Disclaimer: Hum to 'I've Been Workin' On the Railroad'
I've been writing a story,
All the live, long night,
I've been writing a story,
Just to pass the time away.
Can't you hear the mouse cl-ick,
As I write away,
But don't mistake my writ-ing,
Just to be my o-o-own
Most is Tamora Pierce's,
Except the stuff you don't rec-ognize,
Because that is ALL-MY-OWN!
A/N: Now to the story. Thank you everyone who R & R'd. Review!
THE ENEMY
Fief of Maren, Western Tortall
Inn of the Lion's Cry
A knock on the door sounded loudly, waking the person in the room from his light slumber. He said quietly, coldly, "Come in."
A maid stumbled in, carrying a tankard of ale. She was wearing a worn blue dress, revealing more than it was concealing. She peered around in the darkness, squinting so she could see well. Finally, after a few minutes she saw the shadow of a muscular man behind the desk. She cleared her throat.
"I was told by the innkeeper to bring your ale to you, and that he would follow your instructions about not paying attention to the noises that he would hear in here."
Eyes opened into slits, revealing dark brown eyes, so cold, so heartless, it gave the maid shiver. Suddenly, those cruel eyes dissolved into a kind, caring face. The maid relaxed. This was the kind of person she had always wished to serve, not that cruel eye she had seen moments ago.
Then he spoke. His voice was as kind as his face, but with a certain undertone that she couldn't place.
"Dear girl, thank you so much for bringing me my drink, if you would but follow me to get your tip, it would be much easier."
The maid was asked requests of this kind all the time, so she saw nothing suspicious. When she walked into his room, and stopped to admire some of the hangings on the wall. She turned around with a start when she felt a brush of air, stirring a lock of hair out of her neat bun. What she saw filled her with horror and fear.
He was leaning against the door, his body stiff, muscles straining from invisible pleasure. He looked like he wasn't breathing, and his clothes were all black, morbid, and unforgiving. His eyes were pools of coldness, no emotion slipped on his face.
He said in a voice full of pain, not of his own, but of the pain he had given others, "You will live this night, and from the moment you leave this room you will tell everyone that you have met Alexander of Tirragen."
Then, with the gracefulness of a cat and the emotion of the Black God, he swept her of to the bed.
If anyone had heard screams that night, no one mentioned anything to the innkeeper.
A/N:Sorry for not reviewing earlier, but report cards are coming out, so it was cramming the studying. I am still trying to think about what Neal's reaction is going to be…that's next chapter. I worked hard on this chapter, so be proud. Is the Enemy really easy to hate, cause I want people to hate him. By the way, does Roald have a son, or daughter? What is his/her name? Please R&R.