(A/N:) Hi! It's me... again.

Alright, I know that pretty much everyone knew by now that Ozorne planned to kill Daine and Numair, as it was stated in one of my previous chapter. I just thought it coming from someone who actually knew the situation would make it seem more... I don't know --- dramatic? Yeah that's it.

So um... I'm trying to clean up my image, so no more swearing in my Author Notes. For a while. I think it may be negative for my reviews.

Anyway, in this chapter (11) almost everything is going to be about Alex, and what he's doing right now. You know, I did creat him into this story, so I am going to focus on him from time to time.

Keep reading, this is a great chapter. Just like all my other chapters.

(End of A/N)

11. Alex

Alex gazed up at his makeshift shelter he'd made under the tree. The tree had large, thick roots, which served as a roof for rain, though there wasn't much, this being summer in Tortall. It was a five foot deep pit, so that his head stood above it three or four inches when he stood. It was perfectly hidden as well.

He had with him weapons that he had gathered along the way; his own sword, a discarded bow and a quivver of arrows, a dagger he'd found that had an eyeball stuck in the end, and a broken shafted spear. It wasn't much, and he barely had any arrows left; he hadn't gathered many to began with, as he had forgoten that those in the mortal realms tended to need to eat.

He had also placed a square wooden plank he'd found into a tree, and that was used as a tree-stand, so he could see the surrounding area, and also hunt game for his food. He'd already lost two arrows hunting, but was getting back into the hang of travling lightly and being patient with his hunts.

His day consisted of hunting, sleeping, and wandering. He had seen two forts earlier, but he was unsure of which was which. It had been a while since the first war of Tusaine, and he couldn't completely remember it, as his memory was slightly fuzzy.

"Who goes there!" a voice called to him.

Alex whipped around quickly, unsheathing his sword in the process. Behind him stood a full grown knight, possibly an entire head taller than Alex. He had a broadsword in hand, and a grim look on his face.

"I said who goes there!" he yelled at Alex. "What be ye name?"

"Terrigan," Alex replied, trying to mumble.

The knight scratched his head. "Terrigan..." he murmered. "Terrigan. Can't say that I know any Terrigan. Are you of Tortall?"

"Yes sir," Alex said, straitening his back. "I am."

"Good. I leave you to your... business," he replied, and set off. Of course, Alex couldn't just let him waltz out of there like that. He may inform his overlords that he'd seen someone during patrol when he reported to them.

Picking up his bow, he drew back the bowstring as far as it would go, and fired at the man. He uttered a gasp of pain, slumped to his knees, then fell onto his face, blood oozing feely from the arrow in the back of his head.

Alex walked up to him, bent over, and pulled out the arrow with both hands. It was so far into the man's head that he had to tug with both hands as hard as he could. From his view it was highly strange that he had even hit the man, considering his hunt the day before had been... less than satasfactory. He hadn't even been aiming when he loosed.

"No matter," he said out loud. "I will just bury this man, then worry about finding 'Sir' Alanna of Tortall and Trebond. She will pay for what she did to me."

He lugged the large knight's body over both of his shoulders, and hunching his shoulders, walked into a grove of trees to bury the lifeless body.

Roger glared at the metalsmith he was trying to bargain with.

"No. I said I would pay only twenty gold nobles," he said stubbornly.

"And I heard ye," the burly man replied. "And what I said to ye was 'I want forty.'"

Roger calculated his options in his mind. He had only twenty gold peices, which is why he offered only twenty. The sword surely wasn't worth more than thirty, was it?

"Thirty," he said.

"Ney. Thirty-five."

"Alright," Roger replied.

The metalsmith turned to get the sword that Roger had selected. While his back was on the one-time Duke of Cont'e, Roger summoned his Gift.

He couldn't make a mess of it. People had to believe he'd died naturally, or they'd be suspicous. Roger had to stop the man's heart.

Roger rested a hand on the smith's back, sending his Gift rushing throught the man's veins, in search of the heart.

"Hey," the man protested. He was already becoming drowsy.

Roger's Gift reached the smith's heart. "I thank you for your business, my friend," he said in a falsly warm voice. "May the Black God pity your kind soul."

With his free hand, Roger squeezed at the air. The man's eyelids drooped, and Roger felt that he had not heartbeat.

Crossing the small barrier between him and the metelsmith's forge, he stood before a wall of swords in every shape and size.

"Hmmmm..." he muttered, massaging his bearded chin. "I believe I shall take two of them."

He reached up, and selected two swords that were almost identicle, both curved, and with very sharp and wicked looking edges.

"These will do," he said to himself, selecting two sheaths for them, and clipping them onto his belt. "Now to find that bastard of a traitor Alex."

Daine looked up from her writing of a letter to Kaddar. Numair had walked through the door, looking nervous.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, looking into his eyes.

"I don't know... I feel that something --- something bad --- is going to happen very soon. Very soon, as in within one to two days," he replied, sitting down into a extra stuffed armchair. "Writing to someone?"

"Kaddar."

"Ah," he said, "I'd forgotten that he asked you to write to him. Does he write back?"

"Of course. It just takes quiet a while for our letters to get to each other, you know, having to send them though not only the country, but also the Great Inland Sea," Daine retorted, folding the finished letter and putting it into a brown envelope. "What exactly do you think is going to happen?"

Darkness clouded his eyes, and he looked away. "Something horrible. Many will die, many will be injured."

"How can you know this?" Daine demanded. "Does it have something to do with Ozorne?"

"I don't know," he said flately, staring into her eyes. His were clear again. "I wish I knew... but I don't."

Daine glanced down, her eyes filling with sudden tears. "Why is he alive again?" she demanded to the ground in a sob-like voice. "I killed him. He's going to try to get revenge on me, and perhaps even you. I'm scared."

Numair walked behind her, and wrapped her in his strong embrace.

"I won't let them touch you," he assured her. "I promise."

Jacob rechecked the locks on the door for the third time, taking extra caution in making sure they were sucure. He had almost gotten caught last time he reported, that would never happen again.

Shuffeling over to the fire, he took a pouch from on his belt, and put three grains of its contents, a orange colored powder, into the blazing fire. Almost instantly, the flames turned a bright white, then died back to a mild orange.

Jacob unshielded his eyes. He was used to this process by now. If only Ozorne wasn't such a showy mage, he wouldn't have to go through the bright flash, but Ozorne was a showy mage, and like to advertise his great power to the entire world.

Ozorne's head materealized into the fire, and he looked at Jacob expectantly. "Well?" he demanded icily. "Do I supply you with my powder to stare into the portal?"

"Sorry, Ozorne, sir," Jacob replied quickly, knowing that Ozorne wasn't a patient man. "Report... um... well, to make a long story short, the mage, Numair, suspects something is going to happen. Is His Grace, Duke Roger, among you yet?"

"No," Ozorne replied, his lip curling. "Seems that the Duke miscalculated his landing spot, perhaps?"

"Probably," Jacob said, laughing uncertainly.

"Anything else?"

"No. I havn't been able to get into the last two mar councils, but tomorrow they're having one, and I will be present."

"If that's all, then I'll take my leave," Ozorne replied, and his face disappeared.

Jacob opened another pouch from on his belt, and withdrew one grain of the black powder inside. He dropped it onto the fire, and the fire went out immediatly.

A loud hammering caused him to jerk his head to the securly locked door.

"Jacob?" it was John.

"Aye, John?" Jacob asked, switching back to his common voice. "What is it ye be wantin'?"

"Don't you remember, you dolt?" John's muffled voice replied. "Ye and me was going to have sentry duty tonight, remember?"

Was it already evening? Jacob wondered absentmindedly.

"Alright, John. I'll be out in a few minutes, lad."

Replacing both of his bags of powder on his belt, John walked to the door on trembling legs. It hurt him to lie to his oldest and dearest friend, but the plan was almost complete. In a few nights time, Tusaine would unleash Roger and Ozorne's plan, and destroy the eastern wall of the fort, allowing the Tusaine army, lead by general Yami, Ozorne, and Hilam, into the fort to kill and maim all the occupants. Except Alanna, and Jonathan, all would be killed. His Grace wanted Alanna and Jonathan alive, and Jacob followed their orders.

He would do what had to be done.

Alex couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was on one of his wanderings, trying to find out which fort was which, when he saw Roger.

His first instict was to call out to the Duke of Cont'e, but then he remembered that they were no longer allies. Steeling himself, Alex clutched his bow tightly, and aimed carefully at the moving Roger.

Something must have alerted Roger, because he whipped around, just as Alex dove behind a large bush. His eyes searched the area hungrily, as if he could sense someone there.

Slowly, Alex shifted into a kneeling position, glancing at the retreating Duke's back.

Alex sprang up, drew back his bow, and fired at the Duke. It missed him by millimeters.

Alert, Roger turned, drawing two swords while doing so. To Alex's expert eyes, they were perfectly forged, and must have cost the Duke the little money had had hung onto in death. He could tell they were both lighter than normal swords, and the curved edges on them would ensure good cutting action.

For a few momentes, Roger stared at Alex, his mouth hanging open. Finally, he closed his mouth, and began slowly to advance on Alex.

Alex gripped his own finely made sword with both hands, his palms beginning to sweat. He wiped them on his breeches, and began advancing on Roger as well.

It was as if a cue had been yelled to both of them, because at the same instant, they stopped their cautious approach, and bolted at each other, running as fast as they could.

They slammed into each other, their swords crossing. Alex pressed down with both hands, using his arms to try to overwhelm the Duke's hold and break away. No such luck, not against a man as good at fencing as he was at magic.

Roger pushed back, arching Alex's back for a few brief moments. Alex ducked out and around the Duke, swing his sword at the end of the duck.

Roger stepped back right on time, Alex's sword passing in front of his face harmlessly. He then bared down on Alex, swinging both swords furiously. Alex only had time to block, though he was constantly looing for a way to gain control of the offensive end.

Seeing an opportunity, Alex struck Roger's sword down near the hilt, knocking it from the Duke's grip and onto the grass a few yards away.

Roger turned white. How could he let such a stupid novice trick be used against him? He had forgotten how good Alex was at fencing.

Alex stepped back, swing his sword in one hand, smiling. He now remembered his training; he remembered that he was unbeaten. Well, not entirely, as Alanna had beaten him, and in doing so had killed him. But that was in the past. Besides, Alex would soon cleanse his honor, by killing that which had killed him.

Seeing Alex at ease infuriated Roger. His one-time squire was mocking him? This could not be allowed. Not on Roger's noble's honor.

He attacked again, driving the sword fast and fierce at Alex, trying to hit spot where it would hurt most: gut, collarbone, throat, and face. Alex went back to the defensive.

Roger lunged forward, and Alex fell back, though he was still smiling. Roger was becoming frustrated.

Duke Roger lunged in, his remaining sword flashing in a criss-cross pattern that to Alex's eyes, was nearly flawless. Nearly. At the end of Roger's movement, he struck, cutting a horizontal line in Roger's fore arm.

Roger emitted a strangled scream from his mouth, and switched his sword to his left hand. Alex now knew for sure that he could beat Roger. He was wrong.

The Duke muttered words that Alex couldn't understand, and a bright blue funnel of fire burst up around Alex. Instictivly, he dropped to the ground and roled, roling out of the entire funnel.

As soon as he appeared out of the funnel, he roled again, knowing that Roger would be waiting for him outside of it. He roled to late.

Roger's sword swung down onto him, catching him in the chest, cutting into flesh. He'd barely scraped the muscles of Alex's chest, but the pain was intense. Alex dropped to his knees, his sword falling from his grasp, both of his hands on his chest, trying to tame the wild blood flow.

The last thing that Alex saw before his world went red, was Roger standing over him, raising his sword above his head to deliver the finishing blow.

It found its mark.

(A/N:) Oh my freaking God! That was so awesome!

Wasn't it? I think it was. How about you? You'll have to tell me about it in a review. And don't forget the reviewing. That's like the most important part.