Chapter 1

The Holy Cathedral of the One was far more massive than Pherin had thought it would be. He walked across the black marble floor, his footsteps echoing across the great expanse of the main chamber. His armor was polished to gleaming, the skulls on his shoulders, showing his rank, glinted silver.

Pharen was a huge man, standing nearly seven feet in height, and weighed almost three hundreds of pounds. He was known widely as being massively strong, able to crush a man's neck with one hand.

He was a knight of the Dark Order and today he would become a Dark Templar, a lord among knights.

The Deacon, second only to the Exarch within the Black Order, stood awaiting him. Beside the Deacon were two witnesses, current Dark Templars, people whom had served the church for years and who had proven their loyalty to both the church and to the exarch.

Up twelve steps he walked, then knelt before the Deacon. That worthy turned to face him, his lofty crown marking his position within the hierarchy of the church. In his old hands, he held a sword. Pharen had never seen its like before, save in the hands of a Dark Templar. It was a Reaper of the One. His eyes locked onto the blade, forged of alloys more secret than the Deep Liturgies and stronger than adamant. It had been enchanted with the blood of a thousand heretics and the spells of the Theocracy's greatest sorcerers.

A red gem glinted from the cross of the pommel and hand guard, it looked almost like an eye, and it flashed at him.

"Sir Pharen, you kneel before me, supplicant, ready to do God's own work upon Feldare," the Deacon intoned, formally.

Pharen cast his eyes down. "I do," he said.

"Your acts of valor and courage have done you credit in the eyes of the One, and he has found you a worthy servant," the Deacon looked down at the kneeling knight. "You have cast down the Heretic and smashed his works, you have smitten the evil and brought his servants to divine justice."

The great sword came down to rest on Pharen's broad, armored shoulder. "For these things, you are hereby rewarded and Elevated. But remember, always, your humility, for you are now even more closely scrutinized by the eyes of the One. You will set the example for those who follow, set fear into those that oppose, and turn the will of those undecided."

The sword moved over his head, and rested then on his other shoulder. "In the name of God, the true One, and in the name of Bertinas the Third, his representative on this world, I name you Dark Templar Pharen."

The sword lifted again from him and the pommel appeared before his downcast eyes. Pharen reached up with a mailed fist and took the grip. As his hand touched the handle, screams of terror filled his head and visions of people dying, Heretics. Before it had been forged, this blade had taken a thousand lives. Now, it was expected to take even more.

He felt the blade hum in his grip, he could feel the very voice of it, urging him to smite the unholy, to destroy the non-believer. He stood. He was a Dark Templar now, and no one commanded a Dark Templar in anything. He turned to the Deacon, though now still higher in station than the Templar, yet not quite his equal. He was an instrument of God's will now, and the One would speak through him, and through his blade.

The two witnesses saluted him, drawing their own swords and holding them high. The voices of the swords sang together and Pharen's joined them. It was a chorus of terror for their enemies and a divine sound that made tears well in the Templar's eyes. Then the Deacon stepped away, leaving these hardened warriors of the One to their matters.

On his left was Melden, one of the most senior of all the Dark Templars. He was a grizzled veteran of hundreds of battles and had slain more people than Pharen had spoken to. On his right was Renna, one of the few female Dark Templars. She was a woman of amazing beauty and it was said that she was a sorceress as well as warrior.

They both regarded him with respect now. "Welcome to our ranks, Lord Pharen," said Renna, bowing slightly. "We have looked forward to your company for some years now.

Melden was a man of few words, and he did not break this trend now. "Welcome Pharen," he said, inclining his head ever so slightly. Melden's words were precious, and even those two were valuable to Pharen beyond gold. If he said them, he meant them, and Pharen was welcome.

"Please, attend with us, we have matters of import to discuss," said Renna, sheathing her great sword. Pharen paused a moment, looking at his hip, where his old blade hung in the scabbard. He had grown fond of the blade and it had served him well for several years. It was no common weapon, but a blade of magic and will.

Melden saw is discomfort. "You're a Templar, now, Pharen," he said, eyeing the old blade. "Cast it aside."

Pharen drew the blade with his left hand, sliding it out and dropping it on the cathedral's marble floor. It rang out with a flat, forlorn sound as it bounced on the black stone.

Melden's smile of approval was enough. Pharen slid his blade into the scabbard and it sang to him as it came to rest against his hip. Melden put a hand on Pharen's shoulder and urged him toward the side door that Renna was already proceeding to.

They passed through long tunnels beneath the Inner Sanctum and finally came to a black cast-iron door. A knight of the Dark Order stood to either side of the door. Pharen's mind flashed to remember long hours standing this post in days gone by. He had never entered that door, only stood beside it. Anyone who was not a Templar who entered it, never left.

Renna pushed it open and stood to the side, allowing Pharen to enter first. He walked through, a spike of fear lancing through him. Old reflexes screaming that this was a one way trip. In part, they were right. The last of the old Pharen would die inside these chambers beyond the Iron Door.

Beyond it was beautiful. The rooms were spacious and well lit. "Did you think we would skulk in dark corridors, Lord Pharen?" asked Renna, sitting him down in a comfortable chair. "We have earned comfort, lord, by our devotion and our self-sacrifice."

He was still wide-eyed. Lady Renna had led him to these fine chambers, with Lord Melden drifting off in another direction. She handed him a tall glass of elven wine. "The matter we must discuss is quite pressing."

She sat opposite him. She had left the room for several long moments, shedding her armor and reappearing in a sheer silken dress. He was shocked to see her thus, as purely a woman now, even her sword seemed to soften without the armor, though it still hung menacingly on her curving hip.

"As you know, the battles of the Crystern Isles have proven difficult, especially with those godless elves from Starre Island interfering."

Difficult was an understatement, and Pharen knew it. The Theocracy had been handed one defeat after another on the islands and in the seas around them. He kept his tongue still, though. These were matters of moment, and he would not miss a word of her speech.

"We have discovered something that may change that tide, and bring God's will to those islands for a final and complete victory," she said. She looked over at a pile of parchments upon her writing desk. "What do you know of Primus Pilum Verus?"

"The Abian Centurion who drove us off the Mindian Islands?" asked Pharen.

She nodded. "The same."

He said, "I know he died about ten years ago and it was a good riddance."

Lady Renna laughed. "Indeed, it would have been," she said, "but no, he did not quite die."

"Didn't quite die?" asked Pharen.

She looked into his icy blue eyes. "No, a part of him, the part that matters most, still lives."

The templar blinked a few times. "How is that done?"

"There was an elf with him at the time of his death, an elf with a unique gift," she spoke, as if relaying something a bard had sung at one point, her voice seemed to adopt a cadence and almost a melody. "She took his strategic abilities into herself."

His eyes widened. "Impressive," he said, "so now, this elven waif has the war knowledge of a genius?"

She nodded. "Now, we want it," said Renna. "And you, and I are going to go get it."

Lord Pharen smiled. "Do we just find this elf and steal it from her?" he asked.

Lady Renna looked at him levelly. "Yes," she said. "Well, more to the point, we go and get her, and then bring her here and rip it from her."

"It will destroy her mind," said Pharen thoughtfully.

Renna shrugged. "She's an elf, they have no soul anyway."

The newly Elevated knight chuckled. "This is true," he agreed.

Harlen pointed ahead. "Just there," he whispered to Trevir, who stood beside him with his bow ready. A large buck peered up and looked toward a moving bush to their left.

Trevir stood as he drew back the bow, taking aim in one smooth motion. The bow gave a soft hum and the arrow shot forth. The buck started to turn to run and collapsed to the ground in only three paces. The shot had been true and pierced the beast's heart.

Harlen whooped and slammed Trevir on the back, nearly sending the thirteen-year-old boy sprawling himself. The two jogged up to the fallen creature, which was already dead. Harlen chuckled. "Now you get to gut and skin it," he said, finding a comfortable spot nearby in the shade and sitting with his back against a tree.

The young man grumbled something as he tied a rope to the buck's hind legs and dragged the great beast to a tree. He suspended it against the trunk and began the odious chores assigned him. Harlen would occasionally pull the grassy stem from his mouth to point out this or correct that. Overall, Harlen admitted to himself, the lad knows his business.

The huntsman could not really concentrate properly, though, for his mind was troubled. He had received a summons for in the morning, to go before the duke and be given a position of Ambassador to the Windy Isles.

This was a high honor, and showed high regard. What Harlen thought it was, was a high pain in the ass. He stared up at the scuttling clouds, puffy and white against the stark blue sky.

Wendy walked out of the trees nearby. "Wow, that's quite a kill, Trevir," she said appreciatively. She had been gathering herbs, and had a large basket full of twigs and berries, as far as Harlen could tell. He prayed she would not make more of that soap that had, last month, turned his skin faintly green. Still, it had smelled good. Hyandai was home, her scribing and accounting work kept her from being able to enjoy this particular outing to the hunting allotment.

With Trevir and Wendy's help, his trips were now fewer and shorter, though he had more mouths to feed, as well. It was just as well, he was a father now, and needed to be home more than before.

Wendy curled up beside him and he put his arm about her. "Did you find anything good?" asked Harlen, sniffing at the sunny smell of her brown hair.

She nodded, digging into her basket and holding up a root that looked remarkably like a root. "It's a woundwort root," she explained at his nonplused expression.

"Oh," said Harlen. "Valuable then?"

She nodded. "Reasonably," she said, "I can make that oil from it that you use for cuts and such."

"When I said interesting, I meant edible," said Harlen, grinning lopsidedly.

She giggled. "I knew that, too, and yes, here." Wendy handed him a small piece of cloth with a handful of blackberries in it.

"Not terribly many, is there?" he asked.

She smiled brightly. "Sadly, no," she said. Harlen's eyes widened as he noted a rather dark stain on her teeth, then chuckled.

Trevir had finished dressing the deer carcass and was searching about for deadwood, to build a smoking fire. Harlen rose and helped the lad gather wood and acted as advisor for the building of the fire. He wanted Trevir to do all he could, to show what he knew and what he still needed help with.

Their horses were tethered nearby, another gift of the elves, who just kept on giving Harlen, Hyandai and Wendy things. Wendy rose and tended to them, feeding them oats from sacks on one and fetching water in a bucket from a brook a ways off. They were fine steeds, though, and Harlen certainly wouldn't complain of their being given to him and his family. It made the trip to the allotment a lot shorter, and they really didn't cost so much to feed.

As a pleasant midsummer day, this one was doing quite well, Harlen decided and watched Trevir get the smoking fire started and began spitting chunks of meat over it. The skin was a good one, and would fetch at least two marks from the merchants. He would let Trevir keep those two marks.

The sense of impending doom would not leave him, though. What was Anasper up to, sending him off to the Windy Isles? Had Harlen been such a thorn in his noble side? It never dawned on the ever-pragmatic Harlen, that the duke was actually trying to praise him and show him honor in giving him a titled position, such as ambassador.

Trevir had matters well in hand and Harlen walked away from the encampment. He soon found himself overlooking a small valley. He had walked that valley many times, and rather missed, sometimes, his solitary journeys into the woods. He turned and looked a the pretty Wendy as she carried another bucket of water to the horses and decided that the slight nostalgia for his old, simpler life was a small price to pay for his current, complicated, and very pleasant life.

He had two wives, both beautiful and both very loving. They loved each other as well, for this was not a marriage of a man to two separate women, but a marriage between three people, evenly. It took some juggling from time to time. Like now. The main reason Hyandai had not come with them was to give Harlen and Wendy time 'alone'. Harlen, likewise, would go with just Trevir sometimes to hunt to give the women time alone. And sometimes Wendy would go visit family for a day or two to give Harlen and Hyandai time alone. It was all to the good, though they really seemed happiest when all three of them were together. Then the set was complete and everyone had all their favorite features about.

He was comfortable as far as money, as well. His savings, combined with the joint income of himself and Hyandai, easily kept them fed and they even saved a little. Wendy had recently left the service of the duke, and was now jobless, technically, but she did sell some of her odd concoctions in the market to unwary merchants who did not suspect the pigment-changing capabilities of her formulas.

He chuckled to himself, wondering if her version of woundwort oil would change one's skin to purple.

The sun was still high in the sky and it was barely past noon. They would have the buck smoked easily before four, and be back in Morrovale by dark.

Wendy had finished tending the horses and walked up to him. "Half-penny for your thoughts," she said, smiling at him.

Harlen smiled back. "Only a half-penny?" he asked.

"I've heard your thoughts before, I'll not pay more," she said, kissing his cheek.

He thought a brief moment. "I was thinking that I don't wish to give up my life as it is now. I believe it is a near to perfect as a man could ever hope for."

Wendy nodded. "I see," she said. "Well, for me, too, it's nearly perfect, yet I look on your new title and job with excitement." Her big blue eyes regarded him. "Think what you will, but it will be a good experience for you."

Harlen nodded slowly. "It may be so," he said, eyeing the distant horizon. "I suppose I could do with some 'worldliness'."

Wendy pressed herself to him and hugged his massive chest. "Harlen, you don't need more world in you, the world needs more of you in it," she said.

Harlen's grin grew huge indeed. "I agree, but you two women seem to think I should stick to just the two of you," he said.

Her hug became painful as she bore down. "That's not what I meant, you pervert," she growled.

He put his arms about Wendy's shoulders and hugged her back, lifting her and kissing her in the same motion. Trevir glanced up and looked toward them then returned to his fire, shaking his head.

"My flagship?" asked Pharen, looking into the bay at the massive warbarge.

Lady Renna nodded. "Yes, your flagship, Lord Pharen," she cooed. "Just completed and crewed, the largest warbarge ever constructed."

His eyes took in the gigantic vessel. Two banks of oars on each side and two hundred oars per bank. She carried over a thousand crew, not counting the slave rowers.

Renna sighed. "She can very nearly make war by herself, without any support."

Pharen contemplated that thought. "With a ship like that, I will be expected to win," he said.

She grinned at him. "You see now the wisdom of giving the ship to the newest of our cadre," she said. "Those of us who have lived years in the eye of the One know not to let someone give us a long length of rope with a noose in it.

He shrugged. "What matter, I will succeed, so such a gift is welcome," he said confidently.

The ship was as docked as its massive draft would allow. A smaller vessel detached from it and headed toward the pier upon which the two stood.

It was a good forty feet long, itself. It slid up to the dock, its oars dipping and then rising straight up. The two knights, now wearing only normal clothes, stepped aboard. The boat then reversed course and carried them back to the ship.

As they drew up to it, Pharen realized the enormity of the vessel. Her prow rose fifty feet out of the water and was almost a hundred feet of beam. The smaller boat nestled into a long dock built into the side of the ship and they debarked.

The captain approached them. "Lord Pharen," he said, kneeling when he was two steps from the knights, "and Lady Renna, welcome aboard the Divine Instrument."

"Thank you, Captain Turmull," said Pharen. "Please, show us about your fine ship." Renna noted the generosity that Pharen exhibited in telling the captain the ship was 'his' rather than Pharen's.

The captain beamed happily. "Of course, milord, if you will follow me," he said, fairly gushing with excitement. He had reason to be excited. He was the selected captain of the newest and largest vessel of the Black Theocracy's fleets. They walked up several long gangplanks to the main deck. Pharen gazed out across the vast expanse.

"One could have a battle solely upon the deck of this beast," said Lord Pharen. The ship was nearly six hundreds of feet long and had five masts. Each mast held acres of sailcloth, currently furled.

The captain chuckled. "Yes, milord, she is massive," he said. "Yet, she makes good time in open water."

"Armament?" asked Pharen, noting a half dozen large catapults bolted to the deck on rotating mounts.

"Lord Pharen, there are six large catapults and twenty-two tension ballistae under the main deck, capable of firing either sail-rippers or grappling harpoons.

"Ram?" asked Lady Renna.

"Over an inch thick, milady," said the captain. "Solid steel plates over a massively reinforced hull."

She nodded. "Impressive," she said. "Marines?"

The captain said, "A full company, and a dozen noble knights. We also have some rather more specialized crewmen, who supplement that group."

She nodded again. "Very, very nice," she said.

"Provision?" asked Pharen.

"Store for a hundred days, with another hundred of food." He smiled brightly. "We can even manufacture equipment at need."

"We sail tomorrow," said Pharen. "We do have the Ghantian coaster?"

"Of course sir, we have two," the captain said, agreeably.

"Good."

They walked to the helm and the captain showed them the ingenious methods used to turn the massive ship, and the tubes used to speak over the large distances. He then showed them the first underdeck. Where the balistae were and the billits for the marines.

Their cabins were in the superstructure, above the main deck and behind the helm. He showed them to their quarters. "If it weren't wood, I would swear it was a fine apartment," said Renna, walking through her quarters. Her armor had already been located here and rested on its stand.

They then walked across a wide hallway to Pharen's quarters, which were equally impressive and roomy. His armor was here, too, and stood resplendent on its wooden framework.

"My slaves?" asked Lady Renna.

The captain nodded and rang a small bell on a nearby shelf. A young man in a gray tunic appeared. "Yes, master?" he asked, looking at the floor.

"Gather the slaves for the Lord and Lady Templar," the captain said.

"Yes, master," the slave said, and shuffled off in a rush.

Two minutes later, there were twelve slaves kneeling in the room peering at the floor.

Six were male and six female. Lady Renna giggled. "Your ship, you pick first," she said, waving toward them with a slender hand.

Lord Phendis walked behind the slaves and looked at them closely. They were clean, which was expected of household slaves. They were all reasonably comely, as well, which, again, was expected. He tapped one girl on the shoulder.

"You, what is your name?" he asked.

"I am Lucinda, Master," she replied, her eyes still downcast.

"Stand up and turn about," said Pharen. She did as ordered, but still gazed at the floor.

Lady Renna clucked. "Figures, you'd pick the prettiest," she said. The girl was pretty, with long, flowing black hair that was full of body and hung to nearly her round ass. She also had great, huge dark eyes.

"Show me yourself," he commanded.

She lifted her tunic off of her body. It was nearly flawless, though it bore a couple of small scars. She was slender, with small, pointed breasts, and she, like all other slaves, kept her privates shaved. She turned about and held her arms out from her body, letting him see all parts of her. As her eyes came back around, Pharen mimed grabbing two globes and moving them apart. The slave turned about again, with her back to him, and spread the lobes of her rump apart with her small hands.

"Very nice, yes, I will take that one," said Pharen.

"You lads, which of you is the best endowed?" asked Renna.

A moment of hesitation passed, and one lad raised his hand. She giggled. "I've always wondered how they figure that out," she said, grinning at Pharen as she walked to the young man. She put a single finger under his chin and he stood to his feet, still looking downward. "Arouse yourself," she said.

The blond boy reached under his tunic and began to fumble with his organ. He stroked it and fondled it and soon it began to respond, despite his fear. Lady Renna watched eagerly as he did so, then said, "Show me."

He lifted his tunic and kept stroking his pole. She smiled. "Not bad at all," she praised. "I will chose that one. You may stop, and what is your name?"

The lad let go of his organ and dropped his tunic over it. "I am Lathan, Mistress," he said.

She touched his chin again, bringing his eyes to meet hers. "Lathan, do you have any idea the honor it will be to serve me?" she asked.

He said, "Yes, Mistress, it is an honor more worthy than I, a heretic, deserve."

Lady Renna nodded. "Oh, it certainly will be."

They selected through the slaves, with them dividing them evenly, Pharen picked four girls and two boys, and Renna picked four boys and two girls.

"Captain, that will be all, we expect a wake up at two hours past dawn," said Pharen.

The captain said, "Yes, milord," and scuttled out of the room.

"Eager to play with your new toys? Hmm?" asked Renna.

"Aren't you?" asked Pharen.

"Of course I am, may I beg leave to watch you enjoy yours a while, before I return to my cabins?" she asked sweetly. "You may, of course, watch me enjoying mine."

Pharen chuckled. "If you wish it, of course," he said.

A demure smile appeared on the female Templar's face. "I've spoken to slaves of your - attributes, and would see them firsthand," she admitted.

He gave her a long glance. "Perhaps a private displaying would be more appropriate?" he asked.

Lady Renna nodded. "After the slaves are tested, I would like that," she said.

Hyandai hugged Wendy as she walked in the door. "I missed you," she said, giving her wife a huge kiss. Harlen and Trevir had continued into town. Harlen was planning on letting the lad try his hand at haggling with the merchants. They had managed to get back into town before dark and they hoped to get all such business completed this evening. They also had to take the horses to the stables across from the Pierced Boar.

The slightly taller woman smiled. "I missed you too, beloved," she said, kissing Hyandai back and enjoying the feel of the elven woman's enthusiasm as she virtually vibrated against her. Wendy's eyes caught sight of four huge trunks in the middle of the common room. "What are those?" she asked.

"They are from the duke," said Hyandai. "He bids we take what they will hold with us on the journey to the Windy Isles."

Wendy giggled. "We don't own enough to fill those things!"

Hyandai shrugged. "So I said to the porters who brought them, but they left then no matter," she said. She stroked Wendy's hair. "I did so miss you."

Wendy smiled at her and said, "Then come with us next time, you can spare it."

"But you and Harlen... " began Hyandai, her expression mildly confused.

"Prefer you to be with us," interrupted Wendy. "We've spoken of this many times."

The elven woman sat on one of the trunks. "I will try to keep that in my mind."

They opened the trunks and peered into their vast interiors. "What are we supposed to do? Carry the entire household in there?" asked Wendy.

"We could pack one of the horses," said Hyandai.

"So, how did it go?" asked Tammer, proprietor of the Pierced Boar, and Harlen's former mentor, in his days as apprentice huntsman. His wrinkled face and salt-and-pepper hair marked his age at nearing sixty, though only a year before he had looked closer to eighty.

Harlen laughed. "Little Ghantian here got four marks for a two mark pelt!" he exclaimed. "So he's buying the beer this night."

Trevir beamed at his mentor's praise, smiling at all and sundry as he proudly paid for the beers that Tammer sat upon the counter. Several of the huntsmen about the bar cheered the lad and pounded his back as they collected beers or happened to just pass near him.

"Looking forward to the audience with his Dukusness tomorrow?" asked Tammer, grinning at Harlen's discomfort at the mention of the duke.

Harlen grimaced. "More like I'm looking forward to it being over," he said. "Why doesn't he ship you off to foreign lands? You're more of a pain in the ass than me."

"He's afraid I'll bloody take over," said Tammer, grinning.

Harlen murmured something into his mug and eyed the old man dubiously. "That's all we need, King Tammer of the Windy Isles."

"Might be a damn sight more effective than that hodge-podge of a government they have down on those islands," said Tammer. "From what I hear, it's a major production just for them to decide what place-setting to use for the state dinners."

Harlen chuckled. "Why does that not surprise me?" he asked.

"Well, you'll soon have them set to rights, eh Harlen?" the old huntsman asked, refilling his and Trevir's mugs. Trevir had wandered over to where a small cluster of apprentices were sitting and talking over matter of import only to apprentices, such as how mean their mentor was or how much of the work they really did.

"I have to say, that was rather enlightening," said Pharen, grinning at Lady Renna. "I was unaware that you could elicit that reaction out of rope and a small knife."

She smiled back at him, lying nude upon the silken sheets of her bed. "I told you, it's all in how tightly you bind the ropes."

His eyes drifted down the long, muscular form of her body, and to her powerful and well-shaped legs. "Slaves should be so honored to serve such a alluring mistress," said Lord Pharen. "And that you let them touch you in return is a stroke of genius, those lads already love you more than life, I could see it in their eyes."

She sat up and took his hand. "You can touch me as well, Lord Pharen, for we are now equals in the eyes of the One," she said, her voice husky in a way it never was with the slaves, even as one of them mounted her.

He ran that hand over her amazingly firm stomach and up to her full, breast. "I am still honored to be allowed, for even as equals, you are a woman of undeniable beauty, and therefore you dominate this situation," said Pharen.

"Well said, Lord Pharen," she complimented, reaching out to him and touching his long, soft tunic. "It was amazing how thoroughly you used those girls, I must say."

Pharen grinned. "I suppose we each have seen the best of the other, then," he said.

"To tell the truth, Pharen," she said, "I envied them as you took them, and I would love for you to make use of my body in the same way."