head on. He took a deep breath and prepared to meet the Black God.

But the blow never came. For a minute Jon was confused, had he died or not? When the dust in the room settled, Lord Oppenheimer was standing frozen in shock, deathly pale in complexion and twitching uncontrollably. Jon was completely unscathed…but Alanna was lying prone motionless on the floor.

She had done her squire's duty, and leapt bravely in front of the fireball to save her knight master's life.

…Saphron…


A/N: WOO, that was intense wasn't it? Gosh, my heart was pounding the whole time I was writing that, and Mithros, I'm the author! I hope you guys found that as exciting as I did…and don't mind the cliffhanger too much…

Peace out, lovelies.