A/N: Hey, you know what? This updating thing might actually start becoming regular! I'm very proud of myself.....Well, here's chapter eleven of Farewell the Lioness....R/R, and I hope you enjoy.

Chapter Eleven: All Good Things...

Late November days are cold and dreary. Spiced cider and warm crumbcakes are welcome in the evenings, a blessed reminder of sun and light and growing things. The dead brown leaves are blown away, and the city streets are clogged with the debris of autumns past. All in all, it is not a very pleasant time of year.

Ben snored away like a hog on top of a faded hassock in front of a spitting fire. Sitting in Sir Myles' study, he and Alanna had been ushered in not moments before, and already the boy was drooling on the carpet. With an exasperated sigh, the redhead explored the room.
It was a peculiar, octagonal-shaped chamber, with fresh white paneling and thick braided rugs. A round table stood in the center of the room, piled with leather-bound books, bits of parchment and dry inkbottles. Some dozen crow's-quill pens were arranged in a box exquisitely inlaid with amber and jet mosaic. Alanna thumbed through a massive tome on political theory but set it aside almost immediately (only her father's doctoral essays about philosophical war had ever seemed drier to her). Either Myles was partly insane or he had a great acceptance of bad literature.
Something snagged her gaze. An enormous diagram that covered almost the entire table, its edges weighted down by books she had thought randomly placed. It seemed to be a map of the Tortallan border with Scanra, but it had the strangest markings. What were those crimson blots?
She heard footsteps down the hall and peered even closer at the chart. Tiny black arrows, green and blue triangles--what did they all mean?
There was a fumbling clatter outside the door and Alanna hastily began pacing the room as a significantly more sober Myles strode in, followed by Raoul. A grim scowl was set upon his face, and Raoul cringed as Alanna frowned skeptically at him. The grizzled knight collapsed in an overstuffed armchair, nearly knocking Ben to the floor as he did. The boy yelped and clung to Alanna, who rolled her eyes at Raoul and awkwardly knelt beside the glowering knight. "My lord? What news, sir? Was the Lord Halles under a spell?"
Raoul sighed heavily, and Myles chose to scowl even more angrily by way of answer. Finally the page replied. "No, Alanna, not in that context. For 'under a spell' implies involuntary actions. And my father..." he trailed off. His face darkened.
"This was more like cooperation," Alanna finished dryly, and he nodded.
"Somehow a powerful sorcerer--very powerful--was feeding his Gift into Father's mind. Then he could use it to do whatever damage he liked. His Majesty's scryers have found this much, at least." His normally cheerful visage appeared drawn and haggard.
Ben detached himself from Alanna and looked up at Raoul. "But since Halles doesn't have the Gift, wouldn't he need more than just one dangerous mage to lend him magic?"
"From the mouths of the babes," grumbled Myles, and he frowned at the merrily blazing fire.
The older boy scowled and began to pace, subconsciously grinding his teeth. "That's just it! It's three powerful men, mentally and physically connected, not lending each other magic but combining and strengthening it! And we believe one of these mages is a Scanran. Mithros, these people are good."
"Ushak," Alanna breathed contemptuously, and Myles gave a harsh, bitter laugh.
"Exactly. And they're using their mixed powers to help wreak Scanra's total domination of Tortall--perhaps even all of the Eastern Lands."
Ben shivered and edged closer to the fire. "But Myles, I don't understand--who's this third man in the network? We've got Ushak Halles-- who else?'
A dark glance was exchanged between the knight and the page, and then the man went on. "There are two possibilities, neither to my liking. Either the Carthaki Emperor Ozorne or the King's brother Duke Roger is in league with young Raoul's father. Both are extremely accomplished sorcerers and warriors, and both are very powerful. Not very good odds for our side of the deal."
A puzzled look crossed the boy's face. "Isn't he a shapeshifter? The Ozrone guy?" "Ozorne," Myles corrected, but he shook his head wearily. "I don't know, child, but i wouldn't be surprised. He is a man with many tricks up his sleeve, and other places besides."
Yet the tiny boy's query had triggered some vague memory in the back of Alanna's mind. Why did the word "shapeshifter" send cold shivers running up and down her spine? Suddenly it hit her, and she gasped. "Myles--I mean, sir, when Ben and I were in Scanra we saw this young woman in Ushak's court. Ushak said she was from the future--year 461! And what's more, she's a shapeshifter and an animal mage. She's been calling to the forest creatures and summoning them north, building an army to rival any troops or battalions of ours."
The man blanched and stiffened in his chair. "So the rumors are true..." he muttered to himself and sunk back into his angry stupor.
Raoul rubbed his head tiredly. "Let me get this straight--our Scanran slimeball has found a time-travelling, form-jumping girl who can communicate with animals and recruited her in his schemes?!"
Alanna bobbed her copper head. "I know it sounds eccentric but we saw her change forms right in front of us--vicious leopard to gorgeous woman, just like that!" She snapped her fingers for emphasis.
Myles finally stirred, and slowly got up from his chair. "The truth is, we've been anticipating something strange for a while now." He walked over to the central table, cleared away the books and smoothed the creased map underneath. "This is a graph of the northern border with Scanra, and the lands nearby. My scouts in the vicinity have reported two consistent occurrences for the past three months. One, the total absence of animal life on each side of the border, within one hundred miles, running north to south. And two, there have been frequent earthquakes high in the Grimhold Mountains. You've explained the first situation, but i haven't been able to find anything pertaining to the quakes. Hopefully they're unrelated incidents, but at such a high rate...I highly doubt their innocence." In answer to the girl's mystified expression, he added, "I'm the king's Spymaster."
Alanna exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Raoul, who groaned and rolled his eyes. "And you're telling us why?" she questioned indignantly.
Myles chose to forgo answer, but instead beckoned them closer to the table. "See these black arrows? They mark the locations of my scout outposts. The numbers have more than doubled since Lord Halles' trial."
Alanna made a mental note to herself that she should remind the absent- minded knight to stow his secret documents somewhere out of sight. At the moment, however, she was too fascinated to intervene.
Ben pointed at one of the large scarlet blotches. "What's that mean, sir?"
The nobleman sighed. "That's a village that was destroyed in an earthquake last summer. Three of my rangers were killed."
The tiny towheaded boy gulped. "But--there's so many!"
Myles nodded sadly. "Five hundred settlements reduced to rubble--three thousand dead total."
Biting her lip, Alanna lowered her violet eyes. Three thousand dead villagers? Who was responsible, if anyone? A horrible lump rose in her throat.
Raoul tapped the green and blue triangles. "And these?"
Grimacing slightly, Myles traced the buckling line the marks made along the spidery-thin border. "The green signs are where Ushak is building fortresses. The blue are where he's billeting soldiers."
A chill silence crept over the study as the three children mulled this over. They had not realized the war was going so badly for Tortall--indeed, it was worse than even Myles knew.
Pale shafts of moonlight filtered through threadbare curtains, shining in the wide cracks between the floorboards. The fire coughed and snapped, sending plumes of smoke up the flue.
The knight gave a sudden start. "But come, I have told you too much already. Raoul, go do your philosophy homework, or you'll never get it over with."
The page swallowed a retort, and departed with a friendly grin thrown back at Alanna.

An uncomfortable, quiet tranquility settled over the room once again. Alanna fidgeted nervously with the fraying hem of her tunic, trying and failing to appear relaxed and at ease. Ben clung fondly to her hand, to her dismay, and became captivated with the lines on her palm. She ignored him and counted the red spots on the knight's map. Two, four, six...
Finally Myles noticed them, and vaguely waved his hand at her. "Go on, off to Duke Baird! He's expecting you, it won't do to keep him waiting." At her slightly perturbed glare, his expression softened a bit. "My dear girl, I will personally make sure Halles stays away from the boy. And Baird is not a nasty axe-wielding boar; he's quite nice, as a matter of fact. Now go to the infirmaries, and keep Ben with you--out of trouble, mind. Run along!"
She smiled, attempted a curtsey, fell over, and leapt up, flushing madly. "Thank you sir, was her spontaneously farewell, and she fled, dragging Ben after her.
"Now there's a nice lass, make no mistake," Myles declared to the empty room, and poured himself a tall glass of wine.

* * *

Alanna knocked on the elegant mahogany door and tried to forget the events of the afternoon. Gods but they had been confusing. Not that she was successful, but the one thing in the world that she longed for most was a clean bed and fresh linen sheets...Ben bounced dreamily behind her.
The door swung open and she found herself staring at Duke Baird's stomach. She was force to tilt her head almost to her shoulderblades to see him fully--he was almost twice her height.
The man smiled kindly and bade her enter. "I take it you are Alanna of...Trebond? Yes, yes, Tianna has told me about you. Come in." he peered around her shoulder at the happily bouncing boy. "Your--friend may come too, if you both like."
She followed him into a neat, well-kept room--Baird was obviously much more sensible (although no more shrewd) than the bedraggled Myles. Obediently sitting in a chair by his desk, she looked up expectantly at the Healer.
For a few moments all Baird did was watch her, seemingly amused. Finally he too sat, and drummed his fingers on the desk's leather surface. "You are much like your brother, Thom. Have you seen him since your coming?"
Alanna shook her head slowly, her red braids swinging like twin pendulums. "No, your Grace, I have been rather...occupied."
He narrowed his eyes a moment, then nodded. "Thom was in to see me not thirty minutes past. Apparently young Raoul told him of your arrival. He said you were an accomplished healer. Nice lad, Thom...Strange, but nice."
Alanna grinned boldly. "You could say that! Whenever Thom burnt himself trying to steal pastries from the ovens...Well, let's just say I have experience in skin grafts."
The duke chuckled. "You see, miss, I am in need of a ward manager, but you'll need to prove your worth to me, first."
The redhead nearly jumped out of her chair. "Always up for a challenge, your Grace!"
He nodded, covering a smile, and led her out into one of the dormitories (Ben hopped after them). "One of my charges, a first-year page, has had a rather nasty case of staff-attraction lately. Would you...?" He gestured to a boy lying in a hospital bed, and Alanna moved closer to see.
The young page had several cracked ribs and a shattered forearm. he stared weakly up at Alanna as she clucked sympathetically then began giving the poor thing some advice. "You must have had too wide of a grip on the staff--gave your adversary an opening. Next time--"
Baird coughed.
Alanna ducked her head, abashed, and laid a cool, gentle hand on the boy's chest. Closing her eyes, she gathered her Gift in a tight ball of energy and fed it into the ribs, fusing cracked bones and knitting the broken membranes back together. Pink new skin appeared on the boy's chest, and he breathed deeply and heavily.
Letting her magic flow into the crushed arm, Alanna gently eased the splintered bones together. Satisfied, she beamed at the gaping Baird.
The duke stared a bit, quite taken aback. "Miss Alanna, you healed that boy in less time than I've seen some grown woman heal scrapes in. I'd like for you to report for work at nine o'clock in the morning, until four in the afternoon, with an hour at midday to eat. Head of infirmary two, I'd say." Baird smiled warmly. "You'll do well, lass. Dismissed."
She gave a little bow, and left, dragging Ben after her.

* * *

Once they had reached her quarters later that night, Alanna turned kindly to the only slightly calmer boy. "Ben," she murmured, as one might speak to a mentally insane person, "Ben, you can't come to work with me. Is there nobody in the city you can stay with?"
He pouted a little, and shook his head. "Nope. Papa's off in Maren, trying to train his army for desert combat. Not doing too well...
Alanna sighed wearily. "Listen, can you go to Myles and ask him to help? He said he'd try and protect you, keep you from harm. Maybe he can tell you where to find a nice inn or something. Go on, you know where to find him."
Ben grinned, and hugged her warmly before skipping off down the corridor. "Okay Lan--I'll see you tomorrow!"
She smiled affectionately as she watched him go; he was like a second brother. Yawning mightily, she unlocked her rooms and crawled into bed. Night closed in and she fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

The next morning Alanna forced herself up before the break of dawn. Dressed in a fresh healer's tunic and gray leggings, she staggered groggily down to the kitchens and grabbed a slice of warm nutbread spread with clover honey. To her surprise, she enjoyed every last crumb. Grumpy as always, the disheveled girl managed to pull herself together two minutes before nine o'clock--then sprinted across the palace to her assigned clinic. Smiling almost completely genuinely at the old female Healer who was to help her get started, Alanna set to work, building her own domain.
The dormitory was large, with thirty beds--only about a fifth were in use. The eastern and southern walls were lined with tall, many-paned windows. Each bed was covered with a bright, fleece-lined quilt, brightening the stony mood of the chamber. Early morning sunlight lanced across the granite flags, pooling like golden water in Alanna's face. She liked the quiet serenity of the long, resonant room; it was quite different from the hectic frenzy of the main palace.
The morning wore on, its lazy, steady flow continuing at much the same pace. But around noon, when the pale winter sun had reached its zenith, someone burst through the door like a ravening hound. It was Raoul, his face troubled and gray.
The girl hurried over to him, wiping her hands on her sides, and bit her lip to keep from shouting. "What is it, what's wrong?" she asked, her heart throbbing wildly.
The tall page stepped over the threshold, followed by two servants bearing a canvas stretcher. By now her chest was bursting with suspense and suppressed fear. "What is going ON?" she half-screamed, and her stomach leapt into her throat.
Raoul motioned for the attendants to lay their burden down, and as they did so and exited a sickening weight sunk in the girl's stomach.
On the litter lay a twisted, mangled form, bruised and broken and bloodied. It was Ben, and he was dead.
"Great Merciful Goddess," Alanna murmured, and Raoul steadied her as she swayed. Her fingers trembled slightly as she knelt by the boy's prone form, and gently shut his staring eyes.
A cold wind blew in through a lofty window. The chatter of chickadees roosting in the forsythia roared in her ears.
Finally she got to her feet, and let her breath out in a heavy sigh. "How?" she demanded.
Raoul shuddered, and began to pace the room. "I was going to lunch when Sir Myles staggered up to me--drunk, obviously--and asked me if I'd seen Ben. I gather he was to help the boy find a place to stay?"
She nodded feebly, and Raoul continued. "He hadn't been anywhere near me since last night, so we decided to spend the meal hour looking for him. To tell the truth, it was somewhat disconcerting, our little Ben missing a meal." He tried to force a smile.
Alanna froze and glared at the page, who shivered and quickly went on.
"It was almost scary how easy it was to find him. He wasn't dead when we stumbled upon him, beaten to a pulp in a secluded courtyard, little more than a rag of flesh." His voice dropped an octave, cracking bitterly. "He told us that--that my father had found him in the early hours, brutally tortured him and dropped him in the courtyard for the carrion to feast on. Then he disappeared like the coward he is." Raoul swallowed hard. "I never used to think of him like a monster, but a man who tortures children for little or no good reason?!"
The girl clenched her teeth to keep them from clattering, and blinked furiously against the welling tears.
"But Alanna, that's the thing...What did Halles have to gain from Ben's slaughter, even for his own wicked purposes? What's the point? Minus the 'fun' factor?"
She gulped down the acrid bile surging in her stomach. "Ben is--Ben was the son of General Rygol. Picking him off would be a sort of point scored against King Roald--not to mention a parleying advantage gained over the general. But somehow I don't think that Halles meant to--to kill him." Alanna hated to speak of a little boy's death in such cold terms, but there was nothing for it. "Perhaps he wasn't strong enough to bear the power if so much magic--he overreached himself until his nerve snapped."
Raoul spread his hands in bewilderment, and slowly, almost shyly, wrapped his arms around her quivering body. "It's okay," he choked, and hugged her tight.
The old Healer smiled nostalgically at them and disappeared into the hallway.
She buried her face into his leather-clad shoulder and soaked up his warmth. He was large and strong and comfortable--perfect for leaning on.
The sun slipped from its perch in the pale periwinkle sky. Cold snow glittered on the hard ground below , ice glowing eerily in the cobbled streets.
Suddenly Raoul jumped. "I'm late for philosophy!" he wailed, and after planting a hasty kiss on Alanna's cheek, he was gone.
A giggle escaped from one of the patients nearby. Then a snigger.
"What?" Alanna inquired suspiciously, hiding the urge to smile at this cheerful diversion.
The patient, a young girl with a bad fever, grinned cheekily. "That boy of yours in for trouble--the philosophy master had a kidney removed last night. Not too pleased, I'll bet."
Alanna grinned back and collapsed on an empty bed. Mithros, what a day! she thought grimly. One friend dead, another suddenly kissing me...
Two glistening tears fell from two violet eyes. One for herself, and the other for the innocent dead.
Afternoon's golden light played off her copper plaits, melting the hue to a warm amber. She sat there for a long time, listening to the heavy breathing of her charges.
She was responsible for every one of them. For the protection of their lives. They were her burdens, to be seen as duty or future--it was her decision.
The next day, during her midday meal, Alanna strode down to the Lord Provost's headquarters. Squaring her shoulders, she gazed coolly up at him through blazing lashes. "My lord? I'd like to press charges of murder on a nobleman whom until recently was at court. I believe you're...acquainted with him."

Over time, the frozen form of Ben was borne away to his father, who buried him tenderly in the green fields of Maren. Far from home.

NEXT UP:

Alanna rolled her eyes and adjusted the poultice on Raoul's chest. "The point remains, this Ralven of Malon--"
Raoul winced. "Ralon of Malven."
She scowled impatiently. "Whatever. Anyway, this idiotic thug and his two hulking cohorts started the fight. They're pigs with no honor whatsoever--just a bit of mud from tumbling scullery maids in the kitchen gardens."
Ralon smirked wryly from the next bed over. "Thanks a load, wench."
"You're welcome, ass," she retorted, and slapped him on the head. "I'm handy with both knife, bow and staff, just so you know. So cut that 'wench' talk and go to sleep. May nightmares infest your maggoty head."

A/N: About the title: well, "all good things must come to an end" does kinda fit, don't you think? While I was writing this I was afraid it was both too boring and too long (ten pages handwritten, seven hand-typed!) which makes a deadly combination. But you have to get there from here somehow, and I have a lot planned for future chapters. I need to get through December, January, and February so that I can get to March and pull yet ANOTHER Rowling! To learn whom I shall "pull," drop a review! Better yet, review anyway! By the way, I just recently posted an LotR story called The Straight Road Into the West. It's a slightly morbid fic dealing mainly with the feelings of Faramir (whom I repeatedly call "he") as he watches his brother's corpse float down the Anduin. You could review that, too...**cough cough**
Cheers!
~**Leah