AN: Thanks to my reviewers- Alliekat1996, dares to dream, Shang Leopard, SarahE7191, Cymru na Alethaira, Dragonfly275, secret-scribbled-notebooks, Evilstrawberry, and my beta, KyrieofAccender. Hopefully, the next chapter will be more quickly written; I've already got a lot of it, so I may have it up next week, even though I have exams coming up.

Chapter Three

Arrival

"Cadel!" Deryne laughed breathlessly as her cousin, Cadel of Broakhale, parried her blows with a twist of the wrist and withdrew, his face perfectly blank as he watched her blade for the faintest giveaway. Of all her friends- indeed, anyone she sparred with- Cadel was the only one fast enough to give her a real challenge. He never thought; he just attacked. In the past few months, she had given up trying to use her gudruna to help her; his thoughts were closed to her, and the wind could give her little warning before his blows reached her.

She was grateful for the break from her unfair advantage; the only person besides Cadel- and possibly Rikash, when he didn't lose his temper- who could completely block her out was gone, but Cadel was almost as good as he had been.

Now that they stood apart, she could feel his body shift in the air as they slowly circled each other, searching for openings.

Then his sword was in her face; Deryne ducked as it swept over her head, then yanked her blade up against his. The resounding clang echoed through her ears, pounded through her mind, as she silenced all thought, listening hard to the minuscule gudruna that picked up his movements. They broke apart and Cadel feinted, taking a step back before he lunged back towards her. Deryne parried the attack and slashed back towards her cousin; he was already jumping out of the way, his blade coming back to meet hers; Deryne barely got her sword up in time as their swords locked. She pressed down, sweat dripping off her forehead, trying to force Cadel to disengage. With a grunt of effort, Cadel lifted his blade, sending Deryne's arm flying backwards. His blade zipped back towards her neck, but Deryne stepped back and parried the blow. But Cadel was not finished; as she tried to back away and recover, he drove his sword against hers; the force shoved Deryne's blade in close, her arms folded against her body as he drew up against her. The girl winced as her arm bent back, her sword slipped from her grip.

There was one option left.

"Sorry, Cadel," she muttered, then lifted her knee up sharply, knocking him away from her. He yelped, then swore as he retreated. Deryne took advantage of the time to snatch up her sword. "I did apologize," she announced, swinging her blade. "And any attacker isn't going to play nice-"

She lunged one way, then another; the knight parried both hits, then pursued her with a complicated set of feints, cuts, and blows.

"Don't hold back on my account," he retorted as they came body to body again; this time, Cadel hooked his foot around Deryne's; she fell heavily with a yelp. Before she could recover, Cadel's blade snaked in to touch the base of her chin. She sighed.

"I yield," she declared, wiping the sweat from her brow as Cadel drew back. With a smile, she took his offered hand and he hauled her to his feet. He patted her on the back with a breathless laugh.

"Well fought, cousin," he told her. A small laugh escaped her; she bowed elegantly.

"My thanks, valiant knight," she replied with a gleam in her eyes. "You're good for me; it isn't often I can be trounced." Cadel grinned, his hazel eyes proud.

"You can always count on me," he told her. "We can't have you getting too cocky."

Numair hoped Deryne and Cadel had not noticed his presence at their duel; he suspected his constant scrutiny discomforted Deryne, but her magic fascinated him. It was elusive and powerful, frighteningly so. Rikash was power, endowed with an endless supply of magic that could destroy anything in his way, but Deryne… she was altogether much more subtle… and that much scarier. Make the right Gate, and Rikash was finished; he was predictable, hot-headed… which left Numair worrying much more about Deryne of Queenscove, who could read minds and summon gales as easily as breathing. She was also turning into a dangerous swordswoman. He chuckled dryly to himself; it was a good thing she was on his side….

"Queenscove is weak," a cold, calculating voice to his right announced. Numair looked around, startled out of his reverie; the training master, Padraig haMinch, stood watching as the two fighters ended their match. "She possesses a unique and strong Gift, doesn't she?"

Not a Gift, Numair corrected silently as he nodded. Her magic is far too powerful- too different- to be the Gift. HaMinch turned his large, thoughtful eyes back to the young woman as she spoke with her cousin.

"Not so confident when she faces someone who fights impulsively, is she?" he asked. "Without thought." Numair's palms sweated; the conservative was hitting a little too close to the truth for the black robe mage's comfort. "The way she moves into a counterattack before her opponent moves his blade… it leaves one to make intriguing conclusions." Damn. He did know. Numair stared out over the practice courts; of course haMinch had picked up on it. The man was clever, and he had taught Deryne for four years, however grudgingly.

"A natural ability," the mage defended; asking Deryne to stop hearing gudruna was like telling her not to breathe. Eventually, the whispers on the wind would find their way into her mind, whether or not she wanted them.

"I see." The training master was silent for a moment. "Tell me; is there any way to deprive her of this… natural ability?" Yes; there were spells. When she had been younger, Numair had put some on her to preserve her sanity. Then her magic had broken free… rebelled against every attempt to rebind it. Numair had been left with no choice but to train her to control it herself. "If so," the man said coolly, watching as the pair of youths laughed. "Then her magic is a crutch; if she is ever without it, this weakness could kill her." Numair nodded silently; he disliked the conservative, but the man had a point.

He should be grateful for the warning.

"Deryne!" The two youths turned around to see Mequen pass the training courts in an uncharacteristically flustered dash. A wide grin crossed the girl's face as she realized why he ran.

"They're here!" she exclaimed. "At the river-" Sheathing her blade, she broke into a run for the stables, only just remembering to wave farewell to Cadel before she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. She was arguably the fastest squire in the kingdom, and managed to catch up with Mequen just as they entered through the stables by a side entrance.

Deryne had thought the greeting party that left the palace to meet the Kyprian delegation at the river would be small; to the contrary, chaos reigned in the relatively small and cramped space. The doors were flung outwards, allowing sunlight and a faint, cool breeze through the mess of nobles, stable hands, and mounts. Deryne slipped past Numair, who was eyeing his horse apprehensively, and Rikash, already mounted, watching his father with mixed amusement and chagrin.

With the ease of a practiced rider, she saddled her horse, Gale; the speckled gray mare had been her family's birthday gift for Deryne last August. Zephyr, the strong but unreliable stallion who had served her since her page years, had been given to her younger cousin, Vanora, Cadel's little sister. Deryne's father, the Chief Palace Healer Sir Nealean of Queenscove had deemed the black, stubborn horse a menace to a squire who was charged with a duty to rid Tortall of nests of demonic immortals born in Chaos.

"You're a hero of the realm," he had said flatly, to both her embarrassment and delight. "You need a brave, sturdy mount." Deryne agreed with him; although she had not tested Gale in a fight yet, the mare was bold and patient, unlike her finicky predecessor. Deryne stroke Gale's mane affectionately before pulling herself up into the saddle and urging Gale towards the front of the gathering group. Numair had secured a place for his three students at the front of the delegation with him; Cyne would actually be able to see them.

The black robe mage's towering body was clearly visible from atop a horse; Deryne slipped demurely through the crowd to him. As she neared and distinguished the forms of Rikash and Han, she wondered what she should say, if anything, to them. If she spoke to Han, she would inevitable talk with Rikash, too-

Her worries were for naught. Even before she approached, a voice called for the delegation to ride out. Acute relief washing over her, Deryne let Gale fall in line behind Han and watched the back of Rikash's blond head as his hair gleamed in the sunlight.

Four youths dressed in fine Kyprian garb- adapted for the colder mainland of Tortall- stood foremost among the ranks of delegates crowding the dock to catch a glimpse of the banks on either side of the wide river that wound from Port Caynn to Corus. Cyne shivered as a cold breeze wound around her neck and swept past her; it tasted of magic, familiar magic that sent waves of exhilaration through her. Her deceivingly calm, blue-green eyes swept the docks; in the distance, she could make out the wide, royal platform crowded with welcomers.

"Trickster be damned, that's gonna be a lotta introductions," Merle muttered in her friend's ear. The redhead tossed her curly hair with annoyance. "We'll be standing for hours… don't they know formalities are best inside and seated?" The young man standing next to her snorted.

"You could always turn into a bird and fly away, hatchling," he drawled, dark eyes glinting wickedly as he used a childhood nickname. Merle turned on him, glowering as her cheeks flushed dangerously.

"Shut your mouth, Brand Sibigat-"

"That is true," Damek said, leaning against the ship's railing to exchange a grin with Brand. "You could bail whenever you felt like it. Unfortunately, the rest of us humans remain grounded."

"Can you imagine the scene we'd cause, if the lot of us turned into a flipping flock of crows?" Brand laughed as his friends smiled.

"It would cause a stir," Cyne agreed wryly as she thought about the insult it would be to Tortall to attempt to elude the torture lying in wait. She eyed the crowd, which grew in size as they approached, and sighed, cursing formalities. "Don't suppose you could teach us?" Merle snorted.

"Sorry- the lot of you are two-leggers, through and through."

"Thank Mithros for that," Brand mumbled, earning a punch on the arm. He yelped. "What was that for, Merl?"

"For being annoying, in every sense of the word," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. Cyne had to duck her head to hide a grin when she saw the look of fervent loathing in the redhead's hazel eyes. Only she knew the full extent of her friend's meaning; Brand's humor irritated Merle Crow as much as her attraction to him did. Not that either boy with them knew the daughter of the Kyprian spymaster had fallen for the son of the commander of the Isles' forces. With parents who were good friends from the days of the rebellion, Merle and Brand had grown up together, knowing their duties would someday be to guard the heir to the throne of the Copper Isles; what they hadn't know was that the heir would not be Dove's daughter, but the niece of the Queen, daughter of the very girl who had refused the Crown of the Isles for love of Carthak's chief healer.

There. Cyne's gaze roved the sky as a slow breeze picked up, whipping around her clothes and stirring her hair; her friends' garments stayed relatively still as the princess's grip on the railing tightened. Chills ran through her; she was being watched... and not in the ordinary sense, either.

Something seemed to pick at her mind, an urge that summoned her towards the dock, a primeval call that had grown from the growl on the coast of Tortall to the roar Cyne sensed as water lapped up against the ship's prow.

She was almost certain she knew what it was now; dreading the long proceedings that would inevitably unfold when they landed, she could not help but drum her fingers impatiently against the wood beneath her hands. Her friend, Deryne, had written many times about the mysteries circling them, and their certainty that Cyne was one of them....

When the ship was finally moored and the platform set out, Cyne swallowed heavily, scarcely noticing when Damek took her hand and squeezed it gently before falling back behind Lord Thearl Riddock, head of the delegation, and Lord Tajang, his second-in-command.

She was expected to lead; she stepped off of the ship, her gaze playing across the crowd, searching as she barely listened to the herald.

"Her Highness Princess Cyne Temaida Balitang Hetnim, Heir of Her Majesty Queen Dovasary-"

And there she was; Cyne locked eyes with another young woman wearing breeches and a shirt that had obviously seen many hours in the practice courts of the palace. Steel-blue, catlike eyes bore into hers; Deryne of Queenscove had the same intensity in her narrow, fair face as Cyne. Behind her were two tall youths, one with blond hair, the other with an intriguing mix of earthy colors that left his hair not red nor blond nor brown, but all of them at once. The blond, lanky one Cyne knew; he had the same vehement, wary look in his amber eyes as the last time she had seen him. The other she only knew through Deryne's letters, but she was not shy of him; he was one of them.

One of us. The burning pull on her mind faded as she laid eyes on them, leaving no doubt in her mind that Deryne's word about the Four were true. Us. The knowledge bore down on Cyne, striking her as certain as the sea pounding upon the sand, its familiar waves with their ancient, everlasting and not uncomfortable weight.

Deryne mouthed words as she backed away with the other two, fading into the crowd; Cyne wanted to follow, but the promise on her old friend's lips stayed her.

Later we'll talk. All of us.

But for now, the Kyprian would be on her own. Resigned, she turned her attention to Tortall's prince and her brother standing behind him.

If only she could stand with Merle and Brand; their whispered squabbling could have keep her entertained. As it was, there was no distraction from the drawn out introductions and the greetings that followed, made even slower by her impatience.

"There's a great deal of material Sir Myles and I have found in the library about the Old Ones," Numair said as he unraveled a scroll. "It was one of his lifelong studies, the Old Ones." Deryne stared at him incredulously.

"And you're only telling me now?" she demanded; they had kept information from her? How long had they been holding out? Numair sighed.

"We started after we put the Seals on the Vents in the Black Caverns; you hadn't been very open to further study at that point." Deryne bit her lip; that was true….

"Couldn't you have told me?" Numair frowned.

"It's grueling work, to discern anything of use," he admitted. "And we've found very little. From Malvyn, we know that his Guild was formed 'to help the Four to their destiny,' which he says is death at the hands of Roger of Conte in order to make him a god." Deryne snorted, pushing back the flicker of pain she felt thinking about the resurrected Duke.

"And Roger lied to him; we know that, because he told me himself." Her eyes narrowed in hate. "And then said he didn't dare whisper the truth, even to a dead man. Woman." She made a face.

"But there might be a gleam of truth in the lie he gave out," Numair told her. "The trick is separating the truth from the lie." Deryne glowered, fists clenched. "From what we've found, I believe the Guild actually was intended to help you, but its purpose has been corrupted with this lie. Now it seeks to kill you instead of whatever it was supposed to do for you." He grimaced. "But it matters little. The damage is done; the Guild is your enemy now. But- besides their symbol- there is next to nothing about them."

"Don't you have Guild members to interrogate? To figure this all out?" the squire snapped. Her teacher ran a hand through his peppered hair.

"We can never find any members, not anyone within their important ranks; anyone we do catch hardly knows where to meet, let alone what the Guild really is." Deryne's jaw set.

"You're a black robe mage," she accused, not attempting to veil the acid in her voice. "Why can't you snap your fingers and poof!- Guild. Or Roger- why can't we find Roger?" Her voice rose as the question spilled from her lips. Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes; she hated him, she wanted the Duke dead.

"The Queen of Chaos is veiling him from seer's Sight," Numair said gently. "Even Irnai is forced to hold her tongue, even if she is able to See. You told me yourself she can barely speak in her usual riddles when she tries to warn you." He cleared his throat. "But I can tell you what we've found out so far, now that all four of you are here." A tight smile crossed his face. "I don't think we can dare to stay quiet now." Confused, Deryne shot her teacher a look, cocking an eyebrow. The man raised an eyebrow back. "Don't tell me you think it is a coincidence that Cyne is here now, with the three of you? With Scanra marshaling its forces, and whispers of this new ally of the North? Our spies in Scanra disappearing or turning up dead, or half-mad, with ravings about a shadow darker than night?" Deryne frowned; she had not heard that. Numair correctly interrupted her puzzlement. "The king has been trying to keep that quiet, but it's only a matter of time before people start talking," Numair whispered, his face dark. "Now, are you ready?" Deryne nodded.

Someone knocked on the door of Numair's study, then opened it; Rikash and Han strode in.

"Leave the door open," the black robe mage commanded, glancing out the window at the sun as it dipped towards the horizon. The two youths sat; Han took the seat to Deryne's right, and Rikash next to him. The girl finally noticed that Numair had set up four chairs in front of him instead of the usual three, and there was another one on his side of the desk. They waited in silence; in a few minutes, Deryne heard Sir Myles's voice out in the corridor.

"Yes, this door right here," the old man said, and Cyne was in the doorway, her bright eyes seeming startled as she took in the four people waiting. Then the old scholar appeared at her side and strolled in. "Hello, Numair. I suppose you want to start with that legend we found in the old Guild book?" The mage nodded, opening one of the texts on his desk. "I don't need that, Numair; I doubt I could even read that small print, anyway," Myles said, his laugh dry and hoarse as he settled in his chair, sharp eyes flickering back to Cyne, who lingered in the hall. "Well, come in! Shut the door behind you, too, if you please-" The girl obeyed, before slipping into the empty chair next to Deryne. The two girls exchanged smiles; they would catch up later.

"Han, Cyne. Cyne, Han," Numair muttered as he picked up another scroll and scrutinized it with narrowed eyes. Han nodded to the girl.

"Your Highness. Deryne has told me much about you." A smile crept across Cyne's face as his friendly manner eased her anxiety. "She never lets either of us read directly, but we hear bits from your letters often."

"Cyne," she corrected. Han grinned back.

"Cyne." He opened his mouth to continue.

"Introductions later," Myles interrupted. He cleared his throat and smiled crookedly. "Through decades of translations and searching, I have managed to put this together; it is as close to the original texts as our language allows." He paused, eyes burning with intense excitement. "Are you ready to hear the most elusive myth of the world, for immortal and mortal alike?" Deryne gave him a long look; the theatric air the old knight had picked up made her wary. "The long disputed, hidden, and rewritten truth of the ages long ago?" She couldn't help it; her eyes slid to Rikash, to see what he thought of this little speech. She caught him giving her the same grim, sidelong glance, and her gaze leaped back to Sir Myles, away from her fellow adept as though his stare burned her. "Here it is: the story of the Beginning, the Creation of the Realms."

AN: Sorry about the delay; I was having difficulties with some aspects of this chapter, so I spent a bit of extra time on it.