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Chapter 43
Sun Tzu attacked, pouring all the power he had into the ground. Tortall was going to be ripped apart when he was through with it. As for the man and woman who stood facing him, they were going to pay for preventing him from punishing what was rightfully his.
He knew that there would be no point of return for the people here. He had traveled this far and he wasn't going to give up now. His rage was fueled by the fact that the Black Robed Mage had taken the second thing he considered his own, and the only person he considered to be almost like the son he would never have – Daniel, son of the god Weiryn.
Yes, he had punished the boy over the years for every failure, but that was how his own father had taught him success and he was not going to be soft on the kid. He was forming, creating a young promising man; a man he hoped would be his successor. It would be ironic that the son of a god would contribute to the fight against the Great Mother Goddess, Sun Tzu's only real enemy, not the Tortallans. And winning the fight would mean one thing — Sun Tzu had to get the young man back along with his sister. She was the key to everything.
Fortunately, he had thought of everything. He knew, without a doubt, that the men working for him would seek to deliver her to him.
Sun Tzu was a mad man, driven by nothing more than the desire to be with the woman who was his, and his alone. He didn't bother to say anything more than the word 'pathetic', because it fit so perfectly. He nearly laughed as the ground beneath the black mage and the famous knight cracked in two, becoming a deep gorge.
Jonathan, King of Tortall, sat in his study surrounded by his council. The men around him were deeply engaged in a discussion regarding preparation for the civil war that was brewing in the north-east.
After having expressed his concerns about the Scanran threat from the North, the council had thrown themselves into a heated debate over whether they should look into the possibility of sending off a delegation in the hopes of making some kind of treaty with the Northern country. That way, the people of Galla wouldn't be driven from their homes because of the brewing civil war.
Jonathan was only listening to the conversation with half an ear as his blue eyes travelled slowly over the room's design. The room had been his for years now, inherited after his father had ended his own life not three weeks after Queen Lianne's death.
The room hadn't changed that much from when Jonathan, at a younger age, had been seated beside his father and listening in to the council debating war tactics or peace-treaties. He remembered with an ache in his heart how his father had administered endless lessons about being a king and the responsibility that came with it.
Now, beside him, an empty chair was the only thing that told him that he would be the one lecturing another future king, his son, a young man he was so proud of.
Glancing at the windows, seeing the sun shining sparsely, he felt a soft smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He had a feeling that his son was going to be even greater than anyone was anticipating. He, himself, had high expectations of course, but not as high as his own father had kept for him. Jonathan knew deep inside himself, that even though his father had maintained a hard shell on the outside, he was a soft person underneath the mask. The late King Roald had cared deeply for his only son, his beloved wife and for the country he had ruled.
"You can't expect to be able to cross the Vassa River, knock on their door and demand that they keep their distance from Galla! You would have to convince the 'Council of Ten', not to mention the current king."
Jonathan's attention snapped towards one of the more conservative members of the council, as the man continued on with his speech, "Do you really think our king can manage doing what his father did — making peace with a people who act like barbarians and pirates?"
Jonathan sighed inside himself, trying to keep a straight face and not reveal his brewing impatience.
This was what it was like to be king. Yes, he held the title and carried royal blood, but whenever it came to decisions, he had to involve everyone who supported the crown. This meant bringing in men with independent minds and differing opinions. These were not men he had personally picked to be a part of the war council, but men he had inherited from his father — along with everything else. Unfortunately, that meant that a comparison between Jonathan and his father was constantly brought up at these meetings.
"We could always try a different approach," someone said, and Jonathan's attention shifted directions, "maybe they won't see it as a threat if we don't aid Galla and its inhabitants..."
Jonathan was about to roll his eyes, but restrained himself. Some of the more conservative members of his council held an arrogant attitude in regard to their surrounding countries. Jonathan knew that a few of them even considered themselves above all others. It was in situations like these that he is reminded why one of his best friends is his champion — Alanna would never allow such suggestions or propositions. About to open his mouth and correct the man, Gareth the younger cut in.
"Russel, such an approach isn't in the interest of the crown," Gareth stated diplomatically, carefully dismissing any future comments on Jonathan's inability to be a peace-maker like his father.
Jonathan leaned back in his chair as Gareth continued, though he wasn't able to concentrate on the words being spoken. He only knew that whatever came from Gareth's lips would be well-considered and equally well-spoken.
As his eyes slid over the features of the men sitting at the table, his gaze stopped at a man's odd expression. He knew the man well, having been tutored and guided by him after King Roald's death, and it is an expression Jonathan knew rather well. Jonathan smiled as he observed Myles, Alanna's adopted father, and how the expression deepened in the older man's face.
Jonathan could see in the older man's intelligent eyes that he was pounding over the same questions that had kept his own mind occupied since before sending Numair away to Galla to get hitched — willingly or unwillingly. Jonathan smiled to himself as he remembered the fit of tantrum his chief mage had thrown when he was handed the signed agreement. Jonathan's focus snapped back to Myles's odd expression, and Jonathan wondered if the man was also trying to figure out their biggest puzzle — why an unknown general, one Jonathan hadn't even heard of during his reign, was suddenly flashing his tail like a sumptuous peacock.
He knew the names of almost every general in the surrounding countries bordering Tortall. It had been drilled into his mind during both his time training as a knight and his time as a ruling monarch, and he can easily list the names on his fingers. Well, maybe he doesn't have enough fingers to count all of them, but with the help of his council's fingers and toes it would easily add up to almost a hundred.
Looking down to where his fingers were millimeters away from the surface of a glass, Jonathan frowned slightly as the water inside suddenly rippled slightly.
Jonathan yawned, discarding what he had seen in the glass. Having a newly pregnant wife meant sitting beside her all night while she hovered over the privy. The whole thing was extremely fatiguing. As sleep-deprived as he was, he nearly missed the fact that Myles was speaking, "…Assuming that the general himself doesn't realize that we are aiding Galla, we also need more intelligence regarding where this mysterious man came from. Judging by his name, we can only presume that he is of Yamani descent."
"We have someone located among the Yamani court," Duke Gareth said, turning his attention to where Jonathan was clearly occupied by another ripple in the water of his glass. "We could have a letter sent to the Yamani court, addressed to our diplomats and explaining that we need vital information about our unknown general."
Myles nodded in agreement, "Piers Mindelan and his wife are bound to depart within a few weeks, leaving their task to Willfredo and Florrie of Hillsbery. However, if we are quick, we can dispatch a letter to them today. We can only hope that they have the time to look into it before they travel home."
Even though Jonathan heard everything that was being said, he couldn't help but frown when the water inside his glass rippled again, even more visibly this time. Either Tortall was experiencing small earthquakes or some experiment at the university not far from the palace had gone wrong. Either way, Jonathan knew that the water inside the glass shouldn't be rippling as such…or could it be that Raoul was growing impatient. The large man had a tendency to bounce his leg when he was bored.
Jonathan glanced over to where Raoul usually sat and was greeted by an empty chair. Raoul obviously wasn't the one causing the table to move, and Alanna, who would be the next plausible suspect wasn't present at the meeting either.
"Who's having trouble keeping still?" Jonathan asked in irritation, interrupting Gareth mid-sentence.
Fourteen pair of eyes turned in his direction, some with their eyebrows raised considerably high. The room was silent for a few moments. "Excuse me, Sire," one of the men, Lord Eldon, said in confusion, "but I'm not sure what you are referring to."
"Someone is impatient and can't keep his leg still, which is making the water in the glasses ripple," Jonathan said, almost snapping at the man. He looked at each of the men in turn, expecting an answer, but everyone just looked at him perplexed. "Well?"
Gareth leaned forward, catching Jonathan's eyes with his own. "No one is being impatient, Jon —," Gareth looked around the room before his chestnut brown eyes landed on Jonathan again, "maybe we should talk about which group of Riders we should send off first and where the first refugees should be received?"
Jonathan nodded, trying to ignore the confused glances coming from the members of his council. Maybe he was just imagining something that wasn't there, or maybe the lack of sleep had just caught up with him.
The conversations picked up around him, and even though he had already ordered every group of Riders to return from where they were, he couldn't help but feel that they weren't prepared for this situation. Something was wrong and he could feel it in the air — wait — what?
Jonathan lifted his head as his senses came to life — the air, the feeling — suddenly the hair on his arms stood up. Looking around the room for answers, Jonathan's eyes landed once again on the glass in front of him as the water inside rippled again.
"Something is wrong," the words were past Jonathan's lips before he could stop them, bringing the war-council's conversation to an abrupt halt.
Myles was the first to say something. "Maybe we should take a break," he paused and laughed, drawing the eyes that were staring at Jonathan to himself while he shivered slightly, "I'm famished and well, a fine pinch of something hot could do well in the stomach — what do all of you say?"
The members of the war-council muttered their agreement, and were in the process of rising from their chairs when the door to the room suddenly opened, a cold wind rushing through the room.
"Sorry for the disturbance, Your Majesty," a man, one of the more promising Riders, Evin Larse, said in apology. Jonathan knew him by reputation. From what Buri had told him, the young man had a joyful approach to life, but when things really mattered, he was cool-minded and kept an unrivaled handle on things.
Jonathan looked into serious blue eyes, waiting for the young man to say something — anything, all the while trying to keep a cool and calm outward appearance. Inside, he was about to scream, as the feeling of wrongness was increasing. However, the young man didn't seem to want to continue, which annoyed Jonathan further. "Keep going lad," he demanded.
Evin Larse briefly looked around the room before speaking, "Ehm…Your Majesty, I was sent by Onua to inform you that your son, Prince Roald, is injured. He is lying inside a stall...Duke Baird should be with him as we speak..."
There it was, the wrongness he had felt in the air. "He's what?" Jonathan didn't mean to roar the question, but his calm façade was fading. The seriousness of what the young man had just said was sinking into Jonathan's council way too slowly for his own taste.
"Someone find Alanna, Numair and Commander Raoul!" Jonathan demanded as he made his way towards the door. He could feel the anger brewing inside him as he already knew that Alanna, Numair and Raoul were nowhere to be found inside the walls of the palace.
Behind him, only Gareth and Myles were on their feet. The rest of the men were still seated in their chairs — which wasn't protocol. Whenever the palace was under attack or something serious happened, like an assassination attempt, the palace was put in lock down — which meant that the alarm was raised.
Just as Jonathan thought this, the sound of a glass smashing against a hard surface startled everyone. Looking back at the seat he had just vacated, Jonathan saw the shattered glass on his chair and floor.
He stood completely still as the other glasses, along with everything else, began to shake violently. Everyone grabbed a hold of either the back of their chairs or the edge of the table, as the ground underneath their feet shook violently.
"What's happening?" someone asked in a panic, as dust from the ceiling began to fall down above their heads.
"Someone is attacking the palace!" another yelled. Suddenly, everyone had to throw themselves to the side as the large chandelier bearing lit candles came crashing down, only to land in the middle of the oval table they had all been sitting at a few seconds before.
"Everyone out!" Jonathan shouted, as hot wax splattered the table. He grabbed a hold of Evin Larse's collar as the man was about to run out the door, "You, boy, come with me!"
Jonathan dragged the younger man over to the wall, where a hidden passage was located. As he heard Gareth shout orders behind him, he pushed at the panel and the door clicked open. Not caring if he was hurting the young Rider, Jonathan pushed Evin through and created a large ball of light to illuminate the dark, dusty hall.
"Your Majesty, shouldn't we — what about your son?" Evin tried to speak as he was pushed forward, trying not to stumble as the floor continued to sway underneath their feet.
"My son is in good hands. You said yourself that Duke Baird was with him." Jonathan grabbed Evin's shoulder, turning him around and looking at him seriously before continuing. "As a king, I'm expected to put the safety of my kingdom first," he explained carefully, knowing that every word was going to affect the young man, "my son always, unfortunately, must come second when thousands need me more. He'll have to make do with Duke Baird – for now."
It was a painful truth and Jonathan knew this first hand. It was one thing his father always made clear to Jonathan after Alanna had saved him from the sweating sickness, "Never let a single person come first when you are king. You may even think that the person is worth more than the thousands that depend on you, but that's not the case. It is your duty to the crown to produce heirs, several of them, so if one of them dies, another can take their place. When you are king, there will come a time when you have to choose between someone you love and the country that depends on you."
That was why Jonathan's father had demanded Duke Roger's presence at the palace after Jonathan's recovery. King Roald had been terrified that he would not only lose his only son, but also the heir to the Tortallan throne.
Thinking about Duke Roger, his long dead cousin, Jonathan stepped around the young Rider and continued down the small hidden passage. This wasn't the first time he had to deal with earthquakes, but this time he didn't know the source. The man he knew to have caused the previous ones was dead. There were a number of mages who might be foolish enough to manipulate unknown forces such as the earth underneath their feet, but few had the power to cause something on this scale.
Not even Numair would consider tapping into the earth and forcing it to shake like it was doing now, unless he was put in a position where there was no other solution. Jonathan forced those thoughts away and concentrated on the task at hand.
"Where are we going?" the younger Rider asked from behind, as Jonathan pushed open the hidden panel and entered a small, oval room.
"We are in my vault," Jonathan answered, walking further into the room and looking around. A vault wasn't the exact description as there were no windows and no doors. He knew that when the young Rider came through the hidden door in the panel, it would slide shut, never to be found again — unless one knew exactly where to look. There were five ways to come inside this particular room, but only one way out. The king, along with the one who spelled it, were the only one who knew — until now.
"Oh," Evin exclaimed, and Jonathan was able to count seconds before the next question was asked, "why are you showing this to me?"
Jonathan picked up a small dusty, carved wooden box from a table in the middle of the room. Turning around, he explained, "You are going to be my way out of here."
The young Rider looked at Jonathan skeptically, "Why can't you help yourself out of this room?" Evin looked like he was unsure why his king had brought him here. Then he started to notice everything, from the lack of windows or even a door to the glittering crowns his king wore on official occasions. There were other items too, like a rusty, dented set of armor and a large broadsword stand, as blackened as it was bloody.
Jonathan opened the box, looking down at the small bluish item inside before he replied. "This room is only known to me and Master Salmalin," he explained, flipping the box up-side-down and catching the item in his hand. "When I use this," he opened his palm and displayed a small, blue gem the size of a silver noble, "it drains my power."
"The Dominion Jewel," Evin whispered, recognizing the gem from its description.
"Yes," Jonathan nodded. The first time he used the gem, during his coronation, he hadn't known that all the energy had to come from somewhere. The result had been a famine throughout the land for several years afterwards. He, along with Numair, had worked on this problem for several years, coming up with one single solution. If he used the jewel only when inside the oval room he was standing in at the moment, then everything outside of the room would be all right. The idea for this room had come from Numair's studies on the Chamber of the Ordeal. The downside of this brilliant idea was that the energy to power the jewel now came solely from Jonathan himself — which would leave him both defenseless and totally drained of power.
Another tremor traveled through the floor and Jonathan almost stumbled to the side, "I need you to put this inside the box after the earthquakes stop and get me out of this chamber." He pointed over to a small portrait of a beautiful woman with long brown hair — Jonathan's mother. "Behind that painting, you'll find the way out."
Jonathan didn't wait for the young man to nod. Suddenly, bright blue fire gathered around Jonathan's hands, summoning the powers of the Dominion Jewel. Just as Jonathan got a hold of the jewel's powers, a speaking spell emerged, 'Jon! Stop! It's nothing but a trick...
Numair could feel every inch of power drain from his body as the earth underneath their feet gave way. He fought to control what he knew he couldn't, hoping desperately that the tremors reached as far as the palace. That way, Jonathan could stop the earthquake with the Dominion Jewel.
Too occupied with controlling the gorge, he almost missed the fact that neither he nor Alanna had dropped an inch when the ground underneath their feet had disappeared. Glancing sideways, Numair found purple light seeping from Alanna's fingertips, making some kind of a pond underneath their feet. She was holding them both up while gazing angrily at Sun Tzu.
Pushing his own gift forth, feeling the familiar tingling of his magic, Numair threw out everything he had inside himself. If he couldn't stop the earthquakes, then he could at least stop the growing rift.
Numair counted the seconds, hoping that he would stop the gorge from developing further. For several heartbeats, the rift stopped. He breathed hard, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. However, as the air left his lungs, the grip on his magic slipped.
Numair cursed inside himself. He was too exhausted, almost drained of everything, and tapping the opal hanging at his throat didn't help him at all.
Looking down with clear frustration visible in his eyes, Numair saw that the gorge continued to develop underneath their feet, showing only an endless depth of blackness.
From its sides, soil and rock tumbled down. The gorge was quickly consuming what had once been the street they had been standing on.
Numair turned, looking back to see that the rift continued farther down the street. Behind him, the assassin and Mira floated on a purple cloud — they were safe.
"Can you stop this?" Alanna shouted beside him, trying to be heard above the sound of the earth ripping apart.
"No!" Numair yelled back, "I'm nearly out of power."
Alanna looked up at him frantically, her violet eyes almost aflame with fire, a clear sign that she was tapping into her life force. "Do something, do anything!"
Numair paused, fighting to remember a spell that wouldn't damage everything he loved and cared about. Only a single word continued to pop up in his mind as a possible solution, but the power from it would certainly destroy the capital, and even the land itself. It wouldn't leave a soul alive.
So he did the only thing he could think to do. "Coward!"
The second the word slipped from his lips, everything went still — even the dust coming off the shaking buildings stopped in midair.
"What?"
Numair could have laughed with relief. If he wasn't standing where he was, he would have collapsed in laughter over the astonished expression on the general's face. He was quite sure that when this madness was over, he would collapse anyway.
"You heard me," Numair continued, more relaxed, but still trying to calm his drumming heart. "Coward!"
"You dare call me a 'coward'!' Sun Tzu yelled, pure anger flushing his face red.
Numair shrugged before he continued, forcing his heart to slow down, "Don't you know that word, or should I spell it for you?" He knew that he could potentially cause more damage by angering the Yamani general more, but it was a risk he was willingly to take. Everything around him was utter chaos.
The few horses the King's Own had managed to keep near, had run off in gallop. They had scattered the nearby crowd, even hurting a few. In the brief silence of the halted attack, the Riders hurried to carry the wounded from the scene. Those with the gift were fighting their own fight, trying to maintain the small dome they had created above and around the ones who stood facing the mad general. Some of them were using their gift to keep houses standing, but their gifts would soon run out as well.
Numair tried not to take everything in, but his training as the king's mage had kicked in, so his senses were on high alert. He began to notice everything, including the dark flames of anger in Sun Tzu's black eyes.
"You dare to call me a coward?!" Sun Tzu yelled again, clearly infuriated by Numair's words.
Numair only nodded, his brain working rapidly. "What else can I call a man such as you? Would a wuss be more appropriate? Should I go for weakling, sissy or perhaps I should simply call you a chicken?"
Sun Tzu looked stunned, as if this was the last thing he had expected. "Ch..ch..chicken! You dare to compare me to a chicken! "
The word came out with a stutter, which almost made Numair laugh, but he kept the laughter to a small discreet chuckle. "Yes, I believe so." He knew that this was a risky game, but he was trying to push Sun Tzu over the edge. "Okay," Numair soothed, doing the opposite of what he had planned. Glancing sideways and seeing Alanna's puzzled look, he continued, "Maybe it was wrong of me to call you a chicken, but I believe that a proper introduction is in order. Wouldn't you agree?"
Sun Tzu narrowed his eyes, as if trying to figure out what game Numair was playing now, "I have no wish to be introduced to you, Black Mage. You have something of mine and I want it back."
"Oh, do I?" Numair inquired, knowing perfectly well what and who the general was referring to. However, he liked to have the upper hand, and playing just slightly ignorant might save all of them. Smiling to himself, Numair continued, "And what is that?"
The yell that came from the general took everyone by surprise, as Sun Tzu threw out his finger towards the assassin lying behind Numair and Alanna. "That man lying there, he's mine!"
Numair didn't turn around to see where the general was pointing to, but kept his gaze firmly locked on Sun Tzu. "That boy was just unfortunate to be around when the building collapsed," he lied casually, shrugging, "it's such a shame, really, that he was at the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Wrong time? If you hadn't noticed his assassination of the Gallan King, he wouldn't be lying there!" Sun Tzu growled, clenching his fists in pure annoyance as he fell directly into Numair's trap. "Clever," Sun Tzu smiled, though clearly still hostile, " really clever, Master Mage. One would think that you'd have thought of it all."
Numair shrugged again, "I can't take the full credit when this is your doing, General, and it seems that everyone around us heard that you are the one pulling the strings."
Sun Tzu shook his head, looking around at the spectators. "That's okay," he responded, "I have nothing to lose."
"Then you don't mind me keeping that young man for a bit?" Numair asked, hoping that the suggestion would be denied by the general.
"That boy belongs to me. He will find his way back to me, be sure of that! Even if you lock him away in the deepest dungeon you have, his gift will set him free, just like the other times he was caught. Nothing can keep him from his gift, you see."
Numair smiled in earnest now, reaching for his trump card. "Ah, but there is a way," he paused for a brief moment before he gestured with a hand, sending iron shackles flying through the air towards the assassin. "I would like to see him try and break those with his gift, because if he does, they will kill him," Numair explained as the shackles clamped around Daniel's wrists.
"No!" Sun Tzu thundered, "you can't kill him. The boy belongs to me!"
Numair shook his head while he stared directly into black eyes, not acknowledging the general's words. "You are mistaken, dear General. As long he doesn't use his gift, he will be fine. And as for the so called 'ownership' of this young man..."
"Mistaken…mistaken? That boy belongs to me!" Sun Tzu thundered, cutting off Numair's words and gesturing at the young man. "Daniel belongs to me — me and only me!"
Again Numair shook his head, almost smiling over the knowledge that Sun Tzu had missed in his frustration over being defeated. "Daniel belongs to himself. No other man can be his master — which you should have known if you were so interested in Tortall."
Sun Tzu bared his teeth, growling like an animal. "That is where you are wrong, Black Mage. If Tortall was of interest to me, then this," he gestured to their surroundings, "would have been destroyed a long time ago — that I can guarantee — but I'm not interested in your capital, your money or your king."
The information gave Numair time to ponder. He wondered why this attack had felt so wrong from the very beginning and why the dust from the crumbling houses still hung completely still in the air. Dust from bricks and such wasn't that heavy, but it wasn't light enough for that. It should eventually fall to the ground, just like an apple. Things just didn't add up. Numair paused before he asked, "Not even the Dominion Jewel can tempt you?"
Beside Numair, Alanna hissed quietly through gritted teeth, "What are you doing? Are you insane?"
"Not in the least," Numair answered, waiting for a reply.
Sun Tzu laughed loudly, directing his attention directly at Alanna, "Don't worry, dear Lioness. I'm not interested in that piece of rock. I don't wish to use the powers like Giamo the Tyrant did, conquering several lands; or like Miache, who stole it from the Gallan king. I wouldn't even use it as Norrin and Anj'ja did in Maren. For me it is just a rock. Your king can play with that for all I care."
There it was, Numair suddenly realized as Sun Tzu's smile became more spiteful. Sun Tzu continued to look at Alanna as he spoke, "For a man like me, who has lived thousands of years, money and gold is unnecessary. I have both of those things, for they are not rare. But love, dear Lioness, the kind of love you share with your husband..."
Numair held his tongue, allowing Alanna to continue the conversation while he tested his presumption.
"Leave my husband out of this!" Alanna yelled, her violet eyes more ablaze than before, indicating that she was draining more and more of her life source while she upheld the spells.
Sun Tzu lifted his hands in mock surrender, "I'm not after the king's spymaster." Seeing Alanna's astonished look, he continued, " Yes, I know quite a bit about Tortall — including things about the monarchs and who they have on their payroll. And yes, Black Mage," he said, looking at Numair this time. "I know that you want to trick me. You want to pull all sorts of information out of me, but since you have already discovered one of my secrets," Sun Tzu's eyes darted over to where Daniel was lying, "let me tell you another."
"And that is?" Numair asked coldly, not quite trusting the man standing in front of him.
"Love, Master Mage. Everything is about love."
"Is that it?" Alanna grunted, clearly exhausted. "You are killing people because of love?"
Numair saw Sun Tzu shrug again, apparently a habit of his. "Engage people with what they expect. It is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate," Sun Tzu explained as an answer to Alanna's question.
Alanna was bewildered. "What?" she asked, confused, wiping away drops of sweat rolling down her cheek. "That doesn't make any sense! How does that justify killing for love?"
Sun Tzu felt proud, and he smiled again, "Oh, that is for you to find out. Until then, dear Lioness, I would advise you to stop using your powers."
Alanna snorted skeptically as an answer, "That would kill me — I mean us. We would fall down into the hole underneath us." She looked down, only to see dark brown dirt and soil roll sporadically down into the empty chasm.
The general laughed out loud, to every one's confusion. "How funny! Here I thought I was standing," he said before pausing briefly, "well, not physically standing, but magically. You're Tortall's most powerful mages, and you haven't even noticed it."
"Oh, I noticed!" Numair stated, tired of everything — of all the complicated things he had experienced since traveling to Galla and back. "I know what you are doing," he confessed, calmly meeting the general's dark stare with his own.
Sun Tzu leaned slightly forth in excitement, smiling more broadly, "Perfect! Then I don't have to tell you anything."
"Tell him what?" Alanna demanded to know, turning towards Numair. "What is the lunatic talking about?"
"This is all nothing but a trick," Numair answered, almost in a whisper. He watched as the general slowly faded away, waving to them as he disappeared. Around them, the damage to the surroundings, the crumpling houses, the dust in the air and the deep gorge underneath their feet disintegrated. Everything was an illusion spell.
Alanna looked down and saw solid paving stones underneath her disk of purple magic. Ending the spell, she was suddenly standing where the gorge used to be. "Trick!" she hissed, on the brink of exploding in anger. "He tricked us?" she stomped her feet into the ground to make sure it was there, "why would he do that?"
"To keep us occupied, and because he knows our defenses," Numair answered her, looking around. Nothing else was damaged other than the house the assassin had been kept in. "He told us that much himself, remember? 'Engage people with what they expect.It is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate,'" Numair repeated Sun Tzu's words. Scratching his chin where day old stubble was visible, he cursed, "He somehow knew what emergency plans we would use if the city was attacked. That means that we have a mole in our midst."
"Do you really think so?" Alanna questioned as she observed Raoul issuing orders to aid those who needed help. She looked about as good as Numair felt. They were both obviously exhausted from the draining of their magic.
"Why would he bother to give us a quotation? 'It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate...'," Numair repeated the words again, more to himself than to Alanna. Numair suddenly stopped his pondering as even more color drained from Alanna's face.
"Jonathan!" She exclaimed, her eyes shining with concern, "Numair, what would he do if he felt the earthquakes at the palace?"
"Use the Dominion Jewel," Numair answered, angry at himself for forgetting his earlier speculations. "If he uses the jewel now, he will rip the capital apart, fighting something that isn't there."
Alanna quickly turned on her heel, walking away from Numair at a brisk pace. She formed a speaking spell and began communicating hastily, leaving Numair behind her, "Jon! Stop! It's nothing but a trick..."
Standing alone, looking over to where the men of the Own were gathering the horses, Numair heard Raoul approaching him. "Buri told me to come and see if you were okay, instead of fussing over her."
"I'm fine," Numair replied, looking over his shoulder to where the small K'miri was sending sly glances at the huge knight. "I take it that the ice is melting?"
The huge knight chuckled lightly, "Let's just say that the temperature is several degrees warmer than it was this morning, though I'm not sure the warm front will last all day."
"I see," Numair said, understanding the huge knight perfectly. Somewhere nearby he could still hear Alanna's eager voice.
A few seconds of silence passed between them, before Raoul turned towards Numair. "The one thing I can't get my mind around is why he put on this huge charade for nothing. I mean, he had the perfect opportunity to kill both you and Alanna, along with everyone else around…but he didn't."
Numair nodded as he looked at knight, suddenly feeling the exhaustion and body aches from spending the night on the ground instead of in a bed. "What are you implying?" he asked, thinking the same thing.
Raoul released the pommel of the sword at his side, a sign that meant he was finally relaxing. "What would he gain from faking an earthquake in Corus? He told you that if he really did want to cause damage to the capital, he would have done it a long time ago. What prevented him, and why did he give up on the kid?"
Numair's mind was spinning due to all the information, making him slightly dizzy. "I think that the real question is this. What did he really gain from all this?"
Raoul shook his head, "Nothing that I can see, but if I were him I would have used this as a diversion. I would have gotten everyone occupied and then done what I had originally planned. The question is," Raoul pointed to the assassin, " what was he here for? I mean..."
Numair didn't hear the rest of what Raoul was saying, because suddenly every cell in his body went cold. "My wife," he whispered hoarsely, "he came for my wife..."
The room must be cold, but Daine wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything. Somewhere in her mind she was certain that she wasn't in her room, at the back of the stables. Breathing in, her lungs were filled with damp air. She could detect the faint scent of foul sweat, like when the hostlers were finished cleaning the stables. That was a scent that could never belong in her room, as she had kept every male at a distance…until he came along.
The thought of him brought her confusion to a higher level, as a whispering male voice cut through the air. Though she couldn't understand the words being said, the eagerness in his voice was evident. Someone was in a hurry, and it seemed the man needed something to be done.
It was then that something pulled at her shoulders, causing her pain, and whatever it was wasn't going away. She knew instinctively, as a cold and icy chill seeped through her clothes, that she was in deep trouble.
The fabric she wore was merely a thin barrier between her skin and the cold surface she was lying on. No, wait, she wasn't lying on anything, but rather hanging against something. Daine's body jerked unwillingly as flashes of memory invaded her mind — a strong leather whip splitting the skin of her back. She struggled to realize that they were only memories, and that she wasn't in the forest being strung up in a tree. The surface behind her was solid and cold, not rough like the bark of a tree. She could feel the moss growing in the cracks of the stones against her back, and felt the slightly warmed shackles around her wrists that were holding her arms above her heard.
Stretching herself, she could feel the ground with the tips of her toes. Daine frowned despite her sleep addled mind. Where were her boots and her socks? And if she could feel the ground with her toes, then she wasn't standing — she was practically hanging.
Filling her lungs with air and expanding her stomach, Daine felt chains around the middle of her waist. It was an odd way of holding someone prisoner, she began to think, when suddenly an extremely cold wetness struck her, soaking her to the bone.
"Hey…what did ye do that for?" someone yelled as Daine's mind screamed in shock, though her mouth gave nothing away. "Seriously, now I have to get more water!"
"Then go," someone replied, "and find out why it's taking them so long to ready the horses. We need to be out of here when the Master attacks."
"Fine, but next time it's going to be ye fetching water," the first man replied. Shortly after, the sound of a heavy door closing reached Daine's ears and everything was silent.
Daine's mind worked quickly, even though her eyes stayed closed. Obviously, there was going to be an attack, and there were at least two men keeping her as a prisoner. A thought struck her — they hadn't blindfolded her. If she opened her eyes, she would see them, which meant that they had nothing to lose. Even worse was that she was alone with one of them.
With this realization, came with a nasty feeling in her gut. She waited for minutes, expecting hands to touch her cold skin, but nothing happened. The only thing she could hear was muffled movement and the sound of water-drops hitting something, maybe the floor.
The silence went on, but was eventually broken by the sound of footsteps on the floor, coming closer to her. Even though she still had her eyes closed, it didn't take long to realize that someone was staring at her.
Then it came. "Wake up!" someone shouted, the loud noise assaulting her ears. A hand grabbed the back of her head, forcing her to lift it. "I said, wake up!"
Her thoughts became a blur as the backside of a hand hit her right cheek.
"I said, wake up!" The man yelled once more, raising his hand again with the intent to strike her a second time.
Daine prepared herself, waiting for the next hit to occur, when a voice cut through the silence of the air. "Don't, she'll wake up in time...just give it to her," someone said, interrupting the other man's actions.
"That's the issue here — we don't have time. When he starts attacking the city, it's our clue to leave."
"Yeah, yeah...yeah...I know that ye dolt. Do ye think that I would forget the plan?"
"The plan would be simple if this wench hadn't played me!"
"It's yer own fault ye know. If ye just began to think with yer head instead of yer dick, then everything would have gone according to plan. And by the way, hitting her won't make her come around faster."
"Leave me manhood out of this, Boris..." the man who hit her growled back. "Do ye have any other fancy ideas then?"
Daine suddenly knew this man's voice. She knew it along with snatches of memory — of hands touching the inside of her legs. She groaned as a burning hot hand touched her equally burning cheek.
"I'm just saying, that whatever Lord Grayer gave her, it was probably too strong. It will be awhile before she fully wakes up." Boris's voice was closer now, and Daine tried to lift her head, but it was too heavy. It felt like someone had replaced her brain with a large stone.
The fingers on her cheek travelled downwards. "Then we have more time to..."
Daine realized that the man who is touching her was called Gustav, Lord Grayer's hired man. Daine wished she could be anywhere but there as the hand came to rest just above her breast.
"Do ye think that she would mind?" Gustav asked, before his hand was roughly swatted away.
"He told ye not to defile her..." Boris's angry voice sounded very near now. It must have been him who was holding Gustav back. "He'll kill ye if ye ignore his orders."
Gustav scoffed, "Don't ye know? We are already dead, brother. We were dead the moment we took this job."
"Then I want to use every second that I'm alive," Boris said, letting go of his brother's arm, "and not end up with a guilty conscience, brother." Moving away, he bent down, picking up a goblet of water, before he returned. "Then, the Black God may look more kindly upon us."
"Are ye serious?" Gustav hissed, watching as his brother carefully lifted Daine's chin, putting the goblet to her swollen lips. "You want to help the girl, when she is the reason we are in this shit?"
"We are in this shit because ye gambled away all our money, brother, or have ye forgotten that?" Daine's head stopped spinning as cold water touched her dry tongue. "There, drink this..."
"Enough!" The goblet disappeared from her lips, only to crash down on the hard ground.
"That was the last of the water, idiot" Boris snapped, pulling out a cloth and beginning to gently wipe drops of blood away from Daine's chin.
"I don't care. She needs to wake up, and — are ye serious! Are ye cleaning her now?"
"I'm cleaning her and making sure that the master won't kill us if he finds out that we broke the promise," Boris replied calmly, moving the cloth further up Daine's skin. Daine flinched when the fabric came in contact with her open wound.
Boris stopped, taking away the cloth and dropping it to the floor, "And ye can stop pretending to be asleep, because I know that ye are awake."
Daine's heart slowed for a few seconds, only to start beating rapidly as she opened her stormy blue-gray eyes and stared into smiling blue ones.
"Hello," Boris greeted her, and she kept her eyes firmly on him, staring him down. The room was silent for a few moments as Boris observed her. Finally, he smiled, flashing straight teeth, "Aren't ye a silent mouse. Can't you speak?"
"She can speak ye idiot," Gustav snapped, dropping down to the floor where the bags were placed, "she managed to trick me, remember?"
Boris smiled at her, but Daine only stared at him. He was similar to his brother in looks — bright blue eyes, tall and muscular, but he didn't have blond hair like Gustav. Boris's hair was darker. "Then I congratulate ye!"
Behind Boris's back, Daine heard Gustav sigh in frustration as he came to a stand.
The comment confused her. "Why?" Daine pulled a face as her lips and cheeks hurt from forming the single word.
Clear surprise and happiness shone from Boris's eyes over her question. "Not many lasses can trick me brother, and the few who have never lived long enough to tell the tale," Boris replied, "and that tells me that ye are very intelligent."
Daine grimaced, ignoring her wounded lip. She had been through worse then this, and if she was to have a second chance to prove to her husband that she wasn't a traitor, she might as well use the time to get information, "Are you implying that it is because of my wits that I'm lucky to be alive?"
"Don't answer her question," Gustav said, picking up the bags and moving them closer to the door, "she's manipulating ye into telling her things our master doesn't want her to know."
Boris ignored his brother, staring into Daine's eyes as if he was hypnotized, "Ye are alive because our master needs ye..."
Gustav grabbed a hold of Boris's arm, yanking him away. "What did I just tell ye..." he started to say, but trailed off as the ground swayed underneath their feet. "It's begun, let's get moving…"
Boris nodded to his brother as Gustav moved towards Daine, but Boris grabbed Gustav's upper arm to hold him back, "I don't think that it's such a good idea for ye to take her."
Gustav yanked his arm away with a snarl, "Are ye giving me orders, little brother?"
"Orders…advice," Boris shrugged, "ye choose."
"Fine," Gustav growled, backing away with his arms raised up in the air, "then ye take the lead, brother." He walked over to the door, thrusting it open before he looked down at the dancing stones on the ground. "Ye know what the plan is, brother. Just make sure she doesn't see anything."
Daine only stared as Gustav left the chamber with bags in his hands, then her head snapped back to Boris. "Where are you taking me?"
Boris unleashed the chain around her stomach and removed the shackles from her ankles, "Ye shouldn't be concerned with that, lass. The only thing ye need to know is that once we have arrived, ye will be safer than you are here."
"I was safe — until this happened," Daine muttered. Boris came to stand directly in front of her, releasing her aching arms from the shackles above her head. As the last touch of iron left her skin, Daine landed on her numb feet, only to stumble forward.
"Up," Boris smiled down at her as he caught her in his arms, "I told me brother it wasn't necessary to put chains on ye, but..."
"He clearly didn't listen," Daine said, finishing his sentence as his strong hands helped her come to a stand. Her feet were tingling in a way Daine had never experienced before. Looking down, Daine realized that her breeches and shirt had been replaced by a simple gray dress, still dripping with water. "Where are my clothes — my breeches and shirt?"
Blue eyes landed on her naked feet, "Yer clothes were torn, so I re-dressed ye," Boris explained, closing his hands around Daine's wrists and stabilizing her balance. "Are ye not pleased?"
Daine could hear the distinct notion of concern in his voice, twisted with the slightest bit of hostility. "It's fine," she answered carefully, as she still didn't know if his interest in her was sincere or not.
Warm fingers suddenly touched her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to make eye contact with her guardian. Boris narrowed his eyes, "I can hear a hidden 'but' at the end of that statement. Is there something I'm missing, or would ye rather that it was me brother who re-dressed ye after?"
"No!" The word came out too loudly, and it echoed through the silent dungeon. Daine looked down at her freezing toes, and then turned her attention towards Boris's feet covered by warm winter boots.
"It's just...I'm going to get a cold with bare feet," Daine said, lifting her right foot and showing him her toes.
"An untouchable can't get cold." Boris suddenly snapped his mouth shut, looking terrified at his own words, and quickly changed the subject, "I mean, nobody is going to touch ye if have a cold. I think that I may have some spare socks in me bag."
Daine watched him as he went through his bag, unsure if she had heard him correctly, "So I am an untouchable, eh?" She was grasping at straws, but there must be some explanation as to why she was so important. "Is that why the General wants me?"
Daine stopped speaking as a pair of smelly socks appeared underneath her nose, prompting her to hold her breath. "It's the best I have," Boris apologized, not meeting Daine's eyes, clearly embarrassed.
"So, no answer then?" Daine concluded as she took the socks, trying in vain not to wrinkle her nose.
"No," Boris shook his head, his eyes serious, "me brother was right about ye. I'm not telling ye anything!" He moved away from her, picking up a robe from his bag.
Daine shrugged as she leaned against the wall, putting the socks on and enjoying the warmth even though they were still smelly. "Suit yourself, but if you think that I'm coming with you willingly, then you are very wrong!" Daine said, but stopped short as a rope entered her line of sight. Startled, she looked up, "Oh no."
"Oh yes, or do ye prefer that I go get me brother?" Boris inquired, pulling his hand away and turning around slowly, "I could call him back again, if ye prefer his company over mine."
Daine narrowed her eyes, knowing when someone was bluffing. Still, it was a working just a bit. Crossing her arms in front of herself, she eyed the heavy wooden door, where Gustav had gone. "Do you always use your brother to get what you want?" she asked, rather annoyed that he knew that she was scared of his brother.
"Yes, he has my back and I have his," Boris explained, taking a step towards her, "now, turn around and put your hands behind your back."
Daine backed away until her back was flush with the wall. "No," she said simply, shaking her head, "I'm not going to go with you."
"Ye have to," Boris replied and grabbed her shoulders, turning her around roughly. "There is no place for ye at this palace. The king thinks that ye are a traitor and an assassin, sent to kill the heir."
"But that's not the truth!" Daine hissed, trying to prevent the man from bringing her arms to her back, but in vain. He was far stronger then she was, and Daine gave up as a sharp pain jolted trough her shoulders. "That man — he manipulated me, tricked me..."
Daine felt the rope being tied around her wrists before Boris pulled her back against his large frame. He placed his mouth beside her ear, growling, "That man is the Commander of the King's Army, and ye are nothing but a piece in a puzzle."
Before Daine could do anything, a bag made of dark fabric was pulled down over her head, blocking her sight. "You are going to pay," she hissed, as he lifted her up and placed her on his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, "my husband will find me and then kill you."
Boris altered her position, and the edge of his shoulder dug deep into her abdomen, "Yer husband is being occupied by the General, Sweet, or can ye not feel it? Corus is experiencing a massive earthquake."
It wasn't until Boris's words that Daine realized the truth. Her husband would be too busy to come to her rescue. If he did come back, everyone in the palace would tell him that he had brought a traitor with him from Galla, and that she was the one that wounded the heir. No, he would never come for her. With this realization, she gave up fighting the urge to call out to the animals for help.
Daine's body began to bounce up and down as Boris left the dungeon behind. Blinded by the bag over her head and with her hands tied at her back, Daine closed her eyes and listened to the silence. If they were underneath the palace, they were somewhere secluded, where no one came around often. She couldn't hear the sound of other prisoners as she had thought she would, the only sound that reached her ears was the sound of boots hitting the ground with every step.
She could feel pain in her now sore stomach every time Boris took a turn. Once, he stumbled only to regain his balance, which made Daine growl in agony, "Didn't your mother teach you to walk properly?"
"My mother died when I was five," Boris replied bluntly. After a few seconds of Daine's silence, he retorted, "What? No pity?"
"No," Daine hissed, as Boris slipped again on moss covered stones, "if you wanted pity, you should have kidnapped someone else. I have no family — " Daine couldn't continue her words, as a rough male voice cut through the air.
"There you are! That took you long enough...we should already be on our horses and halfway through the Royal Forest."
Daine's body twisted as cold air hit her, and she knew that goosebumps would be crawling all over her skin by now.
The sound of a door closing reached her ears, as Boris continued walking with her over his shoulder. "Sorry, but she was a bit demanding," he apologized.
"Ye spoke with her?" It was Gustav, anger evident in his voice. "I told ye not to speak with her," Gustav snapped, coming over to Boris and pulling two horses after him, "did ye tell her anything of the plan?" Behind him, two more people were already in their saddles and ready to go.
"Of course not," Boris said, glaring daggers at him. "I'm not stupid, ye do a fine enough job of that for the both of us."
Gustav's hand wrapped around Boris's neck, forcing the strong arm around Daine's thighs to press her abdomen deeper into Boris's shoulder. Grunting, she kicked out with her right foot as the pain became unbearable. She felt the impact right away, as her foot connected with something solid.
Boris felt the hand around his throat loosen and he took a step back, away from his swearing brother, "Touch me again, Gustav, and ye will regret it!"
Daine smiled to herself. She could clearly envision Gustav rubbing his sore chin. If she had just kicked out with a little more force, she could have knocked some of his teeth loose. Her smile faded as the arm holding her moved, and she was lifted from Boris's shoulder, only to be placed up in front of someone else in a saddle.
She didn't need her eyesight to tell that the man she was sitting in front of didn't care for hygiene. He smelled worse then a horse with severe colic. Wrinkling her nose, Daine tried not to breathe in, but it was in vain. She suddenly felt something poke at her neck, a nose, Daine realized, "Oh, Boris...ye didn't tell me that she smelled so good. I knew I shouldn't have fetched water..."
Daine froze as the hand that pressed her against the man slowly traveled up along her stomach. There was a sound of nervous hooves clicking on the stones and Daine was slightly yanked from her position by a strong arm.
"Ye are simply worse than a skunk, Freddie," Boris growled, standing up in the stirrups. Reaching over, he yanked Daine from the other man's arms.
"Hey...Boris, ye didn't need to do that..." the stinking man complained as the horse tripped sideways and Daine landed on something hard. She could feel how the horse underneath her was slightly panicking. Immediately, she began to soothe the animal, telling it that everything was okay and that she was fine.
"Just shut it, Freddie," Boris grunted as he took hold of Daine and wrapped her in a cloak.
"But..." Freddie moved his horse to the side, reaching for her, flashing a grin full of rotten teeth. "She was so..."
Boris gave Freddie a sharp look that was filled with disgust. "Don't ye dare say it," he warned, tugging the fabric around Daine's body.
Freddie leaned forth, saying the forbidden word, "Soft..."
Boris's body suddenly moved and the sound of a large smack reached her ears. After that, there was only silence and then the sound of someone grunting. "Ye broke me tooth!" Freddie complained, snuffling. The horses began to dance to the side as the air was filled with a metallic scent.
"Yeah, I did! And if ye want to keep the last three ye have, I suggest ye do as I say," Boris retorted, and draped his arm around what he considered his. He was suddenly feeling very overprotective of the petite form that rested in his arms. He had felt the same back in the dungeon, but it was as if the coldness of the autumn air had made everything clearer.
"Let's get going," he ordered and kicked the flanks of his horse, pressing it into a quick gallop, not waiting for the other to follow suit.