To:
DuchessAndromeda: Oh! *embarrassed* Ok, I went back and fixed that!
ladyluck: Phew! Glad you finally got used to the idea of Alex and Alanna (but that might change soon...) I disagree with the "when a writer confuses somebody you know it's a good story." I've read many confusing stories before, and they WERE NOT good. And of course you didn't know Elijah had a brother. *I* didn't know Elijah had a brother until....about four chapters ago when I decided that. I think this story might actually be 35 chapters or more...hmmm, I'll get back to you on that.
P.S. Think you've gotten used to the idea that I update often, too, huh?
Dyana-of-Tortall: Sorry, but my monitor is broken (i'm too scared to tell my parents about it because this would be, like, the fifth computer I've messed up, and they'll totally kill me!) so I can only update on weekends until I work up the courage to tell my parents about our broken computer. And I FINALLY found a pic of Orlando Bloom where he looked good without the wig!! Oh, he looks SOOO hot! Unfortunately, that's the only picture. The guy's just better looking as Legolas. Hmmm.... Aragorn is hot, too. He looks like the type to rescue me from a tower, and carry me in his strong arms...*sighs* He also looks much better in the movie than (eck!) in real life.
Karina: *Stares blankly at screen and then blinks* Um, I'm only just starting French 2. In other words, I only understood half of what you wrote. This is what I THINK you said: The idea to write (an earlier? Middle?) history, it's a really good idea. [something] you can write a [??] chapter soon, if not I will write [a long? much? lot?] review [what?] you will [something] and [something].
So. How much of that was right? PLEASE TRANSLATE!
Lady Arianna: Most of that is right. Except--I can't tell you if Elijah is really Thom or not; sorry. No, Alex and Alanna are not "officially courting." Well, Alex thinks so, but Alanna doesn't. Bowen used to be really upset that Elijah & Vera are together, but he got over it and is moving on. That's not why he hates Elijah, though. There's a bigger reason...
RoseFyre: *wildly* What? What does it change??
AerinBrown: Do you have a dance for everything?? Well, anyway, happy you liked the chapter, for all that it was a "filler."
BTW--I just realized that Sen from my 'Child of Snow' story happens to look like Alex. Weird. And completely unintentional.
Crown: Surprised you liked it so much! BUT WHY ARE YOU CHANGING YOUR SCREEN NAME? Why Karl C. Gwen?? I'll never be able to remember that Karl C. Gwen and Crown are the same person!
Maria: Um, like I said, I most likely won't do a sequel. And how do you know that you want me to WRITE a sequel when I haven't even finished THIS story yet?? Huh? Huh? What if you hate the ending?? (I'll be devestated, that's what)
I can't tell you about Elijah's parents yet. Sorry. As for the Jon-or-George thing...who says it's going to be either one of them? *haughtily* what if I make her fall in love with Duke Roger?? (don't worry....even MY mind isn't THAT twisted!)
hoppuschick182: I read your bio and was extremely confused at how it came to be that you read TP fanfics. Oh, well. Glad you do. Keep reviewing, and I'll keep updating!
Anonymous: *throws head back and laughs* *rereads review and laughs again* *rereads review a third time, calls sister over to show her the hilarious review, and grin like crazy* *frowns in disappointment when sister fails to see the humor in the review*
Eriol: George and Jon...yeah, I know they're kinda absent. That's because the occasion hasn't popped up that I need to use them. But don't worry, I've got plans for both of them...
White-Wolf: Ha! (to your first line) Well, think you could escape me, did you?
MWAHAHAHA! UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE.
*rereads her note and decides that White-Wolf deserves more reprimanding*
UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE
And don't be so hard on yourself...lotsa stuff happens in your story. You were my inspiration!! (no, seriously.)
bblond07: Um....gee, it's kinda hard to write a respond to such a short review....hmmm....Ok, I'll add more as soon as I can write more. There, was that a sufficient enough response? *ponders*
smileypal4eva: *sighs from relief* Phew! You totally had me freaking out! Well, you're the second person who was interested in the love triangle...and you're probably right. I should do a flashback, because just explaining the love triangle is NO fun!
AN: All in all I was soooo surprised that nobody was upset about my previous chapter! Well, just be happy I guess. ;-) Ok...2 people wanna know about the love triangle. I'm trying to think up the best place to tell you, but...well, guess I'll have to work on that.
My parents believe that writing stories is "a complete waste of time! You should be preparing for high school! If you don't prepare now, you won't even be able to attend a COMMUNITY college! You only have a little time left! You have to make the top 5% of your class or ELSE!!!"
Yeah, whatever. (just to let you know, I'm in eighth grade and don't have a love life....which is why I spend so much time writing one up for Alanna, I suppose. Because my lack of a guy just gives me too much time to THINK about my lack of a guy. *sighs* Ew, that came out ditzier than I'd intended.)
Do you know what this means? It means that everytime I get on the computer, my parents scream at me. Therefore: I have to write my story on scraps of paper at school in my spare time and type it up the second I get home, before my parents do. :-(
This means...less updates! I think. 'Cause I've got this big science project coming up, piano auditions, and....yeah.
PS: Jon's back from the desert! Need I say anymore?
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Chapter seventeen--
With a flick of her wrist, Alanna knocked Gary's sword from his hand. He stared at her in shock, gaping slightly while she swung her sword in fluid arcs. At last she ceased the movement of her weapon and pressed the blade against his neck, grinning triumphantly. Slowly Gary raised his hands in surrender.
"I suppose you're going to tell me that you went easy on me, letting me win?" Alanna said with arched brows.
"Of course," Gary responded. Then, as an afterthought, "You've really improved. Did the Shang teach you, or did you take lessons from Alex?"
"Neither," Alanna answered proudly. "Sometimes I'd go and watch the pages practice. Then I'd go borrow a sword and practice myself."
"You mean steal."
"Borrow!" Alanna said hotly. "I always returned them. Those swords are HEAVY. I took the heaviest one I could find and swumg it to build muscle."
"Good idea," Gary said approvingly.
"By the way," Alanna said as she lowered her blade, "why do you ask?"
"Just curious," he replied as he retrieved his sword. "And did you know that you walk like Alex now?'
"What?'
"You do," Gary said as he positioned himself across from her. "Anyone could see that."
"Most likely because of all that training we had together," Alanna reasoned as Gary circled her.
"It would be good for you to take lessons from him though, I think. He's better than me." Without warning he lunged. Alanna moved aside and swung her sword out to stop his blow. Twisting her sword, their weapons locked at the hilt.
"He can't be that much better," Alanna gasped as she dropped away from the lock. Carefully she watched for an opening.
"Messy block," Gary commented, and Alanna made a face. "And he's a lot better than me."
"I don't care if it was a 'messy block,'" she retorted. "A block is a block, as long as it works. And I don't want to take lessons from Alex, I want to take them from you." She danced forward and swung her sword upward. He swiftly met her blade with an opposing swing.
"You should care," he replied. "A weak block against a stronger opponent could mean the end for you." As if to demonstrate, he swung his sword in a butterfly arc. Alanna was able to block it winced at the strength of his blow. Her arm already hurt. Rolling her shoulder to loosen it, she switched the sword to her left hand.
"No more talking," Alanna told him. "Save your breath."
"It's customary to yell insults, though," Gary said with a grin. "Are you sure you can handle it with you left hand?"
"If I can write with my left hand, I can fight with it," she responded. "And I practiced with it."
"You can write with your left hand?"
Ignoring his questiong, Alanna immediately began to attack with renewed strength. The second metal clashed with metal, Alanna pulled back her sword and struck again. She managed to push Gary back until they stood in the muddy banks of the lake.
"No technique whatsoever," he said breathlessly as he labored to fend off her quick blows. A raised eyebrow was the only response. "No style," he continued. "No finesse."
Now he was desperately whirling his sword as she moved so quickly that her blade was a blur. At last Alanna gripped the sword with both hands and, swinging it diagonally upward, knocked Gary's sword from his hand. It flew across the lake and landed with a soft splash.
"Actually," she said as she once again pointed the tip of her sword at his throat, "I do have a style. It worked, didn't it? And as long as it works I don't really care about finesse."
"We shouldn't have our lessons around the lake anymore," Gary said as he eyed the spot where his sword had landed. "This is the lake where we skate in the winter."
"You've already told me that," Alanna said crossly. "Many times. Now, no changing the subject."
"So, what's your style? Just keep swinging your sword like that? You expend too much energy, which is why it's not effective."
"But I BEAT you, didn't I??" Alanna cried in exasperation. Gary placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You've got the wrong idea. What you're trying to do is just use brute strength. You're hacking, not fencing. That's a sword, not an axe."
Alanna hefted it and stared at the lake forlornly.
"You mean that I've been doing it WRONG all these week??" She sat down in the mud and cast her sword aside. Drawing her knees to her chin, Alanna closed her eyes.
"You must've done something right if you beat Gary," a new voice said. Swiveling her head around, she saw a dark-haired man step forward, leading his horse. Alanna jumped instantly to her feet.
"Highness," she murmured, bowing her head. She felt her face grow warm.
"So, Gary. This is what you and the lady do everyday," Jon continued, leading the stallion down to the lake to drink.
"Spying on us?" Gary asked, his face red as well. Jon smiled wryly.
"What, Gary? No 'welcome home' or 'how was the desert?'" he asked.
"I KNOW how the desert was," Gary grumbled. "And I'm a bit too put out to say 'welcome home.'"
"What ARE you doing here?" Alanna asked when she recovered. Jon shrugged, then grinned.
"Lady Alanna, if I recall? Gary's told us much...wait, he hasn't told us ANYTHING about you."
"We're not talking about me," Alanna answered, crossing her arms. "We're talking about you. Explain."
Jon raised an eyebrow and then gestured to his horse, as if this was good enough explanation. She sighed and began to pick up the area. First she folded the picnic blanket and stashed it in the basket. Gathering their practice weapons, she wrapped them quickly.
"Why are you back from the desert?" she prompted. "Why come to THIS lake?"
"You ask many questions."
"And I would appreciate it if they were answered," she said as she pulled on the reins of Gary's horse. Jon held out a hand to stop her.
"Oh, no," he protested. "Don't let me interrupt your lessons."
"You WATCHED?" Alanna was horrified. "How much of it?"
"Enough," was his simple reply. He removed his hold on her arm and swung onto his horse.
"You didn't answer my questions," Alanna accused. Jon nudged his horse into a trot. Alanna cursed as he rode into the distance. Turning to Gary, who was mounting his own dapple, she said, "I HATE him!"
"Who, Jon?" Gary asked, extending his arm. Grasping it, Alanna pulled herself up, sitting behind him.
"Yes. He's so...so...arg! There are no words to describe how bad he is!" she declared. Gary chuckled.
"Just because he wouldn't asnwer your questions? He probably does it so you'll think he's mysterious," Gary said.
"Mysterious, sure. And vain, and rude, and self-centered, and conceited, and--"
"You're repeating yourself."
Alanna rolled her eyes.
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Jon didn't notice his surroundings. He was too busing thinking of that Trebond girl...er, lady. The sound of clashing swords had drawn him to the lake. From a distance it appeared that Gary was sparring with a page. Or at least, the figure most was certainly the size of a page, and wore a page's clothing. When he drew closer in curiosity, he noted the lad's red hair and then that unmistakable voice.
Alanna of Trebond. The lady who Gary was so infatuated with. Yes, she would do nicely. He'd show that...that...ELDORNE just how much he'd never needed her. Fragile women who wanted protecting were not for him. Jon needed a woman with substance, one who could defend herself.
Of course, there was the problem that Alanna didn't think well of him. The few times that they had spoken were more or less disasters. Then there was how he had been rude at the lake, but he really didn't feel like dealing with her then.
This meant that he would have to work harder to win her. Fine. He needed a challenge anyway. Besides, no woman could resist him, he thought. She'd fall for him eventually.
Gary knew her well enough, and he'd help. Jon would ask him what Alanna wanted. Gifts were a good way to make a fresh start. Flattery as well; the two went far.
His horse stumbled over a ditch in the road, jarring him back to the present. The coolness here was a welcome relief from the desert. Myles was still there, for reasons he cared not to share, but Jon couldn't spend another minute there. So here he was, riding back to Corus alone.
Raoul was the first to see him. Jon waved wearily back and slid down from his mount, handing the reins to Raoul, who viewed him with a mix of curiousity, relief, and puzzlement. To this Jon smiled.
"I'm Voice of the Tribes," he explained simply. Raoul looked impressed.
"How?"
"I don't know. There was the Ordeal of the Voice, fo course. It was nothing like the Ordeal that we went through for knighthood. During the entire thing I had the strangest feeling..."
"Strangest feeling that...?" Raoul prompted. Jon shook his head.
"I had the strangest feeling that...that someone was helping me." He ran a hand through his hair. "Like...oh, I don't know. Like I passed too easily."
"It seemed too easy because you're good," Raoul told him swiftly.
"Good at what?"
"Whatever it is that made you the Voice of the Tribes, I guess," he finished. Jon shrugged, looking around.
"How were things while I was gone?" he asked softly, afraid of the answer. "How is my mother?"
"Alive, but near-death. Roger's here, but not even he can help her now. The healers have no idea what's causing the sickness."
"None at all?"
"Well, Duke Baird suspects that it might be sorcery, but none of the other healers agree with him. The queen HAS been sick for several years now. Jon...." Raoul paused. "She hasn't woken up yet."
"What do you mean?" Jonathan demanded wildly. Raoul avoided his eyes.
"The day before yesterday...she just didn't wake up. Her breathing is raspy and weak...she's thin and pale--"
"I have to see her now!" Jon cried, grabbing Raoul.
"You can't. Roger won't let anyone in."
"She's my mother, Raoul!" Jon yelled. "I have to see her! Maybe...maybe I could help her..."
"What can you do Jon?"
"I don't know," he snapped. "Something. I could do SOMETHING to help her!" His fists were clenched defensively as he said this.
Raoul sighed.
"Well, let's go talk to Roger."
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Blood.
Blood everywhere. The rivers flowed thick with it, the walls were covered in it, the earth was filled with it.
Blood. Bright red, fresh blood. Dark crimson, dried blood. There was no other color than red, none at all. It seemed as it no other color ever had existed but red.
The stench of blood filled her nostrils. Strong, bitter, salty, sour, sweet. It felt sticky yet smooth. She slipped in a puddle of blood. The bodies were piled to the ceiling. She was walking between rows--no, WALLS of bodies. Wounded, bleeding, dead bodies.
Blood dripped into her eyes, making it even harder to see. All was silent except for her. Her breathing, her sloshing footsteps, her thundering heartbeat. Then, the whispers.
They echoed around her so that she didn't know what direction they came from. Whispers from a woman, whispers from a man, whispers from a creature that was both yet neither.
She couldn't tell what they were trying to tell her. She tried to listen, but soon discovered that they spoke in a language she didn't know. The whispers grew harsher, more insistent. Covering her ears, she attempted to block out the sound.
Now the whispers were in her head. No...they were screams now. Screams of agony, pain, suffering reverated through her mind. Then she heard another scream, one so loud it drowned out the others. Her scream.
Something was clutching her arm. Whirling around, she saw a man. He held her arm tightly. A huge gash in his head dribbled blood over his face. His clothes were stained; his skin was torn. She did not recognize him.
And yet...she did. His eyes were bloodshot, but they were clearly hazel. Familiar hazel eyes. George.
"Run," he rasped. "He'll kill you."
Opening her mouth to speak, she tried to respond. Then, the grip on her arm slackened. George fell to the ground, his eyes still on hers. She fell down beside him, shaking him, willing him still to be alive. He had to be. Everyone else was already gone. It was her fault they were dead. He couldn't die, too. She would save him. She'd failed everyone else, but he would be saved.
Your fault, your fault, the whispers sneered. It's all your fault. It's all your fault. Dead, all dead. You stood and watched, and you couldn't help them.
In vain she shook George. Maybe if she shook hard enough, he would come alive. It was a stupid thought, but it was all she had. Shaking and shaking him until her arms were too sore. She gazed into those glazed, dead eyes.
Then, slowly his lips moved. They moved while his eyes remained dead. Those bleeding lips shaped themselves into positions to utter one word.
"Run."
Alanna gasped as she woke. The blankets were drenched in sweat. Trembling, Alanna stumbled out of bed. A draft of cold air chilled her. Her window was open. Alanna pushed the window open, breathing in the crisp evening.
With numb fingers Alanna dressed herself. This time she wore the boy's clothing she always wore when she trained with Gary. Again Alanna pulled on a dark cloak.
With a deep breath, she swung her legs over the edge of the window, the rest of her body following. She landed in the ground with a soft thud, then was grateful that she had the good sense to wear boots.
Pulling the hood over her head to conceal her features, she slipped into the quiet, sleeping city. Vaguely she remembered the direction she was to take. By their own accord, her feet kept placing themselves one in front of the other until she stared at the doors of the the Dancing Dove.
Alanna had to see George.
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2 quick notes. 1) Yes, I know, I was being too dramatic. Too bad. 2) Sorry to Jon fans that he sounded so stuck-up. It serves my purposes better this way, is good for the story, and remember that without Alanna to argue w/him for 8 yrs and keep him humble, this is the result.
Now we have George and Jon as [more] active roles in this little story of mine.
I was so happy. In the middle of my French class I finally figured out what I was going to do about Thom. At the end, I mean. Before that is a big blank canvas.
REVIEW!
DuchessAndromeda: Oh! *embarrassed* Ok, I went back and fixed that!
ladyluck: Phew! Glad you finally got used to the idea of Alex and Alanna (but that might change soon...) I disagree with the "when a writer confuses somebody you know it's a good story." I've read many confusing stories before, and they WERE NOT good. And of course you didn't know Elijah had a brother. *I* didn't know Elijah had a brother until....about four chapters ago when I decided that. I think this story might actually be 35 chapters or more...hmmm, I'll get back to you on that.
P.S. Think you've gotten used to the idea that I update often, too, huh?
Dyana-of-Tortall: Sorry, but my monitor is broken (i'm too scared to tell my parents about it because this would be, like, the fifth computer I've messed up, and they'll totally kill me!) so I can only update on weekends until I work up the courage to tell my parents about our broken computer. And I FINALLY found a pic of Orlando Bloom where he looked good without the wig!! Oh, he looks SOOO hot! Unfortunately, that's the only picture. The guy's just better looking as Legolas. Hmmm.... Aragorn is hot, too. He looks like the type to rescue me from a tower, and carry me in his strong arms...*sighs* He also looks much better in the movie than (eck!) in real life.
Karina: *Stares blankly at screen and then blinks* Um, I'm only just starting French 2. In other words, I only understood half of what you wrote. This is what I THINK you said: The idea to write (an earlier? Middle?) history, it's a really good idea. [something] you can write a [??] chapter soon, if not I will write [a long? much? lot?] review [what?] you will [something] and [something].
So. How much of that was right? PLEASE TRANSLATE!
Lady Arianna: Most of that is right. Except--I can't tell you if Elijah is really Thom or not; sorry. No, Alex and Alanna are not "officially courting." Well, Alex thinks so, but Alanna doesn't. Bowen used to be really upset that Elijah & Vera are together, but he got over it and is moving on. That's not why he hates Elijah, though. There's a bigger reason...
RoseFyre: *wildly* What? What does it change??
AerinBrown: Do you have a dance for everything?? Well, anyway, happy you liked the chapter, for all that it was a "filler."
BTW--I just realized that Sen from my 'Child of Snow' story happens to look like Alex. Weird. And completely unintentional.
Crown: Surprised you liked it so much! BUT WHY ARE YOU CHANGING YOUR SCREEN NAME? Why Karl C. Gwen?? I'll never be able to remember that Karl C. Gwen and Crown are the same person!
Maria: Um, like I said, I most likely won't do a sequel. And how do you know that you want me to WRITE a sequel when I haven't even finished THIS story yet?? Huh? Huh? What if you hate the ending?? (I'll be devestated, that's what)
I can't tell you about Elijah's parents yet. Sorry. As for the Jon-or-George thing...who says it's going to be either one of them? *haughtily* what if I make her fall in love with Duke Roger?? (don't worry....even MY mind isn't THAT twisted!)
hoppuschick182: I read your bio and was extremely confused at how it came to be that you read TP fanfics. Oh, well. Glad you do. Keep reviewing, and I'll keep updating!
Anonymous: *throws head back and laughs* *rereads review and laughs again* *rereads review a third time, calls sister over to show her the hilarious review, and grin like crazy* *frowns in disappointment when sister fails to see the humor in the review*
Eriol: George and Jon...yeah, I know they're kinda absent. That's because the occasion hasn't popped up that I need to use them. But don't worry, I've got plans for both of them...
White-Wolf: Ha! (to your first line) Well, think you could escape me, did you?
MWAHAHAHA! UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE.
*rereads her note and decides that White-Wolf deserves more reprimanding*
UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE
And don't be so hard on yourself...lotsa stuff happens in your story. You were my inspiration!! (no, seriously.)
bblond07: Um....gee, it's kinda hard to write a respond to such a short review....hmmm....Ok, I'll add more as soon as I can write more. There, was that a sufficient enough response? *ponders*
smileypal4eva: *sighs from relief* Phew! You totally had me freaking out! Well, you're the second person who was interested in the love triangle...and you're probably right. I should do a flashback, because just explaining the love triangle is NO fun!
AN: All in all I was soooo surprised that nobody was upset about my previous chapter! Well, just be happy I guess. ;-) Ok...2 people wanna know about the love triangle. I'm trying to think up the best place to tell you, but...well, guess I'll have to work on that.
My parents believe that writing stories is "a complete waste of time! You should be preparing for high school! If you don't prepare now, you won't even be able to attend a COMMUNITY college! You only have a little time left! You have to make the top 5% of your class or ELSE!!!"
Yeah, whatever. (just to let you know, I'm in eighth grade and don't have a love life....which is why I spend so much time writing one up for Alanna, I suppose. Because my lack of a guy just gives me too much time to THINK about my lack of a guy. *sighs* Ew, that came out ditzier than I'd intended.)
Do you know what this means? It means that everytime I get on the computer, my parents scream at me. Therefore: I have to write my story on scraps of paper at school in my spare time and type it up the second I get home, before my parents do. :-(
This means...less updates! I think. 'Cause I've got this big science project coming up, piano auditions, and....yeah.
PS: Jon's back from the desert! Need I say anymore?
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Chapter seventeen--
With a flick of her wrist, Alanna knocked Gary's sword from his hand. He stared at her in shock, gaping slightly while she swung her sword in fluid arcs. At last she ceased the movement of her weapon and pressed the blade against his neck, grinning triumphantly. Slowly Gary raised his hands in surrender.
"I suppose you're going to tell me that you went easy on me, letting me win?" Alanna said with arched brows.
"Of course," Gary responded. Then, as an afterthought, "You've really improved. Did the Shang teach you, or did you take lessons from Alex?"
"Neither," Alanna answered proudly. "Sometimes I'd go and watch the pages practice. Then I'd go borrow a sword and practice myself."
"You mean steal."
"Borrow!" Alanna said hotly. "I always returned them. Those swords are HEAVY. I took the heaviest one I could find and swumg it to build muscle."
"Good idea," Gary said approvingly.
"By the way," Alanna said as she lowered her blade, "why do you ask?"
"Just curious," he replied as he retrieved his sword. "And did you know that you walk like Alex now?'
"What?'
"You do," Gary said as he positioned himself across from her. "Anyone could see that."
"Most likely because of all that training we had together," Alanna reasoned as Gary circled her.
"It would be good for you to take lessons from him though, I think. He's better than me." Without warning he lunged. Alanna moved aside and swung her sword out to stop his blow. Twisting her sword, their weapons locked at the hilt.
"He can't be that much better," Alanna gasped as she dropped away from the lock. Carefully she watched for an opening.
"Messy block," Gary commented, and Alanna made a face. "And he's a lot better than me."
"I don't care if it was a 'messy block,'" she retorted. "A block is a block, as long as it works. And I don't want to take lessons from Alex, I want to take them from you." She danced forward and swung her sword upward. He swiftly met her blade with an opposing swing.
"You should care," he replied. "A weak block against a stronger opponent could mean the end for you." As if to demonstrate, he swung his sword in a butterfly arc. Alanna was able to block it winced at the strength of his blow. Her arm already hurt. Rolling her shoulder to loosen it, she switched the sword to her left hand.
"No more talking," Alanna told him. "Save your breath."
"It's customary to yell insults, though," Gary said with a grin. "Are you sure you can handle it with you left hand?"
"If I can write with my left hand, I can fight with it," she responded. "And I practiced with it."
"You can write with your left hand?"
Ignoring his questiong, Alanna immediately began to attack with renewed strength. The second metal clashed with metal, Alanna pulled back her sword and struck again. She managed to push Gary back until they stood in the muddy banks of the lake.
"No technique whatsoever," he said breathlessly as he labored to fend off her quick blows. A raised eyebrow was the only response. "No style," he continued. "No finesse."
Now he was desperately whirling his sword as she moved so quickly that her blade was a blur. At last Alanna gripped the sword with both hands and, swinging it diagonally upward, knocked Gary's sword from his hand. It flew across the lake and landed with a soft splash.
"Actually," she said as she once again pointed the tip of her sword at his throat, "I do have a style. It worked, didn't it? And as long as it works I don't really care about finesse."
"We shouldn't have our lessons around the lake anymore," Gary said as he eyed the spot where his sword had landed. "This is the lake where we skate in the winter."
"You've already told me that," Alanna said crossly. "Many times. Now, no changing the subject."
"So, what's your style? Just keep swinging your sword like that? You expend too much energy, which is why it's not effective."
"But I BEAT you, didn't I??" Alanna cried in exasperation. Gary placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You've got the wrong idea. What you're trying to do is just use brute strength. You're hacking, not fencing. That's a sword, not an axe."
Alanna hefted it and stared at the lake forlornly.
"You mean that I've been doing it WRONG all these week??" She sat down in the mud and cast her sword aside. Drawing her knees to her chin, Alanna closed her eyes.
"You must've done something right if you beat Gary," a new voice said. Swiveling her head around, she saw a dark-haired man step forward, leading his horse. Alanna jumped instantly to her feet.
"Highness," she murmured, bowing her head. She felt her face grow warm.
"So, Gary. This is what you and the lady do everyday," Jon continued, leading the stallion down to the lake to drink.
"Spying on us?" Gary asked, his face red as well. Jon smiled wryly.
"What, Gary? No 'welcome home' or 'how was the desert?'" he asked.
"I KNOW how the desert was," Gary grumbled. "And I'm a bit too put out to say 'welcome home.'"
"What ARE you doing here?" Alanna asked when she recovered. Jon shrugged, then grinned.
"Lady Alanna, if I recall? Gary's told us much...wait, he hasn't told us ANYTHING about you."
"We're not talking about me," Alanna answered, crossing her arms. "We're talking about you. Explain."
Jon raised an eyebrow and then gestured to his horse, as if this was good enough explanation. She sighed and began to pick up the area. First she folded the picnic blanket and stashed it in the basket. Gathering their practice weapons, she wrapped them quickly.
"Why are you back from the desert?" she prompted. "Why come to THIS lake?"
"You ask many questions."
"And I would appreciate it if they were answered," she said as she pulled on the reins of Gary's horse. Jon held out a hand to stop her.
"Oh, no," he protested. "Don't let me interrupt your lessons."
"You WATCHED?" Alanna was horrified. "How much of it?"
"Enough," was his simple reply. He removed his hold on her arm and swung onto his horse.
"You didn't answer my questions," Alanna accused. Jon nudged his horse into a trot. Alanna cursed as he rode into the distance. Turning to Gary, who was mounting his own dapple, she said, "I HATE him!"
"Who, Jon?" Gary asked, extending his arm. Grasping it, Alanna pulled herself up, sitting behind him.
"Yes. He's so...so...arg! There are no words to describe how bad he is!" she declared. Gary chuckled.
"Just because he wouldn't asnwer your questions? He probably does it so you'll think he's mysterious," Gary said.
"Mysterious, sure. And vain, and rude, and self-centered, and conceited, and--"
"You're repeating yourself."
Alanna rolled her eyes.
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Jon didn't notice his surroundings. He was too busing thinking of that Trebond girl...er, lady. The sound of clashing swords had drawn him to the lake. From a distance it appeared that Gary was sparring with a page. Or at least, the figure most was certainly the size of a page, and wore a page's clothing. When he drew closer in curiosity, he noted the lad's red hair and then that unmistakable voice.
Alanna of Trebond. The lady who Gary was so infatuated with. Yes, she would do nicely. He'd show that...that...ELDORNE just how much he'd never needed her. Fragile women who wanted protecting were not for him. Jon needed a woman with substance, one who could defend herself.
Of course, there was the problem that Alanna didn't think well of him. The few times that they had spoken were more or less disasters. Then there was how he had been rude at the lake, but he really didn't feel like dealing with her then.
This meant that he would have to work harder to win her. Fine. He needed a challenge anyway. Besides, no woman could resist him, he thought. She'd fall for him eventually.
Gary knew her well enough, and he'd help. Jon would ask him what Alanna wanted. Gifts were a good way to make a fresh start. Flattery as well; the two went far.
His horse stumbled over a ditch in the road, jarring him back to the present. The coolness here was a welcome relief from the desert. Myles was still there, for reasons he cared not to share, but Jon couldn't spend another minute there. So here he was, riding back to Corus alone.
Raoul was the first to see him. Jon waved wearily back and slid down from his mount, handing the reins to Raoul, who viewed him with a mix of curiousity, relief, and puzzlement. To this Jon smiled.
"I'm Voice of the Tribes," he explained simply. Raoul looked impressed.
"How?"
"I don't know. There was the Ordeal of the Voice, fo course. It was nothing like the Ordeal that we went through for knighthood. During the entire thing I had the strangest feeling..."
"Strangest feeling that...?" Raoul prompted. Jon shook his head.
"I had the strangest feeling that...that someone was helping me." He ran a hand through his hair. "Like...oh, I don't know. Like I passed too easily."
"It seemed too easy because you're good," Raoul told him swiftly.
"Good at what?"
"Whatever it is that made you the Voice of the Tribes, I guess," he finished. Jon shrugged, looking around.
"How were things while I was gone?" he asked softly, afraid of the answer. "How is my mother?"
"Alive, but near-death. Roger's here, but not even he can help her now. The healers have no idea what's causing the sickness."
"None at all?"
"Well, Duke Baird suspects that it might be sorcery, but none of the other healers agree with him. The queen HAS been sick for several years now. Jon...." Raoul paused. "She hasn't woken up yet."
"What do you mean?" Jonathan demanded wildly. Raoul avoided his eyes.
"The day before yesterday...she just didn't wake up. Her breathing is raspy and weak...she's thin and pale--"
"I have to see her now!" Jon cried, grabbing Raoul.
"You can't. Roger won't let anyone in."
"She's my mother, Raoul!" Jon yelled. "I have to see her! Maybe...maybe I could help her..."
"What can you do Jon?"
"I don't know," he snapped. "Something. I could do SOMETHING to help her!" His fists were clenched defensively as he said this.
Raoul sighed.
"Well, let's go talk to Roger."
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Blood.
Blood everywhere. The rivers flowed thick with it, the walls were covered in it, the earth was filled with it.
Blood. Bright red, fresh blood. Dark crimson, dried blood. There was no other color than red, none at all. It seemed as it no other color ever had existed but red.
The stench of blood filled her nostrils. Strong, bitter, salty, sour, sweet. It felt sticky yet smooth. She slipped in a puddle of blood. The bodies were piled to the ceiling. She was walking between rows--no, WALLS of bodies. Wounded, bleeding, dead bodies.
Blood dripped into her eyes, making it even harder to see. All was silent except for her. Her breathing, her sloshing footsteps, her thundering heartbeat. Then, the whispers.
They echoed around her so that she didn't know what direction they came from. Whispers from a woman, whispers from a man, whispers from a creature that was both yet neither.
She couldn't tell what they were trying to tell her. She tried to listen, but soon discovered that they spoke in a language she didn't know. The whispers grew harsher, more insistent. Covering her ears, she attempted to block out the sound.
Now the whispers were in her head. No...they were screams now. Screams of agony, pain, suffering reverated through her mind. Then she heard another scream, one so loud it drowned out the others. Her scream.
Something was clutching her arm. Whirling around, she saw a man. He held her arm tightly. A huge gash in his head dribbled blood over his face. His clothes were stained; his skin was torn. She did not recognize him.
And yet...she did. His eyes were bloodshot, but they were clearly hazel. Familiar hazel eyes. George.
"Run," he rasped. "He'll kill you."
Opening her mouth to speak, she tried to respond. Then, the grip on her arm slackened. George fell to the ground, his eyes still on hers. She fell down beside him, shaking him, willing him still to be alive. He had to be. Everyone else was already gone. It was her fault they were dead. He couldn't die, too. She would save him. She'd failed everyone else, but he would be saved.
Your fault, your fault, the whispers sneered. It's all your fault. It's all your fault. Dead, all dead. You stood and watched, and you couldn't help them.
In vain she shook George. Maybe if she shook hard enough, he would come alive. It was a stupid thought, but it was all she had. Shaking and shaking him until her arms were too sore. She gazed into those glazed, dead eyes.
Then, slowly his lips moved. They moved while his eyes remained dead. Those bleeding lips shaped themselves into positions to utter one word.
"Run."
Alanna gasped as she woke. The blankets were drenched in sweat. Trembling, Alanna stumbled out of bed. A draft of cold air chilled her. Her window was open. Alanna pushed the window open, breathing in the crisp evening.
With numb fingers Alanna dressed herself. This time she wore the boy's clothing she always wore when she trained with Gary. Again Alanna pulled on a dark cloak.
With a deep breath, she swung her legs over the edge of the window, the rest of her body following. She landed in the ground with a soft thud, then was grateful that she had the good sense to wear boots.
Pulling the hood over her head to conceal her features, she slipped into the quiet, sleeping city. Vaguely she remembered the direction she was to take. By their own accord, her feet kept placing themselves one in front of the other until she stared at the doors of the the Dancing Dove.
Alanna had to see George.
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2 quick notes. 1) Yes, I know, I was being too dramatic. Too bad. 2) Sorry to Jon fans that he sounded so stuck-up. It serves my purposes better this way, is good for the story, and remember that without Alanna to argue w/him for 8 yrs and keep him humble, this is the result.
Now we have George and Jon as [more] active roles in this little story of mine.
I was so happy. In the middle of my French class I finally figured out what I was going to do about Thom. At the end, I mean. Before that is a big blank canvas.
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