Forgotten Dream
by Senbazuru
«
Tirragen. Alexander of Tirragen. So he was the one holding me captive. He was the one responsible for all this. He, a Tortallan knight, former squire to Duke Roger of Conté.
I remembered hearing of him before, getting random bits of gossip from the merchants who passed through Trebond. "A wizard with swords," they had all said. Some went on to describe a few mock duels Tirragen had fought against visiting Tusaine noblemen. Apparently, he defeated every last one of the knights – effortlessly.
He was my captor.
A damned traitor was my captor.
I had all the luck.
«
They were now traveling alongside the river Drell. Alanna succeeded in getting her bearings once they had arrived at the banks of the river, two days ago. It was slow moving, but they had managed quite well despite the rain that was pounding down. Actually, Alanna had noticed that their traveling technique was superior in some way, for they had managed to cover over one hundred miles in the space of three days. Not bad work, considering the number of soldiers. And the mud.
It was raining. No, not just raining…pouring. Water fell in sheets upon the already saturated earth and churned it into a sloppy mud that clung to everything it touched. Which made it especially difficult for a fast traveling speed.
They managed, though. Somehow, the mixed band of murdering marauders managed.
Alanna lay on her side, silently contemplating the heavy clouds. It was a rather cold day – freezing, by Alanna's standards. Gods, she hated being cold. Granted, the men's clothing probably was keeping her warmer than her tattered dress…
Still. He had forced her to wear them. The filthy traitor had one so far as to draw his sword on her. Alexander of Tirragen… Tirragen the Traitor.
Her nose twitched. She fought the urge to sneeze, and settled instead for a rather unsatisfactory grunt of pain. The wrist Maurel had stepped on earlier was swelling up horribly. It wasn't broken, surprisingly. Just a serious sprain. It hadn't hurt at first…but now seemed to be growing much worse through all the stress she had put on it. Wrapping her bound hands around the tree earlier probably had not helped much.
A fat drop of rain splashed into one of her eyes. Alanna blinked furiously.
"No need t'cry, witch. We're not gonna burn you…yet."
Alanna glared at the cart driver. Formerly, she might have spat out a challenge or a curse…but the gag in her mouth kind of ruined that for her. Instead she had to be satisfied with just glaring, fervently wishing that the cart driver himself would catch fire.
There was a sudden whump and the entire cart erupted in flames.
Everything happened very quickly after that. Alanna suddenly stopped feeling cold. A pleasant tingle of warmth was thrumming through her veins. Then she found that somehow, the rope that had bound her hands and feet together was gone…and so was the gag.
And she was completely engulfed by lavender fire. A fire that didn't burn.
"OH GODS!"
Her, at least. A fire that didn't burn her.
Feeling very detached, Alanna watched as the cart driver flung himself from the wreckage. Frantically, he screamed curses and tried to beat off the fire that burned away at his clothes and flesh. Through the haze of the flames, Alanna could make out the indistinct forms of other men running towards her. Some of them were shouting for backup.
Why did they bother? Alanna wondered comfortably. They shouldn't care if she burned. According to Maurel, she was supposed to be dead anyway. Good riddance, they'd say. We finally got rid of the troublesome witch.
Witch.
She stared at her hands, then her arms…then her entire body. The fire had eaten away at her bonds…but everything else was completely fine. She felt no pain. If anything, the sensation of the purple fire gently stroking her skin was soothing. Alanna swayed for a moment – and sank to the ground. A strange feeling of exhaustion seemed to be sinking into her mind. She felt folds of soft black velvet enclose her thoughts, wrapping around her body like a cocoon, gentle and warm…
She closed her eyes.
"Douse the fire!"
The curt command sliced through her muddled thoughts – quickly followed by an uncomfortable stinging sensation. Cold seeped into her skin. Alanna began to shiver uncontrollably.
"She burned me," the stunned voice of the cart driver could be heard above the sound of hissing embers. "She burned me. The stupid witch. She burned me."
"Shut up!" someone snarled.
Someone jerked her to her feet, their fingers hard and unyielding. Her knees gave way as the voices faded and blackness claimed her mind at last.
«
Alexander of Tirragen was angry. Very angry – though one would never know to look at him. He wore the usual expression of calm as he swept aside the flap of his tent and ducked inside.
Even in the shadows of his private sleeping quarters, the knight remained perfectly composed. Shuffling through papers that covered the surface of an oaken chest, he soon uncovered a small crystal globe. He flopped down on his sleeping mat, globe in hand, and gazed at it.
"Olau," he murmured.
The globe flared with an intense wide light that soon faded to a soft glow, revealing in the depths of the crystal an aged face featuring red-rimmed eyes and thinning grey hair.
"Drunk again, I see."
The owner of the face shook his head. "Not drunk," he said thickly. "A hangover. There's a big difference, lad."
"With all due respect, my lord, I don't really give a damn."
The older man raised his eyebrows. "You're early. Why?"
"Complications."
The one word was said lightly, but carried world of meaning. The knight frowned at the slender noble. "Complications? What?"
Alexander of Tirragen sent the older man a look loaded with freezing scorn. "The girl, Myles. It would have been better if she had died in the initial attack."
"That's a completely different matter altogether, Alex. Why did you attack her coach in the first place?"
Alex brushed a hand across weary eyes. "I? You will kindly note that I was not present that moment." He gently set the crystal globe down and reached for a soft oiled cloth. "All the same, it made an awkward situation when I prevented them from further harming her. My position," Alex glanced up, "has been questioned."
"Well, you can't kill her," Sir Myles said flatly. "It would be a terrible murder on our hands."
He inwardly shivered at the expression in the young noble's dark eyes. "I'm a spy and an assassin. I do what I must. Taking one more life to accomplish my mission would make no difference."
"An injustice, then."
A note of danger entered Alex's voice, as sharp as the blade he held. "You can't speak to me of injustice."
Myles decided to try a different approach. "She has displayed valuable power. Her reported death has made her only more potentially useful to the Crown. Unstoppable, untraceable…the perfect surprise to have on our side. The fact that she's a woman makes it all the more intriguing."
"Her power is newly discovered. She has no restraint. She almost killed herself today, in fact."
"She can be trained."
"In time, yes. But there is no time, Myles."
"There's time. A very limited amount, but I believe it's enough. This girl, Alex, could tip the balance in our favour. I need her. Alive."
Alexander of Tirragen closed his eyes – and with a perfectly controlled twist of his wrist sent the sword slamming half its length into the earth, a hair's breadth from the crystal. The oiled cloth drifted to rest over the globe, extinguishing the light.
For a moment, he remained still; listening to the wind stirring the crisp, dead leaves outside the tent. The murmur of the mercenaries' voices rose and fell as they grew merry over their ale. Somewhere in the deeper recesses of the night, the questioning hoot of an owl was answered by a deeper, throaty croak of a bullfrog.
He jerked the sword from the ground and wiped it clean on his bedding before sheathing it. Stretching slowly, he kicked the crystal globe and oiled cloth to clack against the base of the chest.
"Lord?"
Gods, he hated that title. Alex closed his eyes. "What?" he snapped curtly.
The voice, muffled by the tent's thick fabric, sounded tentative. "You mentioned that you wanted us to tell you when the girl wakes up and…"
"She's awake?"
"Well, no, but –"
"Then why the hell are you here?"
"Well, Kimble was going to secure the ford tonight, but, er…he…he's dead now and er…"
Alex grabbed his cloak and flung open the tent flap. The heavy, wet evening air swirled thickly around him; slowly soaking through his woolen tunic as he fastened the cloak around his shoulders. "I will do it."
"But lord –"
"By the Dark God!" Alex snapped suddenly. "Why is it I am constantly questioned by goddamned morons? Why?"
The soldier fell back, stunned by the sudden anger of the normally stoic noble. "Er…"
Alex stopped in mid-stride and turned to give the wizened soldier a cool once over. "What a good point. Er. Yes. I'll remember that." And then, with a barely muffled curse on his breath, the lord of Tirragen was gone.
The wizened mercenary stared blankly at the forest around him. He started as a voice addressed him from the trees.
"Didn't take him long to get riled, did it?" Jem swaggered up to his fellow soldier and flung an arm around the thin shoulders of the other man.
The mercenary coughed and shrugged nervously, sweat prickling under his collar. He was unused to the companionable treatment he was receiving, and didn't like it. Trouble always followed friendliness. Didn't every good mercenary learn that early in life? "No. Er, he was, er, talking to himself again. In the tent. I heard him. Couldn't tell what he was saying, but I heard him."
"Really?" Jem looked gleefully speculative. He removed his arm from the soldier's shoulders. "Think he's conspiring against us?"
Another thing mercenaries had to learn early in life: speak less, live longer. He gave another wordless shrug, only glad to have Jem's arm gone.
An hour or so later, he watched from the comfort of the bonfire as Jem and two other Tusaine officers entered the commanding noble's tent. They soon emerged, the triumphant glint in their eyes telling all. "Get everything packed. We're gonna move to a better clearing two miles north of here."
The old mercenary shrank into the shadows. No one but he heard the murmured afterthought –
"Let's see how the traitor reacts to this…"
The mercenary tugged his threadbare cloak closer around himself, all thoughts of enjoying a comforting mug of hot mead forgotten. He melted into the forest, heading south as swiftly as he could hobble.
By noon tomorrow, the entire troop would be dead.
«
The harsh jangle of screaming bells roared in Alanna's ears.
You stupid pig-headed little brat! I knew you were strong willed, but stupid? Foolish, yes, but moronic? Are you so cowardly as to choose suicide over a fight? To throw away the gift I gave? That gift was meant to be kept!
Alanna's eyes flickered open…and she immediately longed to close them. The blinding whiteness of the air around her filled her eyes and pressed around her body. It was suffocating, yet infinitely spacious. Raw power. The type of power that Alanna had felt leaking from her spirit when the fire had erupted from her fingertips.
Stand, mortal!
Alanna arched her back painfully. She struggled to sit up – then faltered, her breathing hoarse and thick. A rattling cough clutched at her throat. She found herself on her back again, cold sweat trickling down her spine at the small effort she had made.
Stand!
A half formed whisper escaped her mouth, followed by a fit of coughing. "Can't."
Oh, yes you can.
The coldness of ice shivered over her body, overlapping fierce crackling heat. Alanna's head finally fell back and cracked against the surface she rested upon. Through the haze of fever and pain, Alanna felt something cool softly drift against her cheek. She lifted one finger to touch the foreign thread, recognizing it briefly for what it was. It reared back at her touch and whipped around to slap her hard.
The world of dizzyingly white dissolved in a swirl of echoing, clamoring bells and one long scream.
"Trebond!"
Alanna lay there, stunned, as rainwater dripped from the trees overhead and splashed on her upturned face.
"By the gods…"
Alanna blinked hazily up at the face that hovered a few inches from her own. Someone's arm encircled her waist, cradling her against a warm, scratchily wooly chest. Her breathing sounded loud in her head. Other sounds reached her ears – the clang of swords, shields, the whinny of a frightened horse, the scream of a doomed man…
"Battle?" she croaked weakly, then another spasm of coughing wracked her body. The tangy taste of blood entered her mouth. She leaned to the side, spitting into the dirt.
The man ignored her question. "Can you stand?"
She shivered. "Yes." Pushing the helping arm away, she clutched at the tree closest to her and used it to –
Well, it was a valiant effort, at least. Alanna found herself back on the ground, leaning her forehead against the tree. The man had his back to her, talking to someone else.
The ring of steel upon steel lanced painfully through Alanna's mind. There was a brief scuffle, and grunt of pain. Then, silence.
Alanna felt more than saw the hands that raised her from the ground. She licked cracked lips and whispered, "Who are you?"
He paused. "For now…a friend."
Well. Finally. I think it's a little better than what it was before. Took me long enough, didn't it? Well, let me know your thoughts, if you have any. I'm going to start up the next chapter (Whee! A brand new never scripted before chapter! I'm sooo excited! Aren't you?).
God bless us, every one!
Soundtrack
· All Alone – Kutless
· Blurry – Puddle of Mudd
· Behind Blue Eyes – Limp Bizkit
· The Calling – The Benjamin Gate
· Troubled Heart – Kutless
«Senbazuru«