CHAPTER 20: A Turn of the Tide

Late one April afternoon, Timon, Duke Gareth's servant, found Alanna in her room and announced that His Grace wished to see her in his office immediately. To her surprise, she found the office crowded. Along with Duke Gareth, Jarinth, Maude, Coram, and King Roald awaited her arrival. She curtsied to the king and duke, hugged Coram and Maude, and then slipped over to stand by Jarinth. By everyone's grim faces, she guessed Duke Gareth's following words before they had left his mouth.

"I'm afraid, Alanna, that your father has passed away."

Alanna nodded. He had been so sick, she had almost expected this—not that she really cared, anyway, except for that now she had no home anymore. "Now what?" she whispered to Jarinth.

"That's what the audience is for," Duke Gareth said, handing her a piece of paper. "Read this. It arrived by magic on my desk this morning."

Alanna recognized the handwriting and almost dropped it. Frantic, she checked its date: two days earlier. Her face paled, and she glanced up at Jarinth, who nodded grimly. "Read it," she advised.

I, Lord Thom of Trebond, hereby accept full charge of the fief of Trebond, having inherited it from my father, the late Lord Alan of Trebond, read the first line. Alanna could have cried, but controlled herself. The letter continued on to say how Thom entrusted Coram Smythesson with the responsibility of caring for the fief with Maude's help under the supervision of Lady Alanna of Trebond. Alanna also received access to Trebond's treasury as she had had before. The rest of the letter served purely political purposes, signed by a Tortallan lawyer, Duke Nathaniel of Saragin, as a witness.

Alanna bit her lip, and then forced her pounding heart to calm. This could all easily turn out as a huge mistake. "This Duke Nathaniel of Saragin—"

"Nate is a fourth cousin of both Gareth's and mine," Roald told her, "a completely trusted and noteworthy lawyer. We've contacted him magically, and he's affirmed that he signed this paper after having a Sighted friend of his make sure Thom of Trebond, who had written it and asked him to sign it, wasn't lying."

"You mean, His Grace Duke Nathaniel saw Thom?" Alanna asked skeptically.

"That's what I mean, yes."

Coram shuddered. "That boy and his witchcraft!"

"But we all saw his body—only you didn't, Maude. The rest of us saw him, lying in the—" The image of Thom lying in his coffin, pale-faced and ignorant to her tears, loomed in her mind, and she froze and shuddered. Jarinth moved her arm to around her shoulders.

"Yes, well," Coram murmured, shifting uncomfortably. "Apparently, he was either—either raised from the dead or—or—"

"Or it was a simulacrum," Jarinth finished for him.

Alanna's eyebrows burrowed in confusion. "A magical, moving replica of someone?"

"Yes—er, that. We suspect that—I guess." Coram shuddered again. "I dug out his grave this morning, lass, and I swear to the gods, the body was not there. If he's not alive, I'm a mage."

---

News travelled as quickly in the palace as it had at the convent. Soon, everyone knew that, apparently, the Gift-boy Thom of Trebond had not died after all. Rumor had it that none of the mages could scry him either; they always found nothing, as if he had died. And only a powerful mage could make himself unscryable.

It took a day for Alanna to get over her original shock and realize that this news called for jollification. Her twin brother was alive! She felt almost light enough to fly.

But this feeling didn't last long. A week later, Jarinth was confined to bed with a high fever. The next day, when a terrified Alanna sat sipping cider with Myles, Stefan the hostler arrived with an urgent message from George. After a hurried explanation of her friendship with the Rogue, she and Myles both hurried down to the Dove to find George, grim-faced, at his desk.

"Rowanna just wrote," he told them instantly. "She had to send this message out her window in a hurry as soldiers pounded on her door. She's being held hostage."

"What?" Alanna yelped. Her insides—which had disappeared when Jarinth fell—now reappeared and dropped like lead to the cellars.

Myles strode over to George's desk. "Are you sure you read the message right?"

"Read it yourself," George offered, handing him a slip of paper. "Don't miss the part about the armies being prepared to set out for River Drell Valley in two days' time, which was four days ago. She also sent this, the positions of the men. I've just received the same information from Tusaine's Rogue and the castles where soldiers are camping right now. They'll probably be in place in three weeks, give or take a few days. The mountain passes are clear, so they won't have any trouble getting to the valley."

"What's to gain by getting Drell Valley?" asked Alanna, peering at the paper Myles glowered at. "And what do the arrows mean?"

"The red ones are legions—there are a hundred men per legion." There were twenty red arrows. "The blue ones are units of ten knights." There were fifteen blue arrows.

Alanna swore.

"That's putting it lightly." Myles remarked, smiling slightly at her. "If Tusaine gains the valley, they'll have control of one of the main defenses of the eastern border. They'll also control a good chunk of Drell River, plus four main passes through the mountains."

"But they have to get the valley first," Alanna pointed out. "And this valley is a crappy place to fight. The mountains make it hard for reinforcements and supplies to arrive, and a lot of the fighting will be done in water."

"But Tusaine has a headstart," George pointed out. "They'll beat us there, set themselves up, maybe even attack before we arrive. I'm sure they didn't mean for us to learn of their plans so soon."

Alanna smiled at that. "But thanks to you, George, we have found out."

He hugged her around the shoulders. "I'm happy to be of service, lass."

"Alanna," Myles spoke up gently. "I have to go alert their Majesties. Are you coming?"

"I don't think I should be with you when you give them the information," Alanna told him frankly. "But I'll come back up to the palace with you."

"Before she leaves, though, Myles, would you mind if I had a private word with Alanna for a moment?" George asked politely.

Myles nodded and stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

George cupped her face in a callused, gentle hand. "Are you alright? First Jon and the boys, then Alex, then your da, then Thom, then Jarinth, now Rowanna. Your life is falling down around your ears."

Alanna looked down silently, and George pulled her close in a tight embrace. She didn't cry, but, by the time she left, she felt lighter, like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

---

King Roald sent out the Call to Muster, which summoned Tortall's troops the next day. The initial force—which included Jon, Gary, Raoul, Alex, Francis, Duke Gareth, Duke Roger, and, Alanna was upset to learn, Myles—would leave in five days with Duke Gareth as their commander.

A true shock only arrived when, two days later, Duke Baird quietly stepped into Alanna's room from Jarinth's, shutting the door behind him. He looked grim and stood there, fumbling with his healer's bag, before saying slowly, "Jarinth's old, Alanna."

She frowned. Those didn't sound like good words.

"She's done a lot so far in life, and she's worked herself hard. Alanna, this is never easy, but Jarinth is tired. I'm relatively sure the fever will kill her."

Alanna stared at him. He couldn't be serious. "But it's been four days," she whispered, then squeaked again, "Four days!"

"Yes," Duke Baird agreed, much more firmly than before. "Four days. And she's going to die."

"No!" Alanna shrieked at him, horrified. "No, she's not going to die! It's a fever—she'll get better! What in Chaos' name do you mean, 'she's going to die'? She's not going to die! She's fine! It's a fever—a stupid fever! I'll prove it to you! Watch!" Alanna stormed past a helpless Duke Baird and slammed open Jarinth's door. Jarinth lay limp and sweating in bed, her eyes closed. Her face was pale; she looked older than she ever had before. The gray woman didn't stir. "Jarinth!" Alanna screamed. "Jarinth! Wake up, Jarinth!"

Jarinth's eyes, bloodshot and confused, opened a centimeter. Her lips trembled as she moved them, but no sound emerged.

"Jarinth!" Alanna bellowed. "Jarinth, look at me!" She grabbed the woman's face and jerked it towards her. Jarinth screamed. Alanna didn't loosen her grip. "Jarinth, you're not going to die. You're not going to die. You'll get better. It's just a fever. Damn it, Jarinth, tell me you're going to get better!" Tears streamed down her face, but she swiped them away.

Jarinth continued to scream.

"Stop it, Jarinth," Alanna roared. "Stop doing this. You're not going to die. You're not going to die! You're not going to die!"

Even as she said this, though, it dawned on Alanna that, yes, Jarinth was going to die. This woman—this sickly woman, lying in this pathetic bed—couldn't live. It wasn't physically possible.

"Stupid Jarinth," Alanna sobbed, pounding furiously on Jarinth's chest with a white-knuckled fist. "Why do you have to be so weak? Just wake up. Wake up, Jarinth. Get up, Jarinth!"

Strong hands grabbed her wild fists and pulled her away from Jarinth. She screamed furiously. "No, stop it! Stop it! I want to stay. No, stop it. Jarinth, stop it! Wake up, get up, Jarinth!"

She was dragged away from the bed, still shrieking, and she reached for Jarinth, trying to grab onto her, or to anything, so she could stay. She had to stay. She couldn't leave Jarinth yet. But then, suddenly, there was a bang, and Alanna found herself staring at something big and brown. Jarinth was gone. "Jarinth!" she bellowed, launching herself at the obstacle; it refused to budge.

Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. She realized she was in her room, banging on the door. Someone had pulled her in there, away from Jarinth, who she had been beating mercilessly. Alanna wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed.

She heard voices. They were quiet, careful.

"Is she going to be alright?" one murmured.

"She'll be fine," another, dangerously close to her, replied softly.

"Raoul, Duke Baird, come on, let's go. Leave them. It's better if just one person is here with her."

"Duke Baird, this is crazy. There has to be something you can do about this…."

The voices drifted away; a door shut. Alanna sat silently, but tears continued to pour down her face.

"Alanna?" a man asked from just beside her.

A hand touched her shoulder; she flinched and it jumped, but then it settled down again.

Alanna looked up. With eyes blurred from tears, she made out black hair and prominent sapphire eyes. It was Jon, kneeling next to her. Trembling, she wiped away her tears, though others just replaced them. "She's going to die, Jon," she whispered.

"Yeah" was his hesitant reply. "Yeah, I know."

A fresh onslaught of tears overcame her, and Jon pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and rocking back and forth. "Hey, there; it's alright. Alanna, it's her time. You can't keep her here. She'll be happy, moving on. You haven't the right to hold her back. And what more has she left to do here? She's travelled all over; she's taught you. Right now, all she's doing is being cooped up in the palace, working herself sick. Everyone knows how much she hates working here. If you let her go, Alanna, she won't have to work ever again. Can you deny her that? The chance to never work again?"

Alanna's throat tightened, and she didn't answer, so Jon just held her and rocked.