A/n: On reflection, that was a pretty evil ending, wasn't it? Mwah hah. Oh, well. This goes from where we left off in chapter eleven, but before we begin, I'd like to thank you guys so, so much for all the reviews! You're the best! Thank you to all my regulars, people like Lilliana-rose and ellabelle, who make me feel like I'm worth reading, and also to the one- offs, who take the time to be a wonderful person and review. It means so much to me!

Gary rolled his eyes. "Yup, just my luck, I always get the crazy one!"

This brought chuckles, and eyes turned to Alanna for one of the retorts they had come to enjoy and respect. Grinning at the group, she quickly changed to a mock glare for Gary. Pointing her sword at him dangerously, she proclaimed in a high falsetto, "Oh! My honour is insulted! I..." Her voice faltered. Her eyes widened. Her mouth shut, then gaped, mouthing desperate words. Then she slumped down in an awkward faint.

Cythera gave a cry of horror and flew over to her friend's side. Raoul frowned. "You shouldn't have worked her so hard, Gary..."

Cythera whipped around from where she was kneeling by the stricken Lioness. "It wasn't the worked that did this!" She cried, exasperated, a panic in her eyes. "Aly does worse then this every night. It's something magical!"

Blanching, Gary reached out with his own Gift. (a/n: I don't actually know if he's Gifted, but in this story he is.) Alanna was draining, faster then the eye could see. She was rushing away, far, far too much of her... Gary grabbed the drooping, limp Aly and ran for her rooms. Raoul, tall and hulky, grabbed her off him. "What's happened?" He demanded, snapping with worry.

Cythera, too, had reached out. Now she followed the stream of Alanna's gift, steady, powerful, showing no sign of running out, though it was seemingly inevitable. "I never knew she had so much," She murmured, awestruck. Shaking herself, she concentrated. Yanking herself back into reality, she screeched, "Thom's sucking it out of her, the bastard!"

Raoul had already left, Alanna in his arms, for the palace healers; Cythera had followed, trying desperately to keep up, consumed with worry for her best friend. Gary groaned through gritted teeth. Taking off at a run, he sped towards the squire's wing. Jon flew towards his parent's state rooms, to alert them.

When Gary reached Thom's roomed, they were already occupied. A tall, dark haired man-Numair, Gary realised-was standing there, shaking.

"He's dead." Numair informed Gary curtly, no regret in his hard voice. "He was trying to do one of the Great spells."

Gary sat down, hard, his face drawn. "Which one?" He enquired nervously, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"K'ria Hav'zak, the Great Summoner. You won't have heard of it, it's not in the syllabus. No one's been fool enough to try it for centuries." Numair has to force the words out of a drawn face.

"What does it do?"

The cranelike man bowed his sharp head. Pointing downwards with a trembling hand, he muttered darkly, "That."

On the ground were eight figures. Eight people, unmoving as statues.

"They're alive, but only just," Numair continued, his voice full of grief and bitterness. "The spell calls to the greatest web of power it can find- a network of links which contains the most amount of power. It can call it up from anywhere, but I don't know even one occasion where the spell-worker has not died."

Gary called up his voice from the fizzing and troubled mind. He felt no grief at Thom's passing, only anger, anger that he had tried to drag Alanna down with him. He stood abruptly. "I'm going to see Alanna."

Numair nodded absent-mindedly. Scooping up the first o0f the figures, he sighed. "I'll come. I need to take these people to Baird anyway."

A/n: Dun dun dun! Now, if somebody doesn't guess where this is going, I give up.