Disclaimer, yada yada yada, not mine, not mine

PS- don't take the chapter names literally- I'm trying to make them have metaphorical meaning. (what a pathetic attempt, eh)

Spellbound

The night is darkening 'round me

Alexander of Tirragen lay on his back in the grass, staring up at the sky. It was getting dark, and he should go back for dinner, but somehow, he didn't care. His life was just falling apart, anyway.

I knew it was coming, he thought. I should have expected it. I'm the youngest son, and what else would I do if not become a knight? I'd just sit there, eating away at Tirragen's coffers, that's what I'd do. At least, that's what Father says. That I've got to make something of myself.

But Alex didn't want to make something of himself. He wanted life to go on as it always had. He didn't want to be a knight, tightly bound by a set of oaths that made him serve the king and Tortall. He honestly didn't give a crap about King Roald- he could do whatever he wanted to, as long as it didn't affect Alex.

"Then what do you want, son?" his father said. "Are you just going to sit here for the rest of your life, doing nothing? What do you want?"

"I don't know!"

"You're going to be a fine swordsman, son. You're going to be the best- I know it. You can do it, son."

Alex laughed bitterly. He knew why his father wanted him out of the fief. Because he looked so much like his mother. Darron of Tirragen hated to be reminded of his late wife- and he saw her all the time in his youngest son. Alex was the only one of three other boys and one girl that looked anything at all like his mother. With his dark hair and complexion, Alex could have been his mother's twin.

Alex was good- he knew he was good. The weaponsmaster of Tirragen had trained him since he had begun to walk, and old Thachy said that one day Alex would be far better than him. But what meaning did that really have? Fighting was a rush, to be sure. But it just didn't interest him. Sometimes Alex wondered was did interest him, and always came up with nothing. It was like his father said – he had to do something with his life, or he'd just lay about forever, wondering what he should do.

Sighing, Alex got to his feet. He really did have to get back, this really wasn't the best time to be out. Matron would scold him for staying out so late. Suddenly he paused, hearing a noise in the bush. His hand instantly groped for a weapon that he wasn't wearing, cursing himself for his stupidity.

He scanned the bushes for movement, and came up with nothing. It was just nerves, that was all. He turned back to the keep and started to walk away. A faint hissing of air was his only warning when something heavy and clawed landed on his back. He could hear hissing as needle-sharp claws dug into his spine, throwing him to the ground and pinning him on his stomach. He tried to roll over but the weight on his back prevented him, scratching his neck when he tried.

Sharp fangs sank into the back of his neck, deep enough to startle a cry of pain from him. The animal let go and started licking the now freely-bleeding wound with a coarse, scratchy tongue. Alex fought and kicked, but he couldn't get out from underneath.

He knew now what the animal was. Every man, woman and child in Tirragen knew of the were-creatures that roamed the mountains and forests of the fief, and took precautions against them. Men never went out at night unarmed, if at all. Iron horseshoes were nailed above doorways and windows to keep the creatures out. Alex, like many other Tirragen children, had never believed the stories of the half-man animals. He'd scoffed and called them baby's bedtime stories, and never took the slightest precaution after dark.

The werecat, sated, leapt off his back and trotted into the bushes, only pausing once to look back at Alex. He lay there, staring at the creature that had attacked him. Maybe twice the size of a normal cat, its sleek fur was patched black and white. It's eyes were brilliant green, piercing the night air to bore deeply into Alex's own. Then it left.

Alex shivered for a moment, wishing he had brought a cloak, then got up. He wished he had brought his cloak. He lightly touched the back of his neck with two fingers, expecting to come away with blood, and was surprised to find them clean. The bite had nearly healed.

The scratches and puncture marks on his back were gone as well. The only marks of his assailant were the rips on the back of his tunic. Not knowing whether or not to be scared, Alex walked back to the keep.

~*~

Alex hurried up the stairs to his room, wanting to change before his father or Matron noticed the rips on the back of his tunic. He made it to his room and changed into fresh clothes, then ran down the stairs again for dinner.

During the meal Alex hardly picked at his food, pushing it around his plate with what he was pretty sure was the wrong fork.

"What's wrong, son?" His father asked. "Eat. You'll need your strength for the journey tomorrow."

"I'm fine." Alex half-heartedly shoved some food down his throat, though he knew the cook had made a special meal for the page-to-be. As soon as he could get away with it without being impolite, Alex left the table and went to bed, double-checking the locks on his shutters. On second thought, he rummaged through a drawer for the iron horseshoe that he was supposed to be hanging above the window, but had taken down because he didn't believe in 'silly superstitions'.

He hung the horseshoe on the nail above the window and absently scratched his hands before taking off his shoes and tunic and sliding into bed.

~*~

They (meaning Alex, his servant, and a guard) left the keep at dawn, hoping to make as much time as possible before sundown. As they rode through the streets of Tirragen to ward the gate, Alex took the last look he would get for years at his home. The streets were nearly empty at this hour, though people were rousing from their beds and probably making porridge by now.

Nothing that interesting, nothing he hadn't seen before, except... Alex did a double-take, turning around nearly backwards on his horse to see.

A pair of glowing, green eyes peered at him from around a corner. He could just barely see the outline of a small girl, about his age, hunched in the shadows, her iridescent eyes following him as he left the village gates.

~*~

Alexander's father followed his son until they were well away from the fief. The last thing he said to Alex was, "Make me proud, son."

Alex nodded mutely and turned his horse west to Corus.