A Note from Nessa'fur:

Disclaimer and other such fun necessities: Tortall and all of its affiliates are the exclusive intellectual property of the great and wonderful Tamora Pierce. The following is a work of fanfiction, written without the Great Goddess's knowledge or permission.

~Nessa'fur

Violet Fire: Prologue

Somewhere in the Realms of the Gods, the Goddess sighed. The movement of her breath sent a ripple through the air. It sailed down, down until it reached the ocean, then the coast. Her breath flowed on past the ruins of what had once been Pirate's Swoop, and still it continued on. Past the wild forests, into the desert. It blew on until it reached an oasis. In another time the small pool had been called Lake Tirragen, but that name had long been forgotten.

Standing at the top of a sand dune, just outside the oasis, William of Conte felt the cool sigh of the Goddess on his face. And, for a moment, he felt all the power of the gods laid out before him.

But the moment passed, and he slowly sunk back into a thoughtful reverie.

"Desert," he muttered, spitting the word as if it were a curse. "Desert waste, where there were once green hills. Now there is only sand all the way to the Drell River valley." Will sighed. In the distance he could see what had once been a castle or fief, half-buried in the drifting sands. Which it had been was a mystery, even to him. It was said that long, long ago there had been a great battle on these plains, a battle that lasted for so long that eventually the hills themselves became flattened by pounding feet of the soldiers. "So much has been lost." The histories that still survived, and there were precious few, said little about the locations of certain towns. They told only that they existed.

Will sighed again. So much that they had once was gone. Tortall was disappearing, fading. Its people dying, its treasures lost. It was said that once Kings had had the power to command the land itself, through a jewel that shone like the sun. No more, no more.

But now is not a time to dream about the past, Will reminded himself. There are newer, fiercer enemies than time.

"And they move quickly, Your Highness." Will looked over his shoulder at the tall, dark haired man who had approached silently from behind.

"I'm sorry Lucas," Will said. "I didn't realize I spoke aloud."

Lucas of Silverlee, Commander of the King's Own, just laughed. His laugh was loud and boisterous, a purely happy sound. It rang out across the desert, a sharp contrast to the bleakness of the surroundings and his own dark mood. "Cursing at the desert won't stop the Scanrans from gathering that army at our northern border, Majesty, and talking to yourself isn't going to make Thaylia any friendlier.

Will sighed; it seemed he was doing that a lot lately. "Well I guess I will have to go through with the plan. I can only hope that what the spies tell me about the Thaylians is untrue. We cannot hope to fight both Scanra and Thaylia at the same time."

"Hope is something we've had precious little of, these past years."

"Too true," Will sighed again, "too true." He turned to Lucas, and an ironic frown flitted across his face. "If there was ever a time for the Gods to return, it would be now."

Lucas didn't respond, not even to acknowledge the joke. Will supposed his seriousness was warranted. Sometimes it really did seem as if the only way Tortall would make it through the coming years was if the Gods of old returned.

They stood in silence for a moment, contemplating the future as they gazed over the desert. "Tell me, friend," Will murmured, "Why is making peace so much more difficult than making war?"

"Because, the greatest things to have are the most difficult to obtain."

Will turned an astonished face toward his Commander. "Lucas, I do believe I just heard something philosophical come out of your mouth."

Lucas clapped Will on the back and he tried not to wince; Lucas's hands were just as strong as they were massive. "I'm not just brawn, you know, I've got a great and brilliant mind."

Will tried to smile, but his mouth couldn't quite manage. The King of Tortall did not have many reasons to smile these days; he was out of practice. "Obviously I shouldn't get used to it," he muttered, then ducked under Lucas's retaliating blow. Lucas turned to wallop him again, but Will danced away from the punch, leaving behind only the echo of his caustic laughter.

"Infuriating little boy-king!" Lucas grumbled good-naturedly. Will attempted a smile again, with better success, but he said nothing and both men turned towards a group of tents circled around the oasis.

Their arrival was greeted with enthusiastic cheers from the King's Own. Their dinner would no longer be delayed because of the King's tardiness.

After all had been fed and watered, the King stood up and motioned for silence. A sudden hush came over the company. Only a few knew what was coming.

"For those who do not know," Will began, "tomorrow I and another are to cross the Drell River into Thaylia. We have all heard the rumors that they are planning to cross the desert and once again attempt to conquer our lands, as their ancestors tried of old." The men murmured angrily, and someone hidden yelled, "Let them come! We beat 'em before; we can beat 'em again!" The anonymous shout was greeted by cries of agreement.

Will held up his hands, a small smile lighting his face. "Your enthusiasm is heartwarming," he said, "but you must remember, my grandfather bested the Thaylians only because they have no knowledge of magic. Their numbers were and are vastly superior to ours. He was only able to stop their advancement; he failed to drive them off the continent completely. Defeating the Thaylians again would take a vast amount of energy and man-power, but it is not impossible.

"Unfortunately, however, the Thaylians are not our only concern at the moment. We have a much more dangerous enemy knocking on our doors: Scanra. Scanra has a vast number of men as well—not all of which are human—and they also command magic. Dark, evil magic yes, but magic just the same." Will paused, uncertain of how much to reveal. He decided that these, his closest and most trusted men, must know the grave truth. "To even have a chance at defeating them, we will need to utilize everything we have and more. Every man who can fight must fight, as well as, every mage, and every beast ever befriended by a wildmage. Everyone must contribute for the coming battle with Scanra because its outcome affects everyone. Every Tortallian—every man, woman, child, and animal will suffer if the Scanrans win."

Will stopped, letting his point sink in. The Own was silent, contemplating the terrible consequences of the looming war. After a moment more, Will continued carefully emphasizing each word. "We cannot afford to split our forces. We must throw everything into the battle with Scanra; no one can be spared to fight the Thaylians. That is why there must be no war with the Thaylians. That is why I must go tomorrow and find out the truth of the rumors. And if it is true that they plan to invade us, I must find a way to change their minds. If need be, I will meet with them to try and make peace between our peoples."

The final statement caused an angry cry from the Ownsmen. One man yelled, "Peace? With those barbarians?"

Will raised his hands, and the din quieted. "I know their culture is foreign. I know that they have different gods, and that their tongue differs from our own. I also know that we cannot fight both them and Scanra," he paused, "Most of you know that Scanra has a new war leader, Li Dubyn. Being a half-imp, half-human he has gathered both immortal and human alike to fight this war against us. Our spies tell us his army grows steadily, and that we may only have until spring for the attack. We cannot hope to win this war if we have both Scanra and Thaylia to fight. That is why we must extend the hand of peace to them. Whether they take it or not is up to the Gods now. I'll need you all alert and ready if we have to leave quickly." Will halted, considering whether to reveal anymore. "You're dismissed."

Will waited until all the Own had left and faced the remaining five. He avoided the eyes of his commanders, hoping to evade the questions he saw lingering there. The Own might readily accept his excuses about searching out the sources of the rumors, but his commanders were not fooled. Seeking out information was the job of the Spymaster, not the King, but even a flimsy excuse was better than none.

He could not bring himself to tell his commanders the real reason for this journey.

"I sincerely hope there were no spies in our midst just then, because I certainly gave them an ear-full." Will said, with forced levity. Lucas quickly jumped in, assuring him of the Owns' loyalty. Will smiled at his Commander's certainly, but did not protest. Instead he announced, "I'm taking Rob with me, and no objections." He looked pointedly at Lucas's open mouth. "Rob is the only other person here fluent enough in Thaylian to be able to converse easily with Imperials. I also want someone with a fully trained Gift. Over the river magic may be more important than swords. Rob, we will leave before first light, so get some rest. Everyone else is dismissed as well."

There was a lengthy pause. None of his commanders made a move to exit. There were all looking at him expectantly. "Is there anything else you wished to discuss with us?" Tohmas, his Chief Healer, asked pointedly.

"No." Will said firmly, but he could not quite bring himself to meet their suspicious gazes. "There is nothing else to discuss. Rob and I will go to Ithsma in the morning."

There was another long moment and then Rob slowly got to his feet. "I should get to sleep then, if I'm going to have to drag these old bones out of bed before the dawn." Will gave him a grateful nod as the others followed suit.

Will was alone, with only his doubt to comfort him. Were the rumors true, and if so, would the Thaylians listen to a plea for peace? Would they become allies or enemies? Only time would tell.

And so the future of Tortall lay. Not in the hands of man, but in the hands of the Gods.

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