Dun-dun-DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!11

I'm looking forward to you meeting this OC, as I have put a lot of thought and work into him. Never mind the parallels between him and prince Zuko….. This whole arc is eerily similar to ATLA, for some odd reason. But I swear, I came up with the magic system WAAAAAY before I knew that Avatar was a thing that existed. :/

Bottom line: ELEMENTZ

Also, it seemed like the story had gone on for far too long without a chapter entitled…

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Chapter 10: Shocks

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Rowan woke to faraway voices calling his name. His head was pounding, and his eyelids seemed pinned shut. He had to force them open, and let his vision focus slowly on the two faces hovering over his own.

It was Norriss and Annad, both their faces tight and pale with concern. His sister had his head cradled in her lap, and she was gently shaking him, trying to wake him. His brother knelt beside them, waiting patiently for him to come around; but his normally serious eyes were dark with fear and confusion.

He felt dizzy and sick. He had been lying unconscious on the floor by the backdoor, and he couldn't remember how he had gotten there. All he could remember was a mass of twisting shadows, a blaze of light, and a sudden bolt of blinding pain behind his eyes.

Seeing his eyes finally opening, Annad gave an enormous sigh of relief. "Finally, you're awake," she said, halfway between greeting and scolding, sounding very much like their mother. "Rowan, what on earth happened here last night? Where's Zeel?"

Her voice suddenly sounded much louder and closer than it had before, and it made him wince slightly. All he could do was mumble vaguely, because he wasn't prepared to answer so many questions he couldn't remember the answers to. He couldn't quite remember anything that had happened.

Seeing his obvious confusion, Norriss shook his head grimly. "Annad found you this way, about an hour ago," he explained slowly. "The backdoor was just hanging open; and you were unconscious, with a decent lump on the back of your head. There are signs of a struggle all over the house—your whip was lying in the middle of the floor, along with a couple of blades, and there are slashes on the walls that look far from accidental. And…"

It was unlike Norriss to falter, but he had to pause and take a deep breath before continuing. "Rowan, we can't find Zeel. We've searched the house, inside and out; Shaaran and Bronden went and searched the village, but we simply can't find her anywhere. Tell us where she is. You must know where she is."

The mention of it brought an onslaught of terrible understanding. Memories came rushing back from the night before, like a waking nightmare. Gray uniforms. Striped faces. Pale violet eyes locked on his own. A stern woman casually holding a ball of fire in her hand. Zeel's voice shouting his name in desperation. Another voice, just barely holding back a tone of regret.

There is nothing you can give us, now. We've already claimed what we came for.

It felt as though fire and ice had gripped his heart. Panic rose in him, and he jumped up without a word to his family. He darted out into the yard, with only one thought on his mind:

He had to do something. Anything. He had no idea what he was doing, but his wife was in terrible danger. He had to do something. He would simply follow them into the hills, chase them down, and rescue her. Their leader had been right—with so much wide, open earth at his command, that small army wouldn't stand a chance. And he was certain that those ten Zebak invaders had come by land, somehow; if they had come by air, they would have been struck down by the Dragon long before they had reached his house.

All he had to do was pick up their trail, reach into the earth with his magic, and find where they were. It was a perfectly simple plan. It was a sensible plan. For all that it was completely reckless and had been formed in a split-second's panic, it was a good plan.

But there was no trail to pick up. The dust and dry grass had been trampled by heavy boots, but the prints ended abruptly halfway across the yard. It was as if the invaders had appeared out of nowhere to begin with, and had vanished right back into thin air.

And it was horrifically clear that Zeel had vanished right along with them.

We've already claimed what we came for.

Panic ebbed away. Cold understanding and deep despair quickly took its place. He crumpled to his knees, unable to hold himself up. A wail of anguish sprang up from his broken heart, and he didn't even think of trying to hold it back.

All around him, it seemed that the dried grass withered just a little more.

I've failed her, he thought numbly. I was standing right there, with all the power in the world to stop this, and I could do nothing. How could I have not known this was coming? How could the sigil refuse to answer me, when I clearly needed it so badly? How could this have happened?

What am I going to tell Star...?

"…Rowan?"

Annad was speaking again, slightly hesitant, but unquestioning. And, strangely, she didn't sound surprised. In fact, it sounded as if his actions had only confirmed something to her.

"There was… Well, while we were searching the house, we did find something… You may want to come see this."

Rowan was beyond feeling. If he felt anything, he felt cold and empty. He couldn't even bring himself to feel fear, or interest in what his sister had found. The only reason he followed her was because Norriss had come and gently hauled him to his feet. He was steered back into the house, with the odd, familiar sensation of being in a terrible dream.

Annad was waiting for them by the last door in the hallway, her expression strange and unnamable. It was the least interesting door in the whole house. All it led to was a coat closet. The only things inside it were the family's heavy winter coats and boots, put away until snow began to fall.

"Listen," Annad said in a low voice, speaking slowly for her brother. "When I open this door, do not lose your temper. Swear it to me."

He couldn't even think of words to answer with. All he could really do was stare blankly past her, at nothing in particular. Norriss' grip on his shoulders was the only reason he was still standing upright.

"Annad, I don't think he has the presence of mind to swear anything in particular," the taller man pointed out. "Just open the door. The sooner we get this behind us, the better."

She bit her lip nervously as she opened the closet door, revealing a sight that rekindled a little of her brother's feeling.

A stripe-faced young man in a steel gray uniform was kneeling on the floor inside the closet, bound hand and foot, his shaggy head bowed in defeat. As the door opened, he started and looked up. His face was vaguely familiar, but his eyes were instantly recognizable. They were the same pale violet as the leader's had been. Only instead of flashing with many ideas and emotions, the boy's eyes were wide and dark with fear.

Annad and Norriss, he plainly recognized. Seeing Rowan for the first time, though, he cringed and made a small whimpering noise, even more afraid than before.

Another memory came back: a cry of pain. A shout of triumph. A door slamming shut. Rowan could see how it must have happened, as if there had been plenty of light to see by. Zeel had tackled this boy last night. She had knocked him out, and thrown him aside—into the coat closet, where his unconscious body would be out of the way. And there he had remained until just a little while ago, when he had woken to find that his teammates had left him behind, at the mercy of their sworn enemies.

Rowan suddenly felt as though a furnace had been lit in his belly. He could feel searing hot rage flowing in his blood. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so furious with anyone for anything. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was strangle this young man to death. If he couldn't rescue his wife, he could certainly avenge her loss.

Norriss could feel it too, and his grip tightened as his friend began to struggle.

"Rowan, stay calm—"

"No! You let go of me! Let me teach this monster a lesson," he shouted back, fighting all the harder for freedom.

"You're not teaching anyone anything, and that's that," Norriss snapped back, his tone amazingly even. "Annad, shut the door. We need this kid alive."

She wordlessly did as she was told, shutting their terrified prisoner away from her raging brother.

"Alive?" he thundered. "They kidnapped my wife! It's all his fault!"

Norris pulled him away and shook him hard.

"Rowan, stop this! You're not thinking clearly. He's only one boy—little more than a child. What he was doing in an entire team of adults, I have no idea. By all rights, he isn't even supposed to be here. How could any of this be his fault?"

Rowan was still furious, but his friend's words made sense. No one knew more of the Zebak and their ways than Norriss did, after all. The murderous rage began to subside, and he forced himself to be calm, and just listen.

"It isn't like Central Control to send clumsy, untrained children to do a skilled officer's work," Norriss continued. "Either this team has done something quite illegal, or their practices have changed dramatically from what I remember. Something very strange is going on elsewhere in the world. Whatever it is, Zeel has been swept into the middle of it; and we have been swept along with her. This young man has been compliant enough, so far. I think he can help us."

Behind him, Annad had set her lips in a firm line, biting her tongue. She looked dubious. In his current mood, Rowan had to share his sister's feelings. At the same time, Norriss had the right idea. As long as the boy was trapped with them, the least they could do was try to drill him for information.

He looked at his friend's grimly set face and stormy eyes. Norriss was being practical, looking for something productive to do, because that was how he always faced moments of trouble. On the inside, though, his own heart was broken, too. He was afraid for the woman he loved like a sister, and angry with the people who had abducted her so easily. But he could never let it show on his face. All he could do was try to hide it, and try to move forward.

"I never said I trust the boy," he growled. "I don't like him any more than you do. In fact, I'd like to punch him in the face. But if he's alive and whole, we will get far more use out of him. Knowledge is our best weapon right now. We should use it."

Rowan took a deep breath, forcing all his passionate feelings out of the way, leaving room only for practicality. He straightened himself and squared his shoulders, forming a new plan. He had always been the one with a plan.

"You're right," he admitted. "We should use it. I imagine my stepfather is unaware of this yet."

"We've been here with you the whole time. No one knows of this boy but the three of us."

"Then I will go see him, once I'm dressed. Then, we need to summon the village for a meeting."

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Less than an hour later, the entire village had gathered in the square; and every pair of eyes was fixed in horrified fascination on the prisoner, held fast before them between Annad and Norriss. The Zebak boy was trembling where he stood, which was almost comic to see. Even though he was clearly afraid, he still stood with dignity, unashamed of who he was. The people might have thought him noble, if they hadn't been so disgusted by him.

John and Rowan stood before them, also, facing the crowd together. A more unlikely pair of authority figures, the village had never seen before. One to lead their heads, and one to lead their hearts. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that they would get to the bottom of the whole mess.

The boy never kept his eyes in one place for too long; there was too much to look at, too much to be aware of. Mostly, his violet eyes darted back and forth between his two captors, as he regarded them with apprehension and a kind of confused awe. Once or twice, they had slid in Rowan's direction; but as soon as the Titan noticed, the boy would look away again, eyes suddenly full of shame.

No doubt he has heard tales of us in the past, Rowan considered. He has probably been trained from babyhood to despise us, personally. Now Annad is his captor, and he has no idea what to think.

"My friends," John said loudly, facing the crowd, "we are here this morning to address a very grave matter. It brings me no pleasure to inform you that our village was invaded last night, and that one of our own has been taken from us."

Fearful murmuring began rippling through the crowd at once, threatening to rise to a roar of outrage. John continued quickly, before that could happen.

"It seems, however, that we have taken a prisoner of our own. This boy was found this morning, abandoned by his men. So far, he has come along quietly. We hope he is willing to share the purpose behind this mission with us all. If not… We will deal with it quietly, and orderly."

He turned a cold eye on the boy. "We will get what we want from you, one way or another," he growled. "Are you willing, or will you force us to be creative?"

The boy ducked his head a bit, but faced John squarely. "Yes, sir," he answered, just loud enough to be heard.

"It is a trick!" someone shouted. "He will spite us by feeding us lies!"

"I'll be the judge of that," Rowan answered, and also turned to the prisoner. "We're going to ask you again, boy: are you willing? And think carefully about your answer this time."

The boy let his eyes drift to the cobbled street. "Yes, I am willing," he answered, his voice hushed.

The two leaders exchanged a glance. The boy had answered their question; and as far as Rowan could tell, he had been sincere.

"Very well, then," John said at last. "You can begin by telling us your name."

The boy suddenly looked up and stood at attention, his face and voice totally expressionless.

"Unwilling servant of the Dragon Lord, may her reign last a thousand years; property of his lordship, Zared Azan, commander of her majesty's legions, may his command be long and prosperous; second-class officer of the Night Watch; tenth member of squadron designated C-57; Garased, Zan."

He finished, and his whole body relaxed slightly. John and Rowan looked at him in surprise. The boy hadn't so much answered them, as he had responded to a command in the way he had been trained.

"That is quite a name, long and complicated, perhaps for a complicated young man," John said slowly, a bit impatiently. "Tell us the parts that your parents gave you, then."

For a split second, the boy looked slightly terrified. He swallowed hard, courageously keeping eye contact with them.

"I am Zan, youngest son of the Garased family," he answered. The words came haltingly, as if he was unused to just being asked for his name, rather than his long title, and couldn't believe that someone wanted to know it.

True to his nature, John didn't pause to think about this.

"You and your men stormed into one of our homes last night, and abducted one of our people. Why?"

Zan looked like he wanted to scoff, but wisely did not. "We came to reclaim one of our people, who had clearly been misplaced," he answered.

"What were your orders?"

"I don't know," Zan said lamely. "I'm only a second-class officer. They don't tell me much. All I knew was that a woman had been found, far off in the west, and that she was to be brought home. My squad was chosen, so we went."

John made a face. "How did you know she was here?"

"The Queen has… powers. All the Zebak are bound by blood. The Queen sent out an order to our spies, summoning them home from their posts, and all of them answered. But when she looked, she found that someone hadn't answered the call, or something. It's complicated. I don't know."

"She summoned all her spies back? Why?"

"All I know is that our city is being flooded with people returning from their missions, and it's becoming a bother. Why one extra person should matter so much is beyond me."

"You're one to talk, boy."

Zan was indignantly silent.

Rowan paused, watching him. The boy was clearly holding something back. Though perhaps not to spite them. He was simply following orders, as he had done all his life. While he could hardly be blamed for that, there was no time or space for it.

"Your queen can't reach you here," he said. "If there's something you'd like to reveal to us, you should think about doing so now. We're not the most patient people on the best days. Don't test us today."

Zan looked down at the ground again, avoiding the Titan's glare.

"Look at me!"

The boy's head snapped up, immediately obedient. He was forcing himself to look up, return Rowan's gaze, and was doing so courageously. He looked chilled to the bone.

"Be honest. Your men took my wife from me. The least you could do is tell me the truth of why it was done."

This time, Zan allowed himself the scoff he had been biting back. "Honest? You want me to be honest? You won't like it. You won't even believe me."

Rowan leaned dangerously close to him.

"Try me. Now tell me what your mission really was. And please, do not lie to me."

Zan swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. "A report was sent out from Central last week. All of our spies had returned and been accounted for—100 men and women in all, as all the records showed. But the Queen sensed that someone was still missing. She looked into it and discovered a spare. Someone who was still in the west, who hadn't been sent. She drew a lottery of her generals, and my commander was chosen. She gave him orders to select a squadron from his legions, who would go and bring this missing person back. For whatever reason, he chose mine, C-57."

"And your orders were?"

"Just to find the missing person and bring them back, by whatever means we felt necessary."

Rowan began to pace, suddenly overwhelmed with questions. "And was your squad aware that this missing person was married to the Earth Titan?"

"No, we never dreamed of it," Zan answered hurriedly. "If we had known before hand—"

"Your leader certainly seemed aware of it."

"It was obvious, after we looked around. And we could feel it. There was no way to mistake it. Her majesty is… Like you, in some ways."

Rowan stifled a groan. "Yes, I know," he murmured. Raising his voice, he continued, "I imagine she used that to her advantage."

"I don't understand what you mean, sir."

"Then let me clarify, because there are a couple of things puzzling me about your being here. For example, my talisman, which always warns me of coming danger, never once hinted at your coming. Why do you suppose that might be, Zan?"

The boy gaped at him and desperately shook his head.

"My guess is that your queen used some kind of magic with your squad. Did she do anything unusual, before you left? Perhaps something she spoke of as a spell?"

"The ten of us were summoned personally to her throne last night, just before we were sent," he said slowly, carefully thinking back. "It's a rare honor for any normal officer, if you could call it that… She said that she had cloaked us, made us undetectable to the Titans—invisible, she said."

Rowan bowed his head and gripped the sigil around his neck. He had raged at it before, thinking it had abandoned him for some reason. Now he understood. There had been danger, after all. The sigil most certainly would have warned him of it; if it had been able to see it. Even while he had been attacked and overwhelmed, the sigil had been unable to sense the ten cloaked, invisible warriors right in front of it.

A dirty, underhanded trick, indeed.

"Here is another question for you, Zan. Your squad clearly didn't walk all the way to this village, nor did you fly. If you had done either, none of you would have lived to complete your mission. So explain how you were able to come and go so conveniently."

"I'm telling you, you're never going to believe me."

"And I'm telling you, try me. Now explain."

Zan squeezed his eyes shut, shivered, and mumbled his answer. "We were….. Teleported."

Rowan stopped pacing to stare at the boy, not surprised in the slightest, but curious in spite of himself. "Teleported? How is that?"

"The whole thing was done by magic," Zan blurted out, trying desperately to explain himself. "She ordered us to clear our minds, to think of nothing at all. Then she snapped her fingers, and we were just… Gone. We were here, in your village, in your backyard, as she had promised we would be. I can't explain how she does it, but… You think I'm lying, but I'm not! I swear it!"

"Do not yell at me," Rowan snapped back. "Of course you're telling the truth. I'm not blind."

"You actually believe me?"

Rowan's gaze was cold. "For the moment."

Zan sighed and shook his head with a grimace. "Look," he said, "I'm sorry. I'm sincerely sorry. I didn't ask for this to happen. I didn't even want to do this. None of us did."

"Yet you did it."

"We belong to Central Control; and more importantly, we belong to the Dragon Lord. It's not like we had much of a choice. We do as we're told. That's our only job. That's the only reason we're even alive."

"Why wouldn't you want to go through with this mission? By all accounts, you should be pleased to have one of your sisters back."

Zan scoffed again, a little louder this time. "She was one of the lucky few. One in ten thousand Zebak have the chance of escaping so perfectly. Escape has always been so difficult, so dangerous, so rarely blessed with success; and these days, it's even worse. But she, at least, was free. How could we want to drag her away from that? Not all of us are cruel, hard-hearted monsters, you know."

Rowan bit his lip, thinking that declaration over for a moment. It was a fact that he was well aware of. How many times in the past had his friends insisted that the Zebak weren't all bad, but generally quite good? In their own escape, 18 years earlier, they had left life-long friends and guardians behind, in a situation that could only be described as slavery.

In his anger and shock, he had conveniently forgotten it. The gathered people knew very little of it, or refused to hear of it at all. John knew of it very well, but had no time to care in this moment.

"So, you claim to be one of the 'good ones', do you?" the big man demanded.

Zan shrugged faintly. "I suppose. I've never done anything particularly terrible."

"And your team had no great desire to go on this mission?"

"No, sir. It grieved us all to have to do it."

"But you had the choice," John pointed out, his tone icy and full of disgust. "You might have chosen not to go through with it, but you did it anyway. You came here knowingly bearing us ill will, and you caused us pain deliberately. A person could well argue that this does, in fact, make you a monster."

"No. There was no choice," Zan said bitterly. "The Queen will not stand defiance from her officers. The rebellion of one is the rebellion of all. All ten of us would have been put to death—or worse. Being the Queen's personal property is no pride or joy, but it beats the fields, or the salt mines. At least we are fed, and housed, and our families are cared for."

"Is a little rebellion not worth the risk? Does the chance to stand up for yourselves mean so little to you? Is your own life worth more than the life of an innocent? One might call that cowardly."

"You don't understand." Zan's voice was cracking, overflowing with emotions and desperation. "We are of Central Control—we can take anything she can throw at us. We don't care. But what of the people who depend on us? What of the people who count on us? The people who would be killed or enslaved right along with us? No, the risk is far too great."

He bowed his head, babbling on as much to himself as to the people. "Just think of them all. Ofelia. Misha. Nyoma—poor Nyoma, who is ill, and has three small children with Zane. The eldest of them is only eight years old. They wouldn't last a week in the salt mines. It is a death sentence! They're only children! How could we think of doing that to them?"

The whole crowd was regarding him with deep confusion. His words painted a picture so different from their own, it was unbearably uncomfortable. These people had come with such a dark purpose only because they had been forced to, knowing that the people they loved would pay just as steeply and unfairly for any sort of failure to follow orders.

The idea of the Zebak being able to even feel love was ridiculous to the people of Rin. The idea of them feeling fear was almost comic, reserved for moments when they truly deserved it—such as the instance many years ago, when their invading fleet of fighting grach had been incinerated by the Dragon's jealous flame. It had definitely served them right to be so afraid, when they had been so proud and spiteful. That had been refreshing.

Seeing this stripe-faced young man trembling and humiliated had been refreshing, too. It had served him right to be left behind and captured, when he had wronged them so. Suddenly, though, it was hard to tell who had been wronged, exactly. Suddenly, rather than refreshing, it was just very awkward.

There was a whirlwind of varied ideas, feelings, questions, and solutions swirling through the minds of the people. Rowan could feel them all, like a storm wind in his face. Personally, he was reflecting on the words of Zan's long title. Unwilling servant of the Dragon Lord. Property of one of her commanders. May they be successful. Second-class of his division. Tenth and lowest ranking member of his team.

And then, finally, his own name. It came with no details, no praise, and no mention of his potential or prosperity. It simply came last, very last, as if it were only an afterthought. As if it hardly even mattered.

It could all only mean one thing. Zan Garased may have been housed, fed, and provided for, because he was a member of Central Control. But that did little to excuse the fact that his life didn't really belong to him. His life and freedom were in someone else's hands.

Zan was a slave. A slave in fine clothes, with great skills, but a slave, all the same.

And that couldn't possibly bode well for Zeel.

"Tell me something," he said, breaking the heavily silence that had fallen. "What does your queen intend to do with my wife?"

Zan lifted his eyes again, slightly more used to being honest, even though it was painful for both of them.

"Her majesty will find a use for her, somehow. I couldn't begin to tell you where; it wasn't part of the assignment. Perhaps she will be angry, and send the woman to toil in the fields. Perhaps she will be sent into the workforce, to provide for the common folk. Or perhaps the Queen will be pleased and impressed, and grant her a place at court in exchange for her knowledge of this land. Many things could be done. All I can say with certainty is that if she can work in some way, she will be made in the name of the Queen to do it."

"She will be a slave, like you."

"Bound to serve for the remainder of her life. However long it lasts. No Zebak walks free, but the Dragon Lord. It has been so for thousands of years, and will be so for thousands more. There is no hope for any of us."

Rowan bowed his head, rubbed his hand over his face. Perhaps Zan had given up hope—perhaps he had never been allowed to hope in the first place. But there had to still be some, somewhere.

"I can tell you a little more, while I'm being so honest," Zan commented flatly. "It's no more pleasant than anything else I've had to say, but I think you deserve to know. If you dare to hear it, I will tell you gladly."

"Gladly?"

Zan shrugged again, smirking spitefully. "This is the first time I've been so free in my life. I'll tell you anything you wish to know. No one's stopping me."

"…Very well, then. What do you have to say?"

"You speak of this woman as your wife. It's only fair to warn you, then, that the Queen will never recognize it. If she didn't authorize it and sign the records herself, then it didn't happen. As long as anything can happen, I can't promise that your wife won't be forced into marriage with someone else, of her majesty's choosing. She may find it a worthwhile idea. She could use the fruits of that union to her advantage. And it is a favorite pastime of hers, to deliberately pair her officers with people we will dislike, as punishment for nothing in particular."

Zan had been right. That was a horrifically unpleasant idea. And somehow, it was unsurprising.

"On that note, about the child…"

"What child?"

"Your child. The one whose mother is obviously your wife. The one whose room in your house is empty. I don't know where that child is, but be glad he or she wasn't there last night. If there is one thing the Dragon Lord will never tolerate, it is our people mixing their blood with others. Orders stand at all times that any half-bred children we may find are to be destroyed immediately."

Zan paused for a moment, letting the knowledge sink in. Rowan was slightly stunned at what a near thing it was, and how much more terrible the situation could have been. If squad C-57 had been sent only a few days later, Star would have been home. She would have perhaps been home for only a day, or mere hours. She would have been asleep in her bed, happy to be home at last, completely unsuspecting. She would have been slaughtered mercilessly, without a chance to defend herself.

He felt a stab of guilt. How he had longed for her to stay at home, where he thought she would be safe. Where he thought he could have protected her from harm. If he had gotten his way, Star would be dead right now.

"I might not have told you these things before," Zan was continuing, "because you never asked; but no one is here to punish me, and you have begged me to be honest. And, frankly, I think you have a right to know it. I'm sincerely sorry this had to happen. It broke all our hearts to have to go through with this. It's not like we didn't try—we spent days trying to find a way out of this assignment. Zirita spent two of them weeping over the whole thing; we thought she was going to die of sheer despair.

"But then she looked at those three little kids, who need their father alive to protect them, and it made her strong again. We hated having to tear a family apart this way, but we have families of our own. We have to think of them first, because that's what families do. Look me in the eye and tell me you would have done any differently."

Angry murmuring and shouts of outrage rose from the crowd. Zan had been bold in his words. A little too bold. The people of Rin liked to think that they would always do the right thing, no matter the cost. Honor and duty were two virtues they held most highly. His challenge was infuriating to them all.

But Rowan returned the boy's gaze, steadily, grimly, and honestly. He also liked to think that he would have done the right thing, and spared an innocent family such awful tragedy. He had experienced so much tragedy over his life; causing it for someone else was a thing he would never consider doing. However, in his heart, he knew that Zan was right. If he had been put to the same test, with Zeel and Star hanging in the balance, he would done the same. He would not have liked it, and he never would have fully forgiven himself, but he would have done it.

Because, as Zan had said, he had to put them first. He was their husband and father, and it was his duty to protect them at any cost.

Beside him, John was silent, staring stonily at the ground. He was considering the challenge also, and thinking of his own family. The family he had waited and fought so long for, and sacrificed so much for. Perhaps, even now, he was feeling a grain of sympathy for Zane—the man who had held his stepson hostage and knocked him unconscious, while his beloved daughter-in-law was hauled away into slavery. The man who had done so with a heavy heart, fearing all the while for his sick wife and his own three children, who would have paid a bitter price for his rebellion.

Neither of them felt the outrage of the crowd. Mostly, they felt humbled and vaguely shamed.

"Don't listen to him, Rowan," someone shouted. "He's using your soft heart and weak will against you! Resist him, for the love of all things!"

Rowan spun around and quickly matched the voice to a face. It was Anson, Bree and Hanna's oldest son, who had once tormented him by pushing slugs in his face. They had never gotten along as boys; they generally got along even less, now that they were men. Rowan silenced him with a glare, peeved that he would present himself as if he had anything of value to say.

"Be silent, Anson," he snapped. "Stop babbling about things you refuse to understand. In any case, the boy has told the truth, and nothing but the truth."

"You can't mean to say you trust him!"

"I never said that. I wouldn't trust him any further than I could throw him, which you know well is not far at all. All I said is that he has told the truth. He's told us everything we asked of him, and more. There is great value in what he's shared with us. And he hasn't resisted us once; that, too, is useful."

Anson glared back, angered that someone he despised so much had such authority over him. He cleared his throat and said in a more level voice, "I have a question for you, now, and I believe I speak for all of us. If he's so valuable and useful, what do you intend to do with him now? You've gotten what you wanted from him for the moment. Do you intend to let him walk freely among us until you need him again?"

"Of course not. I may be an oddity, but I'm not stupid." Rowan turned away, staunchly ignoring the other man, and faced John instead. "I do think we'll be needing this boy again, though. There is still much we could learn from him. And if his Dragon Lord can teleport people to and from our village at will, his insights would make us better prepared for it. If all else fails, having a hostage could be an advantage."

John shook his head. "You think to keep him here, and alive, then," he guessed.

"For the time being, yes."

"The people will care little for that. They would sooner have him dead; there will be no peace in our village, knowing that a live Zebak warrior is lurking somewhere."

"The things he can share with us may be worth a little uncertainty. There are worse things than being uncomfortable."

"Unless you presume to guard him with your own eyes at every hour, I doubt they would agree to such a thing."

"We will keep him in the jailhouse. There is only one way in or out of it, and the door is guarded at all times. Someone who hates and fears him will guard him better than someone who is interested in him, after all. And if I recall my history lessons properly, Zebak hostages have been kept well there in the past, during the Plains War. The only way he could escape is if someone let him out. Who among us would do something so insane?"

John looked up at the crowd, which was now milling quietly, listening to their debate. They both had valid points. Keeping Zan as a live prisoner could be dangerous; but his knowledge had the potential to save them. Rowan's proposition seemed to the people a reasonable middle ground. If the boy were locked in an inescapable cell, under constant supervision, unable to disrupt their lives until he was summoned, perhaps it would be worthwhile.

Hearing no protests, John nodded slowly.

"So be it, then. Norriss and Annad, take the boy to the jailhouse. Secure him and return with all speed. We have much to discuss, still."

The two warriors nodded back, and began to lead Zan away. All they had to do was pull him gently; he followed without a struggle, almost tamely. He looked over his shoulder only once and gave the crowd a rueful smile.

"Still beats the salt mines," he called after them. "I'd rather rot in a jail cell any day."

Rowan was still angry, but he couldn't help but feel bad for the boy. At this hour yesterday, he had been a slave. Now he was the prisoner of his people's most hated enemy, and still being argued over like a piece of meat and dragged around like a sack of flour. Like an object, which couldn't think for itself, or respond in any way. But at least his enemies weren't allowed to beat him for speaking his mind, and that was more freedom than he had ever tasted before.

His life and his fate were still out of his hands, but he preferred it to being home. It would have been heartbreaking, if he hadn't already broken their hearts so badly.

He shook his head sharply, trying to force those feelings away. He had no time to feel sorry for the boy. Spending even a second feeling sorry seemed like a waste of time, when he had caused so much pain and trouble. It felt shameful to the memory of his best and oldest friend. He had to focus. He had to think of a plan.

There were a lot of things he had to think of. He hadn't expected the Dragon Lord to appear so suddenly in his life ever again. Yet here she was. She had reared her terrible head once more. It would be foolish and impossible to ignore her now, and what her appearance meant for everyone.

He took a deep breath and let it go with a heavy sigh. There was a lot of explaining to do on his part.

"This meeting is adjourned," John was saying loudly to the crowd. "Go back to your work and carry on as best you can. There is little else to be done now, I'm afraid."

"Those of you who are my friends, please come with me," Rowan added, just as loudly. "As John said, there is indeed much more to discuss."

The crowd uneasily began to separate, as the people dispersed and cautiously went on their way. Only a few people remained, most of them having been nearby in the first place. They were all the usual people, faces he had known all his life, presences and personalities he knew he could rely on. Jiller. Shaaran. Bronden. Timon. Violet.

Not for the first time, he sorely wished that Lann was still with them. Dealing with this mess would have been difficult for her to do gracefully; but her insights and good sense would have been more valuable than gold.

We were always very different, and rarely saw eye to eye, he thought sadly. Yet, in some ways, I have become very much like her. I've become a leader; and sometimes, a leader has to be cold, even ruthless. She would have been proud to see me today. I would give almost anything to have her support now…

Soon, they were the only people left in the square. If the trading party had been back, the gathering would have been larger. It would have also been in even deeper mourning.

"Follow me to my house," he said to them. "I have to tell you some things."