Proof read by Danaye

Chapter 42

The massive substance she stepped into was something she never, in her life, would have thought could exist. It was like long black fingers were trying their hardest to reach her, grab every cell in her body and take her away to a place that was nonexistence. However, she knew that it was just her imagination running rampant.

In here — in the blackness, there was no trace of evil. There was nothing to suggest that Numair's magic would hurt her, but still the small token from the Goddess shone brightly underneath her chin and guided her forth.

Alanna wasn't afraid, and had never been so when in close proximity to Tortall's mightiest mage, but she couldn't shake the feeling of an impending disaster. Whatever magic Numair had wielded, she knew it had been necessary, but Alanna hoped she'd soon gain some explanations as to what she had been feeling on the other side of the ward.

She took small and cautious steps forward, the magic in the air clinging to her body like a light rain, making her clothing feel soaked.

It had felt like an eternity, but Alanna knew that her walk had only lasted seconds. As her feet moved forward, the blackness slowly evaporated. As she left the darkness behind her, her heart nearly stopped beating as she took in the scene in front of her. She looked from her long-time friend and confidant kneeling beside a young woman on the ground to an equally young man lying not inches from Numair.

"Goddess..." The words escaped Alanna's lips barely as a whisper.

She watched as Numair detected her presence and turned his muscular body slightly towards her, before his dark eyes landed on her, concern shining from them. "Hello Alanna," Numair greeted, his voice slightly hollow and filled with fatigue.

Alanna's violet eyes settled on Numair and before she knew it, she found herself walking forward with a fierce stride. "What did you do?!" she demanded.

Even though the words came out sharply, she felt strangely calm. It wasn't the first time she had felt this way. Normally, adrenalin would be coursing through her body. However, as had happened many times before, the calmness from her longtime friend forced her to act composed.

Numair shrugged, a habit Alanna knew he had picked up from one of his former teachers — at least that was what he had told her when she had commented on it years prior. "A lot of things," he replied calmly, "though I'm not sure that everything you see here is my doing. One thing is for certain though. I'm not responsible for her not waking up." Numair gestured to the young woman.

"Not waking up?" Alanna questioned, squatting down beside her friend. She reached her hand forth, its skin lit by a steady purple glow. After all her years as a knight and healer, it was an automatic reaction to try and heal someone.

"No!" Numair's voice was strained as he suddenly pushed her hand away. "You cannot touch her!" he continued, looking directly into violet eyes that rapidly filled with puzzlement and anger.

"Why?" Alanna snapped, irritated over the fact that Numair was preventing her from helping. She looked down at his large tanned hand, still in control over hers. When he didn't answer, she snapped again, her patience clearly used up, "Numair, give me one good reason as to why I can't heal my nephew's wife?"

"To be honest, Alanna, I'm not particularly sure." Numair sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. It was clear that there were multiple possibilities running through his mind, as if he was listing them verbally, but when Alanna looked at him, no words escaped his lips. She was about to open her mouth, to demand that he explain himself when he spoke. "You cannot touch her, unless you want to sleep forever."

Alanna stared, her mouth slightly agape, not sure if she could believe him. It simply wasn't logical, but since when had Numair always been a logical man? He was the only man, besides her husband, who could see things from another point of view. She, herself, had always been the type of person to scrutinize things before taking action, but her husband and Numair always took it further. They were always five steps ahead. Both of them had minds that worked like a chess game — a game that she both hated and didn't have the patience for.

Alanna grimaced before she could stop herself and sighed resignedly, turning her gaze away from Numair to look at the woman with a critical eye, "I take it then, that you have tried to wake her?"

"Wake-flower," said Numair, as an answer to her question.

"Wake-flower?" Alanna repeated the word, pinching her nose closed unconsciously. She hated that flower. Whoever had had the nerve to create such a vile smelling botanical creation should be ashamed. Yes, the flower was unique, with dusty rosy petals surrounding deadly red carpels, but that was where the beauty ended. She recalled an old memory, from the time when her lanky friend had finally settled down in the palace after his first year at court. She had accidentally walked into one of the newly built greenhouses, only to run out of it gasping for air. She had then promptly thrown up in one of the nearby bushes.

She could distinctly remember that a tanned hand had offered her a handkerchief. Numair had been standing beside her, wearing a cloth over his mouth and nose, and his dark brown eyes twinkling in an apology. Up until his arrival at the Tortallan court, the palace greenhouses hadn't grown that particular flower, but that had since changed.

Alanna paused, unsure of what to make of this information. The flower, as vile as it was, would have woken Liam's wife. It could bring most people out of comatose states, as it also contained a magical substance. It was something that had surprised her when Numair had walked her through the awful smelling greenhouse, this time with a cloth soaked with something that neutralized the smell. Back then, she had speculated as to who was the creator of that flower. She had come to the conclusion that only one god would be mischievous enough to create it — a certain patron to Carthak, Numair's former home. No wonder he was fond of using it.

She toyed absently with the cold stone hanging on its equally cold chain. "So, not natural sleep?" Alanna finally said.

Numair shook his head, "Not in the least, though I don't think that neither the assassin nor whoever tried to hurt him is behind her being unable to wake."

"What you are implying then?" Alanna leaned forth, looking closer at the woman she had known for years. She had watched as the girl grew into a fine woman, was trained by her husband and then married her nephew. Alanna shook her head slowly. "Liam is going to kill me," she whispered, more to herself than to the man beside her.

Numair patted her shoulder. "He will understand," he said, pinching his nose he continued, "as for your other question, I'm not implying anything without any proof, Alanna, but something tells me that there are things going on right in front of our noses and we are just beginning to notice the magnitude of it."

Alanna snorted out loud, obviously a tad frustrated. She turned her attention away from Liam's wife to the young man on the ground, whom she could only assume was the assassin. Behind her, the massive ward still stood and she could sense more than see how much power it took Numair to uphold the ward. Whatever magic he had performed, he was slowly being drained because of it.

Throughout the years that Alanna had been friends with Numair, she knew from experience that he didn't receive any form of healing well. He especially didn't respond well to her healing, since she was the one who had healed him more than anyone else. Slowly, she extended a hand over to where Numair's skin was visible through a torn hole in his shirt, hoping that she would distract him long enough to heal him without his notice. "'Magnitude', You say?" Alanna said, pretending to glance at the young assassin. His face was pale and drops of blood lingered underneath his nose, but she wasn't going to do anything about that yet — not while she was unsure if the person on the other side of the ward would try to meddle once again. Numair needed her healing more than the young assassin did. Pushing her gift forth, she managed to push enough healing inside him where it was needed.

Numair nodded, following her gaze, "Yes, and by that I mean —" He stopped suddenly as the ward behind him became darker in color. "Enough, Alanna," Numair told her, a clear warning in his voice, "you know very well that if you continue you are going to drain yourself." Gently he removed her fingers from his arm, "You shouldn't waste your gift on me."

Alanna snorted again, but accepted his rejection of further healing. She was about to interject, but thought better of it when she saw a clear warning in Numair's dark eyes. "Fine," she growled low, knowing a lost cause when she saw one. "You were saying something about magnitude?"

The seriousness faded slightly from Numair's eyes, "Yes, magnitude — I have a strange feeling that it isn't only an unknown general we are going to have..."

The Lioness held up her hand to stop him, "Please, do not say it out loud. I know what you are thinking and I can only agree with you." She knew about the gods' interference, or at least the interference of one particular god, and she didn't like it one bit.

Alanna looked over once more at the young man who could only be the reason for all the mess. Without his interference, she would have been well on her way home by now — back to her children and her beloved husband. Instead, she had to remain here, lying for her king and sneaking away in the middle of the morning with a Black Robed Mage and the Third Company of the King's Own.

Coming to a stand, she stretched her legs before squatting once again. She allowed herself to linger quietly over the young man, making sure that she didn't touch him. "Was he the one that radiated pain through the ward?" she asked.

"You felt that?" Numair said, shock clear in his voice. He had followed her, and stood like a high mountain beside her, looking down at the young man.

"As clear as if I was the recipient," Alanna replied, sending him a curious glance. She had to crane her neck so she could see him clearly. "Can't you come down here?" she asked tartly as her neck cramped up.

The Black Robed Mage obeyed.

Alanna leaned closer. She was curious to see if the assassin had any other visible injuries besides the blood underneath his nose. She was about to reach for him, but seemed to hesitate, "Can I touch him?"

"Of course, it's not as if he's the one infected with something we can't heal."

Seemingly satisfied, Alanna extended a hand glowing with violet fire. Slowly, she began the examination of the assassin's body. Whatever injuries he had, she healed them easily. However, when she ventured deeper inside the man's body she was struck by something — something that attacked her gift.

Snapping back to herself, Alanna cursed in a foul language, only to end with, "By the Goddess, Numair! What have you done?" Looking down at her hand, inside her palm, she found blisters as if she had burned herself.

Numair gently took her hand into his, giving her an apologetic smile, "What was necessary, Alanna. Sun Tzu was torturing him. I had to stop it. It's not right to hurt someone like that, even if he has killed two kings — and anyone else, for the matter. I should have warned you, I'm sorry..."

Alanna nodded, only to withdraw her extremely small hand from his large one, "Don't apologize, just kill the person responsible for this!"

He laughed low, making a sound that rumbled from deep within his chest, "Oh…you can be sure of it, I will be the one to end his life."

Alanna only smiled, knowing that Numair meant every word he said. Looking closer at the assassin's features, she suddenly exclaimed in shock, "Did you notice that he looks a lot like your wife?"

"I know," replied Numair through gritted teeth, "and I would wager all the power in my body that they have the same father, if not the same mother. He looks to be only a few months older then Daine."

Alanna was surprised as she touched extremely soft, brown hair. Narrowing her eyes, she turned her gaze to where Numair sat, "Are you saying that they are brother and sister?"

He nodded, "That's exactly what I'm saying."

She rose from the ground, shaking her head as she turned towards Numair once more, looking up at him as he rose too, "This is getting more and more complicated, and I don't think that this is the end."

"It's not," Numair replied, only to stop as the massive black ward behind them came tumbling down, disappearing down into the ground beneath their feet.

The earth shook from the monumental power it had to consume, causing Alanna and Numair to sway on their feet. Behind the crumbled ward, the men of King's Own became visible. They were all trying to stay on their feet in the midst of the massive earthquake that had started.

"Why did you do that?" Alanna shouted to Numair, puzzled over his actions. She had to grab a hold of him as the earth underneath her feet rolled.

The Black Robed Mage only shook his head, causing his long hair to dance, "I — whatever you think I did Alanna, I can assure you I didn't do anything...only a god can..." Numair stopped his words, swallowing them as a man caught his attention.

In front of them, horses balked, dancing to the side as the men rushed to gain control over them. Among them stood a man — a man that didn't belong to Tortall or any of the other surrounding areas. Instead, his looks spoke of Yamani descent.

Alanna's violet eyes took in the scene with great puzzlement until her gaze too landed on a single man who wasn't dressed in the blue and silver cloaks of the Own. Once, not a few years back, the color of the King's Own's cloaks was purely white. That had been the result of Raoul's recruitment campaign in the Great Southern Desert. Several years after, that had changed.

The man who had caught both Alanna's and Numair's attention was dressed in something completely different. He stared at them, undisturbed by the commotion caused by the many wobbling men beside him and the many scared horses. His clothes spoke of a man who should be commanding an army. Leather plates were sewn onto a black tunic. Around his hips was a belt where a long curved sword hung, along with several purses. His dark black eyes glinted with roaring black fire and anger, matching his equally black hair, which was gathered into a bun on the top of his head. His frame was muscular and his posture spoke of authority.

Alanna grabbed the hilt of her sword, ready to launch herself into a fight if it was necessary. Then she saw the man smile, a slow death-warning smile that reflected every evil in the man. She didn't move, but she could feel Numair beside her, getting ready to defend if attacked. From the corner of her eye, she could clearly see black fire dance around Numair's hands.

Taking a deep breath, Alanna prepared herself for anything this unknown, clearly skilled warrior could possible do. She didn't turn to Numair, but she did ask a question without moving her lips, a trick her husband had spent decades teaching her, "Is that who I think it is?"

"Yes, but it isn't really him," Numair reassured her.

"How can you be sure?" Alanna couldn't help herself. She looked directly into the eyes of the man, who she guessed was the person pulling the strings on everything that happened – Sun Tzu, himself. She called her magic forth, feeling the familiar tingling vibration from the sword hanging at her hip.

Beside her, she saw Numair smile, a rough smile that told her that he was surprisingly enjoying himself. "If you look really close, my dear," he said quietly, "you can see small snowflakes falling on his hair. They're faint, yes, but they are there for sure."

Alanna gasped. Small white stuff sprinkled down from nothing, only to land on the Yamani man's shoulders and black hair. "So, he is a simulacrum?"

"No. If that was a simulacrum, he would have to be standing nearby, making sure that the simulacrum did everything right, just like a puppeteer. That, Alanna, is a projection. It's a good one, but still just a projection. He must be standing somewhere near the border to Scanra, it's the only place where it snows this time of year."

Around them, chaos had broken out. Liam tried in vain to free himself from Raoul's strong arms, only to be overtaken by four other men from the Own. Some men fought to control the frightened horses, while others tried in vain to hold back the people that were too curious for their own good. Somehow and somewhere, Buri had arrived and was organizing everything alongside Raoul, seemingly ignoring their previously mismatch.

"So, he's not the one causing the earthquake?" Alanna asked, deliberately ignoring everything going on around them. An extreme cold radiated from the man standing in front of them, making Alanna shudder. She was horrified that someone had the strength to do a projection over such a distance. She wasn't even sure that Numair, a powerful Black Robed Mage, could pull off such a stunt. There was a long silence, during which Alanna could feel the air being fueled with magic. It didn't come from the man they stood facing, however. Instead, she slowly realized, it was coming from Numair. Feeling the pressure of it in every cell in her body, she was about to scream...

"He is causing it," Numair told her though gritted teeth, "and he is furious that I have spelled his assassin so he can't hurt the boy. He's also angry that I have seen right through his projection..." He didn't manage to say anything more, for their surroundings exploded in an inferno of fire, seeking to burn everything near them.

Alanna didn't scream. Instead, she saw out of the corner of her eye how Raoul was the first to react, throwing himself at Buri and pushing her up against the wall of a nearby house. The men and riders under Buri's and Raoul's command pushed the crowd back. Those with gifts threw up shields to protect the innocent, and those who weren't gifted forced the horses away from the dangerous scene. Alanna, herself, created a shell of power so she could protect the two people lying behind her. Beside her, she saw beads of sweat rolling down Numair's temple as he chanted quietly in an unknown language.

The air roared and hissed, spitting as flames tried to reach everything at the same time. She could feel the intense heat, smell the scorching and smoldering air. Suddenly, it stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

Controlled by Numair, the flames were pushed back to their source, sliding along the ground like fire-snakes, only to sneak up around Sun Tzu's legs, surprisingly not burning the man.

Sun Tzu held out a hand, catching one of the vivid flames in his hand. He turned it and examined it, caressing the snake's head made of pure fire. A scarlet tongue tasted the air, as it continued upwards to drape around the neck of its creator.

"Pathetic." It was the only word Sun Tzu could come up with as he studied the surroundings with an eerie calmness. Eventually, his black eyes landed on the two people standing directly in front of him. "Absolutely pathetic," he snorted again and began another series of attacks.