Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Siska felt the chill of night air and the scent of smoke filled her nostrils. Around her fires raged all over the city. She was hiding in a deep doorway, trying to quiet a babe in her arms who fussed and threatened to cry. She fought the feeling of helplessness, but still had no control over her own actions, though she was certain they were hers. Her thoughts raced, desire to escape was very obvious, but above that, before escape, the baby. The baby must be safe. Across the street was a low wall, the tops of trees showing over it and a long red-tiled roof looming higher still. Voices called in the night streets and shapes moved in the distance. It was only a matter of time, her panicked mind told her. She ran to a door in that wall, hammering on it and calling out to those within, should there be anyone in the garden. A old man opened the door, looking fearfully about at the burning and the distant running shapes. "Take her. For the love of the One, save her," she told the old man, thrusting the babe into his arms. In confusion, the old man, wearing a gray shift, took the infant and held her tiny body to his . Siska felt her feet moving again and the harsh, smoke tainted breath catching in her throat. A yell sounded, closer now. She yanked the door shut and ran. The sounds of booted feet closed on her, and soon were just behind her as she felt a hand clutch the back of her dress, ripping it from her shoulders. The next grip fell on her arm, stopping her flight dead. A fist smashed into her face as other hands groped at her, rending the remaining silk from her body. Hot breath fell on her neck in a sickening wave as she felt someone press against her. "Not so high now, milady, are you?" said a rough, rum-scented voice. - - Siska sat up, shivering with her shift plastered to her body by sweat. Her sheets were damp, as well, like she had sweated for a long while. It was not the first time to have this alarming dream, and she feared it was far from the last. Such dreams had haunted her from childhood, even though she had never seen the estate from the outside until her auction day. She always awoke once the men grabbed her. Ever since she was old enough to know of sex, she knew what would happen next, should she not wake fast enough. She registered a slight pain on one side of her head and turned to find little Siska, still clutching a few strands of hair which had been pulled from her scalp. The miniature of herself smiled sheepishly and wound the hairs around her arm, like thin rope. "I suppose I should thank you," said Siska, giving her homunculus a weak smile and rubbing her head where the strands had been yanked out. "That was a horrible dream." The little Siska nodded, her sheepish smile now replaced with a sober look of worry. The moon was nearing the horizon outside her window and a shiver from the cool ran through her body. It did not seem to bother the little copy, though. Siska rose, closed the window and, without thinking, ignited the fire, already laid in the fireplace. She blinked at what she had done so casually. The apprentice's primer peeked from amid her tousled blankets when she looked for it. Siska had barely remembered to mark her place when she began to nod the night previous. One of her silver ribbons stood in as a bookmark. Little Siska tugged at the book with both hands, pulling it free of the coverlets. "You're trying too hard," said Siska, picking up the book and edging closer to the fire to bask in the warmth it gave off before warming the room. Cracking open the book to worn vellum pages, Siska noticed that the book was handwritten, not etch-printed, like most books. While a simple text, and only minimally illuminated, it was almost a work of art in itself. She ran her finger down the margin of one page, where someone had penned notes to themselves in a disciplined and minute hand, no doubt Salira's. The book seemed to have more pages than reasonable for such a slim tome, as well. This startled Siska when she had first perused it. Well over three hundreds of pages, and the tome was less than an inch thick. A good quarter of that thickness was the covers, stiff leather covered over by finer leather, probably doeskin, and died blue. When she looked more closely at the book, though, it glowed faintly with mana, and she decided it was enchanted, somehow. She wished very much to learn more of enchantments, but both the book and Phillip agreed that studies of such magics were to come later, rather than sooner. Little Siska had managed to clamber down off the bed and was standing between Siska's feet, warming her tiny hands toward the fire. She blinked up when Siska pulled her eyes from the book and looked down at her. "Did I awaken you in my sleep?" The homunculus shook, then pointed at, her head. "You felt it, then?" asked Siska. Little Siska nodded emphatically, still rubbing her little hands and extending them toward the warming flames. "I doubt that there will be time to get back to sleep before Mentor Phillip wishes me to rise for early exercises," said Siska, closing the book and setting it upon her little writing desk. She caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror and paused. She was lit only by the red glow of the fire from the hearth which made her glow crimson. Somehow that reflection showed a young woman who was menacing, violet eyes turning red in that light with malevolent intent. She shook her head and looked again, seeing only her normal self. A young woman, stark naked, with long, to her eyes, gangly limbs and a thick head of golden blond hair. She smiled at the reflection and walked to the wardrobe, pulling one of her robes from it and slipping the silken folds over her head. She thought the silk a rather extravagant garment for an apprentice, really, and wondered about that, deciding to ask Phillip when it was convenient. Siska had taken to leaving her door open a very slight crack so that little Siska could enter and leave the room when she liked. The homunculous was easily strong enough to open it or close it when she wished, but could not work the latch. Moonlight illuminated the house gently with patches of pale light amid dark shadows, enough for her to move about. She heard faint sounds of snoring from the direction of Phillip's room but moved down the stairs to the study, her primer beneath her elbow. As an afterthought, she reached out a casual tendril of magical energies and snuffed the fire in her bedroom's hearth. As she closed the study door, the three lanterns that lit the room flicked into life at her bidding and she smiled. This being a wizard was not so bad, she decided. Despite what she had said at the home of Salira, Phillip did have an impressive collectionof tomes and books. Most were leather clad and massive things, bluky texts with gold leaf worked into embossed spines. She slid the primer onto one of the two writing desks in the room with brightly polished tops. She moved down the shelves casually, allowing her slim fingertips to wander over the rough leather hides of the books, caressing them, feeling for something, though she was not sure what. When her hand came to rest on a book bound in a dark brown leather, with only some decorative swirls on the spine, rather than a title or the ridges created in binding, she wrinkled her brow. What was this book, and why was she seeking for it? Siska slid that book from the shelf and hefted the heavy thing to the table. It was almost as thick as her hand was wide at the fingers and easily four hands wide. Little Siska shoved the lamp on that desk closer to the book as Siska sat down and opened the heavy cover. It was penned in a deep burgundy ink on pale sheepskin parchment. The formulas were odd, shaped wrongly to her eye, but they flowed into her as other spell formula had. Only four pages in, she felt her mind recoil from what it had absorbed and she found herself wanting to vomit. She fled to the kitchen and gave up last night's supper to a mop bucket. The first beams of sunlight were coming through the windows of the kitchen. This tome must only be viewed in times forsaken of the sun. A voice called in her mind, laughing at her. She cringed from the voice, it had a harsh, guttural sound that caused her skin to tighten on her neck and back. She stood from the bucket and rinsed her mouth out with water from a large pitcher on the table. Her knees were weak, but she managed to subdue them to her will and move back to the study to close the book, careful not to look upon the subtly twisted forms on the page and slide it back into its place on the shelves. Sounds floated down from upstairs, of Phillip stirring and she hastily sat down at the desk, opening her primer and perusing pages she had read and fully absorbed the night before. "Good morrow, Siska," said Phillip, smiling at her. He held one of the glass spheres in his hand, bouncing it in his palm. "We'll be trying to put mana into the sphere again this morning." His voice was pleased and a bit amused. "Excited by your going shopping this morning?" "Yes, mentor," said Siska, grinning at him over her book. The primer was easy stuff, she decided, even if it was, in truth, useful material. She reached out with a pointed finger and seized the sphere while it was airborn between bounces and pulled it toward her. It floated, a bit unsteadily, but not threatening to fall, to her hand, where she closed her fingers about its glassy smooth surface. Phillip nodded, though he said nothing. His eyes spoke volumes of approval of her actually performing apprentice type casting. After the frightening spells she had already learned, holding mageflame, he was eager for her to know more basic magics. Little Siska giggled, moving into Siska's palm beside the sphere and pushing on it, trying to roll the ball out of her larger version's grip. "Now, Siska, if you break that, I shall have to find your shineys to buy Phillip a new one," said the larger Siska, chiding the small copy. The homunculous stopped immediately and gave Siska an withering, accusing look. Phillip chuckled and left the study. Even working from a beginning primer, thought Phillip, it should be weeks before she could use apportation. The pleased expression fled him as quickly as it had come. She would finish with that primer in, perhaps, a week, two at the outside. A book meant to last a newling student a year, if not more. He pulled several pieces of fruit from the preservation box and began skinning them while he wondered what he needed to do to slow her progress. Her control was not nearly enough, surely, at this point, to master the powerful magics she had already absorbed. It would have to be. Siska emerged from the study a moment later, the primer under her arm and little Siska in her hand. The homunculous served for Phillip as a reminder that he had no normal apprentice on his hands. For the fifth time he wondered if the house of the order would not be a better place to teach her. Also, for the fifth time, he discarded that notion. He did not wish to discover what the mentors of the home would do to slow her down. Surely they would seek to, for the same reasons he wished to slow her progress. She rolled the silvered glass sphere back and forth across the table with little Siska as she ate the diced pieces of orange, apple, and banana. Occasionally, she would change the course of the little ball with a motion of her finger, causing the miniature of herself to have to scurry to change direction to intercept it. Little Siska seemed to think this was great fun and clapped happily when she managed to crab and roll the two inch sphere back to Siska. "So Salira's primer is useful?" asked Phillip. Siska nodded happily at that. "Oh, it's very good," she said, stopping the ball just before little Siska caught it, causing her homunculous to try to backpedal to get to it. "Well, be sure to thank her again for it," replied the wizard. "Salira will be pleased that you've learned from it." Again, Siska nodded, though Phillip saw her mind was truly elsewhere. He decided to let her be. Likely, she was nervous about her impending date at the market. Soon enough, she had finished her plate of fruit and was washing it out in the basin on the counter and smiled when he added his. She was the apprentice, after all, and it did not do to utterly forget that. She then collected the silvered sphere from little Siska and trooped outside. It was still cool, but warming under the bright morning sun. Phillip watched her from the doorway as she sat the sphere on the little pedestal and walked to the center of the stone platform. Why is touching this sphere with the energy so tough? wondered Siska as she strained to feed mana into the sphere. She suspected that it might be enchanted to resist being given mana, even if that was its purpose, after all. The tendrils she forced toward it, by sheer will, it seemed, snapped back as soon as she stopped pressing on them with her thoughts. She touched it more often than not now, and even felt the energy flow into the sphere on the longer contacts. It glowed faintly after only a half an hour this time, and the glimmer of inner light increased with each prolonged touch of mana tendrils. Phillip had gone from the door, to his study no doubt. Siska wondered if wizards ever stopped studying. She certainly felt the draw of learning new things, but she was a novice, after all, and all of it was new to her. Another hour passed and she was sweating with the effort of pushing mana into the sphere. It no longer simply flowed into the silvery orb upon contact, but required her to press it into the glass. It pushed back, like squeezing a fully filled wineskin with the stopper in. "I don't think it will hold any more," said Siska, speaking to the little Siska, sitting at the base of the little stand on which the orb rested. The tiny version of herself shrugged. Siska rested a long moment, sitting in the center of the granite circle and glaring at the stone. She reached out again to the sphere as she sat, not to feed mana into it. Surprisingly, it was not hard to touch then, and her seeking tendril slid over the smooth silvery surface easily. Why would it not accept more mana? she wondered, probing at the polished glass. She squinted, as if to focus her eyes and felt her tendril sharpen, become a finer finger of energy, tiny, almost invisible. She probed at it further, feeling something there, an imperfection, like a crack, but incredibly small. She had learned a mending spell from the primer, something that would rejoin broken things. This crack was not a break, precisely, but close enough, she thought. Channeling an appropriately small amount of energy, she fixed it and felt the imperfection gone. There was another, though, and she fixed it, then she found a third, a fourth, then more. Siska's mind accelerated as she worked. There were dozens, perhaps hundreds of tiny flaws in the glass and silver lattice that made up the sphere. The tendril of magic was not enough and she extended another, then a third, finally a fourth. Each slid over the surface, detecting then repairing the minute imperfections that she found in the structure of the glass orb. Sweat rolled down her cheeks as she finished and she found her hair matted to her head with it. "Well, perhaps now it will take mana properly," she said. She was a bit tired, but no more so than when she had sat down. She stood, wiping errant strands of hair that were clinging to her cheeks and forehead and reached out with one of the feeding tendrils of mana. It resisted as before as she reached toward the sphere, but when the tendril touched the surface, the mana flowed into it easily, sucked into it. She felt the mana flow forth from her and through her from the air nearby. Frost formed on her robes and she shivered as the temperature dropped in an instant. She could see, see, the tendril between her and the sphere. It was not a thing of pure mana, but glimmered to her normal sight, little, infinitely small particles, it seemed, flickering as they moved from her outstretched hands to the sphere. - - "Siska?" asked Phillip, and she felt damp coolness on her forehead. Her head was on something soft, but throbbed. She opened her eyes to find she was lying on the long padded bench of the common room. "How did I get here?" she asked, hearing a muzziness in her voice. "I carried you," he said. "I found you on the circle unconscious, after little Siska came to me all in a tizzy, tugging on my robe's hem." Little Siska sat on the arm of the bench, arms folded over her chest and glowering at her, tapping her tiny foot on the pillow upon which Siska's head rested. She felt drained, like she'd not eaten in two days and her muscles felt sore from her head to her feet. "What happened?" "You fed too much energy into the sphere," said Phillip. His eyes were wide. "It should not have been possible, those won't let you put but a small bit of mana into them." "Fixed it," she said quietly. "I fixed the ball, made it whole, it didn't want to take more, so I made it where it could." Phillip lifted the sphere out of his pocket. "Fixed it?" he asked, eyeing the brightly glowing ball of glass. "How?" Her voice was still soft, but was gaining in clarity. Some of the cotton stuffing her mouth was being removed. "It was all broken up, inside, down deep, but I smoothed it out, and fixed the breaks." "Siska, you fed this thing more energy than it can hold," he said, looking at the orb. "A talas sphere can only hold so much power." "Because it was broken," she said. "It's not broken anymore." He pressed a wine cup into her hands and told her to sip slowly. What was in the cup, when she tasted it, was not wine, but was sweet, and she sipped it readily. Phillip had risen, though, and was holding out the sphere. He gestured over it and then peered at it hard, furrowing his brow. "Fixed it?" he asked. Siska nodded when he turned his eyes to her and took another sip of the sweet drink. The soreness in her limbs was receding and the throbbing in her head along with it. "How, exactly, did you 'fix' it?" he asked. Siska sat up, slowly, as the throbbing tried to return as she did so. "I looked at it with the power," she said. "Up close, and found there were little imperfections inside it, really, really little imperfections. I just fixed those with the mending spell from the primer." Phillip's eyes hardened a moment, then he walked from the common room to his study, returning a moment later with a small glass cylinder, the length of his hand and as thick as his thumb. He held it up to his eye and touched the glass sphere to the other end and gasped. "You've aligned the crystals," he said. "You've fused them, all of them." Siska blinked at him. "I what?" she asked. Phillip held the sphere out to arm's length and dropped it. Siska reignited the throbbing in her head when she tried to dive for the sphere, but she was far to slow to cross the room and reach it. It hit the flagstones of the common room's floor. And bounced with a almost metallic clang. He caught it at the apogee of its upward motion and looked at it. "It's all of a piece now," he said. "It's tougher than steel, or I miss my guess." Siska blinked again. "It's just a glass sphere, no?" she asked. "Not anymore it isn't," said Phillip, looking at it through the glass tube. "It's something else now, something you made it into. The silver is latticed into it precisely now, as well, very precisely." He lowered the eyeglass and looked at her. "Precisely enough to hold a lot of mana." "It felt like a lot," said Siska, rubbing her head. "I should imagine that it did," said Phillip, smiling at her and urging her to sip from the cup. "You were drained when I found you, and covered in hoarfrost. I even felt a little chill still in the air around you." "The frost," mused Siska. "Where'd that come from?" She remembered the frost forming on her robes. "When you pull enough mana in, from about yourself, it takes part of its energy from many sources, most of them unseen. One source is the heat around you, a small part, really, but enough is removed to drop the temperature noticeably when a large amount of mana is taken." "I'm sorry if I did something wrong," said Siska. "Not at all, though I don't like you channeling power from around you without my guidance, next time," replied Phillip, dismissing her apology. "I couldn't help it," she said. "It just came through me." "You could have stopped it, had you known what to expect, I think," said Phillip. Siska shrugged and took another sip, the last in the cup. "I will try, then," she said. He took the cup and her arm together and lifted her to her feet, guiding her toward the stairs. "Are you still up for your - shopping?" he asked. Siska did feel better, and mention of the impending meeting in the market square drove what remaining pain from her, thought he fatigue was still partially in evidence. "Yes," she said. "Good, you do that, and take your time, we will not be having any exercises this evening, after all," said Phillip. She watched as he went into the study and opened a wooden box. Inside were a dozen silvery glass spheres, one or two glowing with mana. Beside the one he added now, they were dark. "Do you think you can repeat your 'repair' on the sphere on another?" asked Phillip when he saw she was still at the base of the stairs looking toward the study. "Yes," said Siska, confidently, "but don't ask me to fill it all up like that one, please." Phillip laughed. "I'd be surprised if you could so soon," he said. "But then again, you're full of surprises, aren't you?" His expression had gone contemplative, but he shook his head and closed the box. "After your - meeting, get one of the dark ones and 'repair' it, if you would, please." "Of course, mentor," she said, and plodded up the stairs, her homunculous scrambling after her. She wished to bathe before this meeting, as Phillip was calling it, with Mannis. The very thought made her blush. This would be her first meeting with a boy whom she had not grown up with. Also the one closest to her own age she had, as well. Mistress Tomasina had owned many slaves, but none were near her in age and male. The only two near to her were both other girls. She had kissed a man before, even before Phillip, but he had been much older, and the kiss had made Siska uncomfortable. He had been a male guest of Mistress Tomasina's, a nobleman from another nation, named Rodar. A good-looking man, and he obviously thought himself quite the charmer. She supposed that he had been somewhat charming, and his attention to her had been flattering, to the point that she had allowed the kiss, even welcomed it as it happened. However, it had gone on too long for her comfort and when he moved her hand onto the obvious bulge in his tights, she had fled the room. He had asked for another room servant after that, one of the other two girls, and she had been punished. Punished, despite that he had never said what displeased him of her performance. Pamela had been sent in her place, and had cried that night in the girls' shared room, though she would not speak of what happened. Snapping back to where she was, Siska crossed the hall to the bathing room. She wondered how the large barrels of water there were kept full, but suspected that Phillip used magic to keep them topped off. She would have to ask about that. Filling the brass tub with water, she sat back and glowered at it. A cold bath did not much appeal to her and she channeled the heat of fire into the water. The liquid soaked up the heat like a sponge, and she felt her already depleted reserve of energy dwindle rapidly, then leave her altogether. With a sigh, she stripped and climbed into the tub. The water was lukewarm, at least, and she had managed to take most of the chill from it. She bathed quickly, though, and washed her hair with the perfumed soap that sat on a little shelf nearby. A smile crossed her face to think that Phillip had provided it for her, as he would never deign to use such himself. Reweaving her plaits with the four strands of colored cloth, she crossed the hall. Only when she closed her door behind her did she realize that she had done so nude. Phillip, of course, had seen her naked already, several times, but somehow, this made her blush. There were several slips of different materials in the wardrobe and she selected the shortest of the silken ones. This silk, unlike the robes, was only one layer thick, and sheer atop that. It slid cooly over her skin and she felt it an incredibly naughty sensation. Giggling, she pulled on the knee-length dress and pulled the lacing in the bodice tight. A grin came to her face as she watched it shape and form her breasts into a notable cleavage before her. "Well, I never knew," she said as she looked at the displayed mounds of flesh. "Quite impressive." The dress was of fine linen, and somewhat sheer in its own right. It did not cling to her like the silken undergarment did, but it definitely did not hide much of her figure, either. "This should get Mannis' attention fully," she said. "Maybe he'll forget I'm an apprentice." Oddly, as soon as she had murmured those words, she did not want him to forget that she was a wizard in training. She wanted Mannis to accept her as a wizard's apprentice. Soon, she was, as she deemed, presentable. The green of the dress shimmered beneath the matching shimmer of her silver sash and the low, soft boots of green leather she pulled onto her feet matched nearly enough. The asymmetrical hemline only made her legs look longer than they already did, but she decided that was all to the good. Despite her own opinion of them looking gangly, men seemed to like the look of them well enough. She strode down the stairs and was making for the front door only to come across Phillip, pulling on a riding cloak and standing in the entry of the common room. "You're going?" she asked. Phillip nodded. "Yes, I need to visit the home, I may be late, don't wait up," he said. "Very well," said Siska, not terribly pleased by this, but accepting it. He would have his own agenda, she was sure. "Oh, I almost forgot," said Phillip, digging into his worn leather belt pouch. He pulled out a long silver chain with a delicately carved dragon pendant hanging on it. The dragon's eyes were tiny sapphires. "You should always wear some mark of the order." She pulled the chain, which had no clasp, over her head and tugged her hair through it. "I don't mind at all," she said at his embarrassed expression. "I'm proud of who and what I am." "You should be," said Phillip, beaming with his own measure of pride in her. "You will be great one day and I'll have bragging rights simply for having begun your education." "You shouldn't speak like that, Phillip, it shall give me a swollen opinion of myself," she said, trying her best to use the accent Mistress Tomasina had used when she was being regal. Phillip chuckled and opened the door for her. "After you, milady apprentice," he said. She lifted her nose into the air and stepped out of the house. Phillip had ridden off as she turned onto the bustling street. People moved near to her now, nearer than she remembered. Apparently, the blue robes had kept them at a distance. She liked this better, though, even if it meant being jostled a bit. One man even took the liberty of cupping his hand over her rump at one point, which earned him an icy glare from her. He just smiled back until the sunlight caught the pendant on her neck and his eyes widened. He vanished with satisfactory speed amid the other pedestrians. At least ask my name before groping me, thought Siska with a snort and flip of her hair as she resumed her walk to the market square. Looking up at the clock tower, Siska checked the time. She was still thirty minutes early for her meeting with Keeley, much less the date with Mannis. She moved into the marketplace, casually browsing the stalls. Tressen was a major hub of trade and most anything could be found in her markets, if sporadically. She found a vendor selling doll clothes, intended for the little wooden dolls that many girls collected for playing with in doll houses. Unlike porcelain dolls, these were proportioned more or less properly and could be dressed. She bought several dresses and even a suit of miniature shirt and pants, along with two pairs of shoes. Those should hold little Siska for a while. As an afterthought, she also bought a bed, chair, and little box of dwarf-made metal dishes. Those dishes had been dear, almost a full silver mark, but little Siska was done eating like a barbarian, so far as Siska was concerned. Siska stuffed her purchases into her shopping basket as she finished haggling with the merchants who sold the doll toys. A last thought had her digging through a box of odds and ends until she found a tiny spear, meant for a toy soldier, no doubt, and paid far too much for it, as the merchant claimed it, too, was of dwarven make. Now Siska could properly hunt mice with less danger to herself than with a nail. She had wandered most of the length of the market, toward the north end, when she heard a hubbub from the northernmost corner. Looking over that direction, she saw a wooden scaffold and froze. It was the auction stand for slaves and there was a man upon it. Two men, really, but only the one in a gray shift caught her eyes. He looked down humbly as bids were taken and then he walked off slowly, dragging his feet. Siska's throat seized and she almost cried, but held back the tears. Not a week ago, she had been on that platform. She found herself looking down at the ground herself, her face blazing with embarrassment. Her head came up, though, when the crowd began to cheer. A girl was mounting the platform. She could be no older than Siska, dressed in a patched gray slip, as she had been. This girl had long, light brown hair and big, frightened eyes. The auctioneer was not the same man who had sold Siska, and she suspected that several agents performed that task. This girl was pretty and slim and the men in the front called up to the auctioneer, as they had with her, asking him to strip her, to 'let them see the wares'. This man was, apparently, more swayed by the crowd and he leaned toward the girl. Reluctantly, she pulled the shift over her head, eyes pouring tears down her cheeks. Siska's own tears broke loose with them and she tried to turn away. The men in the crowd, who seemed to serve no purpose except to be in crowds, yelling things, hooted with excitement at the girl's bare body. She tried to cover herself with the wadded cloth of her shift, but the auctioneer batted her arms down with his bamboo cane. He walked around her, letting the men get their fill of her flesh, then prodded her while saying something. She parted her long legs and put her hands to her sides. The men yelled more and called up instructions. The girl's face was remarkably placid, despite the tears. Siska knew that look. She adopted it from time to time, when she had been a slave. When told to do something particularly odious, or tedious, she would blank her mind and just do what she must. A few more muttered words from the auctioneer and the girl turned about, spreading her rump with her hands to the pleasure of the men in the front. Siska could not think of how grateful she was to the man who had auctioned her off for not forcing her to perform such a display as this girl was being made. Grateful to her slave auctioneer? How perverse, she thought. A man behind her spoke up. "Whichever house buys that snip up, I'm going there this very night." The man apparently had a companion, another man, who grunted assent. "I don't care if it's ten marks, I hear she's a virgin, and I want first crack," said the talkative one. Siska grimaced. She was a virgin, too, and almost bought by one of the brothels. The bidding on the girl had already exceeded a thousand marks, confirming Siska's belief that the girl was a pretty one, and prized. At twelve hundreds, the girl was sold, to a fat woman with a red feather and pulpy red lips. She pulled the shift back over her body and slouched off of the platform, a look of dread and doom on her face. Mercifully, she had been the only young woman, and the next slave was an elderly man who was said to be a competent carpenter. Siska turned away, and saw the two men speaking behind her. One was a young man, dressed in the tights and fitted coat of the nobility of Tressen. The other wore similar clothes, though of poorer cut and material, perhaps the son of a merchant. Both coats were embroidered with ornate patterns of colored thread, the noble's glinting with silver and gold amid the bright colors and the merchant with but the bright colors. Both were youngish men, in their early twenties. The young nobleman had a arrogant, handsome face and bright green eyes. He would be very attractive, if he did not look about him like he owned everything about, including her, when he caught her eyes upon him. The other man, the merchant, as she deemed him, was not nearly as handsome, but seemed more pleasant to look upon. He had a thick shock of curly brown hair and soft brown eyes, like a deer. The young noble, still locking his eyes upon Siska was appraising her cooly, looking down at her bared left thigh and smiling. "Else, I may be busy this night," he said in a murmur to his friend, who blinked and finally noticed Siska. When had she stopped moving? She had intended to walk on back to the main bulk of the market. She was standing and facing the two young men. "May I help you, miss?" asked the young nobleman. His voice carried that sound of casual arrogance, just as his features did. "Or do you simply sink to drink in the sight of me?" The other man poked his ribs, and looked down at her pressed cleavage. The noble, thinking the man was simply pointing out a major draw of Siska's figure, looked down obviously, a grin forming on his lips. Without a single change in shape, his grin became rigid, turning to stone in an instant. He had seen the dragon pendant. "Tornadin, even you may wish to let this woman pass without comment," said the merchant. The nobleman wrenched his eyes back upward. "I don't know," he said, speculatively. "From what I know of precedent, the son of a duke is still of higher status than a wizard. Or apprentice, as I suspect. You're supposed to bow, wench, when you find out a noble addresses you." This last was directed at Siska. Normally, Siska would have melted at that, bowing and begging her leave. A week ago, there would have been no question of behaving otherwise. Siska's back straightened as if a steel rod had been fitted as replacement for her spine. "When, milord, I see someone who is noble, I shall bow happily," she said. Pink flowed up Tornadin's neck to his cheeks, quickly deepening to red. "You little. . ." he began, only to be stopped by the merchant. "Now Tornadin, you know you cannot dispense high justice here on the streets," said the other. His hand was gripping Tornadin's wrist, which was gripping a sword's handle. A minute quivering of both wrists told Siska that they were both straining. "Call the guards if you wish her arrested." Tornadin grimaced. The guards would never arrest a member of the order, not for something so minor as slighting a noble. "No, I think I'll spare her this once," he said, the arrogance flowing into his voice again. He looked up at Siska, though. "You're a pretty one, apprentice, and I will find out who you are. Once I do, I will make sure to reward you for your due diligence in observing the proper etiquette. Perhaps after that you won't be quite so lose with your tongue, lest it be serving someone properly." With a flurry of cloak, he spun away, yanking his hand free of his friend's grip and stormed off into the crowd, shoving people from his path as he strode quickly out of the market. His companion gave her a brief, worried look, then turned to follow his friend. She looked toward where the noble and his friend were moving through the crowd and Siska reached out with mana and touched Tornadin's ear, giving it a sharp yank. He winced visibly and looked about himself and she forced her voice down that connection. "My name is Siska, boy, and if we cross paths again, you will mourn your parents' first introductions," she hissed. Siska blinked at the audacity of what she just did and turned to blend back into the crowd. Tornadin looked about himself with worried eyes and his friend looked at him with the same expression of concern. He moved off more quickly now, working his way toward the inns that liked the periphery of the market square. As quickly as her spine had stiffened, as it had before, it turned liquid. Siska slumped against a hitch post and exhaled. A horse snuffled at her hair, scenting, no doubt, clover in her shampoo. She patted the muzzle and stepped away from the post and moved toward the fountain. Still fifteen minutes before her time to meet Keeley, Siska sat on the edge of the fountain. Why had she just challenged a young nobleman? All she needed was a powerful person as an enemy. However, when she remembered how he spoke casually of abusing that poor girl, her blood heated again and she found herself wishing he were in sight, so that she might practice some magefire on him. Keeley was mercifully early and the two hugged when she had worked through the crowd to Siska. "One's blessing that is a lovely dress," she said, pulling back to look down at Siska's garment. She, herself, was wearing a nice dress, if not quite so fancy, a finespun linen dress of blue-dyed cloth and a slim vest of satin in purple. "You hide your body beneath that robe, Siska," said Keeley, grinning. "No doubt you wish to keep from having men flock to you." "It would interfere with my studies," said Siska as regally as she could before breaking into giggles. The other girl nodded, though, unsure if the apprentice wizard was joking or not. "Well, the lads won't be here for an hour," said Keeley. "Assuming they remember at all, forgetful things that men are." Siska smiled at her newfound friend. "I'm sure we can find something to do before they come," she said. Keeley ran her fingers through her long brown hair. It was thick, wavy hair with paler highlights where the sun bleached it. "I had to rush my chores to be done this early," she said. "Unlike Leetha and Mist, my father believes in work." "What does your father do?" asked Siska. "He's a silversmith," she said. "But we live on the edge of the city and have some livestock. It is my part to tend them in the mornings." Siska nodded, looking down at her pendant on its chain. Keeley's eyes followed hers and she smiled. "He's made no few of those in his day," she said, "may I?" she lifted her hand halfway to the little dragon and Siska nodded. Keeley lifted the silver from her breast and looked at the dragon closely, turning it over to look at the back and furrowed her brow. "No, that's Margen's work," she said after a quick click of her tongue. "His mark, just there," she pointed at a minuscule indentation on the back of the pendant, a little triangle with a dot. "My father's mark is a flattened ring, with a bar below." "If I come to need other jewelry or silverwork, I'll seek him," said Siska. "All's the better," said Keeley. "He says this ribbon, your silver one, is real silver, too. Though he can't fathom how the dwarves worked it into cloth." She touched her shimmering silver ribbon. "That sash is worth a small fortune, I wager." Siska looked down at the sash. It was silver? She felt the material, but it felt as light as cloth, and surely as flexible. "Father says the dwarves can do something to make metal lighter than it would be," she said. "They don't share that particular secret with outsiders, but he says they acknowledge knowing it. Not that father can say much, he has secrets he uses daily that he won't tell another soul, even my brother, and he's learning to silversmith, himself." Keeley seemed perfectly capable of holding the conversation and Siska was more than willing to let her. It was preferable to saying, 'My father is dead and my mother is mucking cisterns as someone's slave and she sold for probably less than this sash is worth'. Keeley caught the bitter look that came into Siska's features. "I'm sorry," she said. "For what?" asked Siska, forcing a smile to her lips. "You've done nothing." "Prattling about my family when you are separated from yours," said Keeley. "I don't know much about slavery, my father - blast, there I go again - well, still - he doesn't take with it, says that the One never intended one man to own another. I agree. It must have been horrid." The smile on Siska's face became less strained. "Glad to hear of it," she said. "But, no, it was not so bad at Mistress Tomasina's estate. She was kind to us, after a fashion, and did not work us too hard. We were allowed to learn to read and write, and she generally let us do as we wished when not performing our duties." "But to never be free to leave," said Keeley. Siska laughed. "I've watched Mentor Phillip and my own behavior since I was freed. It seems people always wrap themselves in their own duties and obligation," she said. "Freedom is only the choice of what duties and obligations, thought that is saying much, in truth." Keeley giggled at her and smiled after that. "Were you ever commanded by a man to, well, you know?" asked Keeley, her eyes bright with forbidden curiosity. Siska sighed. "No," she said, then grinned at Keeley. "That does seem to be a point that interests you lot quite a bit, though." Mischievousness glinted in her eyes. "If you are so interested, sell yourselves for a one year indenture, I hear it is much the same. We occasionally had men come into the estate on set-term indentures." Keeley looked aghast, but blushed. "Sorry, I suppose we're just curious about the whole matter," she said. "I won't bother you about it again." A long, uncomfortable moment passed and Siska said, "We gave the matter thought, ourselves, to be honest. There was a joking comment among us younger girls that we would not mind if so-and-so commanded himself upon me. It was just idle talk, though, for we truly wanted our first to be men we desired, obviously." "Really?" asked Keeley. "And was he?" "I'll let you know when I find that man," said Siska with a raised eyebrow. "For I shall be eager to tell someone." Keeley broke into delighted peals of laughter. "We are fine peas, then," she said. "You, I, and Leetha." Siska smiled along with her until she was done speaking. "Not Mist?" asked Siska. "Heavens," said Keeley, blushing. "Well, she will tell you, but you did not hear from me. But no, she gave her innocence away almost a year ago." Siska nodded and did not bother to press for more information on that matter. "Perhaps we should await Mist revealing that secret, then," she said. "Yes, forget I said it," said Keeley. "But I will tell you to be wary of meeting lads in her company, she is not cautious with her favors, and men who accompany men who are being granted them often become more persistent themselves." Siska blinked to hear a friend speak of another friend like this. "I'm not slighting Mist, Siska, but you should know something like that is bound to come up. Mist is my friend, I swear it on the One's altar." "Okay," said Siska. "I am warned, enough of that, please." "Very well," said Keeley, blushing deeper. "I don't want you cross with me. Let us talk about that gorgeous dress, then." She eyed the satiny cloth that Siska's short dress was made of. "Who made it?" "Master Arvid, near to here," said Siska, pointing down Crafter Avenue. "He did a good job of it, I think, and quick, too." "Mist said he virtually chased you down the street trying to give you a green dress, that must be it," she said. "It's my only dress," said Siska. "All my other clothes are blue robes." "Rather dull, no?" asked Keeley. "What did I wear to impress a boy?" asked Siska, grinning at her friend and raising both eyebrows. Despite a conversational misstep or two, Siska found that Keeley was easy to speak to, as much so as Mist, if not more. Mist was the franker of the two, and Keeley did seem to like to gossip a bit more than comforted Siska, but she was good company. It did put her in the mind to guard her own words around Keeley, lest they be repeated. The hour passed with the two of them in conversation. Keeley asked much of being an apprentice, finding that Siska was far more willing to speak openly about that than being a slave and much happier while speaking. "I wonder if I have the talent?" asked Keeley. "I shall ask Mentor Phillip to test you, if you like," said Siska. The tall brunette shied away. "Not if it's a bother for him," she said. "I'm sure it's not," said Siska. "Don't look now, but the lads are here," said Keeley, peering over Siska's shoulder. Siska all but sprang to her feet, settling the short skirt around her knees, though one side was far from long enough to reach. "One protect me, Miss Siska," said Mannis, grinning broadly. "You're twice the beauty in a dress as a robe, and were a beauty then." Siska felt her cheeks turning bright red and she thought, surely, she felt the young man's gaze on her tight bodice and the bare legs beneath the skirt. The other boy, Varan, leaned forward and kissed Keeley, who returned the kiss with an eager embrace. It seems that Mist was not the only one rather quick on the giving of affections. Siska and Mannis blushed now and turned to face the open market, away from the kissing couple. "Thank you, Mannis, you look handsome, even with a shirt on," she said, giving him a sidelong glance. Mannis blushed more deeply, which was quite deeply, given his already reddish tone. He almost matched his red hair. Siska seized the initiative while she had it. "I think, perhaps, we were brought here under a false idea that we were to have company," she said, eyeing the now murmuring couple, still with arms about one another and talking with their foreheads pressed together. "Would you like to walk a bit?" Mannis almost leaped at her request and offered her a crooked arm. She accepted it, as she had seen ladies at the estate do, and smiled at him. "I'm flattered that you wear a Coghlandish cut of dress, Siska," he said as they moved through the crowd. "Did someone tell you my father was a Coghlander?" "No," said Siska, blinking at him. "To be truthful, I thought it was just a pretty dress, but I'm glad it's to your liking." "Very much so, even if not specifically for me," said Mannis, again running his eyes over the dress. Siska found herself straightening up again under his scrutiny. Mannis, was dressed in a dark gray tunic, cut well, with red piping down each sleeve and down the legs of his linen pants. She remembered that Varan wore similar clothes, though the piping was golden. "Is that a uniform?"she asked. "Yes," said Mannis. "Both Varan and Myself are in training to become defenders." "Defenders?" asked Siska, though she was sure she should know this. "The protectors of the city, the army, if you will, though we never get dispatched to wars elsewhere, only protect the city," explained Mannis. "I thought the blue order protected the city," asked Siska. "In part, I suppose," said Mannis, though a part of Siska took exception at the dismissive tone in his voice. "But there are not enough wizards to truly defend the city. Siska was surprised at the feeling that his dismissal of the wizards of the order had on her pride and she felt that stiffening spine with growing familiarity. "I would not discount the Blue Order, Master Mannis," she said, her voice fairly flowing like an icy mountain brook. Mannis blinked. "Oh," he said, coming to some startling realization. "You look so much unlike a wizard, I forget," he said, his cheeks reddening again. "I'm sorry, I suppose the instructors just beat so much esprit into us we forget our place as a leg of the triad that provides Tressen's umbrella. It was now Siska's turn to blink. "Triad?" she asked. "As in three?" Mannis gave a low chuckle. "Yes," he said. "The defenders, the blue order, and the graysails." A distant tug of memory came to her but nothing with it. "Who are the graysails? Ships?" "A small fleet, but yes, a small navy for defending the island," said Mannis. "My cousin Bregald, is a first officer on a graysail ship, the Tigerwasp." Siska nodded at his statement. "It would make sense, for an island nation to have a strong navy," she said. "How many men are the defenders?" "Two thousands," said Mannis, puffing up his chest. "Only one in three men who apply finish out their training. Varan and I are nearly done, though there is one final culling before our final graduation." A tone of some awe crept into Siska's voice as she eyed the young red haired man. "That is an accomplishment, then," she said. "I am proud for you." "Well, thanks to you. Yet, look at you, Siska, you're a wizard in training," he said, meekly, though he still blushed at her praise. "My wizarding only relied upon my being born with the knack," said Siska. "It wasn't something I worked hard to accomplish. You worked to get to the final portion of your defender training. Worked hard, I'll warrant." They had left the square, Siska noted, and were walking down a long, wide boulevard divided into two portions with a narrow greenway down the middle, planted with tall elm trees. The dappled shade of those trees came and went as they proceeded down the wide lane, past small fenced yards with ornately-built homes behind them. A yell from behind them caused Siska to start slightly, and begin to channel her energies before she could turn around to see it was just Keeley and Varan, holding hands and running after them. She distinctly heard a sigh from Mannis, which came forth even as her own did. Siska wondered for a moment as she glanced at him if her smile looked as forced. She rather suspected it did. "You two ran off without us," protested Keeley, giving Siska a mock glare. "I'm surprised you noticed," replied Siska. "Though I suppose you did need to come up for air from time to time, no?" Keeley blushed at that. "I suppose it was obvious we had seen one another before," she said meekly. "Slightly," joked Mannis. "Else Varan was more charming that even you girls let on when you see him. So much so you cannot resist planting lips on him upon first sight." "He's almost that cute," said Keeley, standing on tip toes to kiss Varan's cheek. "Very nearly." Siska now partially understood the pressures of accompanying another couple about. She felt a very, very powerful urge to kiss Mannis. As it was, she moved her hand in the loop of his arm slightly, so that it rested upon his own, her fingers gently brushing his hand. Her mind was thinking back to the first night with Phillip, and how she had blatantly offered herself to him, and even performed some part of that offer before Phillip had put a stop to the night. Now, here she was, acting as any other girl gone courting. How would Mannis react to know her other activities? How would he react to her having been a slave? She liked to think that he would decry the evils of that business as Mist and Keeley had, but there was far from a guarantee on that matter. The topic would have to be discussed, eventually, though she rather dreaded broaching it with Mannis. Some saw even freed slaves as second class citizens, at best. They had wandered inland from Tressen's massive bay and were now in a district called the 'Heights', the houses here, while not pretentious or large, were prestigious and old. It was where many nobles of the Isle kept house in Tressen when they were not on their estates elsewhere on Murder Isle or other nearby isles. The yards, behind high wrought iron fences, were immaculate, and the houses lovingly maintained, even if hundreds of years old. Siska and Keeley ooh'ed and aah'ed over the beautiful homes. Siska did this mostly for the benefit of Keeley, who was eyeing the homes longingly. Siska, herself, had lived in a home far grander and older, probably, than these, though as a slave. The though of slave almost seemed to work as a charm. She saw a gray-clad woman tending one of the yards patiently digging weeds among the grass and stuffing the unwanted plants into a sack. She reminded Siska of her mother, with graying hair and lines far too deep, even for her age. The slave stood as they passed and watched the four young people walk past in their fine clothes and with their smiles, even Siska's own, though it faltered. Siska gave the slave the slightest of nods as she turned her head to look back at the woman, who still followed the four young people's progress with gray eyes. The slave returned the nod, opening her mouth as if to speak, but then closing it. Slaves did not initiate conversations, especially with strange citizens. Siska well knew this and turned to prevent any further enticement that might land the middle-aged woman in trouble. Keeley, as Siska was finding was her usual, was regaling both Varan and Mannis with a tale of her own sister, Lilly, and some antic she had gotten up to involving two young men promised the pleasure of her company on the same night. Siska only half listened to Keeley's tale, though she was sure it was quite funny, as Varan and Mannis both chuckled intermittently as the brunette related it to them. - - Tarmal and Stormy, two of the councilors of the Blue Order, peered at the orb of silvered glass. "You can't be serious, Phillip," said Tarmal, blinking at the brightly glowing ball. "You saw it for yourself, you can't even break it with a hammer," said Phillip, lifting the sphere. "It contains at least as much mana as I can channel in one go, too." "That's not possible for a talas sphere," said Stormy. "The best, dwarven made, can only hold, perhaps a tenth that." "This is no dwarven talas," said Phillip. "It's just junk I bought off of a Ghantian merchant for use by possible apprentices." He laughed. "A half-mark each, mark me, just silvered glass. Not even high quality glass, at that." "Then it would be good for it to hold even a third of what a dwarven talas can," said Tarmal. "Barely enough to be worth charging, in truth." "That's my point," said Phillip. "She made a normal, throwaway talas into something that could store useful amounts of mana. Additionally, so far as I can tell, there is virtually no bleed off. It's storing the mana almost as well as a manacrystal, if not as densely." "If she can do that, then she can generate her own wealth at will, from other mages," said Tarmal, impressed. "She'll be a poor apprentice for about ten minutes after word of this gets about." "Which," said Stormy without batting a single of her pale eyelashes, "is exactly why word of this will not get about." "You can't be serious," said Tarmal, blinking and staring at the wrinkled woman in the only chair. Stormy's office was sparely decorated. An unadorned rug of Plain stripes in gold and blue and plain, dark-stained furniture consisting of a small table, a chair, and a small chest. There were not even any papers on the table. The walls were bare and whitewashed with a single foot tall stripe of pale blue at the top and bottom, against floor and ceiling. The effect was to make her office seem much more spacious than any of the others, though this was not the truth, her office was the same size, almost to the inch, as every other office of a member of the Blue Order. The impression remained, though. "That girl will not be able to proceed to learn as she should if every wizard in Feldare is pounding down her door trying to get her to make more efficient talas spheres," said Stormy. "She must be allowed to learn the arts. Siska is too powerful to not have among our ranks as a full member." Phillip nodded. "I will keep silence on this, then," he said, sliding the enhanced talas into his pocket. After a few moments of her blue eyed stare, Tarmal nodded as well. "Very well, Stormy." Though each of the Council of Tenh of the Blue Order was, in theory, an equal, Stormy was deserved, if not by age alone, then by power of will, a special consideration of 'more equal' than the rest. She was deferred to in situations of order policy and direction. "Worst yet is if any who oppose us gets wind of such an ability," said Stormy, steepling her wrinkled fingers before her mouth. "They may try to take her, or worse, silence her forever, and her unique gifts with her."