Side note --- Here's a little bit of Jonny-love action. Slightly shorter than my usual chapters, but you'll forgive me for that, hopefully? I'll make up for it in the next chapter!

Disclaimer --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

Chapter 8

Betrayal

The minute he turned his back, the King of Tortall knew he was a trapped man. His captor, attention away from the king, was sharpening his blade and whistling a light tune. More than once, Jonathan tried to remember what had transpired and what went wrong. At first all his memories were jumbled, as though he had been drugged. He tried to move, but Jonathan was paralyzed.

Then his eyes sparked with remembrance. He had recalled his last conversation with his companions...

"Do you suppose we could open that?" Count Peldor asked, pointing at a thick steel door.

Jonathan had been examining the floor. Debris littered the area near the door and there was a smell of a mixture of blood and metal on the ground. "I think there may have been a minor scuffle around here."

Lord Myscha of Tirragen was already pulling on the door, putting his entire weight on the handle. After his third try, the metal hinges creaked and gave way. The muscled man peered inside, covering the doorway with his body. Peldor tapped his foot impatiently. "Well? What's in there?"

"Well, this is lucky!" Myscha cried out, turning to his companions. "It's the armory!"

"Weapons?" Jon frowned, worried. He didn't like the idea of being stuck with two distrustful men. "What kind?"

Myscha picked up a wooden crossbow and plucked its string. Satisfied that it was still durable, he held it in his right hand and rummaged around for a quiver of bolts. Peldor, now inside the armory, was examining the array of swords on the wall. It came to no surprise, then, that Jonathan followed suit. He was already strapping a sword to his side and then fingering the daggers that were on the table. The King of Tortall took hold of a twisted diamond-encrusted dagger and whistled. If only George had seen these babies...

And that was the last thing he could recall. It had happened so quickly, he didn't even know who had hit him. Jonathan bitterly remembered his promise to keep an eye on the two men. "Yet I got myself into this mess," Jon muttered.

"Awake now?" his captor turned around, his tall, lanky figure giving an odd, angular shape on the ground as he sat. "Unfortunately, I couldn't get your friend, Lord Naxen."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Myscha wasn't in this with you?"

The count of the Copper Isle shrugged. "I think he may have had some objections to my ambushing you earlier. Coward. Nevermind, I suppose one can't really trust sniveling Tortallans."

"Now what, Peldor?" Jon said, evenly. "Will you finish me off?"

Peldor laughed. "You underestimate me, Lord Naxen. I don't intend to kill you. I just meant to slow you down."

Jonathan caught movement in front of him. Behind Peldor, Lord Myscha of Tirragen was aiming the drawn crossbow he had picked towards the count. He motioned to Jon not to make sudden movements, and the Tortallan king swerved his eyes back at the approaching count. "Slow me down? What for?"

"We all know this is a competition! Don't play stupid, Naxen, it's unbecoming. As for me, I plan to please my god."

Myscha loosened the string. The arrow flew straight at Count Peldor's right shoulder, and he yelped in anguish. The count stumbled and fought the pain to turn and find his attacker. He gritted his teeth and swore. "You!"

"Please the gods? Don't we all," Myscha said drily, already aiming another arrow at Peldor. "Now, if you would be so kind, I'd like you to step away from your captive."

Peldor glared icily at the lord of Tirragen. He glanced to his side, in search of a means to protect himself. "Don't think about it, Count. I'd as soon as shoot this at your throat the moment you try to jump for a weapon. Now, to the side."

The count had no choice. He stepped aside, sporadically cursing at Jonathan's savior. With the crossbow still pointed at Peldor, Myscha backed up towards Jon and reached for the ropes. Using his other hand, Lord Tirragen reached into his pocket and pulled out the diamond dagger that Jon had been marveling before he was tied up. Myscha sliced his sovereign free with the weapon and threw it down the floor for his king to pick up.

"I suppose I owe you an apology," Jon murmured, his eyes tinged with a great deal of respect.

Myscha shrugged, still pointing his bow at Peldor. The Count's bleeding had stopped, and he hissed angrily at the Tortallans. "Well? What are you waiting for? You've freed him, get away from me!"

"I don't need to be told that twice," Jon said levelly, matching Peldor's gaze, his sapphire eyes darkening. "But I can't just have you wandering around trying to maim everyone you encounter."

Jonathan's fingers tingled with blue lightning. He muttered a few words of enchantment to himself and released the spark from his closed hand. It flew towards Peldor. A cloud of dust covered Peldor, and after a few seconds, it cleared up to display a smiling count. His injured arm was now glowing a deep ochre.

"Just the spark I needed to heal," Count Peldor smiled derisively, his uninjured arm holding its own ball of energy. "If I were you, I wouldn't try to fight my Gift. Leeching spells, any decent sorcerer should know how that works."

King Jonathan narrowed his eyes, surprised by the sudden turn of events. Myscha was shocked, though his hands held the bow steady. "Now what?"

It was Jonathan's turn to swear, and he pulled Myscha by the collar. "No point, I can't harm him with my Gift, he'll suck it dry. Keep your bow aimed at him, he's vulnerable to weapons. Let's go!"

"That's a lot to ask!" Myscha began hurriedly walking backwards, his eyes still watching the Copper Isles count. "I swear, Peldor, one step and I will shoot!"

Count Peldor let out a loud laugh. He covered himself in a deep mist, disappearing in a shower of golden dust. Jonathan's eyes widened. What manner of the Gift was this? His companion didn't hesitate and reattached his bow to the side. It was Myscha's turn to grab the king and goad him into running. After his slight daze, Jonathan ran in step with Tirragen's lord. The two stopped after moving a good distance away from where Peldor had disappeared. Myscha broke the silence first. "Do you think he followed us?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Even he can't make himself invisible all this time without either of us noticing him. If he's going to attack us, I'm sure we'll know. Come on, let's keep moving."

They heard a cackle split the air and braced for Peldor's attack. Instead, grey clouds began to manifest above them, images forming inside the clouds. Jonathan turned ghostly pale when he saw the image smile maliciously at him.

"But we destroyed you!"