Notes --- The story itself was written primarily as a holiday 2- or 3-chapter present to a friend of mine, which, clearly, turned out a little bit longer than planned. Anyway, I had a bet with said person during the 2010 Vancouver Olympics (has to do with hockey and US vs. Canada _). I...lost the bet, and that resulted in the first half of this chapter. Other than that, some more influences from the Beka Cooper series is subtly hinted (though I make sure there aren't any full-blown spoilers), since I'd just recently read Bloodhound and was completely taken by the detail of George's ancestral past.

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 13
Movement

Numair Salmalin, formerly Arram Draper, was finding himself in a conundrum. Somehow he had managed to get himself alone with the crown princess of Tusaine, and after his conversation with the red-headed twins, he was muddled with more thoughts than he cared for. This was coming from a sorcerer and a scholar who was used to such a large array of information. Once he sifted through all the concerning details, only one train of thought remained as he looked down at the delicate face that no longer spewed tears of grief for the life lost just moments ago.

He knew nothing could go further with Alexa of Danne. They both had their own responsibilities, and when this whole ordeal ended, so would any connection between them. Politics was never Numair's strong point. He liked his scrolls and his books enough, and if he had to deal with anything regarding foreign dignitaries, it was always in part due to some academic endeavor. Even Alanna the Lioness had more bearing when it came to social occasions, and she hated them with a passion. Numair grimaced when he remembered Carthak.

But that wasn't all. From what he did know of Alexa (and he knew something about the ruling families for each nation, due to his Tortallan king's insistence upon his sorcerer's studies), she was already spoken for since birth. If she ever got back to the Mortal Realms alive, sooner or later she would have to marry the wealthy nobleman picked out for her for the sake of her kingdom's succession. A queen couldn't rule Tusaine, and a commoner was not allowed to taint the royal line.

Marriage for the young man, when he was barely 25, was something he wasn't nearly considering, either. Still, Alexa was a pretty thing, and he couldn't deny feeling that acute attraction to her. He certainly couldn't see any sort of betrayal coming from her, no matter what Thom and Alanna had implied.

"Perhaps we should move away from here, Princess," he began, trying to distract her from the loss of a companion. "It doesn't do to dwell on what's happened. And I'd hate to see you down like this."

Alexa sighed, wisps of her strawberry blonde locks settling lightly all over her face. She undid her braids and fashioned her hair into a ponytail, the ends curling neatly just below her shoulders. "No doubt you are right, Numair. But Zephyrus has been a kind guide. His death was unwarranted."

The sorcerer helped the lithe thing up, careful not to alarm her. Alexa's bright silver eyes were still filled with uncertainty. She looked up, biting her lip.

Before all of the unfortunate events had happened, the crown princess of Tusaine was a confident, cheerful individual. Now, she had been shaken, Numair mused. Maybe it was due to some of her powers being stolen by the Ysandir. Or maybe Zeph's death shook her. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

"We should go," Numair stooped down, cupping Alexa's face with both hands.

She closed her eyes and nodded. He carefully planted a kiss on each of her eyelids and turned away, only to be interrupted with her own hands grabbing his face. For all her eyes couldn't see what was in front of her, Alexa of Danne did a fine enough job of pulling the swarthy sorcerer in and capturing his lips onto hers.

The two stood interlocked for a long moment, Numair's face turning red as the time passed. But he reminded himself that she was the one kissing him. His actions, Numair reasoned, were simply returning the favor. Never mind that his hands were now entangled in the back of her hair, or that he was pulling her even closer to his chest.

Perhaps I should come back another time. You seem to be slightly preoccupied, a voice sardonically erupted from his mind. Numair pulled away, surprised and slightly embarrassed. He looked at Alexa, who showed no indication that she'd heard the voice. She merely sighed and let out a faint—and almost crooked—smile.

"Jon and Myscha are back," Thom drawled lazily, his amethyst eyes sparkling with amusement. Just as well that Alexa couldn't see that either. Numair had caught a wicked tinge to them.

He frowned. "Do they bring any substantial news?" The sorcerer was just a little bit irritated that they'd been interrupted.

"My guess, no," Alanna's twin brother shrugged. "But any news is better than no news. And if both of them are still alive, then that's sign enough the Ysandir aren't around here."

Numair sighed. Without another word, he held Alexa's wrist and led her towards Thom, following the demi-god to where the rest of his friends were now congregating.

"Took you long enough," Alanna commented to her brother.

Thom feigned the expression of incredulity and innocence. "I wasn't aware that I was supposed to be in a rush. And I surely didn't want to interrupt the cosy conversation I was privy to."

If there was ever a time Numair wanted to wring his former mentor's neck, it was right now. Instead, he rolled his dark eyes and turned to his king. "Any sign of George at all?"

Jonathan shook his head. "These corridors are damn near impossible to navigate, and twice Myscha and I circled the same area. From the looks of things, though, they all ultimately lead toward the same place, which is here. Are you sure there's no other pathway out of here?"

"Well, we'd only gotten here through portals..." Alanna explained, glancing at the other female. She was unsure with whether or not it was the right time to ask the princess for help.

"It is alright, Sir Alanna," Alexa replied, her face now devoid of sadness. "My Gift is mostly returned to me, and I glimpsed a portal within walls of steel."

"Could she mean the armory?" Myscha suggested. He looked at Jon. "We only waded through the front room, perhaps we're being led to the back. Who knows what sorts of weapons are inside."

"There was that crossbow you used against Count Peldor," Jon stated. "Oh, and the dagger I thought George might want for his collection."

The king of Tortall furnished the weapon in question for his friends. The weapon was tucked beneath his breeches, and once he'd unsheathed it, Alanna whistled. Purple eyes looked at Jon respectfully. "It's a shame he's not here to see that. I've been meaning to get him a new set of daggers as a gift."

Jon grinned. "You can give him this. I really don't mind."

"There is power in that dagger," Alexa told them simply. "A strong essence of the gods lies within. The same found in the brooch carried by Lord Trebond."

"Haven't been called the lord of anything in a long time," Thom lightly muttered, met only by a sharp jab from his loving sister. "Ouch! Okay, so we know these armory objects contain some sort of power. What now? Do we reopen the doors to them?"

"That depends," Numair said. "You lot haven't left unsavory individuals inside, have you?"

Thom gave a slight cough, the look on his face reminded Alanna of their childhood days in Trebond, when Thom was caught stealing one of Cook's freshly baked tarts. "George and I had a scuffle inside the armory, but I assure you, when we checked, there'd been no one left behind. Not inside, anyway."

Alanna looked at her brother with suspicion. "What did you do with whoever you and George fought?"

"Sealed him inside a storage closet," he smiled impishly.

Myscha laughed. "That was quick-thinking. Did you kill him?"

Thom sniffed haughtily. "I'm not stupid. The dishonorable baron almost slit his throat on account of my life being in danger, but I pointed out doing so might incur some god's wrath."

There was no need to further discuss the bond that had tied Thom with Alanna. The Lioness merely nodded grimly, understanding her husband's apparent anger. Once again, she called on a silent prayer to her Goddess, asking her to return George back to the Lioness. It was to no avail, of course, but she had no way of knowing that the Trickster God had his own plans. Instead, the lady knight turned her eyes towards the large steel door. "Well, you heard the crown princess. Time to start looking for that portal."

---

"You want me to do what?" George was so heckled that he almost reverted back to his Lower City speech. It was only remembering his mother's stern face and scolding lectures that prevented him from turning back to the commoner slang Eleni Cooper hated hearing. "And just exactly how am I to do this? Traipse in, unannounced like, and tell the Ysandir they're finished?"

"Something like that, yes," Kyprioth told him, smirking.

George turned to Faithful. "Either the gods have lost their minds or I'm servin' one that never had any sanity to begin with. Why me?"

They wouldn't be expecting you, Faithful yowled in his cat-speech. And the Trickster didn't really mean for you to go up to them. He wants the Ysandir to feel the power of the gods' weapons. Ina was enough to weaken and destroy their mortal bodies, but the Chosen will have to use more than one to banish them into the Chaos Realms.

"Though, Chosen," the Trickster smiled slyly, "It'd have been fun to see you go up to them to say hello."

"Don't get fresh with me, Kyprioth," George glared. "You offerin' my services to the Black God was pushin' it. Feedin' me to the Ysandir is where I draw the line."

"You serving the Black God wouldn't be too far a stretch, Cooper," Kyprioth shrugged. "But I know you like my entertaining company better, so I haven't quite agreed yet. Do you have everything I gave you?"

The baron of Pirate's Swoop showed him the items that they'd retrieved. The Trickster nodded with approval, and he looked solemnly at his Chosen. "George Cooper, are you willing to once more don the favor of the Trickster and yield to his bidding?"

Like all the other times that he had prayed and answered as a boy in the Lower City and as a man in the Court of the Rogue, George nodded, his hazel eyes turning a shade of green deeper than before. "That I do."

"So mote it be," Kyprioth said, his voice resounding throughout the area. The Trickster God scooped Faithful from the floor and placed him on the baron's shoulders. "Mind him, Cat. And try to keep him from doing anything reckless before they arrive."

Faithful turned his tail up disdainfully, as if to say "I don't need you to tell me that."

George disappeared before he could ask his god who "they" were.