Disclaimer: I am not, nor could I ever be the talented Tamora Pierce. But if I shut my eyes and spin around hard enough, I could hit my head hard enough that I might believe it – hypothetically.
A/N: Okay, so you know, I do have a bit of a formula. There is something important to the final outcome of this or the next story in every chapter. Otherwise, I edit it out before it ever gets stuck on the net. I never, ever have a chapter that is solely for character development. There's always story development in every single one. Now go on and hunt for clues. : )
Blackandwhiteroses: I do not go against cannon. However, I have wiggle room in how bad a guy the emperor is because he did behead people for dumb reasons according to Kel. So, maybe bad is in the eye of the beholder. We will say that he takes the "show no emotion" crap a little too seriously.
Narms Briton 44: Congratulations on ditching the nazi. I missed my 24 hour window because we took the baby to the animal park. But I got some great research done in the process.
Twilight Shades: Sinthya was the dude that tried to drug Numair in the very first chapter he was introduced – of course you hate him. We all do. And you may get your wish – but it may not be the best thing to happen. Heehee I gave you a spoiler.
1reallyblue1: I cannot wait to reveal that. It will blow your mind.
X17SkmBdrchiczxx: Holy cow! What a name! Anyway, thanks. You will find that I'm a fanatic updater -- One chapter a day every day, and occasionally I go nuts and do two or three.
And now…….
Chapter 5 – Foes
The former Lord Sinthya rode north out of Persopolis at a gallop. He had never expected to find himself in Tortall again, let alone on a direct route to the capital. Two and a half years prior, he had been flown by stormwings to escape the law of the land. He had hidden in Carthak since that time, dreaming of the day when he would get even with the mage how had spied on him for the king of Tortall. That mage was Numair Salmalin and his information had forced Sinthya to lose everything – his home, his title as Lord of a Fief, the respect of his remaining family. He wanted vengeance and felt it was his due.
Sinthya had colluded with Emperor Ozorne, that was true. But he would not have done so if it weren't for the retched changes that Jonathan of Conte was forcing through to please his wife. Sinthya hated Queen Thayet. She was beautiful and perhaps bewitching, for she had convinced the King to do things that were not logical. He felt these changes went against the Gods and so the ends justified the means.
The air was cold and he could feel the chill settling into his weathered skin. His cheeks were pink and wind-burned and his lips were badly chapped. He wanted nothing more than to curl up by a warm fire until Spring. But that wasn't what he was doing. Instead he was riding like his mount's tail was on fire for Corus, hoping to affect the future and praying to the Gods that they would give him the strength he needed to make it there.
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Raoul was beside himself with grief and guilt. He had served as Commander of the Kings Own for a number of years now. Each of those years he had devoted his whole soul to the task because of love of the realm and faith in his king and friend. Each of the soldiers in his command was a friend whom he had trusted with his life on many occasions. It was devastating to be accused of killing six of those men. But what was worse – much worse – was the fear that he actually may have done it.
The evidence was overwhelming. His own men had captured him after having witnessed one of the murders. Not only did they swear to it, but he couldn't remember the capture at all. Jon had been to interrogate him after Duke Baird had brought him around. Jon told him that just before he collapsed, he had said, "Lord Sinthya sends his regards". Jon wouldn't lie. But he neither remembered saying it nor ever having met Lord Sinthya. Sure Lord Sinthya had attended a few social functions while Raoul had been in Command of the Own. But Raoul hated social functions and usually only stayed if he absolutely had to.
He knew Lord Sinthya's history. He considered the man a traitor. He would rather die than befriend such a cad. Why would he have chosen to serve a man he detested so? The simplest answer was that he wouldn't. But there were no simple answers in this case.
So, he remained in the dungeon. This was a place where he had helped to send traitors and thieves. Those permanent residents of the dungeon had spent the day making catcalls and jeers from their own cells. They knew he was here. Whether they knew why, he could not say. But then, he wasn't sure why he was here himself, other than that it seemed the best choice under the circumstances. If something had forced him to betray Jon and his men, at least locked away he could do no harm.
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Buri, Onua and Daine had picked up their paces to deliver the ponies and get back to Corus. Alanna had gone forward to meet the individuals she had been sent by Jon to meet. This was an eight-man squad of The Own, who were to run field tests on a new system of communication devised by Numair. Spelled pendants would allow even non-mages to communicate with one another quietly. She had eight of the things in her saddle bag. She had now been ordered to pass them quickly and return with Onua and Daine to Corus.
When she had left the others, Cearl was staying with them temporarily. He had intended to join up with Numair and Lindhall in the City of the Gods and now those plans were void as Numair and Lindhall were headed back to Corus as well. Onua and Daine should meet up with their rider group just west of Naxen, so Numair, Harailt and Lindhall planned to cut cross-country to intercept and accompany them back to Corus.
Alanna was not looking forward to that time. Daine was still responding stiffly to her, and she doubted whether seeing Numair was going to help the situation much. Daine might even be so angry with the mage as to pick a fight with him. There were times when Alanna felt wise and capable. This was not one of them. She wished she had just kept her mouth shut, or better still, followed her own better judgment and told Daine what she was doing in Carthak against Numair's wishes.
The afternoon sun was warmer than expected for December. Patches of mostly melted snow glistened in the light and left her eyes aching. When the pressure in her head first hit, she thought that was the cause. But it just kept growing and growing. She felt dizzy.
When Alanna came to herself she wasn't sure what had happened, or where she was. Dusk had fallen. She was in a puddle and Darkmoon was nowhere to be seen. It was not like Darkmoon to run off if she fell. He was much better trained than that. She could see a ridge behind her. She thought she might be able to get her bearings if she topped it, so she did so. But once she reached the apex and looked down into the draw on the other side, she nearly collapsed at what she saw. Eight members of the own and their mounts were dead, strewn across the hillside like they had fallen in a war.
Heartsick, Alanna ran from body to body, hoping for a sign of life. But there were no survivors. And who would kill all the horses too? One young man, whose name had been Azar, lay with the most shocked expression in his frozen face. It was if he had seen an enemy he could not imagine. Azar had been a friend and Alanna found she could not hold her emotions back. They swallowed her in a flood of tears and she crouched on the ground weeping for several minutes.
When she held out her hand to send the speaking spell, she could barely hold her palm steady. Her hand was covered in blood. It was horrifying to realize that she didn't know whose blood it was. She couldn't actually remember touching blood but she had felt for pulses in each man. It was a symbol of the level of devastation she felt at this moment. An unseen foe had wiped out every last man in this squad and yet somehow left her alive a mere hundred yards away. It might be the reason Darkmoon had left her. She prayed to the Goddess that he was alright.
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