Chapter Nine

A stranger comes calling

Moistening his lips, the warrior looked again to those beneath him. He commanded a battalion of twenty-two men, each huge and rough looking, which was exactly what was required for this mission, though perhaps, the warrior thought in distaste, he could have hired cleaner thugs.

They did not know who he was, where he came from, or even what he looked like. All they knew was that the stranger was rich, and they liked rich people. He had approached the leader, a giant of a man, and told him he was willing to pay in gold for several large men do to a job for him. The leader's eyes had gleamed when shown a small portion of the gold, and he had immediately agreed after the price had been named.

The next morning there was a rugged and dirty group of men wearing mismatched pieces of armor and wielding cheap slices of steel. He had paid them upfront, promising more once the task was completed. Their mission was named, once they were away from the prying eyes of the townsfolk, to take out a caravan of goods.

The stranger told the men he was an agent for an unnamed master and that the caravan they were to hit held his master's younger and beautiful wife. She had run off, he told them, with a younger man and the master was furious. They were to kill the lover and his guards and take the wife back to her furious and rich, the thugs assumed, husband.

Spies had reported that the caravan with the lovers in it was headed for the lord's fief after a very successful week at the annual Rovers Market. Once he and his stolen lover were there, he would be nearly impossible to kill and the wife would be lost to his master forever. That must not, the stranger stressed, happen. He informed the men he had others who would be waiting to take the travelers from the other side, and they would await his signal.

The guards of the caravan were little more than commoners dressed in finer clothes and wielding better weapons. Once the job was complete the thugs could plunder to their hearts' content. It would all be theirs; all the stranger wanted was the woman, alive.

The thugs had each been given instructions and a position to wait for the ambush, a narrow track with imposing pines as skirts. The ambush sight was hidden around the corner, away from view of the farmer that lived near. By the time he heard the battle cries and clash of weapons, it would be too late.

The stranger himself crouched behind a slim ledge of rocks that faced directly onto the muddy road. Hearing the clatter of a wagon and the creaking of leather, the thugs looked down the track. A small convoy of wagons crawled toward them, and the thugs were fantasizing too much of the riches they would receive after to notice the experienced alert way in which the mounted guards moved, nor how their weapons were of the finest quality and polished with excessive use.

The stranger smiled to himself; now was the time. A sharp whistle blasted through his lips and with cries, the thugs sprang from their hiding places and charged toward the wagons.

"Ambush," a soldier yelled as he drew his blade. His comrades quickly followed his actions and swarmed in a protective circle around the middle wagon. A lanky red-robed man pulled back his sleeves and began throwing balls of flame at the thugs.

Ignoring the goods said to be in the other wagons, thinking the greater riches were inside this, the thugs directed their attack to the middle caravan. In a brief moment before he had to defend himself, the thug leader pulled back the door and found himself face to face with a young girl.

Her scream distracted him, and the warriors who heard hastened to her side, screaming at her to run. Standing, the stranger walked smoothly around the dying thugs and followed the woman into the trees.

Several minutes later, the warrior reappeared, his robes flowing and flawless with no burrs for tale of his trek into the forest, the girl obediently following him, her clothes ripped and her shoes missing. Standing atop the same rock he had watched the thugs run to slaughter, he now watched as the warriors all turned their weapons on him.

The band of thugs he had hired to be a distraction were all dead, some from blade wounds or arrows, and others charred from fire. Several of the guards were dead, though many more were injured.

The girl screamed at him to let her go and then began to choke at a silent spell of silence. Seeing no immediate threat to their charge, the leader tried to bargain for her life, the scarlet robe mage subtly beginning an incantation.

"Fools," the stranger hissed. "The bargain has already been made."

Without allowing the soldiers time to digest his words, he struck. A single thought was all it took to pinch the nerves in the back of their necks, and they all fell, slowly toppling forward, dead. The mage who had passed mastery could only throw his full Gift into a defensive spell before he too died. The girl started to sob and shake. Turning, the stranger slung her casually over his shoulder and faded into the forest.

Later, when the searchers returned empty-handed, and the days began to pass, questions would be asked. Why was it that the farmer, who had told the soldiers the direct road to the fief had a tree fallen in its path, vanished to be found dead, and the gold he had accepted for the bribe missing? Why was it later reported that there was in fact no tree that had fallen? Who could kill some of the finest knights in the land anda mage from the Carthak University, a master, without a trace? And why would twenty-two thugs attack a caravan only few people knew the whereabouts of with full purses of gold? For those brave or foolish enough to ask questions, they each meet with the Dark God in a terrible accident. After all, so many "accidents" only days after the girl's death could only be a god's hand.

Clutching at the door, Alanna easily balanced the tray on her hip. Pushing the door open, she slid into the room and stopped in shock. The lady lay on a curved bed, one dark-haired female slave offering tidbits of food to her full lips; another blonde slave ran her callused hands over the lady's pale skin. A figure stood silently facing out the window, seemingly unable to look at the scene behind them. Each woman was bare, their clothes in piles on the tiles. The slave offering nibbles to the lady fed her and then slowly drew her fingers down her face, neck, and between the valley of her breasts.

Alanna could only blush furiously at the caress and hastily looked away. Now she understood. The lord and lady didn't have any children, and the lady had only female personal slaves. Sometimes a pretty slave disappeared for a few hours, ignoring the punishment for failing a duty. Now Alanna knew the reasons for the love bruises on their skin, and why they only stayed in the Lady's presence for the least amount of time.

The idea of a woman taking a female lover was foreign to Alanna, something she had only heard of, though she pondered, it was possible. Raku turned to face her as she cautiously moved further into the room, amusement in his eyes. She looked at him briefly before looking away. The lady looked up at her through closed eyes. "Come here, girl," she purred.

Alanna gulped and held the tray in front of her almost hoping it would turn into a shield as she hesitantly took a few steps forward. Setting the tray down on the table next to the dark-haired slave, Alanna risked a glance at her before moving back out of reach. The blonde looked up at her helplessly, never pausing in her massage of the lady's body.

The lady looked Alanna over. She was short, that was true, but so was the lady herself. She was naturally slender, the diminutive rations given to slaves adding little to her body fat. Yet she had muscle, though not as much as she had when she first arrived. Those eyes were a gift, the lady thought, from the gods, for lavender was her favorite color. She had never seen a person with violet eyes and red hair to mention.

"Look at me, child," she commanded of the blushing girl who showed elaborate interest in the marble floor.

The slave girl moistened her lips before tentatively glancing up at the lady. There was fire in this one, the lady realized, and such fire was usually doused by her husband or his right-hand man. "Tell me, girl," the lady said curiously, "have you laid with my husband?"

Alanna blinked and turned an even deeper shade of crimson. She quickly shook her head before looking at the floor. Her head snapped up when she was reminded she had not been instructed to look away.

"Are you sure?" the lady asked, disbelieving.

Alanna nodded again. "Yes, my lady," she answered. "I have not".

The Lady glanced over to Raku who nodded. "Good," she purred. Alanna's eyes snapped to the whip master, since it appeared he had magic also.

After ordering Alanna to hand over her empty tray to the blond-haired girl, the lady got to her feet slowly and seductively. "My husband," she snarled, "thinks I am not aware that he takes many a woman to his bed." A look of barely concealed fury crossed her face. "He thinks I am the perfect wife, always deferring to him, letting him make all the decisions for the land."

A coy smile graced her face, making her seem prettier than she actually was. "He does not know that I know. Nor does he know that I too take woman to my bed." She looked over at Raku from beneath her eyelashes. "Raku does not divulge and my bedmates are unwilling to speak. Also the threat of lashings and death holds their silence."

The lady moved gracefully over to an open door from which running water could be heard. Turning to Alanna, she beckoned. When Alanna hesitated, her eyes narrowed, and she hissed, "Come here now, or I will have Raku lash you until you lose consciousness."

Alanna gulped and looked over to the pity on Raku's face before hurrying forward, following her mistress into the room.

It was the same marble as the floor in the main room, though gold rails led way into a large tub in the middle of the room. It was about the size of Moonlight's box stall. Moonlight. Thinking about her beloved mare brought tears to her eyes, which she hastened to wipe away. She hoped Moonlight was okay, being fed and cared for.

The lady slowly descended into the bath, the bubbles clutching for her skin. Moaning softly at the warmth of the water, the lady ordered Alanna into the bath, saying she would not wash herself.

As Alanna gulped and stepped forward, a cloaked arm crossed her vision. Looking up, she saw Raku shake his head. "No," he mouthed.

The black-haired slave quickly shook her head and gestured for Alanna to remove her clothes. Alanna blanched and wildly shook her head, her face as scarlet as her hair.

"Remove your clothes and get in here now," the lady ordered, turning, her hair bobbing in the water, "or I will have Raku whip you to death!"

Alanna met her gaze for a moment before slowly reaching for her tunic and pulling it over her head. Blushing furiously, for she had never been naked in front of people before, not when they could see everything, she reached for her skirt. The slave girl handed her a bar of jasmine soap and swiftly hid in a corner.

Swallowing audibly Alanna clutched the bar of soap tightly in her fist as she took her first step into the warm scented bath water.

Flames reflected off his face as he stared into the coals, their heat slowly burning through his beard. Purple fire responded to the knock on his door and it slowly swung open on well-oiled hinges. The awaiting page swallowed before slowly stepping into the doorway. "M-my lord," he stammered, peering into the dark interior of the lord's rooms, "your p-presence is required at tonight's m-meeting."

The Lord sighed and rose to his feet, startling the page as a shadow appeared in the shadows. "Very well, you may go," the lord instructed before his magic slowly closed the door in the page's face.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the page scampered off to his other chores, thankful for surviving a meeting with the youngest master in history, the twin brother of the recently banished Alan of Trebond, Thom of Trebond.

Cancelling his scrying spell, Thom slowly began to dress himself in his mastery robes. Black and gold adorned his slender and sun-deficient frame, evidence of his great rank. Feeling as though he should at least try and make himself presentable when he met the king, Thom quickly drew his fingers through his hair. Straightening his robes, he opened the door with a flick of his wrist and marched down the hallways, ignoring the looks thrown his way.

Rounding a corner, he approached some guards at the entrance to the king's war chamber. They crossed their weapons as he approached and he felt a spark of annoyance. How dare they bar him entry?

With a snarl, he raised his arm and the guards were thrown back into the wooden door with a crash. As their gleaming weapons chimed on the floor, the door opened slowly to reveal King Roald, Duke Baird, and Duke Gareth looking at him in shock. Roger smirked slyly into his wine glass, though Thom would have sworn he saw an ember of fear within the depths of his eyes.

"They wouldn't get out of my way," he stated in answer to an unspoken question. Ignoring the looks he was thrown, Thom strode over to a bottle of wine and began to poor himself a glass.

The clank of weapons and chainmail announced the arrival of a group of furious guards that made to circle him. Sighing, he put down his wine glass and pivoted to face the blade points directed at him. Speaking to King Roald he said, "If you do not get them to lower their weapons and leave, your maids will have to stain the carpets to rid them of blood." His threat was clear; the guards would leave or they would die.

King Roald glared at him but dismissed the guards, who reluctantly left, with distrusting glances directed at the young, cocky Master. As the door closed, Thom raised an eye-brow and reclaimed his wine glass. "What," he began coldly, "did you 'summon' me here for?"

Duke Gareth frowned, finally sick of the disrespect shown by this youth. "Your Majesty," he snapped.

Thom turned those violet eyes, identical to those of his sister, on him. "No thank you, I am not a royal." He glanced over at Roald. "I wouldn't want to be."

Gareth rose to his feet, and Thom was saved from a stern lecture by the doors slowly opening. Prince Jonathan walked in, Queen Lianne clutched safely in his arms.

The queen was pale and her skin sagged from her bones which seemed to be trying to break away from her body and cut through her skin. Her hair was dull and lifeless with no bounce or shine. The queen, Thom decided after a moment's appraisal, was the walking dead. Only severe efforts from the best healers in the land, who were fighting a losing battle, kept her from the Dark God's clutches.

Prince Jonathan looked little better. His famous sapphire eyes were dull, empty spaces where his life used to shine. Several weeks of stubble hung from his gaunt face, and his hair was disheveled. Looking now at his sister's knightmaster, he felt the familiar stirring of ire within him and relinquished restraint on his composure, directing an enraged look to the prince, disgust mingling on his features. The prince met his eyes once, as he lowered his mother into a chair, before quickly looking away and avoiding all eye contact with him.

"If this is about my sister, I suggest you think very carefully about what it is you are going to say,"Thom hissed softly, his voice clear in the silence.

Roald cleared his throat. "We have decided to keep quiet that a girl made it seven years in knighthood training."

Thom narrowed his eyes and missed the look of repugnance that briefly graced Duke Roger's face.

"The kingdom," Roald continued, "has been told Alan of Trebond has been banished for treason against the Crown."

Jonathan slumped into his chair and looked at the table.

Thom swirled his glass for a moment, contemplating. Placing his glass down, he stepped forward. "My sister is the only person I love," he stated, his voice slowly rising," and youhave crushed her dream, her life, her soul!"

Thom paused and collected his thoughts, his violet eyes snapping with fury, his Gift straining at his fingers. "You have killed her; she may not be dead in body, but she is in spirit and that life will be replaced with hatred and fury." Thom suddenly smiled coolly. "When she returns, she will be burning for revenge."

Jonathan flinched as Thom spoke and sank even lower into his chair. The adults in the room were too distracted by the young Trebond to instruct him to sit like a prince.

Thom turned to Lianne. "You saved my sister's life, for that I will delay yours."

Straightening, Thom threw his palms out and thrust his Gift into the queen, noting the look of despair on Duke Roger's face with a smile. Purple sparks glowed across her skin, on the inside the violet searched for the dark shadows that were her sickness. The lavender fire fell upon the shadows with flashing teeth and claw. Slowly the sickness was vanquished, and Thom stopped chanting and tiredly drew the remains of his Gift into his body, the shards eager to return to him.

Sighing, he looked to her with droopy eyes. "Someone is trying to kill you. Your sickness isn't natural."

Duke Baird looked over to Thom. His appraisal of the queen complete, he saw that she was well again. "How do you know that?" he asked, nodding to the king, who was looking worriedly at his wife.

"I may not be a healer," Thom slurred, "but I am a mage. I know magic when I see or feel it." Thom slowly straightened, forcing his weary body upright.

"It won't last forever. My Gift burnt away the sickness, but it will come back." He bowed to the queen before making for the door. "I would be very careful as to who you are trusting with your health." With this parting thought and a glance directed at the emotionless face of Roger, he was gone.

Authors Note:

Alianne: Oh okay, I do have *** in between POV change but maybe they don't show up. Ill have a look and fix it. A little bit of George will be soon ;) Thank you.

xxxLauraaxxx: Thank you, its nice to hear.

A big thank you to Lionesseyes13 for Beta-ing.

As always, please review. Im starting to think only a few people are reading... :'(

Enjoy, CDL