Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. "What do you mean she isn't dead?" demanded young Lord Tornadin, leaping up from behind the table and almost knocking over the ornate bottle of wine and the silver goblet beside it as his knees struck the underside. "Damn you Kurchal, I paid you double for that one!" Kurchal, a skinny man, almost all bone and sinew, cringed back, but touched the hilt of his dagger as he did so. He may be cowed, but he would defend himself. Tornadin had seen the little man in a fight and he was not at all sure he could best the assassin. Kurchal was fast, very fast, even if he was not strong. "Milord did not inform me that she was a wizard," he protested, giving the taller, heavier built man an accusing look. "Somehow she saved herself, even stabbed in the heart. I felt the pulse through the blade. I pierced her heart, yet she did not die." "Impossible!" screamed Tornadin, hurling the wine goblet over Kurchal's head, where it clanged and splattered deep maroon wine over a fine tapestry. Placatingly, Kurchal held out his hands, fingers spread. "Milord, who knows what devilish things wizards might know how to do?" he asked. "You, yourself, said she was in league with the Dark One, maybe even the consort of a Templar." "So she probably is, the devious whore," growled Tornadin, thinking furiously. "Were you fool enough to speak my name?" "As you requested," said Kurchal, the accusing look returning to his gaunt features. "Your orders were quite explicit." "Then she'll come for me, now," said the young nobleman, throwing himself back into his chair. It was a gaudy thing, ornately carved with serpents and gilded beyond good taste or reason. The assassin's voice always struck Tornadin as reedy, but now it was positively gaspy with air. "I will stand beside milord, of course." "You should be damn certain of that, you useless wretch!" shouted the young man, glaring again. "If I'm to die, it will be after seeing your scorched corpse first." He breathed hard, visibly calming himself. "There is one other option, though. It may not quite come to that." He dug into the pocket of the silken, embroidered smoking vest he wore, and pulled out a vial. "It may be that you can make her into something other than a wizard, for a short time." "That, milord, would help immensely," said the man who appeared to be all bony joints and gangly limbs. "It might be that milord would wish to tarry a while with a helpless wizard, then?" Lord Tornadin thought for a moment. "You could manage that?" he asked. "If she is just a normal woman for a time, I can manage many things." The gleam in the scrawny assassin's eyes was decidedly unhealthy. "Including taking her somewhere where milord can - entertain himself for a while." The smile that crossed Tornadin's face was more than confirmation enough. He flicked the vial toward Kurchal with a snap of his wrist. The assassin snatched it out of the air with that deceptive grace and speed and the vial disappeared amid the multiple pockets and folds of his tatty looking cloak. "If you bring her to me alive and helpless, I'll double again your rate." Amazing how quickly he had gone from being in terror to gloating over his soon-to-be victim, observed Kurchal. He bowed low and backed out the door of the small, but ornately appointed, sitting room. The round face of Terkel, Tornadin's personal manservant, poked around the corner. In his stilted Crystern, he said, "Master Urdran is waiting to see you now, milord." "Send him in," said Tornadin, now in a nearly jovial mood, he beamed at the fat scribe entered the room, noting the spreading stain of wine on the floor. "An accident that will soon be cleared," said Tornadin, dismissively and rising from behind the table to come around. As the man bowed, he clucked his tongue. "No need for that, good master. I invited you because I seek a favor, and you are one of the few men who can help me." Urdran worked in the archives, as an scribe. Tornadin wished to know more about this Siska. It bothered him to not know his enemy. And she was an enemy, make no doubt, now. She knew he was out to kill her, and, sure as rain, she would be trying to kill him now. The challenge of this newest of his goals rather thrilled him. He had eliminated many enemies, but no wizards. The vaunted powers of that caste rather frightened him, but that fear just hardened his resolve to prove himself the better. "You did as my man asked?" asked Tornadin, picking up an additional cup and filling it from the bottle of wine. He held the silver goblet out to the fat scribe, who rubbed at his lower lip, round like a plump sausage, before answering. "Yes, yes, milord, I did," he said. "But there are only three Siskas in Tressen, by any surname. It is not a common given name in the Crystern Isles. I believe it is Eastron, actually. . ." "I see," said Tornadin, interrupting the flow of trivialities. "Well, which is the young pretty girl I saw in the market?" That was the story he had given this functionary. He had seen a girl and become smitten with her and wished to know who she was. He had heard her name, but only her given name and did not know the surname. Urdran fingered that plump lip again, humming to himself. "Well, of the three, two are young, one eighteen and one seventeen," he said. Tornadin raised an eyebrow and retook his seat. He propped his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, resting his chin on his thumbs. It took the scribe a moment to move on, he sipped the wine. "That's very good, milord, tasty wine. . ." he said. "Yes, it is," said Tornadin, impatience tinging his tone. "But I am in a rush, Master Urdran," he said. "Yes, milord," said the functionary, stammering. "Well, the elder of those two has no surname, she was a slave until a week ago," he said. "Siska was purchased for three thousand marks." "Three thousands?" asked Tornadin, disbelieving. "She must have been a beauty, indeed." The scribe shrugged. "The records don't go into that, milord." "This girl did not act like a slave, though." Tornadin narrowed his eyes, trying to remember the face of the tall blond girl who had stiffened her spine and stared him down. "No, she was no slave." "The other, milord," said Urdran, "is a serving girl at the Gilded Cage." He gave the young nobleman a long look. "I understand that the Gilded Cage is a rather unseemly establishment, milord." "I'm familiar with it, Master Urdran," said Tornadin, sitting back. "Perhaps the slave deserves more of my thought," he said. "Did it say anything of her looks?" "The records give only the banal statistics, milord, for identifying purposes," said Urdran, setting the cup down and pulling out a strip of parchment. "She was tall, for a girl, just over seventeen hands and weighed six stone with blond hair and blue eyes." Tornadin's eyes widened. "That's her," he said, definitively. "She was tall, and slim, with golden hair with eyes so blue they were violet." The blank expression on the clerk's face told the noble that the man was simply humoring him in listening. Reaching into his belt pouch, Tornadin pulled out a small handful of gold coins. "I want you to find out all you can about her, her family, her buyer, everything," he said, leaning forward in the ornate chair. Urdran took the coins tentatively in his chubby hand and quickly stuffed the gold coins into his own belt pouch. "Yes, milord," he said hastily, suddenly very nervous. If this young nobleman was willing to throw about gold, he rather feared where this all might lead him. With an impatient roll of his eyes, the young man said, "Don't worry, Mater Urdran, I will not bandy about that you assisted me." "Thank you milord," said the bureaucrat. "If you need nothing else. . ." "Yes, yes, you can go," said Tornadin, dismissively, waving his hand at the scribe. The little plump man shuffled out of the room, bowing no fewer than two times. Tornadin leaned back in the chair again, chuckling. "A slave, were you?" he asked the room, then broke into hearty belly laughter. - - Keeley and Mist stood in her room, both eyeing her ornate bed with open approval. Siska was sitting on the bed in her shift, blushing at them and smiling. "I'm glad you came over to check on me," she said. "I didn't hear about you getting hurt until Garel told me he heard you had been attacked on the street," said Keeley. Mist nodded beside her in agreement. Most of Mist's attention, however, was upon the silken canopy of the bed, dyed deep green and made of silk so sheer that it was virtually transparent. Keeley nudged her in the ribs. "We ran over just as soon as he shut up about it," said Mist in a flurry of words, though her eyes quickly drifted to one of the massive posts, carved in the form of a stylized woman, holding the heavy frame overhead. Siska smiled. "I've never had such a nice bed before, either Mist," she said, touching her friend's arm. Little Siska was climbing the blankets and moved to sit beside Siska on the bed. Mist blushed but smiled. "It's so beautiful," she said. Keeley seemed determined to not speak of the bed and Siska well understood. "Well, tell your brother that I am thankful for him bringing you the news," said Siska. "I was terribly bored yesterday and cannot rise until tomorrow, according to Sherlynn." Phillip entered the room, carrying a pewter platter with cups and a covered dish on it. "Here you ladies go," he said, giving them a slightly mocking bow as Keeley took the tray with a bemused expression. He bowed again as he backed from the room, grinning slightly. Mist giggled. "Served by a wizard, now that's posh," she said. "I think I'd best not get used to it," said Siska, grinning at the look still on Keeley's face. A mix of surprise and something else. "Mentor Phillip is a good man. Yet, he is my mentor. I should be waiting on his board." "May I see the scar?" asked Keeley, her eyes aglitter with morbid curiosity. She sat the tray down on Siska's night stand and turned back with an eager expression. Siska stood and turned her back to the other two, pulling her gown up to her shoulders as she did so. She felt soft touches on the puckered skin around the wound. It was barely sensitive now, something Siska took for being close to fully recovered. The two girls ooh'ed and aah'ed over it for a long moment, prodding it and the skin around it. Mist's eyes widened as she saw the door was open and quickly pulled it shut with a slam. "Your door was open, Siska," she said, blushing and looking at Siska's bared backside. Siska blinked at her a moment then said, "Mentor Phillip has seen me unclad before, Mist." Both of the young women looked scandalized, their mouths hanging open and eyes the size of full mark coins. Keeley managed to speak first. "He's seen you fully nude?" she asked, her tone spoke of incredulity. "Many times," said Siska, suddenly growing worried at the level of shock on her friends' faces. "But you said you were a, well, you know," said Keeley, blushing to her ears. "I am," said Siska, again rather taken aback. "It's hardly the same thing." Her tone had shifted to one of defensiveness. Mist was conspicuously silent as this exchange passed before her. "Well, one usually leads to the other, you know," said Keeley, rather floundering now. "It didn't in this case," said Siska, her tone suggesting she was on the very edge of being offended in truth. "If you must know, he told me no." "You offered?" asked Mist, suddenly finding her voice. "More than once. He is such a gentleman he passed it by every time," said Siska, lifting her chin in pride in her mentor. Keeley murmured something under her breath and gave the door a sidelong look. "Did you just say he would not refuse you?" asked Siska, her eyes now the ones gone wide. "What?" asked Keeley, blinking and seeming to be coming awake from a nap. "No, no." Her protest seemed to lack intensity, though. Mist's expression was a studied blank as she attempted to avoid the topic in its entirety. "Very well," said Siska, leaning back onto the thick down-filled pillows at the head of her bed. She smiled at Keeley softly then looked toward Mist, who was still being very quiet, seeming to fade back a bit from the conversation. There was a soft thud as little Siska tumbled off the bed near the foot, tiny squeaking sounds, which seemed rather off color, erupted from below the footboard. Mist lifted the little round cover off the platter and saw a pile of fat, steaming muffins beneath, the blue of berries peeking out of the fluffy dough. Distracted by pastries, the three of them fell to drinking the thinned wine and eating the pile of muffins. "And he can cook?" asked Keeley, holding up the remains of a nearly finished piece of the cake. "You seek to pursue my mentor?" asked Siska, lifting an eyebrow. Keeley almost choked on her last bite of muffin. "Me?" she stammered, gasping for air after she had stopped coughing. "One, no," she said. "He's too old - isn't he?" That last had sounded oddly urgent to Siska's ears and she forced herself not to grin at Keeley. "He has some years on you, yes," said Siska, trying to sound grave, and deciding to not pick on her friend. One cannot chose who one develops an interest in, no matter how casual, after all. - - Mannis turned the corner in the dimly lit corridor. He barely had time to raise his practice sword before the blow landed against the bamboo rods with a loud clack. The man who was attacking him wore black. Mannis raised his sword out of pure instinct, long drilled into his mind and body by the swordmasters who taught him for the last six years. He stepped aside in a fluid motion, already bringing his practice blade around for a killing blow. The black clad man leaped back, a tricky underhanded swing coming at Mannis from below on the man's backswing Mannis responded again by rote, his arms knew their job, and the slender strips of bamboo made another loud crack as his sword deflected the curving arc of the other man's sword away from his body. This opponent made six. He had bested the first five quickly, on the counterstroke to their attack. This man was better, though, and pressed him back with a flurry of quick strikes with his own bamboo sword. As Mannis retreated backward, the man shuffled his feet forward in many tiny steps. Niliwander style, thought Mannis as he backed another few steps. Except for the shouted kais that Niliwanders seemed so fond of, this man was fighting in the style the Niliwanders called Sheylo. The rapid foot movements and the quick, almost blurred attacks from the blade forced Mannis to retreat before their ferocity, parrying and dodging in fluid motions. The odds of facing off against a Niliwander for a Defender was almost none, but the masters that ran the Defender Academy were adamant that their trainees know how to fight all forms of attacker, even the very unlikely. The practice area for this final test was a maze of stone corridors and rooms within a large structure called simply the testing hall. Movable wooden baffles and walls would allow the maze and rooms to be changed at need for various sorts of training sessions. He had tested her many times already, passing each. As his back hit the stone wall behind him he wondered if he would pass this last examination. He was out of room to retreat. He was required to finish this contest without the opponents scoring a killing blow by breaking one of the several clay disks that were attached to his light padded suit. He head the clay of the disk grind against the stone wall behind and he lightened how hard he pressed against it. The man was clad all in black, and even his face was covered in black swaddling, including the eyes, which seemed to be peering out through a single layer of thin black cloth. The withering rain of blows kept falling on him and he parried frantically. He was beginning to tire. When his sword, clumsily, struck the wall from one of the opponent's parries, Mannis knew he was about to be beaten. The man pinned his sword to the wall and Mannis glimpsed victory, he threw his weight forward and down, yanking back on his blade, freeing it from behind the other man's sword just before his shoulder pressed the blade to the wall. It would not hold the man long. Mannis swung his sword around, switching grips as he had practiced thousands of times, the sword swinging upward in a tight arc. The man's sword came free and the opponent started to stab for Mannis' chest. There was a loud crack as his sword struck the man's abdomen and he felt the clay under the man's outer layer of black cloth snap. He had held it long enough. His opponent stopped, lowering his blade and bowing to Mannis. He seemed to be panting under the cloth. This was only reasonable, considering the sweating and panting that Mannis, himself was doing. "Well done, Defender Mannis," said the deep voice of Serayan, one of the instructors, from beneath all that black swaddling. "You finally remembered that the blade is not your only weapon. Remember that forever and you will do well." He bowed in return to the black-clad instructor smiled. "Thank you, Master Serayan," he intoned, trying to sound sober and mature. "Yet, you are better than that in a fight, I've seen it." "My boy," said the old instructor, pulling the black wrapping off of his head as he spoke. "I was testing you, not trying to prove myself better." He managed to pull the last of the wrapping cloths off his head and looked at Mannis with piercing brown eyes. "You were testing to prove you were worthy to be a novice Defender, not to prove you were better than me. You are worthy to wear the uniform and walk among the Defenders. That most certainly does not make you the best." The serious and hard look in the instructor's eyes shamed Mannis and he lowered his head. He had been firmly rebuked for his assumptions. The instructor put a hand on his shoulder and smiled broadly. "It just makes you better than most," said Serayan and he grinned broadly. "It is an honor to be the first to call you Defender, son." They walked down the twisting corridors, the old instructor guiding Mannis with a gentle arm over the taller youth's shoulder. When they came to a door, it rather surprised Mannis that he had gone through so much of the maze without realizing how far he had moved. Time seemed to move differently as he fought past his opponents. The bright light outside made him blink as he walked out behind old Serayan. The instructor was tugging on his shirt as Mannis looked toward him and several chunks of broken clay and some dust floated down out of it. The cheer from the dozen young men in the courtyard stunned him a moment. The others, the ones who had completed their test were there, all smiling and running toward him to clap him and break his clay targets. It was tradition for the targets to be broken with punches if the person passed his final tests. He bore the painful blows with smiles and a few tears. Varan delivered a particularly powerful blow to his chest, breaking the disk that covered his breastbone. He looked at the young men there. Mannis had been last to test. He did a hasty count of heads. Of the twelve that he had trained with for this last test, only nine were in the group now. He immediately missed the three that were not there. Cheerful Panral Gurria, who had always been everyone's friend, making no enemies in the training class and being a favorite guest when they went home for days of leisure. Tobias Gerdlan, the strongest man in the group. He had been able to lift Mannis' weight with one arm. Many a time, Mannis had won coin betting on him in arm wrestling competitions. Virgel Ogalian, who had been Mannis' best friend for the first two years of training. He had been convinced, every test, that he would fail. He finally had. None of them were dead, he knew, they had left the Defender training with more than enough skill and knoweldge to make a good living as merchant guards of the highest caliber or mercenaries of a superior grade, or even enlist in many other nations' militaries as junior officers. But they were dead to the Defenders, and his squad mates would mourn them this night. They had failed and were already gone. Such was the training and such was the difficulty of becoming a Defender. When they had started their training, at age fourteen, there had been thirty-six of them. Now there were nine. With the addition of a leader, they would become the newest squad of the Defenders. A defender squad was a unit for life. If men died, they were gone forever from the squad and no more were added. Several of the oldest squads had only one or two members now, after the days when Tressen had been attacked regularly by the Theocracy, the Coghlanders, or the Rojando. He looked about himself at the men he would fight beside for the remainder of his days with the Defenders. He knew them well already, he had grown up with them from the first of his days as a young man. There were other classes, some a few weeks behind Mannis' and there had been one that graduated a few weeks before. The schedule of training had new squads completing training every month. Tonight, as they mourned the passing of Panral, Tobias, and Vergal, they would be doing so with the eldest squad of defenders, the one that they would be replacing. The older defenders would be retiring. A ceremony would be held, and the banner bearer of the outgoing squad would present the new squad with the banner and crest. They were to become the Fist of the Shattered Crown. So named for their part in protecting the lives of the last monarchs of Tressen, a century before. They had fought, holding the main door to the throne room to the last man able to stand. It bought the royal family time to flee the palace and try to reach safety. The royal family, King Boris Vanakski and Queen Ivana Vanakski, and their daughter Yuliana Vanakski, had fled, only to be cut down on the streets by the mobs raging through the burning city. King Boris had reigned only five years when the greater houses turned on them in a fit of betrayal that became known as the Night of Flames. Since their first days in the academy, they knew which squad they would be replacing, it was no secret and the men of that squad, only three of whom were still alive, spent many an hour in special tutoring of the lads, taking a personal interest in the fate of the good name. When a squad was wiped out, it was never reconstituted. However, one of the members had survived that night a century before. He had been knocked unconscious before the fateful fight before the throneroom doors and left for dead. It was said that he wept for a month upon finding out that his squadmates all paid the ultimate price that night and he had not been there. It was with somber reflectiveness that the nine walked from the courtyard back into the barracks of the trainees. Underclassmen cheered them as they passed with stony expressions and went to their rooms for a day of fasting and contemplation before their graduation ceremony. Somehow, to Mannis' eyes, the underclassmen suddenly looked like children. He knew some were actually older than him, but still, they were not yet Defenders and not all of them would ever become one. One of the underclassmen ran up, quivering with excitement. A lad of about sixteen, with large, jughandle ears. "Your lady friend is alive, Defender Mannis!" he exclaimed. "I spoke with her mentor when he was out buying food." It took Mannis a moment to truly digest what the young trainee said. "You spoke to the wizard, himself?" he asked, his voice rising with hopeful tones. "Yes, sir, Defender," said the young man. "Come on, Mannis," said Varan, pulling him toward their dormitory. "Too much good news in one day is likely to make you light headed." Mannis turned to point at the young trainee. "Come to our room in thirty minutes, I have a task for you." he said. The trainee nodded before being swallowed up by the milling mass of other trainees, wanting to slap the shoulders of the new graduates. Technically, they were not to fraternize with the trainees, now that they were elevated, but this evening, few would say anything about the matter. "What are you doing?" asked Varan as he pushed the door of their room shut on the furor outside. Four men shared this room, himself, Mannis, Geordino, and Cherofski. Both of the others were already in the room, sitting on their beds and playing a game of chess between them. "I'm going to ask her to the ceremony," said Mannis flatly. "You're asking Keeley, aren't you?" "Well, yes," said Varan, shrugging. "I asked her two weeks ago." "I hardly had the chance to ask Siska that long ago, now did I?" said Mannis, raising an eyebrow and his voice so that Cherofski looked up from the chess board and regarded Mannis with his black eyes. Varan nodded. "I see your point," he said, his face going thoughtful. "You think she will accept?" asked Mannis, a small amount of worry entering his voice. There was a short space of silence, then Varan grinned. "Of course she will," he said. Mannis pulled his writing desk from beneath his cot and twisted the cap off his ink bottle so hastily that he coated his fingertips with the black ink. He wiped them clean on a handkerchief and pulled paper from the inside. "Slow down, friend," said Varan. "You'll even look overeager in your writing if you're not careful." The tall, slender redhead stopped a moment, schooling himself to calmness. "You're right," he said, sighing deeply. "She's a wizard, after all, I have to word things right." "Good point," said Varan, sitting on his own bunk and pulling off his boots. "You're dealing with a woman of substance here." Geordino turned from the chessboard. "That girl in the blue robe was really a wizard?" he asked. "The gel you met in the park? I thought she was just wearing a blue dress." "Wrong, as usual, Geordi," said Mannis, chuckling. "She's a Blue Sister." "Damn my eyes," said the dark-skinned man, turning back to the chess board. "Next time, I'll be sure to follow you two when you go chasing after a pack of gels." "There were two others, you know," said Varan, laying back on his cot and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Leetha and Mist. Neither of whom were exactly homely." "Well, I've never had much luck with the girls," said Cherofski, moving his rook to threaten Geordino's queen. "I've seen that one you're courting, Keeley, up close, and she's definitely easy on my eyes." "Bastard," muttered Geordino, taking the rook and promptly losing his queen to one of Cherofski's wizards. Varan sighed and smiled to himself, his eyes focusing into the distance. "Yes, yes, she is," he said. The frantic scratching of Mannis' quill stopped and he growled before crumpling a sheet of parchment and tossing it at Cherofski. "Hush about how pretty gels are," he hissed. "You're distracting me." The tall, whip thin Varan chuckled at that. "Siska, the Blue Sister, is a beauty, for certain," he said in an idle tone. Waving his feet toward the door as he cradled his head with his hands. "You just keep your eyes off Siska," accused Mannis, pointing the nib of his quill at Varan. "Fear not, Brother Mannis," said the reclining young man, twisting his broad lips into a smile. "I'll not let my eye stray from Keeley for long. I'm a simple man, and quite happy with just beautiful." Mannis began writing again, his head low over his writing desk. The scratching was the only sound for long moments, as the young men let him write, as he said, free of distractions. He shook corn starch over the ink and looked at his handiwork. Varan sat up and snatched the parchment. "Dearest Siska," he said. "Good start. A very friendly opening without commitment." "Give me that," said Mannis, making a grab for the parchment. Varan rolled over his cot and stood against the wall opposite, smiling. "I would be honored if you would accompany me for my graduation ceremony, where I will be elevated to a Defender." Mannis sat down on his bunk and simply rolled his eyes. "Right, read my heart's ourpouring to the world, why don't you?" he said. "The event, if you choose to grant me this one heart's desire - oh, very nice, that - is to be held at the Palace of Tressen in seven days," read Varan, still grinning as if he were trying to display all his teeth for examination. "Respond please by way of the trainee who bears this missive - missive? I didn't know you knew that word, you cretin." Mannis snatched the letter from Varan, glowering at him with mock fury. "Your own Defender, Mannis," said Varan, already having read the ending, his grin, if it were to be believed, widening further as he delivered this last line. The blush that rose into Mannis' features set Varan to laughter which was joined by the sniggering of the other two Defenders in the chamber. "Damn, my boy, you do have a romantic's heart in there, don't you?" asked Varan between fits of laughter. The tall redhead contrived to look noble, raising his chin and calming his features to seem collected. "Well, one doesn't simply approach a Blue Sister and say 'Hey, you want we should go to the ball with one another?'." Varan shrugged. "It worked for me, Mannis," he said. "Else you're saying that Keeley is, somehow, lacking?" The lifted eyebrow as he asked that spoke of a danger in proceeding further along certain paths. "Not in the least," said Mannis, folding the parchment and dripping wax onto the edge, sealing it. "I've said before Keeley seems a very nice girl, and pretty to boot." The tall, dark Defender made a noncommital sound and dropped into his bunk again. There was a light rap on their door and the trainee with the large ears stuck his head in. "You asked me to come, Defender Mannis?" he asked. "Do you know where that wizard lives?" asked Mannis. "Yes, on Rayfish Avenue," said the young trainee, nodding. Mannis held out the sealed letter. "Then go deliver this to his apprentice, the girl that you said was well. Await a reply and return with it." "Yes, sir," said the young trainee, snatching the folded letter taking off down the hall at a jog. The tall redhead pulled the door shut. - - A massive black form emerged from the fog before her, rolling gently upon swells in the ocean. A skull had been carved upon the prow, a huge, leering thing with flames leaping from the eye sockets. Siska was on the heaving deck of a smaller ship, rolling with the waves as well, but pitching more. The ship was quick and nimble, dodging through the water and heeling steeply about. A fireball erupted form the huge ship, slamming into the water near the small vessel. The craft bucked under her feet, sending her skidding across the deck before hot water pelted her face and hands. "Respond!" screamed someone nearby, and two figures in blue robes moved from behind her to hurl shimmering bolts of lightning at the larger vessel. The lightning danced along the toprails of the big barge and men tumbled into the water in their wake. A flight of arrows darkened the sky from behind the leading men and descended in a high arc upon the little ship where she stood. She reacted instinctively, channeling the mana around her into a shield over the small ship. The arrows snapped and ricocheted off the faint shimmer of a dome, sliding down the curved surface to splash into the water below. They were gaining distance on the larger ship now, and gaining more speed. "It's not that easy, child," a deep voice said in her mind. A gout of fire erupted from the eyes of the skull and the sails of the small ship flashed to ash. The men in the rigging, there had been nearly a dozen, fell to the deck, their flesh cooked off their bones and the sickly smell of burned cloth and hair filled the air. They had died mercifully fast. "But you won't," said the voice. The little ship slowed quickly without its complex rigging of sails and the barge bore down on it now. Siska screamed in fear and frustration as the skull loomed over them and the sounds of splintering wood filled her ears. - - "So, did you accept," asked Keeley, helping Siska peel a pot of potatoes as they sat in the kitchen of Phillip's house. "Of course I did," said Siska, smiling at her friend. She dropped another potato into the pot with a splash and took up a new one. "I only worry about how to buy the dress I need," she said. As she spoke, she waved her knife about wildly, causing Keeley to lean back. "I fear my dress will be something of a disappointment for such a fancy event," said Keeley, frowning. "It's the best my mother could make, but hardly a fashionable thing." A loud clink sounded from beside her stool on the floor. A doeskin sack sat there, tied with a bit of cord. "I imagine that will cover a dress," said Phillip from behind her, "and a lot more." Siska looked back over her shoulder. "Have I not taken enough of your moneys?" she asked. "My money?" asked Phillip, picking up a chunk of cheese off the table and biting off a hunk. "I sold that talas sphere you created for almost two hundreds of Marks. That's your share." Siska put down the potato and knife, then dried her hands on her apron. Picking up the pouch, she looked inside. Several gold coins were in it, nestled amid a mass of silver. "Mine?" she asked. "Yours," said Phillip, nodding. A broad smile formed on Siska's lips. "How much for your dress?" she asked, pulling two gold marks out of the purse. Keeley looked at the two coins with wide eyes. "I couldn't ask nearly that much," she stammered, looking a the coins with a mix of desire and fear. "That's more than my father makes in a month." "I shall have your dress made too, then," said Siska, dropping the coins into the purse again. "What's left, I will use to pay toward my debt to the Blue Order." Phillip nodded. "A wise fiscal course," he said. Siska sat five of the gold coins on the counter, half the value in the pouch. "My mother," she said. Both Keeley and Phillip looked blankly at the coins for a moment before Phillip blinked and nodded. "To buy her freedom," he said in a quiet tone. Keeley nodded. "That would be wonderful," she said. "But I can't take a gift like a fancy dress from you, Siska," she observed. As she shook her head, the long friendship plaits swayed before her eyes. The apprentice waved her hand. "Consider it a loan," she said. "You can pay me back over time." "It may be a very long time," said Keeley, still shaking her head slowly. "Just as well," said Siska, forcing lightness into her tone, "wizards live a long life." Siska's body nearly trembled with excitement over the prospect of attending the ball now. Knowing she had a worthy dress, or would have, just made the excitement that much more complete. Keeley, noted Phillip, was not far behind her. "Go, order your dresses," he said. "I'll expect these potatoes peeled when you get back, though." Those last words were yelled as the two were already running at full speed for the front door of the house. The door slammed with such energy that something unseen in the common room thudded to the floor immediately after. A heartbeat later, the door opened again and Siska's arm shot through the opening and snatched their cloaks from the pegs beside. "Why did I ever agree to a girl apprentice?" he asked, shaking his head and walking into his study. "Still, I have to say she's not costing me anything now." As he completed this observance, he looked over to see two more brightly glowing spheres on his desk. He blinked at them a moment. "Except perhaps sleep and gray hairs." - - The fall was settling in and the rain falling from the iron gray clouds was nearly as cold as ice. Siska and Keeley ducked into the tailor shop belonging to Master Arvid and Mistress Maureen. The scent of fresh dyes assaulted their noses as they entered and Keeley stared about them with eyes wider than Siska's. The walls were lined with deep shelves, laid in a latticework grid. In most of the holes, round bolts of cloth were nestled. Arvid and Maureen had everyone from poor to wealthy in their custom, and the cloths in their stock reflected their wide-range of patronage. Rough linen, wool, both fine and coarse, cotton, silk, and other cloths that Siska was not sure were. She even saw velvet and an odd tatty cloth that seemed it would be very warm and thick made of cotton. The colors were a riot of the rainbow and even colors that would never be found in nature. As they gazed about them, touching a bit of cloth tacked to the front edge of each cubby hole and smiling at one another, Mistress Maureen entered. "I should have guessed it was you when Arvid came into the cutting room panting and turning crimson," she said, giving Siska a warm smile and a quick hug. Siska returned the hug and Keeley watched on in surprise. "It's good to see you, Mistress Maureen." "And you milady Siska," said Maureen, dipping a shallow curtsy. "I had hoped to see you sooner than this, though." A look of embarrassment came to Siska's features and she nodded. "I only now had the moneys to pay for your services," she admitted. "Well, still good to see you, now," said Maureen, waving off the excuse. "What can I do for you. I see on you and your friend's faces that there is something important on your minds." The quivering that they both thought that they had been suppressing bubbled to the surface and both began babbling at once. This went on for a long moment before Maureen interrupted them. "A ball?" she asked, then added, "five days!" She glowered at Siska's hesitant nod. "Arvid!" she screeched, her voice rising to a tone that would have easily penetrated many feet of mortared stonework. Master Arvid appeared as if summoned by magic. "Yes, dear?" he asked. He looked fearfully at Siska then smiled when he saw she was, indeed, clad. "Good morrow, milady Siska," he said. "Run and fetch all my girls, every one of them who holds a contract for work with us," said Maureen imperiously. "All of them." Arvid blinked at her for a long moment, but her expression brooked no refusal and he quickly scurried out of the shop, the bell on the door jangling loudly with his haste. "You must choose a style," said Maureen, pointing to three wooden mannequins near the window. "If you wish that sort of speed, corners will have to be cut, but there's nothing for it." Siska nodded as she looked at the three dresses. All three were long. In fact they were floor dragging long, and one had a train three feet long behind it. She discarded that one from her mind immediately. The two remaining were both in silk, as expected for a high cost gown. One featured a tight bodice that flared at the hips to a pleated skirt. The bodice was embroidered to the skirt with a tight pattern of roses. Its sleeves were a silk so sheer that they were partially transparent and there were panels in the front and back of the dress that were likewise only partially obscuring. "It shows a lot of cleavage," murmured Keeley as Siska examined it. Siska turned a mischievous smile at her friend. "Was that a detriment or an endorsement?" she asked. Keeley giggled at her and nodded. "Point taken," she said. The other dress seemed, somehow, to be a wrap, folding around the wearer three times, covering a different area at each wrapping. Somehow it hugged the form of the mannequin tightly but looked loose. The cloth had holes in various places that enticed the eye with small views of flesh normally hidden, from shoulder to ankle. Glittering shards of pearl were sewn to it over many areas, making it flash as Keeley turned the stand. Even by the dim light coming in the windows from the raining day and the lamplight it sparkled. "Would this look good in blue?" asked Keeley, eyeing the glittering dress with great interest. The first of the sewing girls came running into the shop, panting from an obvious sprint. Her hair was matted to her head and she had neglected to don a cloak. She looked much like a drowned rat. Mistress Maureen clapped her hands together and the girl stood upright, almost like a soldier on parade. "Take milady Keeley to the back and get her measurements, Tarlis," she said. When the girl looked toward Siska, Maureen said, "We have milady Siska's particulars." The small woman gently urged Keeley to the back and Maureen looked at Siska studiously. "I think the tight-bodiced dress for you," she said. "You are one of the few who will flatter the dress rather than widdershins. Order blue?" she asked, pointing to a bolt of powder blue silk. "For accents only," said Siska, smiling. "Something bolder for the main colors, please." Maureen nodded, and began moving over the racks of silk. More girls ran into the shop in singles and pairs, some clad with cloaks, others covering their heads with their arms as they ducked into the shop. Most were younger women, just a little older than Siska and Keeley, though some were slightly younger and a few a noticably older. The cloth was handed back and amid the girls, who carried them to the back. "I will have to work fast, Siska," said Maureen. "Do you trust me?" "Yes," said Siska without hesitation, "of course I do." "Come back the day before the ball, then," said Mistress Maureen, touching her shoulder. "I have much to do." Keeley came out of the back room with a dazed look on her face, watching a trio of girls shuffle by with silken bolts in their arms. "Come, Keeley," said Siska. "We need to let Mistress Maureen work." They donned their cloaks and moved out onto the street, pulling the hoods up to shield them from a fresh downpour. Maureen's voice followed them out as she shouted commands at the seamstresses. The leaden clouds were lower now than before and Siska felt a distinct discomfort at the chill wind that got beneath her cloak. Her good mood from the shop had fled in an instant out here. "I feel hunted," she said. She channeled mana into herself, letting a trickle of it warm her limbs. This was a new trick she had learned only yesterday, something that Phillip had shown her. He said it could cool her when it was hot, as well. Keeley shivered. "It's just cold to me," she said, tugging her much mended cloak about herself. "You didn't pay the lady." She jerked her head back toward the shop, where two more girls were entering with Master Arvid herding them, his own balding head glistening with rain. "I'll pay when we collect the dresses," said Siska, her voice sounding like this was the furthest thing from her mind. Her eyes, even, were focused into the distance, peering up and down the street, looking for movement. Keeley found herself touching the small knife she wore on her belt. Most everyone wore a knife in Tressen, except slaves, of course. Keeley noticed that Siska wore no knife, either. Siska stopped staring up and down the street and looked toward Keeley. "We should go home," she said. "Mine or yours?" asked Keeley, still touching her knife and starting to feel a bit frightened. "Yours is closer," said the apprentice. "But Phillip may be at mine. I don't wish to bring trouble down upon your family." "Trouble?" asked Keeley, blinking at the sudden shift from worry to actual threat. Siska nodded and moved off the stone walkway that fronted the shops on this street and into the running rivulet that was the rainwater in the gutter. Her feet grew cold almost instantly, but she plowed on, forcing her way through the water toward the main market square. Keeley grabbed her arm. "If there's possible trouble, the crowd may not be a good idea," she said. "A person could stab you and never be noticed in that mess." Even with the rain coming down, there were hundreds of people in the market square. If anything, the downpour forced them into tighter knots, attempting to flee from one covered awning on a stall to another. Keeley knew far more about life in a city than Siska and it took only a second for the taller girl to nod in agreement. They moved to the covered walkway on the far side, fronting a four story inn build of well-dressed gray-blue stone. Keeley pulled her inside. "Have you the coin for meals?" she asked. Siska nodded again, pulling out two silver tenth marks. Keeley giggled and shoved one back into Siska's belt pouch. "You've too much money, if you can afford double." Both would easily eat on a tenth mark. The innkeeper, clad in rough woven, but serviceable, clothes, sat them at a table far from the open door, where mist from the falling rain coated the floor and tables. He busily rubbed his hands on a blue towel, the mark of the innkeepers in Tressen. The other staff carried white towels, if they carried any, at all. When they pulled off their cloaks and shook their hair free, five girls at a nearby table put their heads together. Those young women had friendship plaits in their tresses as well, though of different colors. Siska heard the word 'silver' several times, mixed amid the talk and giggles. The girls wore sashes of similar colors. There were six plaits, though, and only five girls. One of their circle was missing. She did not think she liked people giggling at her. "Pay them no mind," said Keeley, ordering heated wine for the two of them. "They're just envious of your color." Siska touched the silver plait on her head and looked down at the wide silver sash on her slender waist. "Jealous? Because it's silver?" "Because it's special," said Keeley, smiling. A short, plump woman brought two crockery mugs of warm wine to them and Siska felt the warmth of the cup with appreciation in both her hands. A flicker of motion from the five girls caught Keeley's eyes and she studied the motion. "What's she. . ." she began to ask. At that moment, Keeley's mug tipped over on the table, forcefuly. Hot wine splashed out and over Keeley's dress, soaking it purple instantly. She jumped back, her chair dumping her over onto the floor. Siska stood quickly, touching mana and feeling a flow passing right beside her. She followed the trail back to one of the girls in the group. That girl, distracted by the plaits and sash, only now noted the color of Siska's robes. Her eyes widened. This was quite a feat, as the young woman had large eyes already, set into a narrow face that gave her an insectile look, overall. "You little trollop," growled Siska as she pulled more mana into herself from the air around her. Frost formed on her robes and almost all the lamps in the room went out. The innkeeper squeaked something. An odd sound from such a round man. The other girls were turning now, anger on their faces for only a moment before fear replaced it. Siska severed the girl's stream of mana, but held it. She saw panic set into the eyes of the girl and felt the flow try to end, but she fed mana into it, maintaining the connection the young woman had so handily left for her. "You dare harm the innocent with the art?" said Siska, straightening her back and pulling herself to her full height. Two of the girls had drawn knifes and the would-be wizard blinked in amazement as Siska pulled the flow of mana taut and then pulsed a massive surge of raw mana down it. Such a flow would have no effect on a normal person, save perhaps making their hair stand on end. It struck the girl with magical aptitude like a sledgehammer. She flew back, the connection finally severing and slammed into the wall behind her with enough force to knock dust from the rafters overhead and a plaque from the wall, which clattered tot he floor. The bug-eyed girl tried to struggle to her feet and Siska saw mana flowing into her, too. She had a look of blind hatred in those oversized eyes. The other girls were moving aside, one remembering to grab her mug of heated wine as she fled. "I will teach you a lesson, pretender," said the girl in a low voice. Her eyes were fixed upon Siska's neck, upon which hung no dragon pendant. The fire that formed in the girl's hand was a pitiable thing, in Siska's estimation. Why did the girl not see how much more powerful than she Siska was? Siska simply lashed out with a tendril of magic and sucked the fire from the spell as it still formed. A glowing trail faded from between them as Siska let that warmth flow into the air. Phillips warding! Siska suddenly realized, remembering that he said he had shielded her to protect her. The other girl could not even see how powerful she was, without a specific casting of a certain spell. The girl gasped and began casting anew, something quicker, Siska realized, and nastier. Tiny darts of coruscating blue lanced from the girl's fingertips as she thrust her hand toward Siska. A second's delay caused the harm, Siska first thought to deflect the darts, but realized they might hit someone else in the inn. As she tried to craft a flexible shield of mana that would both stop and hold them, the first dart tore through the flesh of her shoulder. Her grip on the inner fire of mana slackened and fled as the pain of the rend in her shoulder struck. The shield sprang up, despite this, the flows already committed that gave it existence. The remaining darts slowed rapidly then stopped, glowing and flickering for a half a heartbeat before vanishing. The blue haze of the shield crossed the room from side to side, separating the five girls, along with a few other patrons, from Siska, Keeley, and several other patrons. Without her maintenance, it would last only moments, though. She could see the girl gesturing and hear her chanting syllables that would summon another flurry of the darts. The bartender screamed something else, and ran from the room. Siska had no thought for him. She struggled to grip the fire again, and it slipped from her fingers. She was far more powerful than that whelp of a girl who faced her, but the other girl had more practice, far more. "Siska!" screamed Keeley, noticing the blood flowing down the sleeve of her blue robes. "Not now," hissed Siska, casting a glare at Keeley that caused the younger girl to quail back. The mana forming the shield was dissipating and the girl on the other side held twice as many darts as the first casting had summoned. They flew in a tight circle about her, already moving in a blue blur. When that shield failed, those darts would come so quickly, Siska would have no time to react. As she watched, another dart joined the squadron of orbiting blurs. Siska drew magic into herself, pulling as hard as she knew how. Frost again coated her robes and the remaining lamps went out in the tavern. Even the fireplace, crackling happily behind her, simply huffed and went out. She reached outward and touched the shielding wall of mana. It suddenly stopped looking like a shimmering wall of blue fog, but sprang to a solid mass of glowing blue stone. The stone scintillated, like it was created from a million faceted gemstones, then it flashed and turned black. Releasing the flows, Siska looked at the wall before her. It was not a magical construct now, it was a wall of solid black stone. The last of the mana drifted from it, floating back into the world about her. The customers on her side gasped and stood up. Siska's posture alone told them it was over. The barkeeper bleated as if someone had kicked him and ran toward the wall. "What have you done?" he squealed in that oddly high-pitched voice. Keeley stifled a bark of laughter as the man touched the wall and ran his fingers over the glass-smooth surface of the stone. Soft, distant yells could be heard from the far side of the rock, followed by a thud that could only be someone hitting it. Two of the patrons on the far side were large, burly men wearing carter's livery. The innkeeper glared at Siska. "You may be a wizard, gel, but you're not welcome in my inn, get yourself out!" he screamed. Keeley grabbed Siska's arm and pulled her toward the door, fortuitously on their side of the new wall. "Come on, Siska, he'll call the guard down on you," she said. The innkeeper was now bashing on the wall himself. Siska stumbled back then followed her, every eye in the inn watching her as she fled out the door. A knuckle-breaker, there to keep the peace, with massive arms, who had been posted at the door stepped aside for them, giving Siska a somewhat fearful look. They jogged down the covered walkway and onto the paved street, pulling their cloaks on as they ran. The rain had slackened and Keeley realized not even the light drizzle struck her now. It seemed to be nearly touching her then flashing to steam. She actually felt warm from the tiny puffs of heated vapor. "Are you doing that?" she asked, smiling as another raindrop flashed before her eyes. Siska nodded. "I have to release a lot of mana," she said. When Keeley looked at her, there seemed something manic in her eyes. "I held a lot more than I needed for that wall." "What happens if you don't?" asked Keeley, worry creeping into the tones of her voice. "I don't know," said Siska. "But it hurts right now." Her expression was one of intense concentration, and beads of sweat stood forth on her brow and running down her cheeks. Keeley pointed upward. "Release it into the sky," she said. "It can't do much harm to those clouds." Siska glanced up then held one hand upward. A fat column of blue fire lanced forth from her palm, the thickness of a man's torso. The roar of the flame was so intense that Keeley had to cover her ears and she felt a blast of heat flow off of that column, like from a hot oven when the door is first opened. Looking up, Keeley saw the column spreading as it climbed, now the width of a house. It struck the cloud, a circle of the dense rainclouds the size of the market square vanished. Siska sighed and dropped her hand. The rain stopped falling, a bright patch of sunlight falling on the area around them, looking odd against the darker backdrop of the rest of Tressen. The clouds were already scuttling to fill the hole, ragged edges moving toward the center as if drawn. People around them on the street stared at the two girls. No one moved. "We best go to your house," said Keeley. "I don't think your mentor will be happy." Siska gave with another sigh, this one full of worry, instead of relief. "You're right," she said. "He'll likely be quite cross." Their trip back to Phillip's home was uneventful, if wet, the people on the street that saw the column of blue fire vaporize a cloud simply stood and watched them leave and soon after they were around people who had only seen the incident at a distance and declared that 'some damn fool wizard' was out being flashy. Siska agreed with them on the first half of their assessment of the situation. "What possessed you to do that?" asked Keeley. "She attacked you!" said Siska, some of that fierceness that Keeley had seen in the inn returning to her lovely features. "I'll not allow friends hurt, especially by another wizard." "She didn't hurt me," said Keeley, though her voice sounded rather small. She looked down at the purple staining her dress and grimaced. "It was only wine, and not all that hot." Siska turned on her. "It was an attack," she said. "Next time something like that happens, the other person will not soon be getting up." "You can't do that," said Keeley, grabbing her arm. "You can't go around bashing people for insults and pranks." She thought for a moment. "The Blue Order won't tolerate that, they'll throw you out." Siska blinked at her. "How can you know that?" she asked. "Trust me, if they're anything like the silversmith's guild, they'll chuck you like bad manure." She shrugged. "They maybe treat you like soldiers, and even punish those that they throw out, as a reminder." Siska thought on that a long moment. "The Order is the only people I have," she said. "Other than you and Mist," she quickly ammended. "Exactly," exclaimed Keeley, releasing Siska's arm and stomping off toward Phillip's home again. "So you best think hard about upsetting them at you. As it is, you better be the one to tell Mentor Phillip. If he hears of this through someone else, you will be in twice the fix you're already in." "He may forbid my going to the ball," said Siska, stopping again and her expression changing to one of deep sadness. Keeley grimaced. "I don't think he will, in this instance, but he might," she said. Siska started moving again, jogging to catch up with her friend. "I have much to learn, still, don't I?" she asked as they matched step again, moving swiftly, but not running, onto Rayfish Avenue. "We all do," said Keeley, patting her arm. "You're just having to learn it all at once."