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 12
Possibilities

The Crooked God was rather pleased with himself as his crooked and wrinkly sister handed him a highly decorated staff. Kyprioth gave a deep bow of thanks and in turn gave the staff to George, who slightly cringed when he felt the power surging from the end of the object. Faithful silently bent his head towards the staff, breathing air out onto it. Again, like the sword belted to George's side, the staff quieted down, only letting out an occasional hum of power. A rough, callused hand tousled the fur on Faithful's back, and George gave a soft murmur of thanks for the little god's act of consideration.

"Take care of that, Kyprioth," the old goddess, the Graveyard Hag, said, smirking at the Chosen. "The first weapon is already taking its toll on that one. What more with the second one!"

"Not all of the gods' Chosen are steeped with the Gift, sister," Kyprioth replied mildly. "You should know that fully well."

She shrugged. "But as you can see, mine didn't last very long here without the Gift. Though I could bring him to life once more and send him back to the mortal realms."

"That would be cheating, Hag," the Crooked God retorted. "And you do that often enough as is."

"You cheated by taking him out of the running." Again, the Graveyard Hag's eyes glanced at George.

Kyprioth raised an eyebrow. "I never went as far as entering my Chosen into this so-called contest. Besides, there are bigger things at hand, and I actually am running a few errands from the higher ups. You know, the ones who're asking me to collect a few wagers, as it were."

The banter went on for minutes, but George only half-listened. Faithful was purring to the staff that Kyprioth had retrieved, and the baron noticed that most of what was being said was understandable to him. When the Cat finally did stop, he turned his amethyst gaze at the hazel-eyed man.

These weapons will help them vanquish the Ysandir, Faithful informed him. They have the gods' powers, like the sword Ina, the one the Lioness called Lightning.

George's eyes widened. So there was a way of defeating the Ysandir in the Immortal Realms! But how were they going to get back...?

"Not yet, Chosen," Kyprioth told him. When George looked, the Graveyard Hag had already disappeared. "We need to find one more god before I send you back to your wife and her companions. The Hag only gave us what she would have given her Chosen had she the chance. Except now he's dead. It's best you keep that staff with you."

"Dead?" George frowned. "Which Chosen was this? Surely not the one Thom and I fought off? Thom made sure he was still alive."

"Not him, we've sent that one back to the Mortal Realms. It was the Carthaki emperor's brother," the Trickster God said.

"Zephyrus?!" the former Rogue said, alarmed. "But he was with Alanna and the others. Don't tell me they're—"

Kyprioth shook his head. "Stop fretting, George Cooper. They are all as alive as you. The Carthaki met with an unfortunate situation, and I assure you nobody else was harmed during their brief encounter with the Nameless Ones. So you can rest your worry for another time."

"They encountered the Ysandir?!"

The god sighed and looked at Faithful. "Can you please explain to him that there is nothing to worry about?"

"Kyprioth," George said slowly, gritting his teeth and keeping his anger at bay. "There is a dead Chosen in the Immortal Realms. And yet the gods have done nothin' to punish the offender. Don't you think that's enough cause for concern?"

It didn't seem to be a big deal for the god, however, who merely waved the worry aside. "Zephyrus Muhassin Tasikhe is not my concern. The Graveyard Hag cheated enough to have him included into this game; it was her folly for having him to begin with. Whatever plot she has been working on for years does not stop after one of her Chosen's death."

George looked at his patron god, aghast. When Kyprioth began to move in front of him, the baron followed silently, his eyes not leaving the back of the Trickster's salt and pepper-colored hair. Did his god care for nothing but himself? Were all the immortals like this?

Not all, George, Faithful was butting his head on George's cheek. And do not take Kyprioth's words to heart. He has kept you under his protection, and I'd wager he'd have done the safe to your wife, if the Goddess had not stayed her hand.

"I hope you're right," he told Faithful quietly. "Otherwise I'm thinkin' it's time to sever all ties entirely."

---

"How are you holding up?" Numair had asked Alanna, who sat crouched on the ground. They hadn't moved away from the armory at all, and the lady knight found a few padded leather saddles from inside the room to cushion herself.

Alanna was still pale, but she was calm. She had been talking quietly to Jonathan, who soon went off with the Lord Myscha to scout the area. The Lioness turned her face upwards to look sternly at the sorcerer. "I've felt better. Is she...?"

He shook his head, saddened. "She still weeps next to his body. Though I cannot fathom how it all happened."

"I might be able to," Thom quipped. He had been leaning on the door to the armory, just beside where Alanna had been seated. The demi-god approached the two conversing sorcerers and sighed, scooting into an identical crouching position as his sister. "But this sort of after-effect is almost impossible to experience. The Ysandir might have only been partially here, but their evil magic has its ways of letting a man completely succumb into its depths. This may have been an example of that."

"Zeph...succumbed to their sorcery?" Alanna didn't understand. "But he had been fine when he pulled Alexa out of that fiery mess she became earlier. How was this any different?"

Thom left the conversation in the air as he tried to think. When he next spoke, he was dripping with irritation. "The only other explanation I have isn't very appealing. In fact, it's even more impossible than the last theory."

"You've used the word 'impossible' twice now," Numair said drily, "Forgive me for reminding you that we're in the Immortal Realms. Aren't most things likely to happen?"

Alanna's brother snorted. "Perhaps, but the likelihood of either situation is almost as rare as the goddess of Chaos suddenly becoming partial to universal peace."

"Oh, please. Do enlighten us anyway."

"If you so insist..."

"Alanna, is your brother always this difficult?" Numair asked, his face calm. There was, however, a warning note in his voice, which the Lioness picked up very quickly.

She grimaced. "He was in your head for months. You know him as well as I do."

"I'm here, you know," Thom informed them. When it was clear that both his sister and the Tortallan king's sorcerer were ready to strangle him, he complied, though rather testily. "As I was saying, the other scenario could be the fact that a Chosen is helping them. The Ysandir might not be able to move around in the Realms as freely as they wish, but since you were all summoned here by the gods' will, I'm sure they'd let a few rules slide. A particular someone might have made a pact with the evil beings and is now helping them by trying to kill us off one by one."

Numair was frowning. "Zephyrus died. But that would mean—"

"That any one of us could have knifed the Chosen in the back? Possibly."

"There aren't any physical wounds on Zeph, Thom," Alanna pointed out.

"It was a metaphor," he told his sister calmly. "Most likely the man was killed with the Gift. Any one of the Chosen with possession of the Gift could have had enough power to drain Zephyrus of his life."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Thom spoke again, his eyes deep in thought and his voice now low enough so it could only be heard between the three of them. "Just how much do you trust the crown princess Alexa?"

"Leave her out of this," Numair suddenly hissed back. "She wouldn't do that. Not to Zeph. Alexa adored him."

"Just thought I'd ask," he glanced over to Alanna, a hint of doubt in his eyes.

The lady knight sighed. "Thom's only being cautious, Numair. I'm sure we're just as highly suspect."

"Actually—" Alanna pinched her brother, who yelped in surprise. "That is, I ahh...there is also the possibility that Lord Myscha is hiding a few of his own secrets."

Numair's eyes flashed dangerously. "Alexa is innocent. Though if you're going to continue discussing this train of thought, I'll let you and Alanna solve this problem. Come to me if you have solid proof." He walked back to the grieving princess.

The Lioness glared at her brother, who was rubbing the sore spot on his skin rather glumly. "You have less tact than a barbarian. What's wrong with you? You can see that he cares for her deeply."

"What's wrong with you?" he quipped back. "I was trying to point out that if there is someone in league with the Ysandir, then it would likely be Alexa. You did tell me that the monsters drained a bit of her magic. What makes Numair certain that she hasn't been turned to their kind of thinking, too? His feelings need to give way to these possibilities, Alanna!"

There was sound argument to Thom's train of thought, and it made Alanna even more nervous. If her brother was right, then Alexa would be a dangerous foe, and keeping her around might endanger the others. But, what if...

"What if she has no idea she's doing anything wrong?" Alanna murmured.

Thom met her question with a very grim expression. "Then it may be too late for her. The Ysandir might have already tainted her very soul, and she will eventually turn into one of their mindless servants. And for that, you'd better wish that she die in the process instead."