Author's note: No pairings are permanent at this point. I have ideas for things to come, but that is always subject to change ;)

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Tremors of Fate

Chapter 2

Truth and Betrayal

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At first, there was silence. The feel of something hard under his back, a pinching soreness in his lower back and shoulder blades. He was breathing, but deep breaths kind of hurt. Then his head. Oh, his head. It felt like it was being squeezed by a tight metal band, and the pounding behind his eyes was relentless.

Hawk slowly opened his eyes. The lighting was dim, but it still made his vision tear. He covered his face with his good hand and peered between the fingers. The ceiling and walls were soft sandstone, just like the other chambers of the fortress. He seemed to be lying on a bench by the wall, and he immediately knew he was in a cell from the metal bars that separated his enclosure from the hall. He closed his eyes. It was no less than expected. Sentenced as a murderer, he would be stripped of his possessions, taken far into the desert, and left there to fend for himself. He would die of exposure, thirst, or at the claws of wild beasts—whichever came first. And as with spies, they would cut off his tongue or put out his eyes first. Unless Flamekhan was willing to listen to Hawk. But Flamekhan had been enchanted by the woman who desired Hawk's silence the most.

With great difficulty, he pulled himself up, slouching rather awkwardly against the wall. The wound in his chest throbbed underneath the bandages wrapped tightly around him. Someone had taken great care to dress his left hand, as well, which felt like it was three times bigger than normal. He must have been taken to Joveena, one of the guild's medics, known for her meticulous handiwork. Surprising that she should take so much care with a dead man, but the medics treated friend and foe alike.

How on earth had it come to this? Just last night he was sharing a mug of ale with Eagle and Ben, celebrating their latest escapade and laughing at Nikita's absurd yet amusing stories. Now Eagle was dead, by Hawk's own knife. Isabella may have dealt the final blow, but Eagle's blood was still on his hands. Hawk had weakened his friend enough for Isabella to finish him off. But more than that, he should have stopped Eagle from barging in on Isabella and the man in the black cape. If Isabella really was so dangerous, if she really was a witch, they should have chosen their steps more wisely. They should not have revealed themselves so soon. But Hawk had been too upset at the time to think clearly, and neither he nor Eagle even considered the consequences of their actions.

And now Eagle was dead. Hawk still could not believe it. He knew it was true, but even truth did not seem real anymore. It was as if the world had gone mad. Or maybe he was the one who was mad; people did not turn into monsters, and there was no such thing as witches. Hawk sighed. He no longer knew what to think. And his head hurt like the devil.

Then the heavy door to the jail creaked open. Someone was coming. The heavy clomping of boots was absent from their gait, so it was not one of the men. Hawk's pulse quickened. Could it be Jessica? She would listen to him even if no one else did. And Flamekhan was bound to listen to her.

The visitor halted, still out of sight. "I would like to speak with the prisoner," said an all-too-familiar voice. Then, after a pause, "Alone."

"As—as you wish, Isabella," the guard stammered. He motioned with his hand, and there was a commotion as the rest of the guards followed him out of the jail.

Isabella appeared in front of his cell, but Hawk did not move. "So you've come to finish me off," he said, and steeled himself for the end. No one would ever know the truth, now. Not about Isabella, not about Eagle's death.

She laughed unpleasantly. "No, that would be too easy. No, no. You've been sentenced to death by hanging. Your execution will take place tomorrow at noon at the public gallows, in front of all your fellow thieves. That would be much more interesting that killing you outright, wouldn't it?"

In other words, she wanted to watch him writhe and suffer in the knowledge that he was being betrayed by everyone he knew. An anonymous death in the desert was not enough for her. Hawk clenched his fist, furious, but was powerless to do anything. Which made him even more furious. He stood and paced restlessly to the cell bars. "Who are you, and why are you doing this?"

Isabella smirked. "Why should I tell you, of all people? But not like it matters, because you wouldn't tell anyway. You see, the necklace I gave to Jessica is cursed. If you talk about what happened, she dies. You wouldn't want anything to happen to your pretty little friend, would you?"

Hawk snarled and lunged at Isabella through the bars. He had no choice but to accept his impending death, but involving Jessica was unforgivable. Isabella backed away, but he caught the sleeve of her silk dress. "I'll kill you," he growled. "I'll kill you, whatever it takes!"

But Isabella remained unruffled. "Careful, now," she said coolly. "Someone…might get hurt."

It was then that he saw that Isabella was wearing the twin of the necklace she had given to Jessica. She fingered the crystal-blue jewel, as though contemplating what to do next. "Careful, Hawk. I would be very careful if I were you."

Slowly, very slowly, he released her sleeve. Isabella watched as Hawk gripped the bars, struggling to come to terms with his situation. Humans are so frail, she thought with disdain, and she swept away, leaving the young thief to brood upon his fate.

When Isabella had gone, Hawk thought the guards would return. As far as they knew, he had murdered Flamekhan's son and was a spy to boot. But nobody came back. Hawk waited and waited, but there was no one.

Isabella had only been in Navarre for six months, but she already knew where to strike. She had seduced their leader, Flamekhan, who had been long since widowed. Instead of killing Hawk and Eagle when they discovered her plotting, she turned them against each other, leaving herself free of blame. She ensured her secret was safe by threatening Jessica, the one person Hawk would never harm. Even if Hawk was heartless enough to sacrifice Jessica for the truth, he would have killed the only person in Navarre who might still believe him.

The silence was deafening, and his thoughts chased themselves around in his head. He burned with the intense desire for revenge, but from time to time, the iciness of reality spiked through the heat of his emotion: he was going to die. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Some time later, the door creaked opened again. Hawk's spirits rose briefly—a guard, a servant, anybody to break the silence of his isolation—then plummeted when hope was replaced with a sickening feeling. There were no windows, no hourglass to count the hours. A long time had passed. They were coming for him.

But there was only the sound of one person walking down the steps. A woman. Unlike last time, he was certain of her identity. He could recognize those footsteps anywhere.

Hawk stood and swiftly went to the bars. "Jessica!"

Jessica glided to his cell and stopped a few feet away, her delicate features set in a small frown. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. "Hawk…" she began, and trailed off. She seemed to struggle to find the words, but then she blurted out, "Tell me you didn't do it! Tell me you didn't kill Eagle!"

A wave relief passed through Hawk. She would listen to him, after all! "Jessica, of course I—"

But his eyes fell on the blue pendant around Jessica's neck, and his mouth became drier than sand.

Isabella's warning rang in his ears. "Careful, Hawk. I would be very careful if I were you."

"I…" he faltered. Seeing Jessica made him so excited that he forgot all about the necklace. The jewel gleamed wickedly in the torchlight, a demon's eye, a parasite that had latched itself around her neck. He ducked his head in defeat, his hair falling into his eyes.

When he could not deny it, Jessica's hands flew to her mouth. "Hawk," she said in a strangled voice. She backed up a step, her eyes tearful and wide with horror. "Hawk…I don't... I don't know you anymore." Without another word, she fled up the stairs.

Hawk sank to the ground and leaned his forehead on the cool metal bars of his cell. But before he could slip even further into despair, a loud tapping came from somewhere in the wall, and suddenly the world around him exploded.

Coughing from the dust, Hawk reached up to rub the back of his neck, which stung from being pelted with pebbles and pieces of rock. What the hell?

"Hawk!" someone whispered. Behind him, there was now a gaping hole where the wall used to be. A large, dust-covered cat was crouched in its opening and beckoned at Hawk.

"Nikita? How did—"

"No time to chat!" Nikita said, his voice hushed but filled with urgency. "We have to get out of here before the guards find out!"

Hawk followed Nikita into the hole, and the cat led him through a labyrinth of tunnels, holding up a small lamp to guide their way. Each intersection forked into two or three new paths, leading up or down, right or left, or any direction they desired. He never knew such a network existed. Well, that was not entirely true—there were occasional rumors about secret tunnels in the fortress, but they were passed off along the same vein as ghosts that stalked the turrets at midnight. If the tunnels really existed—which, apparently, they did—how did Nikita know about them when no one else did?

"You're probably wondering how I know about these tunnels," the cat said, as though reading Hawk's mind. "Actually, several people do, but no one ever uses them because it's too easy to get turned around in here. But with my natural sense of smell, I can't get lost. I know where each one of these tunnels leads. Of course, I haven't told anyone else, because you never know who you can trust. But you've saved my ass so many times, I figured it was safe to show you."

"Thanks, Nikita," Hawk said dryly.

"I knew you didn't do it," Nikita said, more serious now. "You and Eagle were like brothers. Everyone knows that. And that's what I don't get, how they all turned on you like that without even questioning what happened. Something's not right about that Isabella chick, either."

Hawk did not reply, fearing that even the slightest thread of truth might escape his lips and endanger Jessica. Nikita seemed to take Hawk's silence as a sign that he spoke too bluntly, so the cat kept his mouth shut the rest of the way.

Nikita halted when they reached a dead end. But instead of turning around and going back the way they came, the cat reached into his pockets and produced a key. A rectangle in the wall of rock swung away from them, and they emerged into a small storeroom, the shelves laden with bottles and herbs and various other trinkets.

"Is this…?"

"My shop," Nikita affirmed, and set the lamp on one of the shelves. "Give me your hand."

Hawk obediently held up his left hand, allowing Nikita to unwrap the bandage. The thin piece of cloth was white on the outside, but as he came closer to the wound, the rust color of dried blood started to appear, and the innermost bandage was still damp and red. Hawk's hand was exposed, a long gash stretching across his palm, the inside raw and glistening. Nikita produced a water skin and twisted off the top. "Poto oil," he said, and poured the contents over the wound.

"Poto oil?" Hawk said incredulously. Potos were mythical creatures that were said to inhabit the ice-covered countries in the north. Ice-covered countries, which also had to be a myth. The idea of any place cold enough to be covered in ice, let alone have people live there, was too absurd to be true.

"Wait, Nikita, where did you get this?" Hawk asked suspiciously, remembering the cat's fondness for exotic but questionable items. He drew his hand back, but too late. To his surprise, however, the wound seemed to pull itself closed, leaving only a thin scar.

"Through my black market contact," Nikita all but huffed, miffed at Hawk's apparent lack of faith. "I can't believe you doubted me even for a second!"

"I've been your guinea pig too many times not to know better," Hawk countered, but relieved that the oil actually did what it was supposed to do. Then he elbowed his comrade. "But poto oil? They sure suckered you good this time, bro. What's next, fairy dust?"

"Stop being such a smartass. I'm trying to help you here. Besides, it worked, didn't it?"

Suddenly, a chorus of clanging of alarm bells could be heard through the thick stone walls. "Dammit, we've been found out," Nikita hissed, shoving the poto oil—or whatever it was—and a sack of rations into Hawk's hands, and pushed him out into the store proper. "Go to the southern port. There's a ship leaving for Jad in two hours. You should be able to make it."

Hawk moved to open the door, but he paused at the threshold. "Nikita…take care of Jessica, ok? And stay away from Isabella. She's more dangerous than you know."

Nikita waved a paw dismissively. "You don't have to tell me twice. Now get going!"

So for the second time that night, Hawk made his escape into the darkness of the Navarre desert.