Notes - Winding down sloooowly! I'm going to miss this story...

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 17
Clash

One thing Alanna worried extensively over was that she was useless if her Gift wouldn't return to her quickly. Against the Ysandir, all she could do now was hang onto Jon's firm hand as he chanted under his breath, letting his blue aura mix with the orange expelling from the jewel.

Still, she couldn't help feel the sense of déjà vu as she gripped the sword on her free hand. It was the same as last time, only the place differed. Ylon and Ylanda had started to waken just as George and Myscha left the premises. Their Ysandir siblings were towering over the oldest of the Nameless Ones, their beautiful figures grand and menacing. They were eyeing the two Tortallans warily, remembering their doom years before, and the sword gleaming from the lady knight's hand glowed of the same power. This sword was hungry as well, though not for the Gift; rather, its purpose for existence was to seek out and destroy its enemies. Alanna felt the vibrant energy coursing through her, and she found that, just this once, perhaps she could muster her Gift after all.

Focusing on the two leaders, Alanna refused to leave her gaze upon Ylon, who at that moment, was walking towards her. His sword, now aflame, seethed with anger, the same violent anger that coursed through his own veins. Ylanda followed her male counterpart, holding his hand, face in deep concentration. The other Ysandir dispersed, forming a circle around the pair of fighters.

"It has come to this again, mortals," Ylon said in his deep, booming voice. "This time I will show you the real powers of a fit Ysandir."

"Because you clearly couldn't when we were mere children," Jonathan threw back, his stunning features shooting a challenge at equally handsome Ylon.

Ylanda bared her teeth at him, "Roar all you want, young lion, but you're still a cub in terms of years. Shall we begin by tearing your lady-love apart first? Or would you rather we start with you?"

Jonathan stood his ground without saying anymore. This was an older, wiser king now, not the arrogant, hot-headed teenager that Alanna had to begrudgingly accompany to the Black City. He wasn't going to let them bait him into a temper tantrum; Jon fully knew the cost of the magic that was coursing through him. Instead, he fueled all the tension, anger, and anxiety down to the strong grip he was giving his Champion.

Ylon took that moment to begin his attack, swinging his sabre ferociously down on the redheaded lady knight. Alanna blocked him, her arm going numb from the pressure. She quickly pulled away, dragging Jon with her. The male Ysandir was much bigger than she was, but this never stopped the Lioness before. Why should it be any different against a so-called immortal?

She took the initiative this time and pounced, her sword flashed to the side in an attempt to catch Ylon off-guard. He had been ready for it, however, and he responded by pressing his weight against hers. Dark power surrounded him, and Alanna fought the flames within the Ysandir's sword with her amethyst Gift.

Something else happened afterward that put Alanna at a momentary panic.

In a last-minute change, Ylon and Ylanda had parted ways.

Alarmed, the lady knight steadied herself and lunged backwards, narrowly avoiding a move that might have mortally wounded her otherwise. Jonathan's forehead was beaded in sweat. "Alanna, they're sustaining themselves without help from each other. We might have to take them down one by one."

Just as the king of Tortall released Alanna's hand, he made for Ylon. Alanna, however, had other things in mind. She placed herself in front of Jon, both hands now gripping the sword, which was glowing blue and purple. "No, Jon. Ylon's mine. And you know it."

She didn't give Jonathan much choice as she charged, the steel of her weapon crashing into his. Alanna didn't know whether Tortall's sovereign had moved towards Ylanda, her full attention was now focused on Ylon. The Ysandir's face broke into a wide grin, a sense of triumph sparkling in his dark eyes.

"You will regret this decision," he roared with laughter. "For what can a mere girl achieve against me, the oldest and strongest of the Ysandir?"

The Lioness wasn't listening anymore. She thought about the involuntary journey to where she was now, of those who were hurt in the game that the gods played, and of the beginning of the entire ordeal itself. Alanna's mind spun backwards. She found herself lingering in the memory of Pirate's Swoop, the storm ravaging her windows until she closed them. She'd gone out into the rain that night, in hopes that she would catch a glimpse of the baron riding through the storm to come home...

It had been that memory, that stolen moment, which made Alanna realize she was not only fighting to serve her Goddess. The Lioness was fighting to prove Ylon wrong. She was fighting for her friends, her king, her world. She was fighting for the man that she finally agreed to marry and hoped would emerge safely out of this mess. She was fighting for herself, to prove once and for all that while the gods may pick their Chosen as they please, she was not to be toyed around with, mortal or no.

In that split second, as she parried another blow from the Ysandir, the sword in her hands became icy cold. The sharpened tip at the end of the blade was covered in frost. Within another moment, her sword brightened, and Ylon had to shield his eyes from the light that emerged. Pieces of the ice broke off Alanna's sword and quickly circled around the Ysandir's fiery weapon. Frozen particles suddenly plunged towards the flames, extinguishing them.

Alanna didn't hesitate. The Ysandir was overconfident and once again, this particular Fire-Hair was going to vanquish him with the sword created just to fight his kind. Futilely, Ylon blocked again, knowing that if he didn't act now, he'd lose.

"To me, Ysandir!" he yelled out at last.

Broken from their trance, the rest of the Ysandir swarmed towards Alanna in response to their leader's cry for help. The lady knight didn't care if she was going to be torn apart by the mob, so long as she took Ylon down with her...

Purple, black, and forest green flames erupted from behind the startled Ysandir, pushing them away from the fighting in the middle of their circle. Alanna quickly turned and watched as three figures from the cavern entrance were unfurling their powers and magically dragging the lesser Ysandir away.

"Take care of him, Alanna!" Numair yelled out, just before one of the Ysandir went at him with a rather dangerous-looking staff. He covered himself and the attacking Ysandir in black smoke, disappearing behind it.

Thom was already defending himself and the imperial princess with his expert shield magic, his free hand twisting balls of purple lightning to his will. Alexa unleashed the very power that had so put her in a frenzied state a day or two before. Except now she was in control, and she set the flames towards those that were rushing against her.

Ylon screamed in utter fury, and he lunged again, his whole body behind the strike. The Lioness blocked once more. The full strength of the Ysandir's hit had repercussions. After the strike, Alanna's crystallized blade was smashed into hundreds of frozen pieces. They scattered onto the ground, and the lady knight watched, in horror, as Ylon's sword tumbled down, slashing from her shoulder to the side of her stomach.

Alanna fell. She clutched her side in agony, rolling away just in time to see Ylon's saber swing down once more. The Lioness heard someone else scream, and the pain seared from within. The Ysandir above her laughed. With one more plunge, Ylon raised his sword and struck for the last time.

The lady knight grasped for a weapon, any weapon. Then she remembered the dagger from within her tunic and reached for it. With the last ounce of her strength, she moved forward and stabbed.

When George came to, he was looking at cloudy grey skies. Wincing, the baron of Pirate's Swoop attempted to sit up and somehow succeeded. Next to him, Myscha watched the still-unconscious Peldor. "You're up now?"

"Where's Alanna?" George asked, his gaze moving towards the cave's entrance.

"I'd advise that you don't try any funny business," the lord of Tirragen told him without humor. "I've been ordered to stop you."

The former Rogue glared at him. Still, the man meant well, and he sighed. "How did you manage to drag me all the way here?"

"I'm stronger than I look," Myscha smirked. He stood up. "I wonder if he's dead. We left him behind hours ago, and he still hasn't recovered consciousness. Even you came around fairly quickly."

Myscha's foot made contact with the Copper Isle count's stomach. Not even a groan. This brought a sliver of suspicion in George. Didn't Jon tell him that the count possessed the Gift? What if this was that Sorcerer's Sleep that Alanna had mentioned once before?

"I think you might want to get away from him," George told Myscha sharply.

The Tirragen lord shrugged and turned to move out of the way.

A hand shot out and grabbed Myscha's leg. Yellow aura began to surround the lord, and he yelped in surprise. The count was gaining ground, and he dragged Myscha down, heaving him under in order to get up.

George watched, aghast, as Myscha struggled against Peldor. Quickly, the baron searched for his spare knives and found two hidden within his boot. Grim-faced, he carefully approached the agitated count, who was still holding down the stocky Tirragen lord. George knew he had to be careful, in case his aim would hit Myscha. He doubted that Jonathan would appreciate losing another Tirragen, after the fiasco over a year ago. Instead, he bided his time.

"Take...your shot, damn it!" Myscha cried out, who was now losing way to the Gift that was choking the life out of him.

Without hesitation, the baron leapt onto Peldor, grabbing him into a stranglehold. The count clawed at George's arms, but to no avail. The struggle must have dragged on for minutes on end, with no apparent victor. There was no choice in the matter. In one fell swoop, the former Rogue dragged the knife across Peldor's neck. The count's body fell to the ground, and George dropped his dagger, disgusted.

He had done it. He killed one of the gods' Chosen. They could smite him now, but George knew he had no regrets.