Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The low-bellied clouds contrived to be pouring forth their worst as Siska
and Keeley neared Phillip's house.  Oilskin only stopped so much, and even
Siska's shielding spell stopped working after the massive sky-burst of
magic.  Cold runnels of water ran down Siska's back and Keeley's teeth
chattered as they reached the door.

   Siska's hand touched the bronze door handle and she brushed her thumb
over the latch atop that.  She seemed unable to open the door.

   A look of sympathy formed on Keeley's face.  "You have to go in," she
said, her hand touching Siska's back.  "The players must be paid."

   With an immense sigh, Siska thumbed the latch and pushed the door
inward. The entry area was illuminated by light from the common area but
she saw no one in either.

   She pulled off her cloak and hung it on the pegs just inside the door.
Keeley followed her motion and, if anything, looked more fearful than Siska
did herself.

   Siska's powder blue robes were darker where rainwater had penetrated her
oilskin and she brushed at the spots, as if her hands could eradicate the
moisture.  Keeley grunted in humor when the spots vanished under the touch.
Of course she can, she thought.

   "Siska, a word?" came a voice from the study.  It was Phillip's voice,
but it held a coolness that caused Siska to cringe and the moisture erasing
ceased immediately.  Keeley again touched her shoulder and watched her
cross the common area.  "Keeley, have a seat, there is tea on the
sideboard."

   Keeley swallowed and moved toward where the teapot sat on it's pewter
tray.  Only one cup of the fine porcelain sat beside the teapot and there
were three small muffins on the tray.

   Her feet dragged as she walked through the arched entry to the study,
both the double doors folded back completely to rest against the wall. 
Siska kept her eyes downcast and studied the tiled floor.  She squeaked and
jumped slightly when the doors slammed shut behind her.  A rapid and
complex torrent of magic surrounded the room, forming a sphere the
contained Siska and Phillip within it.

   Lifting her eyes enough to see him, Siska saw that Phillip was sitting
at his massive desk.  "What you did was inexcusable," he said without
preamble.  He was not yelling, and suddenly Siska wished that he would.  "I
fear I have given you too much leeway for an apprentice, and now see that I
was negligent in doing so."

   Siska began to say something, but he silenced her by lifting his eyes to
hers and glaring.  "You will not speak until I say," he said in a harsh
whisper.  She had expected coldness in those eyes, but what she saw there
cut more deeply than any measure of anger.  He was disappointed in her.

   "The guard informed me of your - incident," said Phillip.  "Seems they
regarded it an event large enough to attempt to summon me to aid in your
arrest.  They sent a mounted squad to me and tried to get me to go with
them, in case you needed to be put down."

   Siska gaped at him, her face adopting the expression of one who hears of
another's death.

   "I only just managed to talk them into letting me handle the matter,"
said her mentor.  "And I do mean barely, there are still guardsmen who will
make you arrest if they see you right now."

   Siska opened her mouth again.  "You will remain silent!" shouted Phillip
and she found she did not prefer his anger to disappointment.  Her teeth
clicked as they came together.

   That scream seemed to sap something from Phillip and he slumped in the
armchair behind his desk.  "You will not be going out into the town for a
week - except to attend the ball for your friend, Mannis," he said.  "You
will be repaying Master Gelorinni for the cost of removing your - addition
- to his common room.  Lastly, you will pay the sum of a hundred marks to
each of the girls you assaulted, the four customers who were trapped behind
your wall until a section of the inn's wall could be removed, and another
two hundred to Master Gelorinni for his discomfiture."

   Eleven hundreds?  thought Siska as he glowered, looking at a piece of
parchment.  "Those moneys will be accompanied by a personal apology,
delivered in public, to each of them, along with accepting penance, if they
so wish to administer it."

   A long moment passes as Siska studied the top of his desk.

   "Do you accept my judgement as fair and reasonable?" asked Phillip.

   "I do, Mentor Phillip," said Siska, her voice barely higher than a
whisper.  "It is fair and reasonable."

   An air of formality hung over everything, but that shattered when
Phillip said, "Just what in the One's eyes did you think you were doing,
girl?"

   "One of the girls used magic to attack Keeley, I tried to defend her,"
said Siska.

   "You did no such thing, girl!" shouted Phillip.  "You attacked the girl.
There is no defense in that.  She is had to be healed of a concussion and
several cracked ribs, did you know that?"

   Siska eyed the mottled red stain on the sleeve of her robe and the cut
flesh beneath.  "A scratch!" growled Phillip, following her eyes with his
own gaze.  "You could have easily killed her.  She is frightened half out
of her wits."

   "She didn't seem frightened when it was happening, Mentor," said Siska,
defensiveness stiffening her posture.

   "The gel had little choice to but put her back up, now did she?" asked
Phillip, his tone moderating slightly.  "So far as she knew, you meant to
kill her and was doing her damndest to not let that happen.  Did you expect
another wizard to simply roll over for your blue robe and let you pummel
her unconscious?"

   Siska's eyes dropped.  The girl had only knocked over Keeley's wine mug
and splattered wine over her friend's dress.  "I am ashamed," she said.

   Phillip growled deep in his throat.  "Not only you.  You shamed me and
more importantly, you shamed the Blue Order.  The penalties I have set are
only those of a Mentor to an apprentice.  There may well be repercussions
from the order to come.  You are a sworn member, even if you let that slip
your mind.  Your role is to DEFEND Tressen's people, not assault them in
bar brawls!  Even the other magi of the city are your responsibility." A
moment passed as he let that long line of words soak into her mind.  "You
are held to a higher standard, and you are to prove yourself worthy of that
esteem in the future, else it will not be in your future."

   Tears were rolling down Siska's cheeks.  In her mind, she had
single-handedly brought low a proud group of fine people.  In a moment of
anger, she had harmed the Blue Order, who had been held in esteem by the
people of Tressen, even if that esteem was accompanied by some measure of
fear.  Fear, she realized, that she had fed well.

   Phillip looked down at his writings again and picked up his steel quill.
"You and Keeley have potatoes to finish peeling," he murmured.  "She will
not be coming over for a week, either - nor will Mist or Leetha."

   "Thank you for letting me attend the ball, still, Mentor," said Siska in
a hoarse whisper as she opened one of the wide doors back into the hall
from the common room.

   Phillip never raised his head.  "What you did was not bad enough to
merit ruining a special day for young Defender Mannis.  I did not allow
your attendance for your own benefit.  He has worked hard for years for
this moment.  I'll not let you ruin it for him."

   Siska nodded and left the study.

   - -

   Tatyana walked across the courtyard in her gray doublet, bearing a large
sack of flour.  She served but one owner in her years, and now two in under
a month.  Her new owner eyed her oddly, and she felt sure that he harbored
demands she had yet to be called to make.

   This struck her as more than passingly strange, for there were younger
and prettier slaves in this estate's stables.  Tatyana was into her forties
and had borne two children.  While she might be considered an attractive
woman, for her age, she was far from a blooming young beauty.

   Her new owner, Master Tornadin was kinder to her than the last.  The
last had been a middling merchant with a very demanding wife.  The wife had
switched her almost daily for some perceived slight or slowness in
performance of her duties.  She was the only slave in the house, as well,
which meant all attention was focused upon her.

   Here, she was amid dozens of slaves.  Even more than she had been as she
had lived with Mistress Tomasino.  Her duties were light, as a kitchen
helper, and she had a nice, clean room to herself.

   All of this would have pointed to a nice, quiet end of years to her,
except for the attentions of young Master Tornadin.  He had yet to touch
her, but when she passed by him, his eyes watched her closely and he wore
an odd expression that spoke of a deeper desire.

   She thought of giving herself to him, or at least offering.  She had
found, with Tomasino's more demanding guests, that it made the act much
easier if she at least pretended to desire the contact.  Tornadin was not
an unattractive young man, either, a matter that would aid in the pretense
of desire.

   If she were wrong in her assessment of his looks, though, her approach
may well insult the young, good-looking noble.  She sighed as she dropped
the flour onto the table beside the large bowls that were being mixed for
the evening's grand meal.

   "He was watching you again, eh?" asked Lirivni, one of the few slaves
that she already considered a friend.

   "Yes," whispered Tatyana as she picked up one of the knives on the table
and sliced the top off the sack of flour.  "If I weren't a dried sack of
prunes, I'd swear he desires me."

   Lirivni was several years her junior, in her middle thirties.  She was a
pretty woman, with long brown hair and soft blue eyes.  Lirivni was also an
indenture, not a full slave.  The difference hardly mattered while she was
in service, especially for the length of time Lirivni would be owned - more
than twenty years, of which only seven had been served.

   "Master Tornadin has expansive tastes," said Lirivni, grimacing and
taking the knife from Tatyana to slice open another sack of flour.  The
older woman poured her flour into a massive bronze bowl and began mixing it
with the contents already within with a massive wooden spoon.  "It is
considered bad form to make use of indentureds, but he is quite free with
his - affections."

   Tatyana widened her eyes at the taller, younger woman.  "He has made
demands of you?" she asked.

   Lirivni gave her a look of much patience.  "He makes use of all the
women slaves, Tatyana.  All of them.  He considers anything not illegal to
be within his rights.  If you didn't have an attraction to his eyes, you
would be one of the field slaves."

   One of the other kitchen slaves, a woman younger than Lirivni, with
strong features and a well-rounded belly, nodded.  "He will eventually get
around to you," she concurred, stroking her belly with an idle hand in the
manner women with child tended to.  Tatyana wondered if Tornadin was the
sire of that child.

   Then I'll go to him this night, thought Tatyana.  I hope I'm correct. 
Already, she steeled herself for what would likely happen later, either if
she were right or wrong in her assumptions.

   - -

   Varan looked down at himself in his dress uniform, only today brought up
from the sewing shops at the other end of the Defenders' compound.  No silk
for Defenders, but the black dyed cotton was highly polished to nearly
gleam like silk.  He picked a piece of imaginary lint from the stark black
surface, then touched the sword on his hip.

   That sword had been his for four years, but it was a bronze-hilted
trainee's sword.  Tonight, he would be presented with his Defender's
silver-hilted blade.  Though they were shaped the same, the Defender's
blade would be better wrought, and crafted of the finest steel available,
likely Gendise.  Folded and hammered hundreds of times, a Gendise steel
sword blank cost more than the home he grew up in.

   It would give his blade a distinctive look, that Gendise steel, almost
like wood, but in silver and black rather than browns, where the grinding
of the edges cut through the layers of grain in the steel.  In his eyes it
would be the most beautiful of swords, even if the rudest pot-iron.

   His roommates bustled around him.  Mannis was pulling his belt around
his waist and cinching the buckle tight.  Giordino was still pulling on his
boots, looking at them with a critical eye to ensure not the slightest
scuff marred their mirror-like black finish.  Lastly, Cherofski, clad only
in his smallclothes, was polishing the blade of his trainee's sword,
running an oiled cloth down it's length.

   "Keeley says that Siska is fortunate to be able to attend," said Varan,
looking over his shoulder at Mannis, still fidgeting with his sword belt.

   "So I've heard," said Mannis with a grimace.  "Something about dueling
in pubs.  I've not been allowed to visit her.  Her mentor sent me away
without comment, other than to say that she isn't free to receive guests."

   Varan nodded.  "But still, she will be at the ball, and you'll be able
to talk to her to your heart's contentment," he said.

   His words seemed to act as a cue, Cherofsky leaped up and began pulling
on his pants.  Varan and Mannis both blinked at the shorter man, wondering
why he had put off dressing for so long.  Even Giordino, a notable
procrastinator, eyed his roommate with a impatient glance.

   Both Cherofsky and Giordino had been able to secure escorts at short
notice for their graduation ceremony.  Defenders were highly romantic
figures in Tressen society, and few women, unless solidly spoken for, would
refuse one accompaniment to one of their few public functions.  Their
escorts, however, were more settled upon than sought out, and Cherofsky
wondered, in truth, if he would have to pay his companion for the honor
later.

   Giordino sidled up beside Mannis, peering into the mirror on it's heavy
wooden stand.  "I understand that your Siska nearly got herself arrested
from that duelling," he said, shaking his head.  "A temper on that one,
mark my words."

   Mannis sighed.  "Does everyone know more of Siska's business than I do?"
he asked.  "She made a small mistake, excusable I think, under the
circumstances." He glowered at the shorter and much darker young man.  "She
was defending her friend, or at least thought she was.  Something you and I
should well understand, no?"

   It took Giordino several moments to speak.  "I hear you brother," he
said, his voice quiet and earnest.  "You know I am ever on your side, in
battle and out."

   A grudging smile came to the tall redhead's face.  "And I am on yours,
brother," he said, putting his hand on the shorter man's shoulder.  "I
suppose we must remind ourselves of that from time to time."

   Though only paying attention to the exchange partially, Varan nodded
approval as the two Defenders made their peace.  In a few hours, they would
truly be full Defenders - full men.  It was good to see them behaving as
such now, even while still in the trainees' quarters.

   - -

   Keeley bustled around Siska's room as if her backside were ablaze.  "Why
are they not here yet?" she demanded, a panic in her eyes that made Siska
think of a cornered rabbit.

   "They are coming," said Siska in as calm a voice as she could muster. 
"Mistress Maureen knows when the ball is to begin and won't be late."

   The shorter girl, twisting her brown hair about her finger, pulled back
one of the heavy curtains that covered one of the two windows that stood on
the room's outer wall.  "I've never been to such a fancy event," she said.
"What if I make a fool of myself?"

   "Follow Varan's lead," said Siska, pulling a brush through her long,
golden hair.  "He'll know the proper behavior."

   Keeley let the curtains go and turned toward Siska.  "You could at least
pretend worry," she snapped.

   A soft smile formed on Siska's lips.  "Keeley, I have been cooped up in
this house for five days," she said.  "Mannis tried three times to visit me
and was sent away.  I intend nothing - and I emphasize nothing - to mar it.
Do you think that I've many grand balls in my history?"

   That abashed Keeley more than enough, and the girl lowered her eyes.  "I
would think not," she said.

   In truth, Siska had attended more than a score of fancy dress balls. 
However, she had attended them as a servant, not as a guest.  She might
well know, better than Keeley, how to behave in such rarified company. 
Siska was a kind enough friend not to say anything of it.

   "Come, rub this on my shoulder, to cover that bruise," she said to
Keeley.  She pointed to a dark spot marring the fair skin of her shoulder,
just to the right of her neck.

   Phillip had been true to his word, and she found herself under the
tender tuteledge of Madam DeSandiago.  Madam DeSandiago had introduced her
to Weaponsmaster Larken.

   Her first lesson with Larken had been a learning experience for Siska.
She discovered that there were ways to be hurt by other people she had
never imagined.  He was teaching her to fight with sword, knife, and staff.

   At first, she had protested the need for training in such combat skills.
Surely a wizard would not need them.

   Larken had disabused her of that notion in short order.  He commanded
her to cast to stop him and before she could even fully focus her energies,
he had rapped her on the arm with one of those bound bundles of bamboo
strips, delivering a stinging blow.

   After that, she had tried to apply herself to the training he offered.

   He was a patient man, and good humored.  She came, quickly to enjoy the
lesson and now eagerly awaited her next lesson on the morrow.  However, her
newfound interest had exacted a price in bruises from her.  Most of them
had faded to faintly yellow spots on her arms and legs.  However, this one
was darker, an ugly blue.  A result of stave training, he had clouted her
on that shoulder purely by accident.  An attempted dodge had led her to put
herself straight into the path of his backswing.

   Keeley gently rubbed the peach-colored makeup onto the discoloration,
though it was impossible to hide every hint of the blue bruise.  When she
stepped back, it was only noticeable if one looked very hard.  "I can't
believe Phillip has you conducting arms training, like you were bound to
become a merchant's guardsman."

   "It isn't like that, Keeley," said Siska, wincing as the shorter girl
rubbed the make up over the wound, smoothing the edges.  "Phillip has
decided that I need to know how to protect myself in a fight, without
magic. He says that it will teach me discipline."

   Keeley murmured something under her breath that Siska could not make
out, though she did hear the single word - 'paddle'.

   Siska shook her head.  "Phillip said he would send me away before taking
switch, paddle, or strap to me," she said.  "He says that I've already paid
more price in that regard than he can collect." It seemed that she was not
sure she wished him to have that particular order of precedence in
punishment of her.

   A soft rapping on her chamber door snapped her out of the morbid
thoughts just before it opened.  Salira peeked in, smiling.  "They're
here," she said after ensuring both young women wore their slips.  Opening
the door wider, she entered, followed by two of Mistress Maureen's
assisting seamstresses.  Each of those two bore long thick bundles folded
over their arms.  Salira carried a small box.

   Siska barely managed to stifle a squeal, and Keeley found herself short
of even that control, making a high-pitched keen in her throat before
regaining her composure.  Their obvious excitement caused Salira's grin to
widen.

   With practiced speed, the seamstresses hung the dresses on an opened
door of the wardrobe, unfolding the oilcloth that was wrapped about another
layer of cheap wool.  Then they removed the wool, one of them actually
giving the motion a bit of a flourish.

   Siska, Keeley, and, admittedly, Salira all gasped.  The seamstresses
allowed one another a small nod at that sound and bowed out, muttering good
wishes on the two young women's night out.

   "It makes me wish I were young again," said Salira, eyeing the long
gowns of silk.  The longer, made for Siska, was of shimmering blue silk,
shaped to conform to her with alarming precision.  Narrow sections had been
cut out and filled with pleated velvet in sky blue, the color of the order.
It was sleeveless and had a narrow but deep neckline.  The back swooped
down to where it would scarcely be at the small before the sides rejoined.

   At first Siska feared it would not stay put when she donned it, but once
the fine strings at the back had been drawn, it seemed to disappear from
her sense of touch.  It became weightless on her and moved with every bit
of ease as her own skin might.  From her hips the skirts hung in narrow
strips, she noted, and were not of a piece.  When she walked lighter blue
velvet gleamed beneath the steadier shimmer of darker blue silk.  Siska
moved before the long standing mirror and made a twirl, craning her neck
about to see herself as she did so.

   "It's a lovely dress, Siska," said Salira with Keeley nodding in
agreement alongside her.

   Siska turned toward them.  "Keeley, put yours on," she said excitedly.

   It took the three women a few moments to divine the manner of donning
the wrapping garment of a dress.  Salira, having visited at some point in
her past Abia, finally managed the trick, beginning at Keeley's shoulder
and walking about her, unwinding the dress onto the girl.  Small buttons
attached the layers to one another in critical locations, though Keeley
would surely need help to remove it later, as well.

   When finished Siska and the older woman stood back and admired the
confection of green silk and fine wool.  "I said to spare the silk," said
Keeley, fretting with one of the wide panels of silk that made up large
portions of the dress.

   "You'll learn that seamstresses will do what they like," said Salira
sagely.  "Ask a man of swordsmiths, and they will happily point out the
same sort of breed."

   Keeley gave the mirror a critical eye and turned halfway about.  "Well,
it is pretty," she said.  It hugged her form, if anything, more tightly
than Siska's gown, the wrapping actually being snug at points.  A few
shifts and plucking from the three released a binding point or two and
ensured it hung correctly, if the dress could be said to hang at all, it
seemed more to cling.

   "Be glad you don't have a mole on your backside," said Siska, grinning.
"I fear it would show clearly in this dress."

   "I only hope I need carry no coin," said Keeley, nodding.  "Else one
could tell which side were face up."

   Salira giggled, almost like a girl the other two's ages.  "And divine
the maker's mark at three paces," she added.

   The green silk was interrupted by black wool, of a matte finish, making
the dress seem a mass of emerald and night.  Against Keeley's olive skin,
it gave her an air of mystery that Siska could virtually touch.  She said
as much and Keeley widened her eyes.  "I am one of the most unmysterious
folk in Tressen," she pronounced.

   "As you say," said Salira, moving toward the door, "but she is correct.
You look as if you might know dark secrets that aught be left in shadows -
or bedchambers."

   Keeley contrived to don an expression of sultriness and cool aloofness.
"Perhaps I am more than I seem, then," she said, narrowing her gaze as she
looked upon the two wizards.

   Salira turned to open the small box on the corner of Siska's writing
desk.  "I note that neither of you seems to have brought jewelry, so I have
brought mine.  I hope it shall suffice." Generously, she neglected to point
out that neither likely owned any jewelry of real worth.

   Both Siska and Keeley ooh'ed at the contents, impressed with the
gemstones and precious metal settings within.  A few minutes digging
through the small chest and both were bedecked with fine bracelets and a
single ring on each hand.  "Earrings used to be all the rage, but no one
wears them today," said Salira, looking at her small collection of pins
with a sad shake of her head.  "You two don't even have piercings to your
lobes."

   Keeley and Siska grimaced at her description of the process of piercing
one's ears and covered their own theatrically, as if Salira had proposed
doing so on the spot.

   Finally, the older wizard reached under her dress and pulled a necklace
free.  On it hung a dragon pendant.  "As you don't have one right now," she
said, unclasping it.  She hung the chain and pendant around Siska's neck,
the dragon feeling oddly heavy as it rested between her breasts.  Siska
noted a faint blue shimmer to the silver and the dragon seemed to move as
she looked at it.

   "It is mithril," said Keeley, as if noting Siska's interested look. 
"Not enchanted, but well wrought, all the same."

   "Thank you," said Siska.  "Keeley's father is crafting a new one for me,
but it is days from complete, from what Keeley says."

   "Dad is obsessing about it," said Keeley, pretending impatience with her
father.  "He says he wishes it to be the finest of his works, something I
don't rightly understand about recompense." The narrowing of her eyes as
she looked at Siska told Salira that this topic had never been satisfyingly
discussed between the two friends.

   As Salira began to close the little box, a gleam caught Siska's eye. 
"What is that?" she asked, pointing to the glow, emanating from beneath a
wide bronze cloak pin.

   The older wizard lifted the pin.  "Ah," she said, smiling.  "It's my
manastone ring." She lifted the ring, quite a plain one, from the box.  It
was a plain band of gold with a mounting that held the glowing shard of
gemstone.  "Only a small one," she pointed out, slipping it onto her
finger.

   Siska could not take her eyes from it.  "The glow," she said.  "It feels
- different."

   "That's because it's charged with my own energy," said Salira, speaking
in her lecturing voice again.  "It isn't free mana, as you pull from the
air and carries a bit of my own - spirit - if you will."

   It took the apprentice a moment, but she did see a similarity in the
colorations of the mana, the way it pulsed, or gleamed, to the aura around
Salira.  There were differences, as well, though.  "When did you charge
it?" asked Siska.

   Salira looked at her oddly.  "Oh, I don't remember," she said.  "Surely
months ago, if not over a year.  I rarely have use for it these days."

   Siska flicked her fingers in the pattern of divining, muttering a hasty
incantation.  It was not strictly polite to cast divining spells upon
people without asking first, but Salira had said they were friends, and
friends were allowed limited liberties with one another.

   "What is it?" asked Keeley, giving the two wizards a blank smile, very
curious as to what was passing.

   "You're pregnant," said Siska.

   The older wizard blinked at her.  "I'm what?" she asked, forcing a smile
onto her face.

   Siska smiled broadly.  "You're pregnant, and your baby will have the
gift."

   "How can you know that?" asked Salira.

   With a small shrug, Siska said, "Your baby, I know not if boy or girl,
is causing a small shift in your aura - your mana aura.  It no longer is
the same pattern as the aura you possessed when you charged that ring. 
It's similar, very much so, but not identical."

   Keeley simply smiled.  "Congratulations," she said.  She understood
nothing of the talk of magic, mana, and auras, but she knew that blessings
were in order for a child conceived.

   Salira just blinked a few more times before donning a hesitant smile
herself.  "Well, thank you, Keeley," she said, though she eyed Siska a
moment longer.  She wondered just how fine-tuned must be one person's
senses to sense a shift so tiny in a person's auras.

   "You should seek a midwife to be certain," said Siska

   A moment passed as the older wizard absorbed this information.  "I
shall," she said, though she felt more certain from Siska's pronouncement
than she would have from a mere midwife's.

   Recovering her wits, Salira helped them with a few more pieces of loaned
clothing.  A narrow belt of silver links for Keeley and a wide one of
bright blue woven leather for Siska.  Slippers had been provided the day
before from a cobbler two doors down from Mistress Maureen's shop.  They
had been commissioned by Mistress Maureen to go to with the dresses and
were dyed matching blue and green, for each girl's dresses.

   Hair in worn loosely was the current fashion, though the two spent
several minutes under the brush to burnish their long hair to shimmering
before weaving small, discreet plaits into the four strands of their
friends' colors.

   Siska had enquired with Madam DeSandiago about the acceptability of the
plaits and, as the woman seemed to be a font of knowledge of propriety and
fashion, her decision was regarded as final.  It was allowable, and
fashionable in many circles, an interesting phenomenon, in her eyes; A
fashion that seemed to transcend classes.

   Even as their last plaits were woven, Phillip knocked and informed them
through the door that their carriage had arrived.  Keeley opened the
curtains to gasp at it.  "I think, maybe, Phillip is not as angry as he
sounded, Siska," she whispered.  Siska looked out at that point to see the
carriage, as well.

   It was a long, black laquered carriage, suitable for the transport of
nobility, with gilded accents and pulled by a team of eight sleek black
horses.  Even the driver and two footmen on it seemed buffed and polished,
wearing matching livery with powder blue dominating their colors.

   Both of the girls had expected a rented carriage from the local stabler
that provided horses when Phillip had need.  This carriage was obviously
loaned by one of the great houses of the city.  Or did the Blue Order keep
a few for certain needs?  Somehow, Siska doubted, even if they did, an
apprentice attending a ball would meet one of those needs.  - -

   "All is well," said Marrik as he pulled his oilskin tight about his
shoulders and cupped his hands before his mouth to try to blow some warmth
into them.  His spear was propped against the parapet beside him.

   Night watch on Mertrim's Tower was a boring assignment, but most of the
guards in the fortress took the job seriously.  Enough so that they rarely
slept on duty.  The threat of flogging helped in that matter, but would not
have stopped it on its own.

   "Good," said Thean, his squad leader.  She also kept her cloak tight
about her, but seemed to not let the chill of the drizzle and cold bother
her.

   Mertrim liked Thean, she was a good squad leader.  Much better than her
predecessor, a lush who spent most of his evenings so drunk as to be a
hazard to himself and his squad mates.

   Like most soldiers, taking orders from a woman had not been easy at
first and they had questioned her authority.  However, after she had
bettered the best of them in a duel with practice swords, they decided that
she might just know her job.

   He was not sure if her attractiveness was a aid or a hindrance to her
leadership abilities.  It certainly gained her attention, but it seemed,
also, to cause men to not quite take her as seriously as they should. 
"You'll be relieved in three hours," she said.  "We're short handed this
night, with the Palace of Tressen in use."

   The guard provided men to secure the Palace, as well as the port
fortresses.  Normally, only a handful of men patrolled the grounds of the
fortress, enough to discourage footpads and burglars.  When the palace was
in use, though, that need soared and fully a quarter of the guards were at
the Palace of Tressen, providing guards for show as well as security.

   "Understood, squad leader," said Mertrim, retrieving his spear from the
wall and wincing at how cold the steel shaft felt to his bared fingers.  As
she walked away he glanced toward her.  She did have a fine figure, he
thought, smiling.

   Thean smiled as she walked away, hearing the leather straps of his armor
creak as he craned his neck.  Unconsciously, she added just a little more
swing into her hips and stepped out her stride.  She did not mind that men
found her worth looking at, even the men under her command.  They could
lust after her, so long as they obeyed her when she commanded them.

   Men are stronger than women, ran her logic, and therefore we must be far
more skilled than they to match them in arms.  Few women served in the
guard.  Fewer, still, rose to any rank of responsibility.  Squad leader was
hardly a lofty position, but it was one with command.  It was a position
with responsibility, as well, a responsibility that Thean took seriously.

   Entering the barracks of her squad, the half dozen off duty men were
about their business.  Ferdinno, tried vainly to cover himself, fresh from
the baths, with his helmet.  She chewed her lip to avoid a smile.  Many of
the young men of her squad were prime specimens, and Ferdinno was more
prime than most of them.  Seeing him unclad was no chore in her eyes.

   "You should be abed, Private," she said, forcing sternness into her
voice and giving him a practiced glower.

   "Yes, squad leader, I only wished a bath," he said.

   "Smelling sweet in the barracks is hardly as important as alert eyes on
the ramparts," she said.  This was a primary job of squad leaders, coming
up with pithy remarks to put troopers in their place.  Anyone who recorded
them would notice that they happily contradict themselves if given enough
time.  They were crafted at need, to suit the moment, and then discarded.
They were not meant to be remembered forever.

   "Yes, ma'am," he said, saluting and fumbling his privates-shielding
helmet.  She had to chew her cheek again.  He really was a prime specimen.

   The other men hastened to make as if they were preparing for bed, as
well, pulling off their boots and one sliding beneath the coverlets of his
bunk with his pants on.

   "Private Guissippe, you'll find it hard to relax yourself fully
dressed," she said without looking at him.  The euphemism was not lost on
the other guardsmen, who chuckled at her admonition.  He stood from his cot
and pulled the pants off, stripping to his smallclothes as she entered her
own, private room.

   She never closed the door to her room.  It was a policy with her.  She
saw her men unclad, and made, with her best effort, no show of it mattering
to her.  They had all seen her unclad, as well, and she ensured by simple
glances and occasional scathing remarks that they made no issue of it
either.  A well placed questioning of a man's knowledge of women, else a
forced period of watching her up close as she went about her business, with
a quill and parchment in hand, to take notes, usually prevented them from
staring again.

   The only time the door closed was for a dressing down.  These she
conducted in private.  It was no one's business but her's and the soldier
she was reprimanding what was said between them in those instances.  They
were men, after all, and their pride needed shielding even more than their
privates.  Men emasculated were useless in combat.

   She stripped off her hauberk of chainmail and pulled the quilted
undershirt beneath it off.  Her sheer shift of pale linen was virtually
transparent.  New members of the squad would ogle until older members
cuffed them into manners.  She saw one such, a private named Urdannik, in
his bunk, feigning sleep and watching her.

   Without looking, she could not tell if he were 'relaxing' himself at her
display.  It would not be the first time.  Turning her back to him, she
allowed a smile to finally form and pulled the shift over her head.  You
are a very naughty girl, sometimes, she thought.  She imagined she could
hear Urdannik, with his fortuitously positioned bunk, speeding the pace of
relaxation.

   Naturally, actually bedding any of the men in her squad was unthinkable,
even by Thean, who was not particularly particular about her partners, so
long as they were enthusiastic.  She stuck to other squad leaders, and
occasionally, junior officers of other units, though never her own
superiors.

   "Boy, you best finish that business before she catches you," murmured
one of the other soldiers in his squad.  Urdannik, who though he had been
reasonably subtle, stopped relaxing and tried to actually will himself into
slumber.  The man in the next bunk, a corporal named Gulchoff, chuckled. 
"Hell, lad, no one said to stop, but don't make a show of it," he said. 
"She's a fine looking woman, but if she knows for sure what you're about,
she'll make you do it in the aisle, while she sits and sips an ale, making
clever remarks."

   Urdannik gulped and decided he had relaxed enough for one evening.

   Only in the guard for six weeks, if that, Urdannik was a bright eyed
youth who still believed it all to be an adventure.  When he had been
assigned to the fifth squad, nicknamed the 'Warhawks', he had been amazed
by having a female squad leader.

   More surprising was that she was a pretty woman, not at all like some of
the other troopers who were female.  She was slender, with long legs and a
slim, high-cheekboned face.  Most startling had been her blue eyes, set
amid that dark islander skin.  Her father was said to be Coghlandish, but
her build certainly held no clue to that heritage.  If anything she was
shorter than most women in Tressen, not taller.

   She seemed a fine squad leader, though, after seeing others in action.
She was fair to her men and went out of her way to protect them from other
squad leaders and even their own officers.  He knew he would be loyal to
her, and always strive to make her happy with him.

   "I shouldn't dishonor her by that, I will apologize," he said, rising
from his bunk and adjusting his smalls.

   Urdannik blinked up at him.  "Are you daft?" he asked.  "She'll flay you
where you stand, lad."

   "No," said the young soldier.  "She deserves better thoughts of me and I
must make amends." Purposefully, he walked to the door frame and knocked on
it, even as Corporal Gulchoff clicked his tongue in resignation.

   "Come," said Squad Leader Thean from within the darkened room.

   He walked in, forcing himself to hold his head high.  Her bed was just
out of the line of sight out the door, though she had left it where she
found it when she took over the room.

   From the light still pouring in through the open doorway he could see
she was atop the coverlets.  It was warm in the barracks, and usually most
men slept with only a sheet over them.  Their barracks, the home of the
Warhawks, was over the kitchens, and rarely wanted for warmth.

   He pried his eyes from her figure.  Her legs were apart and her most
private places quite visible.  "What is it, private?" she asked.  Shifting
to prop her head on one hand and folding her legs into a matched pair of
angles.

   "I wish to apologize ma'am, I was thinking improper thoughts of you as I
relaxed," he said.  His voice stiff with formality and his eyes upon the
wall opposite him.  "You are worthy of more respect than that, ma'am."

   To his amazement, she giggled.  He had never heard her make that sound
before and it frightened him to hear it now.

   "Boy, I'm a woman of thirty-seven years.  If a young buck like yourself
thinks I'm attractive, I hardly find that an offense upon my person," she
said as the giggles subsided.  "I find it flattery, though of a rather base
sort.  You're a soldier, Urdannik, and not given many opportunities to
relax with the company of a young woman.  There are certain needs that will
- arise."

   Unsure what to think or do, Urdannis just stood there.

   "Be subtle about it and don't wave it in my face, and we'll get along
fine," she said, laying back upon her back.  "Back to your bunk, soldier,
you've duty in three and a half hours."

   Urdannik saluted with a fist to his left shoulder and crisply turned to
march out.  He nearly fell on his face when Thean said, "I sometimes relax
to the thought of you young men, too.  Repeat that and I'll have you
flogged."

   - -

   Tatyana hefted the serving tray and walked toward Master Tornadin's
apartments.  She had volunteered for this particular duty this night so
that she might end the wait to see if he was to seek her favors.  Waiting,
oddly, was worse than the follow through.

   She stopped outside the ornately carven door, depicting oak leaves and
grapes in relief, and visibly calmed herself.  She had given herself to men
before, it was part of being a slave.  Most were appreciative of it and
were kind to slaves that shared their bed from time to time.  Her mind
cringed at the memory of some few who were not.

   Opening the door, she slipped into the sitting room of the expansive
apartments that made up his personal space in the huge palace.  He was
sitting in one of the chairs, watching the flames with an intensity that
seemed odd to her.  "Wine for milord," she said in a soft tone, forcing a
breathiness into it that she hoped would convey her adopted mood.

   "Very good," said Lord Tornadin after a moment of thought.  He glanced
at her.  "Tatyana, is it?" he asked, though he very well knew her name.  He
had paid thrice her worth to acquire her from the merchant.  The
resemblance between this attractive, middle-aged woman and her young
daughter were obvious.  The tall stature and slender, elegantly shaped
face. So very Eastron.  She had some gray hair amid the slick black
tresses, and he wondered idly how she had come to have a blond daughter.

   "Yes, milord," she said, bowing low.  "It honors me that you recall my
name." She tried a tentative, shy smile.  Somehow, despite her maturity and
apparent experience, she made the shyness seem proper and alluring.

   She is expecting something, he thought as he regarded her and returned
the smile.  "Tatyana, attend to me this evening," he said.

   "As milord commands," she said, bowing low again.  She moved to the
corner and stood quietly, as was the practice of a servant or slave in
attendance.  She waited for a gesture or command.

   Tornadin rose and sat the delicate crystal goblet onto the tray.  "Do
you take wine?" he asked, gesturing toward the pitcher and goblets, and
taking a step toward her.

   She blinked and looked toward the tray, and at him.  "If milord
indicates it is acceptable, I am partial to wine," she said.  Tatyana was
unused to being asked a question of preference.  Her statement tried to
convey that she would, of course, drink if commanded, and would not mind if
asked.

   "Then sit, and drink with me, please," he said, gesturing now toward the
ornately embroidered armchair beside the one he had been seated in.  "I
would come to know a new addition to the household."

   His avoidance of calling her a slave or servant sat well with Tatyana.
Slaves needed no reminder of their station, and she appreciated the subtle
compliment in not doing so.

   "Thank you, master," she said, trying to move as gracefully as she could
to sit in the indicated chair.  She was unused to sitting on such fine
furnishings and seated herself gingerly, barely on the chair at all,
perching on the front edge of the padded cushion.

   To her surprise, he poured the wine and handed her a goblet, smiling at
her warmly as he did so.  "There are not many people indentured of Eastron
lineage," he said, retaking his seat and picking up his goblet of wine.

   "No, milord, there are few," she replied.  "My ancestors were made
captive in the County of Balskana some hundred and fifty years ago."

   Tornadin chuckled.  "Ah, those days, when Tressen was haven to pirates
and brigands," he said.  "Ever they raided the coasts of other nations,
dragging home loot and slaves."

   "Yes, milord," she said, allowing a small measure of resentment into her
tones.  It was foolish to pretend to like being a slave, but equally so to
resent it so much that your master felt you untrustworthy or even
dangerous.

   She took a small sip of the wine, trying to force her motions into a
semblance of casualness.  It was very good wine, she found - fruity with a
hint of cinnamon.

   "I debate myself regularly what my true feelings on slavery are," said
Tornadin, looking at Tatyana with a appraising eye.  "I sometimes wonder at
the very propriety of it.  Then, at other times, I find myself eagerly
anticipating the commanding of a slave.  Do you comprehend that, Tatyana?"

   Tatyana nodded.  "I can see where the lure would be strong, master," she
said.

   "Like, right now, I could send you to perform service in the barracks in
this estate, to entertain the troops for a few nights," he said, giving her
a knowing glance.

   Tatyana's expression did not change, though she had to force a mouthful
of wine in the proper direction to avoid coughing.  She nodded.  "Milord
would be within his rights," she said as soon as she got her throat in
proper order.

   "Or, I could slit your throat - kill you where you sit, and no one would
comment.

   "Milord could do that indeed, without issue," she said in reply though
her throat suddenly felt like it were a parched field.  It was not yet
abject depression that took residence, for she had dealt with men with
peculiar tastes before, and knew some spoke more grandly than they acted.
However, she did not get that feeling from young Lord Tornadin, he seemed
the sort that could command what he proposed.

   The wine did little to relieve the dryness in her throat.

   "Not that I would waste a good, loyal retainer in such a manner," he
said.  "And one who is attractive, as well.  Despite the questionable
references of your former owners, the records that accompanied you from the
Lady Tomasino show that you were seldom punished and very seldom given
anything but glowing assessments.

   A well run house would keep records of the events in their slaves'
lives, illnesses, required disciplining, training, and other matters that
might well matter to future owners and were the stuff that made up the
slave's life.  Slaves were often proud of a good record, and considered it
very important, for they had little to call their own.

   "Milord is generous with praise," she said, bowing her head, but looking
up at him with her glittering brown eyes through her square-cut bangs.  The
subservient posture took a score of years from her features and her eyes
looked large and luminous, despite their near black color.

   "When we are alone, you may call me Tornadin," he said while he wondered
if she knew precisely what she was doing or else was an instinctively
seductive woman.  "But only when it is but you and I."

   "Thank you, Tornadin," she said, without any pause and smiled.  "You
honor me further."

   Tornadin sighed deeply, allowing himself a wide smile in response.  He
rather liked Tatyana.  She was pretty, if a bit old and seemed quite
intelligent, too; a very desirable trait in a personal slave.  He rather
regretted the necessities of his plans, but necessities, they were.

   - -

   The Palace of Tressen seemed to Siska a confection of white fluff and
gold filigree.  The texture of the stuccoed brick that covered it seemed
like the icing on a cake, and so stark white that even in the rain and the
dimness of night that it gleamed.  The trim in gold and crimson glittered
in reflected light from the enclosed lamps about the long drive and
surrounding the huge structure.

   "It doesn't look real," said Siska as the two girls peered out the
carriage window.  They were stopped, side on to the palace, awaiting to
turn onto the long horseshoe drive into the grounds.  Other carriages were
making the turn and the drivers waited between them to give the passengers
a chance to debark before the next carriage would arrive under the long
awning that covered the entrance.

   Keeley nodded.  "I've never seen it by night and lit up so," she said.
"It looks like something form a bard's tale."

   Their carriage lurched forward and they turned onto the drive.  Keeley
and Siska both seemed to turn a bit green as the butterflies that had been
fluttering around inside them began a new attempt to flee their bodies. 
"If you're half as nervous as me, I pity you," said Keeley, giving her
friend a grin that was half grimace.

   Siska giggled at that, though the laugh had the same sounds of
trepidation in it that was in her best friend's voice.  She had to force
her hands to relax, as she found herself gripping the silk of her skirts in
her fingers, trying to wrinkle the material or simply drive her fingernails
through the cloth.

   The carriage clattered to a stop with the horses dancing in their
harnesses and the driver clucking at them patiently.  A pair of jerky
motions told the girls that the footmen had leaped from the running board
on the back and they could be heard walking hastily to the door.  Both
girls stood, hastily smoothing their skirts and checking one another's
hair. It was a shame to travel after having made oneself up.  Even the
gentlest of carriage rides had a way of mussing a person's carefully
crafted appearance.

   The door opened and light poured in from the lamplit entry area.  Siska
urged Keeley to step out first and the girl hesitantly held out her hand to
the awaiting footman, who held his out from the moment the door was opened.
He aided her down and she stood at the side of the carriage a short moment,
looking about with wide eyes.

   A deep blue carpet ran from the door of the carriage to the massive
double doors into the palace itself.  Over a hundred lamps filled the area
with bright light, reflected thousands of times off gilding and crystal,
hanging amid them.  The floor, itself, gleamed, made of white polished
marble, fitted so closely that it seemed of a single piece, despite the
nearly fifty feet of it from carriage to doors.

   She did not even notice Varan until he moved.  The darkness outside the
area of bright illumination hid him in his shining black uniform.  He held
out his arm, smiling and she returned the smile, some of the panic that she
had been showing draining from her face.

   "You look lovely," he said in a soft voice as she took his arm.  "A
princess."

   Keeley blushed, looking down at the intricate weave of the blue carpet,
patterned in tiny squares of deeper and more shallow tufting.  "And you
look very handsome, Defender," she said in a demure voice, causing herself
to blush further.

   They stepped onto the carpet and he guided her to turn so that they
could watch Siska debark the carriage and Mannis stepped up to stand beside
the door.  Siska's eyes were, if anything larger than Keeley's as she
peered about her.  Her mouth formed into a small 'o' of amazement and she
had to try twice to put her foot solidly on the carpet from the carriage's
high step.

   When Mannis stepped up to her side, she beamed, however, taking his arm
with a bit more enthusiasm than strict manners called for, almost clinging
to him.  "I've missed seeing you," he said softly.

   "And I you, Mannis," said Siska as they, too, stepped off from the
carriage.  The footman closed the door and jogged to the back of the
carriage again, clambering up to his standing post on its rear before it
started trundling off, making way for the next carriage coming up the long
drive.

   Mannis turned his eyes to her.  "That dress is lovely," he said.  "I
fell I am escorting a highborn lady."

   Siska giggled and touched his arm with her free hand.  "You flatter me
overmuch, Defender Mannis," she said.

   "Nonsense, Blue Sister," he replied in an equally formal form of
address. Keeley and Varan had turned before them and they followed the
other couple toward the massive doors.

   The doors to the palace were said to be Ornthal wood, native to lands
far from Murder Isle, a gift of the Windir elves.  They were black, or very
nearly so, though they somehow seemed to glow with a burnished warmth
despite that.  They might be black, but they did not give the impression of
dark.  The doors pivoted silently on oiled hinges and opened wide, being
pushed by two young men in royal livery each.

   Siska had never seen the violet and silver livery of the royal palace
before and watched the young satin-clad boys with interest as they shoved
the doors aside and stood expectantly, holding the doors open.

   The boys bowed as they four passed the doors and into the grand foyer.

   If the entryway had impressed Siska and Keeley, the foyer snatched their
breath and left them gasping.  Columns rose from another white marble
floor, the columns chiseled from glittering red-brown stone.  Each had
fluting running up its length that caused the tall spires of stone to
shimmer as they rose fifteen paces into the air.  Light stones illuminated
the chamber, behind ornate hanging chandeliers of etched and faceted
crystal, throwing gleaming sparks of light throughout the massive area.

   The room, itself, was larger than Phillip's entire home, fifty paces
front to back and twenty wide, at the least.  The walls were of the same
marble as the floors, and the corners of floor and wall, and where walls
joined were crafted to create a smooth transition, making the room appear
without seams or edges.  Beside each column, gray clad Defender trainees
stood at attention, eyes locked forward except when directly addressed by a
passer by.

   "Why are they here?" asked Siska, noticing the young trainees as they
replied to other visitors.

   Mannis looked at one.  "To act as guides and provide information," he
said.  "The palace is a large place and it is easy to get lost."

   Keeley had overheard them and half turned her head.  "I could almost get
lost in this one room."

   Music drifted in through matched sets of double doors at the far end of
the foyer, violin, cello, and harp.  The soft strains of the stringed
instruments gave the people in the foyer a seeming air of peacefulness.

   Many smiles were directed toward the two couples.  Most of the guests in
attendance were families of the graduating Defenders, else they were nobles
and other important person of the city who would take any opportunity to
dress in finery and let themselves be seen.

   A distant knot of light blue caught Siska's eye and she saw Phillip,
Tarmal, and Salira amid a half dozen other members of the Blue Order.  She
had expected their simple blue robes to be frumpy amid the splendor of the
palace and the finery of the other guests, but this was far from the truth.
Somehow, the robes gave the wizards a simple elegance that belied their
true stature.  It was understated and subtle, but they seemed to not need
to polish themselves to shine.

   Salira noted her stare and smiled at her.  This gained the attention of
the remaining members who all turned to glance at her.  Siska flinched
inside, stiffening herself for the disapproving looks that surely would be
directed at her, given her actions of a few days before.

   The looks she feared did not materialize.  All the wizards, Phillip
included, beamed toward her.  What had happened was past, she thought, she
was performing her penances, her punishment had been set, and she was,
maybe, to be forgiven?  Then the truth of it dawned on her.  What had
happened was between herself and the Blue Order, and outsiders need not
know of the matters of wizards.

   That sudden epiphany settled on her like a shroud, and she felt a
distance grow between her and Keeley, and even Mannis in an instant.  Siska
was not foolish enough to believe she were better than others.  More
skilled, perhaps, in one area, but not better.  However, she was different
from them.

   Sadness wrapped about her heart at that knowledge.  She knew now why
Salira and Tarmal had wed, despite their appearance of being little more
than good friends.  She would have to speak to Salira of this later.  In
the meantime, she gripped Mannis' arm all the tighter.

   The raised eyebrow from Mannis made her say, "I'm somewhat fearful of
large groups."

   He nodded in understanding.  "They break us of that by forcing us to
address massed gatherings," he said.  "Until we can do so without any show
of worry." He chuckled to himself and touched her cool fingers with his
warming palm.  "It took me most of two years, and they made me stand before
crowds twice a week."

   Siska smiled at that.  Mannis was a good man, and a brave man, from what
she knew of Defenders.  Boldness played as much in their training as skill
and knowledge.  One had to have a certain mettle before one could finish
out their demanding training regimen.

   Defender trainees were notorious for getting into trouble throughout
Tressen.  From brawls to pranks to even involving themselves in political
intrigue.  The various powers in the city, such as the guilds and the noble
houses, regularly complained to the deaf ears of the commanders of the
Defenders.  The commanders would rebut them with the point that they needed
men of adventurous spirit in the position of the Defenders, and that he
would more likely throw out a young man who seemed satisfied to simply sit
in his room when not training.

   She wondered what sort of mischief Mannis and Varan had gotten up to
during their days as trainees.

   "We have some time before the ceremony," said Mannis, walking her toward
a grouping of other black clad young men.  There were older Defenders at
the ceremony, as well, but they were easily identified by the gleaming
silver hilts of their swords, as opposed to the polished bronze hilts that
the younger men wore.  "Would you like to meet my squad?"

   It seemed Varan was asking Keeley something very similar and both the
young women nodded assent at the same time.