Lela-of-Bast: Thank you. I thought it was poppingly corny! Much fun and quite challenging to write!

Neal's Chick: Too much fluff not enough plot. There will be more, in patches as the whole story is about their first few months together, but I needs a plot of sorts to hold it together.

Skysong the Dragonet: More trouble ahead!

Goldeneyedwildmage: Do these manic episodes happen often? They're most amusing! Glad you liked the fluff!

Daine's Daughter: Slight delay on uploading as I've been at work all day and very busy with no computer access! And I've only just got in (it's past 1am!) as I've been out with my colleagues for a meal. They're my excuses!

Jessica: Thank you! I was worried about it being trashy.

Narm's Briton 44: Good luck with the college ap's! Thank you for the compliment!

Dolphindreamer: Thank you! Writing in the third person isn't my usual style, I prefer first, but that wouldn't fit with TP stories, so your compliment was most encouraging!

Alex Rose: Don't worry, it will last for them, with a couple of upsets… but the making up's the fun bit!

Sonnet Lacewing: Thank you, as always! I don't think I quite have your crown! That line about the stars came from nowhere; the elf must have been working over time. Sent ap form off, should hopefully hear soon if I have an interview.

Imakeladrygirl: You like your fluff, don't you!

Aikia Riyen: Hope you enjoyed oz day! I won't ask any questions about the station wagon, apart from was it comfortable?

A/N: It all belong to Tamora Pierce!

Chapter 11 - Names

Daine looked in the mirror in Numair's bedchamber regarding her reflection, much as she had the previous evening. She didn't think she looked any different; no one could tell from her that she had finally spent the night properly with Numair. She gave herself a slight smile as her mind went over the previous night and that that morning. She felt different; as if she had undergone some coming-of-age ceremony, and entered a different realm. Numair had been right; there would be no going back to holding hands. She realized the permanence of their relationship, holding complete trust in her mage that he would never have taken that final step without being sure of his own feelings and intentions. She sat back down on the bed, the sheets still crumpled with their love-making, and found that she felt completely and totally secure for the first time since before the bandits had arrived in Snowsdale. There's a change, she thought, I never thought that this would happen, that someone would love me and make me feel like this and now I don't feel surprised by it. It feels like it should be like this.

Numair entered the room, his face clear of stubble and just a towel wrapped around his waist. Daine grinned when she saw him, reaching over to whip away the towel. "Daine!" he yelled, feigning fury, attempting to take back the towel. She flung it over the bed and went to him, putting her arm around his neck and leaning on his naked body. His hands went around her waist, and he kissed her gently. Moving away he looked at her thoroughly, his eyes taking in each detail, wanting to memorise every part of her. "You seem different," he assessed.

"How?" she asked, wondering if what they had done was somehow written across her face.

"You seem taller," he wasn't quite sure how to explain it.

"I'm fair sure I've passed the growing stage, Numair. You're not making any sense."

"I'm finding it difficult to explain," he began to tie his hair back, his brow lined with a thought.

A knock sounded at the door, Daine went to get it, not considering that whoever was there would see her in Numair's rooms, early in the morning and not yet dressed for the day.

George Cooper stood there, a look on his face that neither Daine nor Numair had ever seen before.

Several hours earlier, George had been in one of the seedier places in Corus, an inn known as The Quiet Woman, although the woman who owned the place could hardly be described as that. He had spent much of the previous few nights in the capital, tracking down acquaintances and allies from his days in the rogue, and engaging in clandestine meetings with the various people he had employed. He doubted that the problem with the tainted water had been solved, although no more attacks had been made. The trouble with the prisoners in Port Legann had also seemingly resolved itself, although Ecatzin Amaro was still being held in solitary confinement. There had been rumours of unrest in Corus; he had already heard of a group of Carthaki men causing a fight in another inn after criticising the result of the war, suggesting that Tortall would be in a much better condition if it had of been captured by Scanra or the Copper Isles. Protesting had gone on outside the prison about the conditions that some of the prisoners of war had been kept in. Rumours of torture had been plaguing the city for some days in certain circles and George was determined to find out where they were stemming from, certain that either a group or an influential person was behind it.

His evening had been spent pretending to consume much alcohol as he listened in on a conversation about a possible plan to assist an outbreak from the gaol. A name had repeatedly crept up, mentioned over and over again, almost as if the person was a god. George had listened until the men had been too drunk to make sense and had then gone to find the only person he thought might be able to offer information that would be based purely on fact and not solely on rumour.

Kayam Norahi had lived in Corus for almost eighty years; he had been a member of the underworld for longer than even George's mother could remember. He had always supported the rulers of his country, even the distinctly less conventional reign of King Jonathan IV had been praised by Norahi, although he had taken it upon himself to break almost rule the sovereigns made. George imagined that he would have heard about the happenings and would no doubt have a theory on the root of them. He lived a short distance from The Quiet Woman, although he had not patronised that particular place for a number of years since the current owner had taken over. George strode over to the run down basement that Norahi called home, running various scams out of it over the years. The door was ajar, which caught George by surprise. He made his way in warily, his dagger at the ready, and paced through the messy front room, paper and food wrapping discarded over the rotting carpets. A rat dashed across the room, disturbed by George's entrance. He quietly made his way to the back room, listening intently for any sounds of Norahi. None came, not even the rasping sound of the old man breathing in his sleep. George felt alarmed, his pulse racing and his muscles tense. He pushed open the door, moving in such a way that he would have been immediately able to disarm an attacker who was standing near the door. No one was there. The only human thing in the room was the bloody corpse of Kayam Norahi, sat on his chair, his glasses half hanging off his over large nose, his throat gashed viciously.

George stood in silence, instinctively still listening for any other presence although given the state of the body, he knew that the perpetrator would be far gone by now. He looked around the room; writing had been scribbled on the walls, including the name of the person he had overheard in the inn. He read the screed that had been written on the wall facing the old man, declaring hatred of all that Tortall stood for and their allegiance to the forthcoming uprising.

George had been there long enough. He left the building, closing the door behind him, and set off in the direction of The Dancing Dove, knowing that he was not the right person to deal with the aftermath of Norahi's murder. He took the short cuts, walking in the shadows in the dark alleys that were mazed through the streets of the city. The night was clear and starlit, the full moon adding an eerie presence after what George had just witnessed. George distrusted the full moon. To some it was a thing of beauty, highlighting certain things in a new way. To him it was the sign of deception, things were not as they seemed when the moon was full, and it was too easy to make mistakes and misreadings. His strong senses caught the movement of someone behind him; he turned sharply, noticing a swift movement of someone into the shadows. Pretending to carry on unawares, he flipped himself round and utilising his Sight, pinned a large man to the wall of the alley. He felt a fist in his stomach, winding him slightly and causing him to momentarily relax his grip. A hand grabbed his throat. George began to fight as he had taught Alanna many moons ago, moving swiftly from one attack to another. Another man had approached silently. George was aware of his company before he felt a dagger pushed against his throat. He already had a hold of one of the blades he carried. Twisting his arm his thrust it into the chest of the man behind him, hearing him groan. He moved the dagger out of the dying man's grip and lunging himself at the first attacker held it against the side of his face, using his body weight to bang him against the wall.

"Why?" he asked the trembling man.

"He told us to," the man responded.

"But why me? Why Kayam Norahi?"

"Because people would notice and it would take some revenge for the butchering of innocent men," the man's voice was weakening.

"What butchering?" George demanded.

"In Port Legann. The prisoners. Ecatzin Amaro, he was killed because he dared to speak out at how they were being tortured…" the man began to stutter, coughing and sputtering. George relaxed the knife, grappling the man and forcing him to walk. His Sight was telling him something was not quite right and his mind was agreeing. This man had not stopped speaking of his own accord and to George's knowledge Ecatzin Amaro was alive and well. He had to get the man back to the palace. He escorted him to a house an employee of George's lived, knowing that it was going to take more than one of them to get him to the palace.

Five hours later George went to the door of Numair Salmalin, knowing that he would be needed to see if the same spell has been used on Thomer Varsgen as on Ecatzin Amaro. George knew that he did not look spectacular. Too many nights of haunting Corus and too little sleep in the hot summer days had left him looking older and tired. He could already hear Alanna's rebuking when she returned, which was expected to be any day now.

"We need you," he told the mage. "It's urgent."

Numair nodded. George nodded at Daine, not even able to raise a smile.

"We'll see you in the guard room in the cells," he added, turning away to give Numair a moment to grab what he needed. The feelings that George had been having since the trouble in Port Legann were now amplified a hundred-fold. Word had been sent to Jonathan to hasten his return, few reasons given since that George suspected that whoever was controlling this operation may have sufficient power to intercept any messages. His fear of upcoming dread had been realised.

Numair found George and Harailt in the small room that the guards used when they took a break from their duties. George's expression had not improved since he had left Numair's rooms; it was still grim, hinting at ominous news. Numair sat down, vaguely aware of a piercing screaming coming from one of the cells.

"What's going on?" He asked, searching their faces for details.

George sighed painfully. "We appear to have another Ecatzin Amaro," he began to fill Numair in on the details of his night time adventure.

"We can also verify Thomer Varsgen's claim that Amaro is dead," Harailt informed them. "His body was found in his cell in the early hours of the morning. They have no idea as yet as to how he died."

"I can probably give them a theory to work with there," Numair said, grimly. "Why did they kill Kayam Norahi, I don't see how that aligns itself with their cause."

"Possibly because they knew of his connection to me and that I had been searching for information. He would also have been very much against their principals which seem to centre on bringing about the demise of Tortall. There may also be another reason, connected more directly with Norahi that we don't know as yet. It will also cause trouble with the rogue, sending a message to them. They would quite happily have sent me to the Black God as well," George replied, his voice monotone and lacking in emotion with tiredness. "I need to lay low for a while, now and let someone else take over finding out information."

Numair sighed. The men were silent for a moment, each of them considering the events and possible theories. "I imagine that Amaro's life was ended by the spell he had on him, someone has harmed the focus they had of him."

"Any idea who this mage could be?" George asked, looking at Numair.

"A powerful one. That type of control is difficult. They would also have to be charismatic and persuasive in order to become close enough to a person in order to complete the spell. There does have to be certain element of cohesion," Numair replied.

"I have to say that I can't think of a mage in Tortall, let alone Corus, who fits that description," Harailt announced. "Do you have any names that you've come across?" He directed the question at George.

"Before I left for Norahi's house I sat in The Quiet Woman, listening in to a conversation about a mage who the men speaking appeared to have some reverence for. His name was also written across the walls in the house, connected to the rumoured uprising and telling of hatred for all that Tortall stands for. It wasa name I am sure I have heard before, but I'm not sure where," George told them, watching their faces to read their reactions.

"Are you going to tell us his name?" Harailt asked, wondering why George was holding back.

"I think you should talk to Varsgen first. I don't think it would be wise to jump to any conclusions at present," George answered.

Numair stood up. "Then we'll see him now. If he has a similar spell controlling him like Amaro then I think will be able to deduce it is the same man. Which would then beg the question is it the same mage who poisoned the water?"

Harailt joined him on his feet. "I'll do the talking, Numair. You watched for his reactions. I don't think Jonathan would be too happy if you punched another prisoner!"

They went into the cell where Varsgen was being held, a guard chaperoning them. Harailt began to question the man sat before them, looking at the damage inflicted on him by George as they had fought. The man spluttered and coughed whenever the question was asked of who he was answering too and where he was and why the old man had been killed. Varsgen didn't appear as instable as Amaro, who had clearly been a little more than disturbed to start with. Both Numair and Harailt came out of the sell feeling as if they had confirmed what they thought they knew, but not learnt any fresh information.

George was waiting for them, still in the guards' office. He raised his eyebrows as they walked in, curious to know what conclusions they had come to.

"It's a remarkably similar spell to what was on Amaro. He's certainly under a gagging spell, used with a focus," Numair informed George. "I would stake money on it being the same mage."

George nodded his understanding, waiting for Harailt's comment.

"He confirmed everything that you said, but added nothing more. The gagging spell prevented that. He is no where near as dangerous as Amaro, and I doubt he will cause the same trouble that Amaro did. I am beginning to theorise that he was an expendable person in this game that is being played, and had he been killed tonight along with his friend there would have been very little disappointment. I think their pursuing of George was to let him know that they were aware of his observance. If you were killed," Harailt smiled at George, "It would have been a bonus."

"So what do we report to Jon when he arrives back tomorrow?" George inquired of the two mages.

"That our suspicions of what had caused Amaro to behave the way he did have been concerned and that there appears to be an uprising in Corus caused by people wanting to weaken the state and opening it up for another party to take over, as they consider that Tortall is becoming immoral and will face the wrath of the gods," Numair summed up. "What is the name of the mage that you have associated to all of this?"

"Karrum Makheen," George told them. "Let that name stick in your mind."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Now, review! It will spur me on to write more chapters this weekend!