CHAPTER 22: The Warriors' Return

Alanna awoke in the healers' wing with a start. She glanced around, and sat up straight when she found Jarinth staring at her from the bed to her right.

"Hello, sleepy-head," Jarinth joked, stretching. "The healers check on us every hour. I've been awake since this morning, faking sleep. It's so peaceful, not being called on to do something. But what's going on? I've heard some pretty awful things. All I remember is shaking hands with Roger and then, bam, I'm here. I suppose I fainted, but that doesn't account for your presence."

Alanna could only stare. "You're alive."

Jarinth stared back. "You're quick."

"You—you were as good as dead, lying in your bed for a good two weeks—"

"Two weeks? What are you talking about?"

"You—you—" Alanna stopped for lack of words, and then collapsed against her pillows. "You don't remember anything?"

"Any of what?" Jarinth demanded. "Alanna, stop it; this is creepy."

"No shit," she agreed with a moan, and then launched into the story about the illness, and the troops in River Drell Valley, and the healing.

Jarinth just gaped at her until the end when she whistled appreciatively. "Well, I'm alive now—thanks to you, I guess. And I'm well-rested, though dead hungry. I suppose I can't exactly yell at you for calling on the Greater Powers. You saved my life, apparently. What I can yell at you about is that ember-stone thingy. Where did you get it?"

"The Goddess visited me. She gave it to me as a gift. She says I'm a Chosen One of hers."

"Oh—oh, of course. Yes, she's why I was at the convent, did she tell you? She told me to go wait for you there, and so I did—though not without a fight, of course—and then I got closer to you by inviting you to invite papers. That was really, really awkard."

"So that's why you did that! I've always wondered. It was really awkward. But I'm glad you did."

"Yeah, me too. But orange magic, you say? I've only seen that once. Roger's magic is orange, but he couldn't have—" She stopped dead, staring at the ceiling in horror. "But he wouldn't. We're friends, Roger and I—"

Alanna groaned. Apparently it was time to explain her suspicions. But there was no way she was doing it here, alone. "Get up," Alanna ordered, swinging her legs out of bed. "Let's go bathe and change clothes. We're headed for town. I want George present to help me explain."

Ah, you're awake, Faithful greeted, trotting into the dormitory. About time. You've been asleep for three days.

"Ah! You're awake," a healer echoed, striding just behind Faithful. "You've been asleep for three days. You're leaving?"

---

Jarinth did not take the news about Roger well. She spent a half an hour denying it, so they had to prove with their insubstantial evidence over and over again that he was indeed no friend of hers. Then, she stood abruptly and announced that if Roger thought her deathly ill, and the palace's magic-shields were in the condition they were, Corus should be expecting a magical attack any day now. So, she had to go fix up the shields immediately. With that, she stormed from the room.

"She'll be dead again by tonight," Eleni pointed out helplessly.

But Jarinth wasn't. She even joined Alanna for dinner, sitting down with a grim smile.

"You're right," she murmured. "Work is easier, now, with him gone. He must have had all sorts of spells up to hinder me that are all gone now because I'm supposed to be dead. You know the doll? It's not there anymore."

"Oh, thank the gods!" Alanna cried, relieved.

Jarinth did look much healthier—pink colored her cheeks, at least—and she managed to stomach all of her dinner, an unusual success.

A month later, little had changed. Jarinth was tired, but in the morning, after a half-hour of horseback riding and good breakfast, she felt refreshed and ready to continue her work.

July came and went, and then one August evening was greeted with a tearful shriek from Jarinth. Alanna, who had never heard Jarinth's voice rise in excitement, glanced up in horror from the book she was reading.

"One more spell!" she cried. "One more gods-cursed spell and we're done! DONE!"

Alanna could hardly believe her ears. "You're joking."

"No joke. It's the hardest and most tedious spell—the strengthening spell that was first ruined—and it has to stretch over all of Corus, so I'll be as good as dead when I'm done, but, Alanna, give me one more month and we're done! DONE!"

---

A week later, Alanna's spirits still soared, and she and Jarinth were taking their traditional dawn ride. They had stopped on an abnormally large hill to stare eastward.

"Wow, that sunrise is beautiful," Jarinth breathed dreamily.

Alanna toyed with her ember-stone and grinned at Jarinth. "These spells are getting to your head. You're so romantic, now."

Jarinth sniffed. "I could be terribly crabby, if you wanted."

Alanna shuddered. "I'll pass, thanks." She nodded at the sunrise. "You're right. It is love—" She stopped suddenly, staring at the horizon in horror. It was undeniably gorgeous, but something obscured its beauty. A red haze swirled lazily like smoke in the air, unable to blend in with its surroundings, as it bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain mist Alanna knew all too well. Sure enough, when she released her ember-stone, the haze vanished. When she grabbed it again, the haze had already grown, as if advancing in the sky towards Corus.

"Jarinth," Alanna gasped, "I think someone thinks you're dead."

Jarinth stared at her, startled, and then jerked her gaze back to the sunrise. To Alanna's surprise, she smiled. "They're too late. Roger probably thinks I'm dead, because his spell over me is gone. He had someone send that spell—I don't know who has a red Gift, but he certainly doesn't. But they won't be able to get in; I've made too much progress already that they won't be expecting. Let's head back to the stables. I should go get to work. Don't worry about this—it'll pass."

Sleep did not want to come that night. The next morning, Alanna woke from a small, uneasy doze with her white-knuckled fist squeezing the ember-stone. Outside her window, everything was painted red.

"Don't worry," Jarinth said airily when Alanna pointed this out with a shriek. "It can't hurt us. I wonder how long it will stay before the mage gives up. I'll bet you ten gold nobles he's gone the day after next."

But the red wasn't gone in two days—nor in three, nor in four. In fact, an entire week passed before the mist finally retreated, leaving Alanna shaken but alive. No one else but a few palace mages had noticed anything amiss at all. But the magic's departure didn't result in joyous celebrations—not yet, anyway.

"He might be back," Jarinth said matter-of-factly. "And then, he'll be stronger, more prepared. We can only pray we'll be done with the strengthening spell before he decides to try again."

The mage didn't have the chance to attack again. A week later, the troops returned from Drell River Valley after a true surrender from Tusaine.

---

Tears were streaming down Alanna's cheeks as she met her friends in the courtyard. Myles, sobbing openly, grabbed hold of her and then refused to let go for the longest time. Finally, Jonathan pried her away and enveloped her in an iron hug that Raoul, Gary, Alex, Geoffrey, Douglass, and Sacherell quickly joined.

It wasn't until later, when they were all settled in Myles' room, that Alanna truly took hold of their casualties. Geoffrey's head was heavily bandaged, Raoul's arm rested in a sling, and Gary had twisted his ankle while fighting in the river. Duke Gareth had suffered a messy break of his leg in early July and turned commandership over to Roger after Geoffrey was kidnapped—

"What?" Alanna cried.

Geoffrey grinned crookedly. "Apparently, because I'm the Prince's squire, he divulges his heart's most secret desires to me. They wanted information. Thank the gods I didn't have it." He touched his bandages and shuddered.

Alanna stared at him. He was no older than she, age-wise, but, still, he had grown up during this war. He had probably suffered terrible torture of which a healing could ease only the physical pain, but the memories—the memories would stay forever.

"Are you alright?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. I'm alive. That's more than can be said of—" Suddenly, he stopped, staring straight ahead, unmoving, his face pained.

Myles lay a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Geoffrey. He died a hero."

Alanna knew what had happened before another word was spoken. She had noticed Francis's unusual absence but figured he was simply in the healers' wing with so many other soldiers. Now she realized that he was past the healers' wing. He would never have the chance to visit the healers' wing again.

Alanna stood up. She couldn't sit still and accept all of this at the same time. Automatically, her hands jumped to the cider pitcher on the table before them and started pouring.

Jon murmured, "He took an arrow for me. We were in the middle of a battle; it was so chaotic. An archer from behind a tree shot, and Francis threw himself in front of me—"

Alanna's hand trembled violently, and she replaced the pitcher on the table before it spilled all over. Her throat tightened, and she put a hand over her mouth. She wouldn't cry. She couldn't. It was cruel to shed tears over an honorable death. Jon had her in his arms in seconds, rocking gently back and forth. She held him tightly as tears streamed silently down her cheeks.