AN: Thanks to all my reviewers for the past two chapters! I have reached 50 reviews already! :D This chapter would have been done quicker, but, in a spurt of muse-ness, I worked out the entire twisted plot of this story! So thanks to SarahE7191, twilightm00n, Shang Leopard, Eternityfalls, Cymru na Alethaira, PurpleBookWorm, Alliekate1996, Evilstrawberry, Dragonfly257, and my beta, KyrieofAccender.

Chapter Six

The Leave Taking

She had one final practice in the training yards; Numair wanted her to be ready for anything Roger could throw at her. Deryne closed her eyes and sought to clear her mind, moving through a series of Yamani stretches that her aunt Kel had taught her. She felt more like a dancer than a warrior as she reached upwards towards the ceiling.

Her mind opened to the gudruna around her, shutting all her thoughts away as she made room for her magic to work through her. As always, a panicked thrill whipped through her, upsetting her calm as she strived to bury herself underneath her magic; she felt as though she was losing herself whenever she tried this, and that fear only brought back a haze of worry that impeded her progress.

There was another reason she was more skittish than usual; Numair had put an inactive Gate on the floor beneath her, warning her that he would activate it with his Gift at some point to suppress her gudruna, but he had not told her when, or what she would be forced to do- he said that surprise was half the challenge, probably more. All she knew was that Cadel and Sir Alan were involved.

But now she thrust all that knowledge away from her, pulling the air around her into her mind to sweep everything away except the news it brought her.

"Shall we begin?" Numair's delicate whisper whipped through her head, and Deryne nodded once, sending her magic out to fill the space around her- "Sekali first." Numair's new name for wind arrows; sekali, like gudruna, were part of her magic over the wind. Her teacher had gotten the name from myths about Frejonak, which said he wielded daggers of air that the northerners called sekali. Deryne had no doubt that the mountain god had bestowed this power of his onto her; it was her most deadly skill.

Deryne stood perfectly still, listening to the whispers the breezes ushered back to her; she recognized the taint of magic the moment it entered her mind. As she seized the feeling, the magic left her fingers. To Deryne, it seemed almost ages later that she whipped around, eyes open, to watch her invisible spell shoot through Numair's illusion of a Shadow immortal, which disappeared as two more appeared. Deryne's fingers snapped out to release the sekali before she turned to destroy an illusion only half-formed behind her. Again and again she thrust her magic out with almost no effort, even as she "killed" hundreds of the illusions surrounding her; she could hear Numair's heavy breathing- the gudruna told her that sweat poured down his forehead as he exerted himself to keep her busy. This was the part of the sekali that frightened her, if she stopped to think about it. Unlike any spell equal to the them, these wind arrows took no effort; the sekali demanded only focus, something Deryne had honed in her years of listening to gudruna. It was what made the king wary of her; if Numair had not lied to him about the extent of her abilities, Roald would not trust her. He might even consider her a danger to the kingdom.

But what he feared was that she could kill anyone before her without warning- could kill a whole room without a bead of sweat marring her face-

What he didn't understand was that it hurt her; even slaying Shadows- made of Chaos and darkness and nothingness- tore at the fringes of her mind. Now, since what she fought was only a conjured image, there was none of the agony that touched her when she used her gudruna to find the mind of that she sought to destroy and lock it into her own mind before she sent a sekali to rip the beast to pieces, listening to its fear and confusion, its writhing and the silence that permeated the wind when it finally surrendered to death.

And that was only a Shadow… Deryne shuddered to think what killing a person with sekali would be like.

A Shadow swept across the ground towards her; Deryne's arm snapped downwards, her palm facing the ground, and a blast of wind slammed into the stone floor, thrusting her up into the air as the illusion flew under her, soaring only a few feet before a sekali sent it into oblivion. She teetered unsteadily in the air as the final ring of Shadows closed in on her, then released the gales holding her up. As she fell towards the ground, she sharpened each wind arrow in her mind, finding the exact place it would land on each victim and releasing the torrent of sekali into the wave of darkness. Then she called up the breezes once more to ease her landing; she slowed, then landed, cat-like, on the ground, her sword clanging against the floor. With a grin, she glanced over at Numair, who hated when she let herself free-fall, but he was already busy; she felt the current of Gift magic enter the Gate beneath her, and her smile faded as her gudruna were silenced and the outlines of the Gate glowed black, leaving her with only her acute hearing, which warned her of someone behind her just in time.

She leapt away as Cadel approached, sword out. Chiding herself, she drew her own blade and held it out just as he attacked.

They exchanged blow after blow, parry after parry, but Cadel always had the upper hand. Deryne was not surprised; he gave no natural hint of his intentions and she sought none. His eyes feinted one way; his blade whipped the other way. He had been the squire of Prince Jasson, the King's Champion, and it showed, even though relatives had always bragged that Cadel had a natural talent. Only her speed and the wide expanse of space saved her; he could not back her into a corner.

Her muscles burned; her breath was heavy and quick as she evaded his blade, ducking more and more as her palms sweated, her fingers weakening their hold on the hilt as Cadel slammed his blade into hers again and again.

Still she persisted, teeth gritted.

Then, suddenly, the black magic beneath her feet winked out; the gudruna raced back to her, sending renewed energy and assurance through her. She had a split second warning of urgent images before her knight master's sword whipped towards her from behind. Engaging her cousin quickly, she thrust Cadel back and ducked, listening hard as the sword flew over her. Turning she kicked out, hitting Sir Alan's knee as Cadel came back down on her. She parried her cousin's blow, then blocked a low cut from behind without a glance at her other attacker.

That has to be embarrassing, she thought, shifting her blade into a complex set of patterns to ward off Cadel, then meeting her knight master's sword, using both hands to hold his upper cut away from her head. To be blocked by a girl-child without a look your way. She felt as though she were dancing, swimming in an ocean of gudruna; she leapt to the side as Alan bore down. Then she jumped back into a fray of furious blows and parries with both opponents, neatly staying a step ahead as long as she had the strength. But, inevitably, her muscles tired, and Alan locked blades with her, giving Cadel an opening to "end" the duel by tapping her with the blunt of his blade.

As she disengaged with a sigh, Numair's black Gift shimmered across each blade, releasing the protective spells he had placed for their own safety. Her eyes blurred for a moment, and she sheathed her sword as a headache swarmed her mind. She put both hands to her temples.

"Ouch." She winced, eyes still closed. Carefully, she closed her mind to all but the usual gudruna that raced through her head. "I think I need to lie down."

"Only for a few hours," Alan said as Cadel helped her walk. "And then we leave for Caynn." Deryne groaned.

"This is all your ma's fault," she told her cousin. "If it weren't for her, I never would have taken to the harebrained notion that knighthood was a good idea."

"What I don't get," Damek grumbled as he and his two companions trooped towards the town inn. "-is why I have to be the squire." Rikash raised an eyebrow at the Kyprian.

"Because it's your only way to stay in the loop," he retorted abruptly. "To keep an eye on your little darling." Damek shot him a look, then looked over at Han in appeal.

"I'm too old to be a squire," Han answered. "And Rikash has that noble air down to an art; he has lived in the palace all this life." His green-brown twinkled when Rikash glared at him.

"Careful," the fire mage muttered. "I hear servants usually aren't that impudent when speaking to their masters." Han chuckled softly under his breath, quickening his step in order to reach the door before the others and yank it open with a bow.

"After you, then, my liege," he drawled. Rikash fought his scowl; it wasn't completely Han's fault that he seemed to resemble Deryne more than ever before. A bald man with graying hair at the temples scurried over to them as they strode in. A buxom brunette followed him, her eyes sizing all three of them up.

"A room for me and my squire!" Rikash called out, voice sharp and brusque; in the week of hard riding they had perfected this act. Now came the real test; Proguer was a bustling crossroads town, where travelers and traders were always coming in and out. Their performance would keep them from the notice of any Scanran scouts who might be on the lookout for Malvyn. "And a hot bath!" He turned around the tavern floor, directing his voice throughout the room. "What need does anyone have for sending messages during this time of year?" he demanded in exasperation, dramatically flinging his arms about. The brunette was still standing with them. She smiled.

"You've had a hard ride, then, sir?" she asked sweetly. Rikash nodded, glowering.

"Nobody needs to know much until spring, anyhow! There's little point in going all the way up to the border, and all the way down, for supply orders!" His voice rose in outrage as she nodded in sympathy. "If they're need of supplies, now, the lot of them will be dead before anything can be sent!" He tugged off his riding gloves and shoved them at Damek. "Ride hard and fast they say- I think I'll take a respite, now and then, from running madly 'bout like a lapdog!" He sneered as he looked back at Damek. "Tell Bryn not to start feeding my stallion hay from the stable floors, like last time. Simple-headed fool!" he muttered, shaking his head. "And bring my bags upstairs."

"Yessir." Damek watched as Rikash stalked off towards the bar, head held high as the attractive woman followed him with a simpering smile, and sighed to himself. Whether it was all an act or not, this high-mannered ness was beginning to annoy him. And that woman- with her swaying hips- well, that just irked him, the way she seemed ready to hang all over Rikash; the last complication they needed was a serving maid who couldn't keep her hands to herself. If they weren't careful, she could easily figure out something was wrong. He made his way down to the stables, where Han was unsaddling the horses.

"Hello, Bryn," he said, putting emphasis on the false name as he rolled his eyes. "The master wants you to be a good servant and feed his horse properly." Han's lips twitched.

"Is he getting to you?" he asked.

"Yessir, nossir, three bags full, sir." Damek shook his head. "No, not at all." His heavy sarcasm made Han chuckle.

"You sound like Deryne." Han watched with interest as a grimace crossed the other youth's face, despite his attempts to hide it. "Something wrong?" Damek glanced away from the straightforward, good-humored eyes scrutinizing him intently.

"A mind reader," he said quietly. "You tell me what isn't wrong about that. It's unnatural." Han considered this slowly, then shrugged.

"Unusual, perhaps, but not-" Damek turned back to look at the older youth, brown eyes locking with his.

"I wouldn't expect you to agree with me," he said coolly as he picked up Rikash's bags and hauled them over his shoulder. A small smile crossed his lips as he whispered, "Earth-shaker." Han's eyebrows rose.

"So Numair let you know what you were walking into." Damek shrugged, then shook his head, not unfriendly.

"Only because I already knew."

"Cyne told you?" Han guessed, but Damek shook his head.

"I've always been able to sense magic," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "To feel a mage's strengths; it's part of my Gift." He gritted his teeth. "I feel Cyne's, too. All oceans and darkness; storms and rain-"

"Enough to send a goddess into Chaos," Han finished, watching Damek's surprise spread across his face. "Us unnatural ones have to stick together," he said, not without humor. "I would tell her whatever she wanted to know about my powers, and I'll tell you, too," he added. He cast a quick look around the empty stables before continuing. "I can make the earth shake; I can reach so deep into the earth and its seams that I can feel the barriers between the realms and how they shift." His eyes darkened. "And they've been moving," he said quietly. "Pulling and stretching and clashing; it means trouble. But I'm changing the subject." He shook his head, breaking the sudden solemnity abruptly. "I can make seeds into trees before your eyes, too. My green thumb, my father called it." He stretched, still watching Damek. "And the ground moves at my command, and speaks to me, at times. Did you know all that?" Damek shook his head.

"I wasn't prying," he said, sounding affronted. "But some powers… you might as well wear them on your sleeves. Like the fire mage." He jerked his head in the direction of the inn. "Every time he moves, speaks- all I can see are the flames." Han whistled lowly in sympathy.

"No wonder you've been blanching and rearing like a wild stallion," he muttered; he had wonder about Damek's odd behavior at times during their journey so far. Then he grinned. "He makes the rest of us jumpy as it is." Damek had to laugh with him. "Don't worry 'bout him; he's as harmless as a pup." His lips twisted; he didn't like to lie. "Most of the time." But Damek would not have to trouble himself about that; his shortest fuse, Deryne, was leagues away. For now.

They made a sight, the pair of them. Upon seeing the girls- young women, really- Kol was reminded of the stories his sister Bea used to whisper on stormy nights, of lovely immortals with hearts of ice, breathtaking queens lifted high up into the sky to sparkle for all of eternity, of Denmarie the Earth-shaker and Palawynn the Wave-walker, of whom legends whispered were goddesses born as mortals.

Of course, he had heard the stories about both of the lasses, rumors from courtiers and the sailors, who said they had never had a finer nor faster trip to the Isles with the Kyprian heir on board. And the other, the Tortallan, was always going in and out of the palace on urgent business, important enough to carry the King's seal on nearly every scroll she carried….

Neither was very tall; scrawny as he was, Kol was probably already about their height even though he was a few years younger, but they moved confidentially, heads held high as they surveyed the docks they crossed towards the ship. The first mate cuffed Kol on the back of the head, ordering him to stop gawking, but the boy stayed where he was.

There were two others, a boy and a girl, with the two he watched, but they seemed to fade next to their companions, even in the bright sunlight. In fact, he watched the girls so closely, Kol hardly noticed the graceful but small bird of prey which swept across the docks before flying up into the masts above his head.

The squire slipped in front of her Kyprian friend, eyeing the vessel warily before the princess behind her chuckled and poked her.

"I thought knights weren't afraid of anything," she laughed, sounding more like Kol's sister than the queen-to-be of the Isles.

"Ever heard of Alanna the Lioness?" the other one retorted as she continued walking. Her eyes were finely-shaped, cat-like and almond-shaped, and her figure, though muscled, swayed in the wind, more like a willow-wisp than a squire.

They came aboard, the squire first, then the redhead who had walked with them. Both scanned the deck, eyes passing over him, even though he was close enough to touch. Then the Kyprian princess took a step forward; her foot caught on the final rung of the plank between the ship and the dock. Before anyone else could move, Kol was there, catching her by the arm and gently steadying her.

"Easy, miss," he heard himself say. Then his gaze locked with hers, and he resisted the temptation to make the Sign Against Evil on his chest; brilliant, blue-green eyes stared into his, unnaturally iridescent even for someone not of her dark, golden complexion. He swallowed heavily, and a gloved hand swept him back: the squire. He glanced at her, only to be held transfixed again by the eyes of the girl he looked at; hard, icy gray-blue eyes that seemed to cut through him like the finest Raven Armory blade glared.

"It's fine, Deryne," the one with the sea eyes said. "He helped me. No harm done." She smiled at him. "Thank you." The squire- Deryne- was not finished looking at him.

"Hm," was all she said, one harsh, short syllable, before she turned away. "Can't be too careful," she said with a sigh. She smiled fleetingly at Kol. "Sorry about that." Kol ducked his head, unable to speak. The young man bringing up the rear still slipped on board behind the princess and put himself between her and Kol. His distrustful and unapologetic dark eyes scrutinized the boy for a moment before checking the rest of the ship before them.

Of course. The redhead and the boy were bodyguards. Kol had to smirk; he had still been able to sneak through and help her before either of them could blink.

He watched as the first mate dashed over, welcoming them and giving hasty directions to their cabin before he was off again, but none of the four seemed eager to start moving themselves. Kol cleared his throat quietly; Deryne turned towards him before the sound was out of his throat, almost as though she had known he was trying to get their attention before he tried. The princess and the youth shifted half a moment later.

"I'd gi' outta the way, if I was you," he muttered, unable to meet any of their stares. "Cap'n don't like it when the landlubbers are-" He shut up, fleetingly remembering that repeating the captain's exact words were probably insulting. He was shocked when the Kyprian heir laughed; he glanced up, astonished, and Deryne was exchanging a glance with her friend, her lip quivering with suppressed laughter while the other three were chuckling with degrees of amusement.

"Well," the squire drawled, eyes twinkling; he was surprised by how much more friendly she looked without the hard stare. "-I suppose us landlubbers best get below. 'Specially you, Cyne; we can't have you mucking around up here." The redhead snorted, then jerked her head to the side.

"Over there," she said, shaking her head; her fellow bodyguard was still laughing. She tapped him on the shoulder. "Move out, hyena-face."

Kol watched the four of them go, and a shiver raced down his spine as he watched the two dark-haired girls strolling away; they were similar, in many ways. Neither had the pale complexion of mainlanders; the squire had creamy skin, skin that reminded him of the Yamani traders he had seen in Caynn. Both had hair that was either black or too dark to tell the difference, even though the Kyprian's was silky and straight, while Deryne's reminded him of a bird's nest, all bunched up and wavy. But their eyes-

Maybe they weren't the same color. Maybe they weren't the same size or shape; one's were elegant and narrow, the other's wide and delicate. But their eyes were exactly the same.

Damek sat uneasily in the tavern part of the inn, watching from across the table as Rikash downed a pint of ale and began to eat heartily; Damek knew his "knight master" hadn't really drank so much- Rikash usually burned it into oblivion before it could touch his lips. It still made Damek nervous; what if his companion really was drinking? He had already had two mugs…. He shook his head when the innkeeper came back around with the pitcher. Rikash shot him a glare.

"You're not helping my reputation," he hissed, cheeks flushed. Hoping the convincingly realistic act was an act, Damek rolled his eyes, picking at the meat on his plate.

"Don't worry about it," he muttered, wishing Han could be there. Alas, servants didn't usually eat with their masters. At least that meant that the all-too helpful maid could not use this time to try to be more cozy with the "knight." Damek grimaced as he remembered opening the door to deliver the baggage but instead ended up rescuing the other youth from an embarrassing situation…. Rikash shook his head.

"What did you find out about Malvyn's people?" he muttered, casting a glance around the room as he gulped down a biscuit. Damek shrugged.

"There have been a few who have been staying at the inn for a week or so, but I'd wager that if he's got any spies or lookouts, they're among the staff." Rikash swore, startling the other youth.

"Did you lock the door to the room?" he hissed, eyes flashing across the room. "There was that maid, earlier-" Damek swore, leaping up from his seat. Rikash was a moment behind him; heads turned as the two bolted to the stairs, leaping up them two at a time.

The door was unlocked when they entered, scanning the room for disturbances.

"I knew she was too interested in you," Damek muttered, and Rikash shuddered. "Find her. Now. Carefully. Don't draw any attention." He reached for the saddlebag with the speaking stone; anyone could have opened the bag, seen the stone, and cinched the straps again. Rikash snorted.

"A speaking stone isn't too suspicious," he said shortly as he headed for the door. "But anyone on close inspection is going to wonder about what we don't have." Damek ducked his head to avoid Rikash's heated glare, then grimaced as the fire mage left; both of them had a sword for appearance's sake, but they did not have enough armor and weapons between them to really be a knight and his squire.

"And Heolstor's probably ordered everyone scouting to look out for those two," he muttered to himself. At least Deryne and Cyne were not with them; Numair had been right to split them up. Together, they attracted too much attention. He groaned, rubbing his temples. They weren't even sure anyone had entered….

But Rikash and Han came back ten minutes later to report that the girl was gone. Nobody knew where she had gone; it was as though she had disappeared into thin air….

"Or that she went to report to Malvyn," Rikash hissed, shooting Damek a look that made the Kyprian flinch, try as he did to ignore it. Rikash snorted disdainfully before kicking his bag.

"We're leaving," he said sharply. "I don't care how bad it looks; we can't stick around now." Han nodded, face grim. "Maybe we're overreacting. But I'd rather camp in a sinkhole than sleep here if word gets to Malvyn."

"He'll know we're coming, either way," Han said, shrugging. Rikash's jaw set.

"But he won't know where we are. Not if I can help it."

Deryne suspected Cyne had something to do with the good time made by the ships sailing the delegations north, especially when early spring was a time of storms along the coast; the days were cold but clear, and the captain of their ship, the Aurora, was very pleased with himself. He could be heard trumpeting their day's gain and bragging about the tight ship he ran. Merle was ready to tear his eyes out, but Deryne and Cyne had convinced her it would be too much of a mess and fuss to bother with. Brand, on the other hand, egged her on, asking whether she would be using her fingers or her claws to inflict punishment.

"See," Deryne pointed out, slinging an arm around the redhead. "Brand thinks it's a good idea." Merle scowled, then sighed.

"-which means it's a horrible idea." Cyne laughed as Brand feigned hurt.

"Careful what you say to those who are bigger than you," he warned. "I could lift you up and toss you over the side." Merle snorted, crossing her arms.

"You could not," she challenged, leaning against the ship's railing. Brand waggled his eyebrows at him, then took a threatening step forwards. She looked at her fingernails. "Cyne would just lift me back out again." Slipping away from the two, Deryne sneaked over to where Cyne stood and whispered in her ear. The other girl stiffened, then put a hand over her mouth, eyes sparkling. Then Deryne leaned away, a small smirk twisting the corners of her lips. Then Brand lunged, grabbing his friend, who shrieked, trying to escape, but the boy lifted her up, one arm around her waist and the other around her legs as he leaned over the side-

Then, with a solemn nod at Deryne, Cyne twirled her fingers, and a small wave broke over the side out of nowhere, spraying both Brand and Merle. With a yelp, Brand retreated, instinctively pulling his captive closer. Deryne winked at Merle, who turned beat-red, stuck in Brand's arms.

"Lemme go!" she snapped, pounding her fists against his chest, and he complied instantly; when he dropped her, she lost her balance and he had to grab her again to steady her. If it were possible, Merle would have turned redder. He patted her on the shoulder.

"You all right, hatchling?" he drawled, shaking his wet hair out of his face. She did not deign to answer, or even to turn towards him; she settled for shooting a dark glare at the two girls to the side, who were trying not to smile. Then Deryne leaned in to whisper to Cyne.

"She'll thank us later." Then both of them burst to laughter, clutching their stomachs as they leaned up against the railing. "I didn't think she'd ever be swept off her feet so easily," the Tortallan choked out to Merle's chagrin and Brand's bemusement, before she collapsed into giggles.