Chapter 24

The press of the Theocracy marines once again threatened to overflow the faltering barricades on the west. Phillip had placed himself there to bolster those defenses, though, at that moment, it seemed not nearly enough.

Tressen's men died in numbers on that low wall of overturned wagons and hastily thrown up stone piles. As quickly as Phillip and the archers could kill the charging marines, two would replace each of the fallen and throw back the defenders or fell them where they stood.

One such marine crested the pile of debris and bodies to level a thick-limbed crossbow at the wizard's chest. He could see the wardings on the bolt, pulsing faintly to his mage-enhanced sight. It had been charged to penetrate magics. That particular trick was all well and good when Tornadin used it for the Tressenite archers, but Phillip looked none too pleased to see that the Theocracy knew it, as well.

The marine suddenly spun about firing the bolt into his neighboring fellow, who flipped off the mound and fell in a clattering heap. He then began to lay about himself with the crossbow body, knocking men down and sowing confusion among their ranks.

Phillip could see tendrils of mana gripping the man's limbs, like the strings of a marionette. He followed them to their source with his magesight only to see Siskana standing near the palace's side entrance, muttering and flicking her fingers, controlling those tendrils. While the homunculus did not have Siska's power in spellcraft, she did not seem to lack control. He readied another glowing blue dart of mana as he turned back to the line.

The marine had discarded his crossbow and attacked his allies with his broad-bladed cutlass. The theft of a man's mind was sorcery, a kind of sorcery the Theocracy marines knew well, and Tressenites had been said to be poor in those arts. This bred confusion in the matter, for Siskana had not usurped the man's mind, but wielded his limbs as her own weapons. That poor fellow was likely yelling apologies or appeals for help as he laid into his fellow soldiers.

And then Tatyana began hurling mana-darts into the men and the Tressenites began to push the marines back, though not without loss.

"A creative solution, Siskana," said Phillip as she broke the bonds and the man fell limp to the ground, cut a half a hundred times as he had fought his fellows, he had been fighting well after he was truly dead. "Yet, not as effective as you could have been with missiles of your own."

She nodded. "Throwing the spells frightens me," she said. "What if I miss and strike an ally?"

"Such may well happen on the occasion, yet it is part of war," said Phillip, weaving another missile and sending it after the marines as they pulled back to disengage from the Tressenites.

Her face showed intense dissatisfaction. "I am not powerful enough or confident enough to be of much help," she said.

"You did well. Don't read my advice as some sort of shortcoming on your part," said Phillip after a short pause. "We've no right to expect even what you can do from you."

Siskana ran her violet eyes over the line of men before them as they struggled to rebuild fallen parts of the barricades and bolster the parts that needed bolstering. The marines on the far side of the plaza seemed to be regrouping quickly and were likely to be upon them again in mere minutes.

"Why can we not strike at them now?" asked Siskana, weaving a projectile. "I do not fear loosing a spell at them at such distance from my friends."

"Extending your casting so far is dangerous, Siskana," said Phillip patiently. "At such range, the time required might well give another wizard time to seize the manaflow from you and make use of your own energies to strike back directly and unerringly at you. Further, you would be hard pressed to craft a free missile that could fly so far before dissipating, the energies would diffuse and fail before reaching them."

He demonstrated his words' truth by loosing a mana dart toward the marines. Far short of their ranks, its binding energies sputtered and the dart faded into nothingness, back to the aether whence the mana had been summoned.

"I wonder if Siska knows of that?" asked the miniature copy of the apprentice.

"She's made use of it, but I don't know if she truly understands what she did. The two of you have such an - intuitive - knowledge of the inner workings of magic, who's to say what it is you know?" Phillip fell silent as a cheer went up from the northern defenses that must have marked another repulsion of the enemy. As no marines poured toward them from behind, he had to assume so.

Phillip looked at Siskana again and noted her expression shift from one of contemplation to one of obvious pleasure in a heartbeat. "Well met, Mannis," said the wizard, without turning around.

Mannis stopped short, and then grinned. "Mentor, I hear you've done much in holding this flank from the enemy," he said.

"You can thank Siskana for a goodly portion of that," said the mentor, stepping back and turning to put both the homunculus and Defender inside his arc of vision.

Siskana blushed at the praise and actually shuffled her feet slightly at the beaming look Mannis bestowed upon her. "I only did what I had to," she said, speaking to her shoulder.

The young Defender, not wishing to embarrass the girl any more, only nodded. "I wondered if I might speak to Siskana a moment, Mentor?" he asked.

Phillip widened his eyes a bit, then nodded and backed away from the pair before turning to find Tatyana.

Siskana looked up at the red-haired young man. "What do you wish to speak of, Defender?" she asked.

"You don't have to call me that. Just Mannis," he said.

She nodded. "I was not sure if you wished me to speak with such familiarity," she said softly. Her eyes moved over him as she watched him fidget. "While I shared her feelings, I was not the one you courted."

"I know that," said Mannis. "That makes things far more complicated."

The homunculus nodded. "For me, as well. I do not know how much of what I feel is my own or from Siska."

"I guess that is what I wished to know," said Mannis.

"This seems an ill time to delve into matters of the heart," said the petite copy of Siska. She looked behind Mannis toward where the marines massed at the far corner of the plaza. "Yet, I shall say this much: I think there is little of import to where my feelings come from, only that they are so. My heart says to care for you, and I shall until it says otherwise."

"You're far more direct than Siska," said Mannis.

"Simplicity has some virtue," said Siskana, lifting her brow and tilting her head slightly. "I would know your thoughts."

"You told me Siska was not truly in love with Geana," said Mannis.

"She is not." Siskana's face darkened at the mere mention of the slave girl.

Mannis sighed. "Then Siska may truly still love me?" he asked.

"She may," said the homunculus, straightening her spine a bit at speaking those words. She seemed about to say more, but clapped her mouth shut.

"You look as if you have more to say." said Mannis.

A long, painful pause lingered between them as Siskana thought furiously. "No," she said finally. Something moved across her features, a wince, nearly, Mannis thought.

He nodded. "Then I must wait to see what comes," he said.

She returned the nod. "That would be best." She turned then toward where the repetitive deep boom of a drum marked another advancement of the Theocracy's marines.

"I must return to my post," said the young man, looking at Siskana with forlorn eyes before sprinting toward the northern barricades.

"But I know I do," said the homunculus as he disappeared around the corner of the palace, too far away for him to have heard her quiet words.

Phillip returned with Tatyana in tow. "I want you to echo her actions," said Phillip. "Just until you gain in confidence."

A roar sounded from the barricades as the sea of black-armored marines broke upon it. "I need no such confidence," said the homunculus and shimmering blue darts of mana began forming above each hand. A second later, they hurtled toward the marines and men fell. Already another pair formed and Siskana steadily hurled them forth. It impressed Phillip that she did not make the throwing gestures that he, himself, used, but simply summoned them then loosed them. It seemed almost casual as she slew men with her spellcraft.

He joined in the defense, as did Tatyana, who stood beside Siskana, though she made no attempt to guide the girl's actions. In truth, when Tatyana did look toward the copy of her daughter, she had an expression of some fear in her eyes.

Siska could feel the pulsing of expended mana at the corner of her senses. Somewhere, many wizards discharged magic in earnest: a battle. She wondered who they might be, and how many of them had fallen already. Did Phillip still stand? Surely he must, for he was among the greatest in Tressen. Her mother. Did she fight as well, as a wizard, for even if she had never before confessed to it, she assuredly knew how. Tarmal?

Thoughts of Geana loomed in her mind, almost making her reign in her horse. She must be in danger, and was it not Siska's place to protect the frail slave as her lover?

Thean nearly ran into Siska's mount with her own. "Siska?" she asked, though the wizard seemed to ignore her. "We've penetrated their line too far. We are likely surrounded by foes now."

Siska nodded. "I have them right where they want me," she said, as she looked up a cross street.

A platoon of marines stood there, and yet more Marines loomed ahead and behind her little company. Her head swiveled to look up the other side street and she grinned. A smaller force waited there but one made almost entirely of cavalry and leaders.

The Templars' armor shone bright against the matte finish of the marines' armor. Though all still in black, it somehow gleamed with highlights of other colors on each of those ornately worked suits.

Siska could also feel the wardings placed upon that armor. It felt like a dim spot in her vision and her eyes did not wish to truly focus upon them. "The Templars first, then," she said, wheeling her mount about and yanking the staff from the hastily-rigged harness for it that hung from her pommel.

Thean blanched. "There's easily a dozen of them, Siska," she said and Salira nodded agreement. "Even enhanced as you've made them, your men will die."

"You may find those wardings on their armor will slow even your castings, Siska," said Salira. "They are not novices in facing the arts."

One of the silver orbs that floated about Siska tore toward the Templars with a whistling shriek of parting air. That templar dodged himself and his mount aside, watching with interest as the dart impacted one of the cavalrymen behind him, hurling the armored soldier from his saddle to lie in a heap. The impact struck with such force that the it knocked the horse down, as well.

The Templars seemed to be speaking as Siska faced toward them and her men formed about her, still recovering from her sudden change in direction. As Thean had feared, the men began muttering about the Templar Knights and that those men were said to be terrors in combat.

"And what do you think their marines say of you lot?" asked Siska. "I've seen the least of you slay five of them in a single skirmish."

"We're no Templars, if you know my meaning," said a male voice form somewhere in the knot of men. Of her original two hundred, over three-quarters remained, despite half a dozen sharp and bloody fights.

One of the men in the front rank twitched, then stepped forward, an odd look in his eyes. When he spoke, the voice was that of a woman, a young woman, and accented in the peculiar fast-paced drawl of the Theocracy. "Our leader would parley with you, Lady Siska," he said, though his eyes looked fearful and worried and his head moved as if unsure how it wished to do so.

"You've invaded my land and killed my people. The only thing I shall accept is your immediate withdrawal from my island," said Siska, looking down at the confused man.

The man laughed, though his expression was anything but amused. "You demand surrender when you are the ones both surrounded and outnumbered?"

"These men have slain many times their number in marines, and I don't fear your dark arts, sorceress," noted Siska calmly, looking up the street toward the Templars. At their fore, one horse was mounted by a scantily clad woman in filmy white garments. That woman had her eyes closed and seemed a bit unsteady in her saddle, despite the Templar who held her elbow.

The marines down the other three streets advanced, their drums thudding as they marched forward.

Siska looked toward the nearest group of them and flicked an idle hand, drawing upon the score of her magi, bound and trussed in three wagons with her company. Mana flowed into her like a flood of power and she reveled in it. The buildings before the marines almost exploded as they collapsed into the narrow street. Then more and more of them did so, in a sinuous wave of destruction passing down the street.

In all directions, save toward the Templars, buildings collapsed and erupted in falling timbers and stone. The streets, built narrow, as most in Tressen, lay choked in debris and rubble as high as a man's head. Those men would be long in picking their unsure way over those heaps.

"You could have dumped those buildings on their heads," commented Thean with a wry grin.

"Where's the fun in that?" asked Siska, returning the grin with a cold gleam in her eyes.

With the possibility of being flanked removed for the moment, the men in her formation gained somewhat in confidence and order. They formed themselves into ranks and files again, not a large company, but already well-drilled in how to form into defensive lines. Cuffing and cajoling from the guardsmen and drilled mercenaries among them ensured the militiamen figured out their place quickly and accurately.

However, the man who had been speaking stood in his place. "You shall die here in this street, wizard," he said in that feminine voice.

"Kill the sorceress," said Siska, looking toward Salira.

"At this range..." started the wizard.

"I'll shield your manaflows, no one can stop you." Siska began crafting a hollow tunnel of mana that lanced outward toward the sorceress with great speed. It was a magical ward, such should have taken hours to craft, and Siska had constructed it in moments.

The man said. "We've wizards, you'll not succeed, heretic!"

Salira summoned forth a long, slender dart of silvery energy and loosed it down the tunnel. Spells rebounded from the tube, spraying mana in all directions and blowing the windows out of those homes that still had glass panes intact. The dart struck home and the sorceress simply slumped in her saddle, toppling slowly as the Templar holding her elbow watched in shock.

The man before Siska blinked twice and began yammering that it was not he who had been speaking. "Back to your ranks," she snapped, waving him toward the formation of soldiers.

Siska gathered her reins and kicked his sides. "Attack," she said in an almost conversational tone as her mount gathered itself beneath her and took off at a gallop.

Thean charged after her, followed by Salira and the roar of Siska's company. It took a moment for the Templars to fully register what was happening. Many of them could not recall the last time a company had the fight brought to them by a foe. Defended against, yes. Attacked openly, no.

The silver orbs began to hum as they accelerated into a whirling mass of gleaming specks in the morning sun. Arrows flew from the cavalrymen, fired from small, but powerful, horse bows. The orbs flashed between soldiers and bowmen, forming themselves into disks a foot across and intercepting arrows in flight. Some few of the missiles found marks nonetheless, but the flying shield of orbs deflected most handily.

When the company was more than halfway down the long, narrow street, the Templars called their own charge, preferring to meet their foe with the overwhelming mass of their horses and cavalrymen.

The two groups raced at one another Siska began crafting a new spell. The anti-magical warding she had placed upon that cylinder she reworked and hurled at the Templars as a fine mesh that spread the width of the street. The Templars ran through it, unaware of there being any matter, confident that their magi, riding among them, could counter Siska's attack and trusting in their armor's ability to deflect spells directed upon them.

Yet it was their armor which she had attacked, directing her spell not upon the Templars, but upon their precious armor. She had reworked her own warding against magic to reverse the effect. As they ran through the mesh, Salira smiled as their finely-crafted armor's enchantment flickered and then blinked out.

The magi of the Theocracy saw this and tried to call to the Templars, but far too loud were the shouts of men and pounding of hooves upon the cobbles of Tressen's streets. A few of the armored Knights of the One may have heard, but paid little heed to the ravings of those they thought near to madness in the best of cases.

The arrogance of the Templars was such, indeed, that they did not even pay notice to the magi when they pulled up on their reins to slow their mounts in the charge, falling back through the ranks and then stopping as the cavalry and Templars sped onward.

Expressions of dread and worry marked their faces as they stared at the flickering meshwork of magical nullification. If they rode through that, they might well find themselves unable to perceive magical energies at all. Their mounts stamped and milled in frustration at having their charge cut short, but the magi refused to allow them to advance further, instead, falling back a few paces.

The sound of parting air intensified as the two groups met. Silver orbs twisted their shapes into razor-taloned darts as they tore through men and mounts in a globe of death about Siska. Smaller spheres formed around Salira and Thean, from their own, smaller, talus spheres.

Her small company met the cavalry charge and gave at least as good as they took. The front line broke apart into dozens of smaller fights as the two groups merged into a meleeing mass.

The Templars, true to Thean's words, spurred their mounts among the mass and slew almost at will. Even enhanced as they were, her men were not heavily armored, nor were they all veterans of dozens of campaigns.

Siska loosed a cone of white fire at two nearby Templars, and they vanished as their bodies were reduced to vapor, their armor melting and warping into peculiar shapes as they fell.

Of all the events that had transpired since Siska found these Theocracy elements, the expression on the remaining Templars' faces was worth the carnage. Shock toyed with disbelief on their features as magic incinerated the pair and Salira brought down another with a dart of silver mana.

More men collapsed as the orbs changed into blades and ran through them and even Templars fell to the cursed spheres. Within a minute, it was ended, and no man who held allegiance to the Theocracy stood in the bloody abattoir that the street had become.

Wearing stunned expressions, the remaining men of Siska's company looked about them. Some glanced worriedly at the silvery orbs about the three women, once again floating in languid orbits. They had seen the carnage wrought by those gleaming spheres - and the carnage they themselves had done.

Before them, toward the bay, stood nothing but open street with a half dozen frightened-seeming magi on horseback furtively glancing toward the small army. A massive wooden wall stood before them, the front prow of one of the Theocracy's warbarges.

Thean sat upright in her saddle and called to the men to form themselves. They did so hesitantly, but with the dogged discipline of veteran soldiers that they were not. Hastily, she counted them. Just over a hundred remained on their feet. Others, the injured, tended one another and removed their wounded to the side of the streets and the dubious shelter in the shadows of the buildings.

Salira brought her mount alongside Siska. "What now?" she asked.

Siska looked toward the magi and dispelled her warding across the street. "Surrender, or you die where you sit," she called. The orbs about her began to sing with speed again as they spread their orbit to take in a larger sphere.

The magi only had to glance at one another and garner silent agreement before dismounting and falling to their knees to be bound and gagged by Siska's men. The men of her company bundled the bound magi into the wagons, but only after being brought to Siska. She touched each briefly in the chest with her palm and when she pulled her hand away, a tendril of mana joined to the startled-looking magi.

Salira grimaced as each was brought past. "I know you don't approve of this," said Siska. "Else I would bind some to you."

The wizard shook her head. "I cannot, Siska, you know that - you should not be able to, either."

Siska gave her a level look. "I've explained my position on this, and that is all I can give you, Salira. I shall not be enslaved again, do you understand?"

"I do," said the wizard.

"Next to that, anything is negotiable," said Siska, speaking as if to convince herself. She rode toward the carts with the magi in them, cajoling men to tighten bonds and check on the condition of the captives.

Thean rode to Salira's side, patting her shoulder when she got into reach. "There are many forms of enslavement," she said.

"Siska only knows of one, and fears it more than the others, thus far," replied Salira. "She has not the years to know of the others."

Moghran shrugged his cloak back. The morning, despite being chill, began to grow stiflingly warm to him in his protective armor. He stood upon a tall building of stone, a moneylender's house, to judge from the fine furnishings within. The wizard had moved away from him and he found that her progress, while ripping through his marines, was as fast as he could follow.

A messenger had finally found him, though, and he looked over the plaza at the palace. The crude defenses held for the moment.

"These people fight harder than we expected, no?" he asked one of the commanders of the marines.

"Much, Lord Templar," said the soldier, pulling off his face-concealing helmet and wiping his brow. "I would have never thought it."

"One would think they defend their ruler with such zeal, if we did not know we already held her in captivity." The Defender lifted a spyglass to his eye and surveyed the line of defenders on the makeshift wall.

"Reports are that she has family, still, a brother, at the least," said the commander. He had a gaunt face, angular and with deep lines that lent him much character. Moghran, despite only having just met the man, found himself liking the plain-spoken commander.

Each of the Theocracy warbarges carried a commander, one who led all the companies of marines aboard. Usually, that man was simply another of the captains. However, Commander Harighal was a veteran of many years service. Almost Moghran's own age and nearly as stern of visage, the commander had single-handedly ensured that, despite being thrown back at least four times, the marines had not broken upon the teeth of those defenses below.

"What do you recommend?" asked Moghran.

The soldier blinked a couple of times before speaking. Rare was it when a Templar asked a common soldier his advice, no matter the experience of the soldier.

"Well, milord," began the old soldier, clearing his throat. "If this were my command, I would focus half the available men to rushing the west walls. They are weakest there and the archer cover is spotty at best. They have good magical defenses, but those can be put aside by concentrating several snipers among those men.

Moghran nodded at his words. "Do so," he said, then looked toward the magi and scantily-clad woman beside him. "Sorceress, come here." He held out a hand toward the blond-haired woman.

The commander nodded and backed away, descending the stairs down into the building upon which they stood. The sorceress was not as pretty as Tarasha, but Tarasha had yet to be found according to the messengers who breathlessly relayed that they still sought for her.

She smiled up at him and touched his arm. Somehow, her touch felt unclean to the Templar and he pulled is arm back, almost posing it to strike at the woman. "I don't seek your touch, witch," he growled. "Sate your lusts on men with weak minds and weaker wills."

The sorceress flinched back but nodded in assent. "Yes, milord. How may I serve you?"

"I understand that some of your kind can sense one another," he said. "Tarasha, my own sorceress and companion, has gone missing, and I need you to find her," he said. "I know you belong to Harmaggel, and he is widely known to be a harsh master. If you find Tarasha for me, I will take possession of you myself and you shall know ease."

She bowed low. "A generous offer, milord, and I shall do my best," she said, her voice dripped with syrupy sweetness as she slinked away toward the stair.

"Where is this Siska?" asked the Templar, directing the question to the only other person left on the roof: The mage.

That worthy, without hesitation, pointed toward the bay. "She is that way and has gained in power, milord, considerably."

"You say twenty men could not overpower her now?" asked Moghran.

"Fifty might, milord, if any could manage to hold such a circle together," offered the magi.

"With the losses of this day, I'm not certain fifty remain, magi," snapped the Templar. "You will go forth and find any you may, with my orders, and assemble them, then find me."

The magi hesitated and Moghran gave him a baleful stare. "There is a problem with your hearing, magi?" he asked.

"No, milord," stammered the magi. "It's just, well, she is shining like a beacon out there, and I fear we cannot stop her." He waved a hand toward the bay.

"Pray that you can," said the Templar. "If you cannot help me deal with this, then perhaps it has become the time that magi have no useful purpose to me." His gauntleted hand moved to rest upon his massive broadsword, the pommel seemed to spark faintly at the touch, tiny lightning bolts arcing from the orb at the base of the sword to the fingertips of his gauntlet as they neared touching.

"Yes, milord," said the magi, bowing. Light gleamed off his shaven scalp, though it was somewhat stubbly at that moment. He turned and retreated hastily, seeming to scurry like a rat in a brown woolen robe.

Geana moved through the hallway of the palace. Just as well to learn my way about, as I will soon be living here, she thought to herself with a small grin. Being pressed into helping the healer with the wounded chafed her mightily, but Tatyana had already impressed upon her the cost of breaking her role as a gentle and kind slave girl.

Her own brother had reinforced that threat by informing her that he knew a mine on one remote isle that he could send her to as a slave, in fact, rather than fiction, a mine where there were no other women to be found among dozens of hard-working men.

She could wish Siska had not gotten heroic outside of town and gone traipsing off into the woods with that chit of a guard sergeant. That she had not seen the two go had earned her harsh words from her accursed brother. People too old or infirm to fight brought more wounded in as she shook her head. "Clean this girl up and speak to her if she comes to. She may have been raped and she'll be in need of someone to care for her," said the Healer, brushing the pretty little woman's black hair from her cheeks.

The woman who was laid upon the cot wore not a stitch of clothing and was fair to look upon. Given Geana's taste for woman-flesh, she was a tasty tidbit, indeed. Hopefully, she had not been raped, for she preferred the joy of a woman who had known no other touch.

Those thoughts led her back to Siska again. Delicious, that one. She had needed no coaxing to seduce the beautiful wizard's apprentice. Siska was almost made to order for Geana's goals. Perhaps, after a few more potions, Siska would know no other way to love than with her and the affection would be permanent. At that point, she would no longer fear Tornadin nor that harlot of his, Tatyana, for Siska would better the both of them.

She brushed back the raven hair from the girl's face and picked up a wet cloth to wipe the blood from her hair. Someone had clobbered the poor girl quite well and caked blood matted her hair to her skull.

The healer had already tended that, for there was not even a bump, and the girl did not stir as Geana removed the clotted blood from her tresses. She looked down the slender, well-shaped body of the sleeping girl. "You're a lovely one," she said in a soft voice, looking toward her womanhood. "Elven style, no?" she asked, noting the shaven privates of the girl. "A whore then?"