Chapter 17

Moghran ran the ivory comb through his thinning silvery hair and regarded the image the mirror reflected with disdain. "I grow old, Tarasha," he said in a sour voice.

"My master is still the greatest of men," the sorceress cooed, pressing her lithe body against his bare back. "The greatest of lovers, as well, I might add."

He shook his head. "Your judgment in that is suspect, woman," he replied with a wry smile. "Else, why do you feel the need to sate yourself in other beds?"

"Master, no one man could cool my ardor," she said, tossing her hair in a manner that spoke not of subservience. "Were you a lad of sixteen summers who could lay me down ten times a day, still I would seek more."

The Templar believed her. He had watched, more than once, her feast her lusts with different men. It seemed she became more wanton with each act, not more sated. Eventually, her own body's exhaustion would put an end to one of her bouts of excess, but short of that, she was insatiable. That he drew enjoyment from watching her was no secret between them, and she was well aware of the subtle pleasure he gained in knowing she was fulfilling her desires.

In Tarasha's mind, if this holy warrior of the Theocracy took some pleasure amid the exertions of his calling from her actions, all to the better. She only wished he could see how much regard she had for him and how much she was willing to give him. Despite her appetites, which, in her defense, were partially brought on by what she was, she cared for him.

The heavy cloak she helped him don would protect him against the cold spray on deck, though she still only wore a filmy blue silk shift this day. He shook his head as they went onto the deck of Godhammer, his flagship. The wind bit through even the oilskin cloak, but she showed no concern for the temperature or the gusts that whipped her silken hair about her head and the thin silk pressed to transparency against her smooth limbs and well-formed body.

To either side of them, massive broad-beamed war barges rested with oars aloft. Almost a hundred in all, not including the smaller ships carrying only two or three masts, mostly captured Ghantian and Coghlandish galleons. Each ship, great or small, flew the black banner of the Theocracy, marked out with the crimson red fist of the Templars: all save one vessel.

Upon that ship, larger by half than any other of the barges, the black banner was marked by the Golden Scales of Truth. That would be Deacon Kalhurz' personal flagship. So, the man would lead this invasion himself - Lord Templar Moghran was unsure if that raised or lowered his opinion of the deacon. He supposed that how the coming battle played out would settle that debate.

Flags signaled and in rapid succession the oars extended from a half dozen ships, soon followed by more. Within minutes, the entire fleet was in motion. In four days, they would fall upon Tressen with this armada, and the city would become the first of the Theocracy's new outpost nations.

In truth, this day would be marked as the first of a new crusade.

A knot of pride and determination swelled in Templar Moghran's throat while he felt he might shed a tear. The tear never fell, but the thought was there.

"It's beautiful," said Tarasha, curling under his arm and pressing herself against him. "Master, it's glorious."

He nodded and gave a quick nod as well to the helmsman who held the huge wheel that controlled the Godhammer's rudder. Beneath his feet, there was a deep, rhythmic thudding. From the top deck, in the center, as they stood, one could not see the long oars extend or dip into the water. Yet he knew they were doing so, slowly pulling the giant ship into motion to the cadence set by that drum.

They would not be forced to land on an island with prepared defenses, the harriers had been sent forth two days before. They would be landing at least those two days earlier than the main force to soften the island for attack, even beyond Moghran's own probing sortie.

Marines were far too valuable for such high attrition tasks, being expensive both to train and equip. However, orcs, captured from Shield Island, were ideal shock troops. Moghran liked the idea of setting evil to destroy evil and approved of the use of orcs and ogres for marauding in an enemy's rear. It rather killed two birds with a single stone. Though, there were never enough ogres, of course. The massive humanoids were simply too hard to capture in large numbers and too dangerous to hold for long.

Orcs, for their part, were extremely resourceful once deposited in an area, living off the land - if eating the people one killed can be called foraging - and equipping themselves from what came to hand. Naturally, they had to be gathered up or hunted down afterward, but that was a minor annoyance. Some always eluded recapture, which was the whole reason they cooperated as much as they did, in hopes of freedom.

The Templar did not expect many to elude recapture after Tressen, though, as Tressen was an island. They would have nowhere to run to. He supposed some might think to steal a ship or two, but that was unlikely. In addition, the vessels carrying the harriers would be set to picket the island to stop all but the most elusive of vessels from approaching or leaving the island city.

Ogres, on the other hand, were a danger in and of themselves. As intelligent as orcs and five times as mighty, they were difficult at best to fight. That over a hundred were to be dumped along Tressen's coastlines was enough to make even the Templar almost feel sorry for the heretics of that city - almost.

Salira sat upon the steps leading into the home of Darina, idly rolling two Talas Spheres in her palm so that they sang out in chiming tones. Mist was just inside the door, hugging her mother and both wept openly. Mist's little sister - River, Salira believed her name was - did not cry, she simply stared at her elder sister with an odd considering expression.

Salira looked forward to informing the young River in a few years that she, too, was mageborn.

"I'm ready, mentor," said Mist from behind her, stifling a sniffle and hoisting a large bundle over her shoulder.

Salira brushed back her long brown hair and chuckled. "It's hardly a grand good-bye," she said. "We're going less than a mile. I only escort you by tradition."

Mist's blush made her look younger than her real age. "I know, mentor. But still, it's a big change."

"That it is," said Salira, nodding sagely. "Perhaps you are wiser than I first thought. I'll keep that in mind." She spared the tall, well-built house, a last look and appreciative nod before turning toward Phillip's home with Mist trailing behind her.

"With Siska out, it should not be terribly crowded there," said Salira as they turned onto a larger thoroughfare, a wide road that ran in a ring around the city's middle called the Carter's Way. "Phillip is rather discomfited that another young woman is moving into his home, though, so tread lightly."

"Certainly he won't act out of line," said Mist, blinking at Salira's back.

Salira stopped dead and barked out a laugh. "One bless me, no," she said. "Thean would twist his robes into a noose if he so much as looked at another girl right now. I think she has plans to set hook to him soon and bring him into her boat."

Mist blushed at the rather bold sexual analogies that Salira was using. Salira cast a sidelong glance at her. "Don't pretend too much innocence, apprentice," she said.

Mist gaped at her and her blush darkened to a crimson normally only found in garments. "How did you..."

"A mentor does some research into their charges to be," she said. "I know the who's, what's, where's, and why's of many things in your past."

"Keeley," growled Mist glaring at the ground and splashing her foot into a puddle far more firmly than she had intended, wetting the skirt of her dress to her knees.

"Not Keeley, Mist," said the wizard, raising an admonishing hand and stopping to face the young girl. "I spoke to the people your mother told me were friends and acquaintances. You have a few talkative young men in your past."

A look of relief came onto the young woman's face and she smiled tentatively. "I understand, sorry," she said.

"I'm hoping you've put such exploits behind you. For I shall not tolerate such in an apprentice of mine." She spun about, took one step, then turned about again, wearing a smile. "Though I almost envy your adventurousness."

Mist blushed even deeper, which she had not known she could and her ears must have been setting smoke to her hair.

"You will have to tell me about it some time," said Salira. "Some time when there are no men in the house, mind you."

The petite girl plodded behind the plump wizard, earning stares with her brick red face and furtive eyes. They must certainly think her being punished for something, bowed under a heavy load and blushing hot enough to ignite parchment.

When I get my hands upon Adrano and Dionigi, I shall make them both pay, she thought as the splashed into another puddle of water. I shall make the first use of spells I know upon them. "Mentor, is creating fire a spell I shall learn early on?" she asked, forcing innocent curiosity into her voice.

Salira glanced back and nodded. "It will be one of the first of your exercises," she said. "Why?"

"It just seems such a useful spell, making fire," said Mist.

They plodded onto Rayfish Avenue and Salira held open the gate for the young girl to pass into the courtyard of Phillip's home. "I think, maybe, you might wish to know the spell that can make a man feel nothing from the waist down," she said as Mist passed close and through the gate. "It would be far more justice for young men who cannot keep their tongues still."

Salira's jaw fell open and her eyes tracked motion on the street, moving quickly.

Mist turned but saw nothing. "What is it, mentor?" asked the apprentice to be.

"I thought for a moment I saw Siska's homunculus running around that corner," said Salira, still watching that area. "It must have been a cat, instead." She shook her head as if to clear it. "I fear I have Siska far too closely held in my mind for good thinking."

The mention of Siska by her own mentor surprisingly brought on a small feeling of jealousy in Mist's chest. Her good mood evaporated at that and she had a most stern and business-like expression on her face when Salira turned to her again.

Salira, at the least, had the good manners to look chagrined about the matter. "It's of little import, is it?" she asked. "You're my student now and Siska is off to learn at the home of the order."

That admission only partially mollified Mist, but the little brunette nodded and followed Salira into the house.

Siska walked through the doorway, casting quick glances left and right at the people forming two masses, one to either side of the cleared aisle. There were well over two hundred people gathered in the throne room. Many of those people were obviously wealthy or nobles, wearing silken finery with ornate jewelry - those not wearing armor and bearing swords on their hips, anyway. Even the armor, for those wearing it, was ornately engraved and trimmed with silver or gold.

She stopped and flinched at the sound of the doors thudding shut behind herself, Phillip, and Keeley. They followed behind her with Phillip to her right and Keeley to her left. She wanted nothing so much as to run right now. She wished to fleet and hide under a bed, a bed in a cave somewhere far away.

At the end of the open lane between the massed people stood the stone pedestal that had been glass-encased and bound in iron strapping. The case and strapping were gone now, just leaving the pedestal with its shallow bowl shape filled with the crystalline shards of the crown of Tressen.

"Go forward and place your hands upon the shards," said Phillip in a very low voice, trying to whisper.

A murmur had begun in the crowd and Siska could clearly hear the word 'pretender' being bandied about amid the noblemen and women. Her head jerked around at the sound of the word 'traitor' and she felt tears try to well up in her eyes. She wished to tell the people this was no idea of hers and flee the room.

However, as she watched. Mannis moved out of the press on the far side of the stone. She could not let herself break down in front of him. What would he think of her? Like a rod of iron, her back stiffened and she took a long step toward the shards in their resting place. She found the tears were gone and that her head was held up high and proudly.

Another step, then another, and she saw the faint glow beginning in the shards that she had seen before. A slight smile moved into her features. This had been what Phillip had been agitated about, was it not? She glanced over her shoulder amid the new murmurs in the crowd. The calls of pretender were ceased and there were a few gasps of surprise. Keeley smiled reassuringly and the looked to where Phillip, trying to remain impassive and stern, gave her a slight nod.

Five more paces and the shards were glowing brightly enough that all, even in the well-lit throne room, could see the red illumination. The ripple of muttering spread amid the people and there was much shuffling of feet amid the silken-clad nobles. Servants were in the room, too, she noted, moving amid the nobles trying to proffer drinks. Right that moment, they were either being ignored or they were watching Siska's progress, themselves, standing idle.

It rather surprised her that there were so many liveried servants among the nobles, for such an impromptu event as this seemed to be. The servants numbered almost a third as many as the nobles.

That thought, however, had little time to settle into her mind before she was only a single pace from the pedestal and the shards upon it.

They glowed a fierce red now, casting an eerie red glow on the faces nearest them. Her own blue robes looked purple in the light of the shards and she swallowed.

"Touch them," said Phillip, though his throat hardly sounded any less dry than her own.

Siska reached out her right hand and laid it upon the shards.

Nothing happened.

The murmurs escalated in an instant into shouts and jeers. Recriminations were hurled and insults slung. One woman screamed amid the crowd to Siska's left as she looked up, confusion on her features. "What was supposed to happen?" she asked, trying to make Phillip hear her over the shouts and cries of outrage. A bark of laughter drew her eye and she saw Councilor Embrule grabbing his round belly and clapping a nobleman with hard, cold eyes on the back.

Phillip saw the two, as well and he looked toward where Mannis stood. The Defender moved instantly, coming to stand beside Siska with his hands upon the hilt of his sword. "I don't understand," said Phillip, shaking his head even as Mannis' mouth worked soundlessly.

They both looked toward the shards, where they looked almost as if they were a flame that had been shattered and fallen into a heap on the floor of its brazier. They still threw off the bright red light, but none seemed to notice them anymore. The milling lasted only a few moments before people started moving. The orderly ranks of nobles and dignitaries disintegrated and the crowd surged into the clear spaces with a deep roar.

In an instant, eight Defenders had surrounded the two young women and the wizard, trying to force the crowd back with bare hands. They were yet unwilling to draw steel on the people. The calls for official charges were redoubled and there were more shouts of treason amid them. Hands reached for Siska and she yanked back her arm, the sleeve of her silken robe ripping mostly from her shoulder before Phillip could rap the hand with his own.

One of the Defenders was struck in the head with something hard and fell to the floor. That seemed to steel the crowd's resolve and they surged forward again.

Siska was knocked down by a strong shove from someone who had reached between Mannis and another of his squadmates, an older man with graying temples.

Phillip's expression was grim as he spoke an incantation and moved his hands in a cylindrical motion.

The press was slowly pushed back by unseen chest-high walls of shimmering light. However, it seemed only to work slowly, not by brute force. One man, determined to strike at someone, landed a stout punch to Keeley's shoulder, sending her sprawling atop the pedestal. Trying to keep her balance, even as Varan backhanded the man violently while drawing his sword, her hand plunged into the shallow pile of shattered crystals.

It was as if every bell in the city had been gathered into this single room to strike a discordant note. The shards changed color from red to a soft, muted blue and the high-pitched glassy ringing fell off a moment after it had begun.

The people in the room were stock still, though. The Defender who had been struck managed to struggle to his knees and a few other people adjusted their stances to something more stable. But, as a whole, no one moved, except to turn his or her head to stare.

Keeley immediately yanked her hand back, sucking at a deep cut in her palm amid many smaller wounds. The crystals had been sharp and she had shoved her hand amid them.

"Keeley?" asked Phillip, lifting an eyebrow and his lip quirking upward in a half smile.

She looked about herself, then at him. "I didn't mean to," she said, then raised her voice to a panicked shout. "It was an accident, I promise!"

Varan, Mannis, and the rest of their squad of Defenders all gaped at her. The shards still glowed faintly blue and a renewed murmuring filled the chamber, starting very low, somewhere in the back of the pressing throng.

Siska lifted herself from the floor, with the assistance of the fallen Defender and the two rather helped each other to stand amid the frozen people about them.

"Touch them again," said Phillip, looking at the crystals.

Keeley still sucked at the hurt on her right hand, but extended a trembling left hand to the crystals, a doubtful look on her face.

The crowd seemed to inhale all at once as her hand neared the shards and then touched. Again the dissonant note rang out, high and ear-piercing. For a single second it lasted, but the sound was penetrating and would cut through stone or distance. She jerked her hand back like she had been bitten and curled her arms against her body, looking about herself fearfully. "See? I was just an accident, I didn't break anything."

"It was Keeley all along, not Siska," said Phillip with what could have been a laugh in his voice.

Varan was the first to move, his blade already drawn. He fell to one knee, the steel ringing out on the marble stones of the floor as it was laid, hilt outward below him in supplication.

Mannis followed soon after, drawing his weapon and dropping to his knee, facing Keeley and grounding the sword. The other members of their squad followed suit, and the motion spread through the crowd, among confused murmurings and some renewed grumbling of outrage.

"What is this?" screamed Councilor Embrule, forcing a path through the press of bodies. "This is an outrage against all that is right and decent!"

He came to Phillip's repulsion warding and muttered something. The warding flashed and he stepped into the cleared circle, glowering down at the shorter young woman. "You are no queen!"

"The crystals disagree, councilor," said Phillip in a deceptively mild tone. "Or do you call the shards of the Crystalline Crown liar?"

The fat wizard stammered a moment then turned to the crowd. "Will you take this lightly, leaders of this city?" he called out and there were murmurs as well as a few shaken fists. The mutterings did not sound favorable to Keeley's cause.

"Queen?" gasped Keeley, her eyes growing wider still than they had at the Defenders' bows.

"You see, even if she is of the blood, she is no worthy successor!" shouted Embrule, his jowls quivering with irritation and excitement.

The grumbling of the throng grew louder and there were a few shouts amidst the sound. A stone flew from somewhere and struck Phillip in the temple. The wizard crumpled to the floor with blood spraying from his scalp.

That seemed to tip the scale of balance. The crowd again surged forward, and there were shouts of 'kill her' and 'destroy the pretender' among the calls to deny her.

Siska screamed as a hand clutched her arm and dragged her off balance, toppling into the crowd behind her. There was a ringing steel sound and the Defenders were in motion. "Defend the queen!" screamed Varan as he leaped to Keeley's side.

It seemed, at that point, that the room erupted like a rum warehouse. Instead of eight Defenders surrounding Keeley, there were thirty men in the palace livery forming a tight ring around her, long, slender knives in their hands. Despite their pages' dress, though, these were men with the hard, experienced faces of soldiers. Platters and goblets still rolled where the serving men had dropped them before forming the defensive ring.

At least as many more were falling into the cordon of defense, drawing those oddly long belt knives, almost short swords. They pressed the noblemen back, some of the richly clad men bleeding. Siska looked up from where gentle hands helped her once again to her feet.

Her mother's face regarded her as she stood. "Fancy meeting you here," said Tatyana, smiling softly. Siska looked behind her where the nobles were being pressed back and held at bay. Councilor Embrule was within the circle and glowering at Keeley with eyes nearing the point of mindless rage. His plans were being undone, and he knew not how.

Keeley spun about at the distinctive sound of incantations being spoken. She had been around wizards enough these last days to distinguish the sound from normal speech.

Embrule was glaring at her and a flickering white fire was forming in his palm, nearly unseeable by anyone save her. A wicked smile had plastered itself onto the man's pudgy face and Keeley was certain she was about to die.

The fat wizard's expression changed suddenly, and the spell flickered and went out as two feet of steel pushed out the front of his chest, rending through his tunic and carrying his blood with it. He slumped to his knees to reveal Lord Tornadin standing behind him, yanking the slim-bladed sword clear of the collapsing corpse and shouting about him. "Protect the Queen!" he screamed. Several of the liveried men shouted affirmation and they pressed the screaming noblemen back, slashing frantically with their long knifes at any who dared approach too closely. They may be dressed and armed as servants might, but they fought with a skill and ferocity that marked them seasoned soldiery.

Tornadin smiled half-heartedly. "My best men, and they thought it an odious chore to serve drinks," he said, almost shouting to be heard over the din.

Keeley simply gaped at him, but only half so much as Siska did.

Rage filled the young apprentice's face and she immediately began pulling mana into herself and incantating the spell of white fire. She intended to not only kill this vile man, but to erase him from existence.

The ringing slap across her face stopped her words and gestures, leaving her reeling inside her mind and black spots swimming before her eyes. "You shall not cast upon him, my daughter!" hissed Tatyana, seizing Siska's hand and pulling it down. "He is my lover and the only reason you two young women are not dangling like meat to dry from the rafters."

Siska blinked and stared at her mother. "Your lover?" she asked, her jaw dropping open. "You've bedded the man who tried to have me killed?"

Tornadin had heard the exchange and came walking up, still calling out orders to the then near hundred men about them, even the Defenders were able to fall back to stand clear, all of them bleeding, but on their feet.

"I believe Siska and I got off to an - unfortunate - start," he said, bowing. He then knelt before the young woman. "I beg your forgiveness, Siska, I was wrong and deserve your ire." He took her hand and kissed the palm dryly, a pose and action of supplication. "Your mother has shown me the error of my ways and I am truly repentant."

Siska still gaped, her eyes wide. They hardened a moment then a sharp snap rang out as she pulled back that hand and slapped Tornadin's face with enough force to knock him onto his side.

Several of the men in their palace livery turned to look on with concern. Tornadin waved them back and regained his knees. Again, he took Siska's hand and kissed the palm.

Rage flared in Siska's eyes again and she drew mana from around herself. Her eyes glared at her mother. "You never told me you were a wizard," she growled. "Why?"

"I was trying to protect you from people who would harm you," said Tatyana.

Siska's hand was a blur as she brought it around and down, magic amplifying the power of her own muscles. Lord Tornadin slid across the floor, coming to rest against the backs of the knees of several of his men. They turned and helped him back onto his feet. His cheek was swelling and Siska suspected she may have broken his jaw.

Staggering slightly, Tornadin came back anyway, kneeling before Siska a third time and kissing her palm clumsily with a swollen cheek, accepting her judgment and the punishment she decided was deserved.

Tatyana's face twisted in worry. "Enough, Siska," she said. "He can never truly earn your forgiveness. That is why it is forgiveness, not justice."

"Justice?" asked Tornadin, holding up a long, very sharp-looking dagger with an inlayed silver pommel. "If naught but justice will satisfy you."

She took the dagger from his hand and looked at it. "I will keep this until I know you will not hurt my mother," she said. "If you take care of her, and make her happy, I will never use it. If you do not, I reserve the right to do justice with it." Siska then slipped the dagger behind the silver sash about her waist and shook her head. "I can never truly forgive you, Lord Tornadin, for trying to have me slain in the street like an animal."

"Your daughter is wise," said Tornadin to Tatyana. "And she has her mother's fierce heart."

Tatyana regarded her daughter cooly. "If not her mother's sense," she said, eyeing the dagger hilt above the girl's sash. She then shrugged. "If he mistreats me, daughter, you and that dagger shall be the last of his worries. He manumitted me this day and I have no fear of him." She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. "Now, if you have finished assaulting my betrothed, we have an ugly situation to remove ourselves from."

Keeley was lifting Phillip from the floor and the wizard glowered about him, searching the people. Many had fled the hall and the throne room was nearly clear of noblemen. Two dozen Defenders and a half-dozen wizards approached from one of the rear doors of the chamber and stared around themselves in surprise.

Tarmal moved up to Phillip, eyeing the blood caked on his temple and matting his hair. "Did you try to stop another ship with your head?" he asked, wearing a wry grin that seemed all but permanent.

Phillip grimaced and touched the spot of congealing blood. "Thean?" he asked.

"She's in the robing chamber, with several other guardsmen we plucked from the crowd before they could be set upon," said Tarmal. "She's less bruised than you. I suspect she earned most of them while fighting against being pulled out of this room, once she saw you were struck."

Tarmal's eyes came to rest on Councilor Embrule's fallen form. "It seems we did not escape all casualties though," he said ruefully.

"That man is no loss," said Lord Tornadin. "He would deny what is plain simply to hold onto his own sense of power; Milady Keeley is Queen of Tressen." Even as the nobleman spoke those words, he knelt before Keeley, grounding his slender sword as the Defenders had. "I swear to serve and obey, my queen," he said, gazing at the floor before her feet. "If you will have me."

Keeley blinked in startlement and looked about herself. "You are queen," said Phillip when her green eyes came to rest upon him. "Unless someone appears with a stronger claim."

The young woman's jaw worked soundlessly for a long moment. "I can't be queen, I'm just a silversmith's daughter."

"You are of the blood of the royal house of Tressen," said Tarmal. "Else the crystals would not have cried out at your touch. There are no others, save your brothers and sister, and they are younger. You are queen." He looked at the crystals. "Were the crystals whole, there would be a crown to set upon your brow to prove your claim."

Siska still stood speaking in a low voice with her mother behind all the others. The two spoke urgently but quietly, heads close to one another. It struck Phillip how alike the two appeared, despite their difference in ages, they seemed more sisters than mother and daughter.

The Commandant of the Defenders entered at that point, along with the Admiral-General of the Graysails, both moving with a purpose. Keeley shied away from the two imposing men and Siska took her mother's forearm to pull her toward the door that the councilors had entered. Phillip was torn between the two groups, finally deciding that he needed to be beside Keeley in the matters confronting the confused young woman.