Side note --- Just a little clarification in the last chapter: In Peldor's POV, Myscha had introduced Jon as the "brother" of Lord Gareth of Naxen. So when Peldor refers to Jon, it's "Naxen." Myscha was careful not to trust a Copper Isle count with information about the King of Tortall, and Jon was no way going to correct the introduction. But yes, Jon is indeed a Conte, except when Peldor is in the picture.
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 9
History
Many thoughts coursed through Numair's mind those next few hours after Alexa fainted. They sat inside the forest clearing, huddled near the princess, wary of the instant she might burst out again. Numair, however, was fairly unconcerned that the princess would lose control. He knew her magic was spent for the time being, all of it had been released back near the portal. No, his thoughts lay elsewhere.
He watched his red-headed friend carefully. Alanna hadn't spoken ever since her enigmatic statement, but Numair knew by the lack of color in her face that she was hiding something that terrified her. She avoided his gaze and spent most of her time looking up at the giant leaves covering what looked like grey sky. After a quick decision, Numair left the sleeping Alexa's side and planted himself beside his friend.
"I really wish you wouldn't withdraw into yourself like this, Alanna," he finally broke the silence. "If you'd let me help—"
"What do you know of our ancestors? And the gods?" Alanna interrupted, her face giving nothing away.
The sorcerer frowned thoughtfully. That was unexpected. "Their history? There's a lot to be said about the gods. Even more so of the Old Ones, those that settled in the Eastern Lands."
"And the Ysandir?"
Numair was taken aback. He hadn't heard that name uttered with such familiarity. Not since his time as a scholar in Ozorne's palace. "I'm surprised you know their names. Most people usually refer to them as the Nameless Ones. Some legends vary, but the consensus is that they became cruel, even to the point where tribesmen trapped them in a city. Alanna, are they what's been bothering you?"
Amethyst eyes finally stared at the puzzled sorcerer. Slowly, she nodded. "That city was next to Persopolis."
"Not...you mean in Tortall?" Numair's eyes widened. "You can't...wait, that city you saw in the marble room. Was that where they resided?"
"The Black City," Alanna replied, she looked away again, as though recalling a memory from a long time ago. Then, her voice low and soft, "I think they're here, Numair."
Zephyrus approached the Tortallans. "She's waking."
They watched the princess struggle up in a sitting position, strands of strawberry blonde hair flying out of her braid. She lifted her hand to her head and absentmindedly patted the stray locks in place. Her eyes were back to their normal silver, and she stared ahead of her. "They didn't come after me."
"What?" Numair asked. "They?"
"No names were given," she shrugged and undid her braid. While her fingers began to work on her curls, she continued. "I felt their power and their hunger. They pulled the control away from me, and they took some of my Gift. But I was not their initial target."
She had stopped her braiding and looked straight at Tortall's champion. "You must have performed a very grievous crime to them, Sir Alanna. They're crying out for your blood."
The lady knight let out a breath and finally smiled grimly. "Somehow I'm not surprised. Do you know if they mentioned anyone else?"
Alexa nodded. "They did mention a second person, a dark-haired companion of yours."
"Me?" Numair asked.
"Don't be so vain, Numair," Alanna replied crossly. She stood up. "It's not you. We have to find Jon. If the Ysandir are on the move, then Jon would be the easiest target. I don't care how much Gift he has in him, he's not going to stop them all by himself."
"But Alanna," Numair interjected. "You're talking blasphemy here. If you know so much about the Ysandir, then you're aware that they are considered gods in their own right. We can't just go around destroying the divinities!"
Zephyrus chuckled. "In Carthak, the Nameless Ones were heroes who ventured out North and led large populations from the western islands and the southern islands to create the lands of the East. They were practically founders and leaders of the Old Ones you Tortallans venerate so much. It was only thousands of years later when they went mad. But most Carthaki folklorists believe these are merely lies told by Eastern Landsmen in hopes of degrading our gods."
"What do you believe, Zeph?" Alexa turned to her friend.
The man scratched his head. "I never cared much either way. Whatever they did and whatever happened to them afterwards was rightly deserved, whether or not they perished."
"Great, so the Ysandir are another set of things to worry about, I suppose," Numair stated. Again, he noticed Alanna lapsing back into silence. Her eyes glazed, and she sneezed a few times, cursing her propensity to detect magic. She turned to Numair. "It's Thom, he's found Jon. But he isn't happy."
Numair snorted. "When is your brother ever?"
The lady knight kicked him.
---
Thom realized they were going in circles. While that knowledge was clearly unwelcome, what irritated him most was that he knew George and the blasted Cat were aware of the demi-god's mistake. And yet neither said anything all this time. Alanna's husband continued to pad along behind Thom with Faithful perched on his broad shoulders, indifferent to the direction they were heading. When they finally landed back to the armory that they'd found hours ago, the sorcerer's temper flared.
"Don't even think about saying it," he said acidly to his brother-in-law.
George's hazel eyes twinkled with amusement, though he kept his face blank. "I wasn't thinkin' of doing so, lad."
The laughter in George's eyes said enough, and Thom turned a shade of red. He was about to retaliate when they heard running down the corridor. As a reflex, Faithful pounced down and hissed softly, his furs on edge. George took out a dagger and wordlessly padded towards the corner walls. Thom ungracefully followed the baron and plastered himself behind him.
It wasn't long before they could hear voices and footsteps approaching the corridor. Thom's arm tingled, his slightly purple Gift slowly ebbing out to form some sort of shield around them. If they were going to have to fight, at least they'd be protected.
"Your Highness," the voice in the corridor said nervously, "Are you sure we should be going back to a place that Count Peldor might still possibly infest?"
"We have nowhere else to go, Myscha," said another voice, a deep, familiar one. He sounded hurried. "And I would rather not go back there, those images were deeply disturbing."
George drew in a breath. He knew that one! Without another word, he put his dagger back inside his pockets and motioned for Thom to let go of the shield. They were in no danger.
King Jonathan of Tortall rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. His face broke into a wide grin as he saw his best friend standing in the corner, grinning back. "Mithros, I thought I'd never see you lot again! Do you know how long it's been since I've been wandering?"
"I suppose just as long as we've been gettin' lost," George replied. "I hope your friend here's more entertainin' than the one I have."
Thom glared at George. "It's not like I enjoyed walking around with you either, Cooper."
"You see what I've been puttin' up with?"
Jon laughed. Then he felt something soft around his leg and he saw a black cat purring beside him. He gasped. "Faithful?"
"We found him sleepin' in the armory," was George's explanation. "He followed us from there."
While Jon bent down and gathered the cat in his arms, he motioned for Myscha to come meet his friends. "This is the younger Tirragen, George."
"Myscha," the baron of Pirate's Swoop nodded with familiarity. "I've heard of you."
Lord Myscha raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
George smiled at him. "I have a very good memory."
"Can't say I've seen you around court before," Myscha drawled cautiously.
"That's because, like his wife the Lioness, George prefers staying outside of the courtly lifestyle," Jon replied. "Anyway, Thom, I need to talk to you."
The king of Tortall pulled Alanna's twin to the side, and he left George to chat with Myscha. Jon was smoothing Faithful's fur as his eyes turned a serious deep blue. "You may think I'm going crazy, but I feel as though I've just walked back into the Black City in the desert."
Thom paled a bit. He waved his hand quickly, trying to prevent Jon to say anymore. "I've been hoping I was wrong about them being here. Now I know why the gods need the power of their mortal Chosen."
"What, they can't fight the Ysandir themselves?"
"You're missing the point, Jon," Thom said. "The gods can't touch the Ysandir. They're siblings in a way, and thus forbidden to harm each other. Only mortals have the chance of defeating—"
We need them destroyed, Faithful purred quietly. Though I do have to say that pitting Chosen against Chosen makes things a bit more difficult. Mithros was being silly when he proposed that bit.
Jon made a face. "And something tells me they've had the chance to grow in strength while they've been here. Brilliant."
The two returned to George and Myscha. Thom nodded to the former King of the Thieves. "I'm going to contact my sister first. She's probably worried about Jon here, and my guess is she's quickly realizing by now what's in store for us."
"What is in store for us?"
"Let me explain," Jon began, just as Thom's Gift ebbed through his fingers once more.
Thom's mind concentrated on the image of his sister scowling at him and projected to her thoughts. What he encountered were a jumble of shapes, most of which were images of black marble upon black marble. He felt her shock and horror about the return of enemies she thought she defeated years ago. Sister, stop fretting for a few minutes and let me in.
Thom? her mind broke out of her reverie, and her attention turned to the voice inside her head.
Don't worry about Jon, he's with us now. Come find us, things are getting worse.
He faintly heard Faithful's loud hiss and was interrupted when the cat dug his claws on his leg, scratching the sorcerer. Startled, Thom quickly severed the connection between Alanna and himself and shook the cat away from his leg. "Blasted...Faithful!"
Something's wrong.