A/N: Warning - this chapter contains violence and sexual contents.

Proof read by Danaye

Chapter 39

"So, this is how the Black Robed Mage has his fun?"

Numair froze at the sound of another male voice coming from behind him. Pulling his magic back from where he had used it to form the unearthly face, he turned around slowly, coming face to face with a person he had overlooked as the assassin.

In front of him stood what he had thought to be a rough, brusque and overly large Scanran, but it was the exact opposite. Instead, there stood a tall, lean and slightly muscular man. He didn't even seem old enough to have reached his twentieth years.

Gliding his own hazel eyes up the assassin's body, Numair almost took a step back as his eyes reached the unconscious woman that lay within the man's arms. Her head dropped backwards, exposing her delicate neck.

Lifting his eyes further, Numair focused on the face of the man, where short brown stubble covered his almost sunburnt cheeks. Meeting the eyes he had only considered could be sitting in the face of his wife, Numair's heart froze instantly.

The assassin's eyes were only a shade darker than Daine's, but just as stormy. Flashing a cruel smile, the assassin continued his speech, undeterred by Numair's unusual silence. "Rumor has it that the Black Robed Mage is a clever man with a lot of words to be said. However, standing here in front of him, I can see now that the rumors were false — or has your wife deprived you of your ability to speak?"

The insult snapped Numair out of his silence. "My wife isn't the issue here," he hissed low, adding more power into the wall behind him. His actions didn't go unnoticed as the young man in front of him shifted the dead-weight hanging in his arms. Very carefully, the assassin lowered the body of the young woman down to the ground.

Numair followed every movement, ready to intervene if the man decided to do more damage to the woman. She was already bleeding heavily from a deep head wound.

"Your wife is the issue," the young man replied, slowly sliding a finger along the jaw of the woman's face, "why do you think that we went through all of this trouble to kill not only one man of royal blood, but three? Everything is linked to her and she can't escape."

"You will not touch her or get near her!" Numair paused then, his mind finally beginning to process the conversation. To his knowledge, only two kings were dead. They were slain by the hand of the man standing directly in front of him. He spoke his assumption with some uncertainty, for maybe news of other deceased kings had yet to reached Tortall. "As far as I know, only two kings are dead..."

"You are correct, but I clearly remember saying 'three of royal blood'. Do you think that King Jonathan will miss his eldest son?" Seeing the horrified expression on Numair's face, the assassin laughed darkly, his still young voice ribbing through the air along with his powers.

The flash of green hit Numair with a force he hadn't fully anticipated, but he blocked the attack easily nevertheless. Shaking off the effect of the attack, Numair smiled as the smirk on the young man's face turned into a grimace. For Numair, it wasn't the first time he had seen such an expression lingering on his opponent's face during a duel.

In his early years, before he had to flee from Carthak, he had stood face to face with another young man, slightly older than the assassin. Back then, it had been one of his friends from the Carthaki University who had turned on him, accusing him of stealing his woman.

Numair nearly laughed at this memory. He had repeatedly forced the woman out of his bedchamber, only to find her right back in his bed the night after rejecting her, completely naked. Not that he had anything against women who offered themselves to him, but he would rather bite his own tongue off than bed a woman who was promised to another man.

The duel back then had been one of the nastier and bloodier duels, not to mention that it had changed his life forever. He was never the same man again after realizing that his opponent had lost all control over his own powers, only to blow himself up along with the East wing of the university they had resided in. The flames that had been brought forth during the battle had consumed everything along with the shattered body parts of Tristan Staghorn, a promising mage.

Numair could still smell the scent of burnt flesh that floated through the air along with the dust of the fallen walls. After that, the emperor had demanded Numair's head on a silver platter. Well, that was maybe a bit cliché. However, being the Emperor Mage, the man had been greedy for a show of power.

And that was exactly what the general Sun Tzu was after — power.

"Tell me about your master," Numair said through gritted teeth. This man, this boyish man, had a strength that would be equal to his own powers. Yet, there was something that nagged at Numair's senses.

The man opposite him could have been a Black Robed Mage. He could have achieved the robe of the highest order at an even younger age than Numair. He, himself, had been twenty-one at the time he reached his current station. What had held the young man back?

Numair had never been near a person whose powers equaled his own, and as he looked closer he suddenly understood the answer to his earlier question. This man was no Black Robed Mage because his powers were raw and dangerous. They twisted uncontrollably just like...just like his wife's own wild magic.

"My master is of none of your concern and I work alone," a voice hissed quietly, startling Numair back to reality.

Numair laughed low, covering up his surprise, "My wife is none of your concern either, but you still insist on involving her with everything you're doing."

The young man's hands twisted unwillingly, as if he fought to control his inner anger, and it was exactly that anger that Numair saw flash briefly in those blue-grey eyes. He wanted to know what thoughts or feelings could cause such hate towards another person, so he pushed on.

"You don't need to tell me your master's name, son." As soon as the words left his lips, Numair found himself suddenly pushed back. Invisible hands encircled his neck, squeezing and trying to deprive him of air, but Numair pushed the man's magic away once more.

Hate flared into the stormy eyes as the assassin's magic was dissolved. "Wouldn't Sun Tzu be furious if you took the credit for killing the Black Robed Mage? Or are you merely a pawn in his game?"

"You know nothing of him or what he is capable of," the young man hissed, staggering backwards, still affected by the sleeping drugs. "And I'm not your son – I'm not anyone's son."

Numair paused as he heard the obvious bitterness in the man's voice. The deathly assassin in front of him was nothing but a hurt youngster, possibly raised without being loved.

He grasped for something that could keep the conversation going, "A man can't be nobody's son. Someone gave birth to you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be standing here in front of me." He smiled reassuringly, "Someone who would have also given you a name."

"My name is irrelevant here, and don't try to trick me, old man."

Numair laughed, lifting his hands in a form of surrender. He could feel the nearing presence of Alanna, along with the rest of the company from the King's Own.

"No tricks," Numair stated, though it wasn't exactly the truth. If he could keep the man's attention on him instead on the reinforcements coming down the alley, he had the opportunity to gain much more information. More information than George had gathered during the whole year they'd heard rumors about this 'General Sun Tzu'.

"Though, I am but a bit curious as to why a powerful man like Sun Tzu sends a wee lad to do his dirty work. Can't the man manage anything himself?"

A snort came from the assassin, "A man who has lived hundreds of years doesn't need to get his hands dirty..."

Numair's eyes widened as the young man's mouth suddenly snapped shut and he fell to his knees screaming the next second.

As Daine's numb fingers released the grip of the handle, the earth beneath her shook along with the sound of an explosion. She fought to keep her balance as her inner voice screamed for her husband, who had left her behind in this mess. She knew that he was involved in whatever was happening down in the city.

Turning slowly and glancing up at the man that stood behind her, Daine's heart froze as she found herself face to face with cold, angry eyes. She felt the blow to the side of her head before it actually hit her. The force of it made her stumble forward over the body of the crown prince. She braced herself for yet another blow — it came twice.

"You bitch!" the Scanran yelled in anger, "Ye told me that ye would kill him!"

A large hand yanked her head up, forcing her to expose her neck and she was roughly pulled away from Roald's body and into a standing position. As the horse beside them began to move, wanting to help her, she was pulled roughly out of the stall. She then heard the bars of the door slam shut, preventing the stallion from providing any aid.

Daine gasped loudly as she was forced to the side and backwards in one fluent movement, and the air was filled with low curses. She didn't realize, before it was too late, that the stall beside Roald's stallion was empty. She knew now.

Gritting her teeth and trying her best to grab a hold of the hand that were nearly pulling her hair from her scull, she was forcefully thrown down into the fresh straw.

Preparing herself for the hard landing, she tried to roll to the side, but large hands caught her and moved her back into position on her back. She screamed in anger and fury over the fact that she yet again had to find herself in this moment — the same moment she had relived over and over again during her years growing up.

She kicked out with her left foot, drawing a grunt from the Scanran's throat as her foot connected with the place just above his groin. The pause that followed allowed Daine to come to a stand yet again. As her attacker groaned over the pain, she made to escape. However, she felt a sharp pain as her foot got caught in a hole in the ground and she stumbled forth.

Daine expected to feel the impact with the bars on the door to the stall, but a hand grabbed a hold of her shirt and pulled her back, ripping apart the fabric.

"Get back here, ye wench!"

Her body landed hard on the straw, forcing the air from her lungs. Daine gasped for breath as hands brutally pulled her breeches down her hips. She clenched her own hands into fists and began beating down on the unprotected head that lingered just above her lower body. Once again, she managed to kick out, but the movement was halted midway as the legs of her breeches clung to her calves.

The man backhanded her across the face, splitting her lower lip in two. Daine tasted blood instantly. She screamed out once again in anger as the last thing that covered her was ripped away, exposing her.

Bile rose to her throat as warm hands touched the skin of the inside of her knees, forcing her legs apart. She tried to kick and use her hands against him, but the blow to her cheek had her head spinning dangerously. She was afraid that if she didn't halt her movements, she would lose consciousness.

Daine screamed her anger out as the horses inside the stable reared and scraped the floor, frustrated that they couldn't help her. Angry questions sprang up in her mind? Why didn't the beast inside her wake up, so she could be free from this man? He lingered above her, catching her hands above her head and trying the best to get her body still so he could force himself inside her. Why couldn't she transform? Where was her husband? Why would he leave her to this fate?

She screamed again, only to stop as a voice rang through the air and she felt the body above her halt. Suddenly, the weight on top of her disappeared as the man was yanked away from her in one rough motion.

"You beast! I told you not to defile her!"