Chapter 25

Salira felt the hairs on the back of her neck and arms stand on end as Siska drew more and more power into her circle. She no longer contained it all within herself as she drew it forth, but was somehow storing it in magical constructs around her, nearly touching her and orbiting about her body. It took a moment for Salira to realize that the floating motes of magical energy were the silver orbs. So brightly did they shine to her mage-sight that she could no longer see the metal.

Siska seemed to be locked in a state of ecstasy, her head thrown back and her hair flowing out behind her, caught on ethereal winds that did not move the tattered rags of the ship's sails or pennants.

The Magus' staff, too, glowed with a painful white light, flashing in time with some unseen heartbeat and growing brighter with each double pulse.

Still, the wizard felt the tug of Siska's summons upon her magical energies. It was persistent, but not overwhelming for someone as disciplined as Salira.

The golden-haired apprentice turned toward Salira and the wizard gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. Her eyes! thought Salira. Siska's sapphire eyes had turned a blazing white, shining like pinpoints of the sun outward and illuminating the deck whence the wizard stood.

"Salira, witness, as I end this stupid, unprovoked war!" said Siska. Though she spoke in a perfectly reasonable tone, her voice reverberated with plundered power. It shook the ship with each syllable and the reverberations got worse as she let her hatred be known.

Siska turned back around, lifting her arms and the staff. The dozen glowing orbs of silver and magic tore away from her, rocketing out over the bay. A Theocracy ship bloomed into a fireball as the dart impacted the side, releasing a small portion of its energies into the timbers of the vessel. The expanding perfect sphere was marred by the wake of the tiny speck of silver as it continued on its trajectory, along with its eleven mates.

Across the mouth of the bay, massive Warbarges were still trying to force their way into the narrow inlet. The darts all screamed into the water with an explosion of spray that launched geysers high into the air overhead.

Then there was a dead silence.

Siska lay crumpled upon the deck, the staff quietly dark and sparks of partially expended mana skipping from her fingertips to the men about her and back to her hair. Salira's hair stopped trying to stand on end and she felt her hands release the death grip they held upon the railing of the ship. She leaped down and ran to the fallen apprentice, gathering the now frail-seeming Siska into her arms.

"What did you do?" she asked, turning the apprentice over to look into her eyes. Ghost flashes of mana flickered in her eyes and Siska looked up at her with a nearly blank expression.

"I ended the war," she said.

"But nothing happened," said Salira, waving her free hand over the bay.

Siska turned her head slightly. Theocracy ships, their wizards declaring that the pyrotechnics were over, were pouring into the inlet, making a break for the shore while there was a pause in the magically projected defenses. She lifted a reed-thin looking arm and smiled sweetly. "Wait."

With a sound out of the bowels of the underworld, a spike of stone erupted from the depths of the bay mouth. It shot upwards, ripping a warbarge in half and capsizing another with the miniature tsunami that it cast from its flanks. Another erupted beside it, less than fifty feet away, splintering another vessel, and more were rolled over onto their sides and one fully over, its keel splintering with the torsion.

More and more of the spires emerged, a dozen of them. They spanned the bay mouth and reached for the heavens, tearing ships and men upon their jagged sides and with their sharp peak.

The sound was horrendous, screaming of men and the rending of great timbers, waves crashing and the sounds of falling debris. It sounded as if the Dark One himself had chosen to sally forth and tear the fleet into flinders.

Then a sort of quiet fell again. There were still cries upon the water, men who had somehow survived the shrapnel of both ships and shipmates. There were no Theocracy vessels inside the cove of the bay, though, save those burning or rolling over in the death throes of sinking.

Smoke settled from the blasts and fires and Salira saw them: Great spires crossing the gap of the mouth, none far enough from one another to allow a warbarge to pass. They stood with wide bases, and tapered upward, reaching two hundreds of feet into the air, where they tapered to tiny points. "One save us," she said, gaping at the needle-like pinnacles.

Siska grinned. "I saved you," she said and touched Salira's cheek with a comforting hand. "It's over."

Lord Templar Moghran looked over the marines below him. Where are the reinforcements? he wondered.

Frustrated the aging warrior turned his spyglass to the bay. Smoke wreathed the harbor of Tressen and he wondered at how much of the burning seemed to be on the water.

"Mage, what is that?" he asked, turning his head to look toward the bald-shaven man.

The mage lay crumpled against the roof's parapet, blood streaming from both ears. A messenger touched his neck. "He's dead milord," said the youth.

Moghran looked again through the spyglass and, as if by his sheer force of will, the clouds parted enough for him to see. His heart felt the sink of disappointment for the first time in many years. Across the bay the demon-backed wizards of Tressen had built a wall of stone spires.

There would be no more reinforcements.

He lowered the spyglass and turned back toward the palace. They had been a distraction. The staunch defense of the palace had been merely to keep the Theocracy from defending their landing sufficiently while the Blue Order performed some dark ritual to seal their breached harbor.

The brass of the spyglass deformed in his grip as he crushed it and shattered the large lense in the front. He had been duped.

"Go out and gather all Theocracy forces here," he said. "We take the palace or die."

The messengers on the rooftop sprinted into the stairwell that led down through the house.

"I congratulate you, Tressen," he said, nodding his head in a faint salute. "You have performed a blasphemous miracle."

The perversity of the situation amazed him. How had these petty wolflings managed to hold off their marines? How had they managed to hold enough wizards in reserve to perform the massive casting that had closed off the bay? Half their accursed Blue Order must have been flanked about with a strong group of soldiery to break the lines and mount such a powerful magical attack.

The messengers must have gotten word out, more and more men were massing again, finally. Moghran wondered if he should tell them it was their final charge.

One of the sorceresses emerged onto the roof. "I assume you've not found Tarasha?" he asked, barely looking toward the comely woman. It was as if the sorceresses were graven from a mold, so similar, like sisters. Did the process of Becoming cause that convergence of visages?

"No milord," she said, panting from the run up the stairs.

"Can you bolster the men's resolve? We are going to make a push for the palace and I have decided that we shall take it this time," said Moghran.

She smiled. "There are ways, milord," she said, bowing and leering at the Templar. "It will drive them to - excesses during the fight, though."

"Do it," snapped Moghran. "There are no excesses in war."

The sorceress nodded and fled from the roof, muttering, "As milord wishes," as she ran.

Phillip stood up, blinking at the spots before his eyes. "Siska," he said, looking toward Siskana.

The homunculus was rising too, shaking her head. "She has done something, for certain," she said.

Around him, he saw every other blue-clad wizard rising from the ground, each in a varied state of confusion. Some of the others, too, were behaving in the same way, a few among the defenders, and more among the other mixed soldiery. What did you do, girl? asked Phillip in his mind.

One of the Blue Order apprentices ran up to Phillip. "She's done something at the bay, Mentor," yammered the young woman. "I had a mana shield up, protecting myself from a dart hurled from among the Theocracy folks and I saw it."

"Saw what?" asked Phillip, taking hold of the young brunette's arm. Siskana ran up at hearing her speak, as well, and Tatyana looked up from her place at the bottom of the stairs.

"Something big. It covered the whole bay, it looked like," said the then frightened girl. "I think Siska's done something in the bay - Geomancy."

He looked at the young woman. "Geomancy?" he asked.

She nodded. "I saw stone being manipulated in the mana. I couldn't see more detail than that. I shouldn't have even seen that much, but she was using so much power. Too much power."

Phillip's expression grew drawn and disapproving. "That's the mark she makes, using too much power," he growled. He released her arm. "Thank you for sharing that," he said, stroking the bruised flesh of her upper arm. "Sorry about that."

"Think nothing of it, Mentor," she said. "I've had worse from my brothers." She had donned a half smile. "Do you think Siska's hurt them?"

"I think hurt might be a bit of an understatement, knowing her," said Phillip.

Siskana called out. "I do not wish to alarm anyone, but the marines are massing again," she said. The lense of air shimmered before all on the stairs, showing them a clear view of the Theocracy's forces. Their numbers were swelling again, quickly swelling.

Tarasha looked over at the desiccated corpse lying atop the barrel. "That should do for now," she said, grinning. She strapped the man's long dagger to her thigh and pulled on Leetha's dress. A delicious pain emanated from her nethers as she walked. "It's not felt like that in a long while," she said, savoring the feel of lost virginity with her body if not mind.

She bowed mockingly as she took hold of the door pull. "Thank you, sir, for a wondrous time," she said and left the storeroom.

The helpful soldier had known the palace well, and his mind had contained quite a lot of information about its layout. In the hallway, she looked both directions before setting off toward the throne room.

She smiled as she passed others. Yes, yes, hello, you fools. There is a wolf amid you sheep this day. She came to the throne room and looked inside the open doors. Two soldiers stood near the glass enclosure. Symbol of Tressen's rulers, hmm?

Tarasha passed into the room, pushing one door shut and starting on the other before the guards decided to ask what she was about. "I was told to close it up, there is a strong attack coming," she said.

"No one told us," said one of the soldiers, walking up to her. His neck bloomed red as the dagger slit his throat from side to side in a swift motion of the sorceress' arm.

She commended the former owner on making herself strong as she spun to face the second guard, who was blinking in amazement at what had just happened to the first. To his credit, his hand was reaching for his sword hilt even as he gaped: a good soldier.

The sorceress reached out with her free hand and touched the man's face. In his mind, he saw images drawn from his own nightmares confronting him. He screamed and his hand fell to his side. She struck then, the effect was not long-lasting. It was not nearly as cleanly done, but he, too, was soon on the floor, twitching in his death throes.

She dragged the bodies over to block the main entrance doors. It would at least slow down anyone trying to get inside the throne room. She returned then to the glass box. It shattered under a blow from the pommel of the dagger. Glass shards mixed with the pale blue crystalline shards of the crown. Hurriedly, she ran back to the guards and cut the tunic from one's chest, she scooped the shards into the cloth, cutting her hand slightly as she did so, but caring little.

She was winding the newly formed bundle into a knot when she heard a woman's voice from behind her. "Leetha?" the woman asked.

Tarasha spun about to regard a tall, slim woman with graying brown hair.

"What's this?" asked the woman, pointing toward the crown's shattered casing.

The sorceress flicked her eyes toward the case and then charged the woman.

The tall woman had been carrying a wooden platter with a pitcher on it and two cups. She dropped those and began to run.

Leetha's long legs caught the woman and Tarasha reached for the dagger on her thigh. It was not there. She had left it upon the raised platform that had held the crown.

As she looked toward the pommel, still sticking out over the edge of the marble stand, an elbow caught her in the chest, sending her sprawling.

The woman regained her feet and she had a knife in her hand. She seemed hesitant to use it though, and Tarasha took the chance to brace her back against the wall and regain her feet. "What are you doing Leetha?" asked the woman.

"What does it look like I'm doing, you stupid wench?" asked the sorceress, glaring at the woman.

There was a flash of hurt on the woman's face. She knew this Leetha well then, and was pained to be insulted by the girl. It did not seem that the woman had yet seen the dead guards, far and against the doors to her left as they stood.

"I was getting the crown out of here, the palace is going to fall," said Tarasha, trying to make herself sound confused.

"You sound odd, why are you talking like that?" asked the woman. She did not put the knife away, though. Damn you, you ignorant whore, thought the sorceress.

"Talking like what?" asked Tarasha. "I'm scared, it makes people sound different."

The woman shook her head. "I'm your mother and I've seen you scared before."

Tarasha's eyes widened and her face bloomed into a florid smile. Mother? she thought, then rushed at the woman again, swinging the heavy bundle of the wrapped crown like a weapon.

Darina could not stab her daughter. She tried to dodge aside and managed to avoid the worst of the blow that had been aimed for her head. Then Leetha was past her and fleeing down the service corridor she had just come in through. She rubbed at the spots of blood on her cheek and shook her head, confusion and hurt making her look like a person utterly lost.

Then she turned around and screamed.

"I don't have any idea where they've gone milady," said the soldier, one of Siska's company. "There just aren't any more of them about. It's like they vanished."

Siska sat with her back against the mast of the ship and shook her head. "There's still magic being used toward the palace. They still fight." She tried to get up and promptly fell back upon her rump.

"Well, you're out of the fight for the moment, Siska," said Salira, sounding far too well-pleased with that being the truth of it. "Someone get her some clean water to drink."

Several soldiers scuttled off and the wizard looked at the young woman. "I don't even know what to say," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know if I should be terrified of you or praise you as a savior."

Siska grinned at her. "Both?" she asked.

"Right now, that's truth beyond telling," said Salira. Her eyes drifted out over the wreckage in the harbor. It would take months just to clear the ships alone from the bay, much less repair the damage to the city. "Are those permanent?" she asked, nodding toward the spires rising from the now calm surface of the bay mouth.

Siska nodded. "So far as anything is," she said. "I made them stable into the bedrock."

"What are they?" asked the wizard.

The apprentice took a moment to answer. "A wall," she said.

"There are little holes in them, why?" asked Salira.

"I made them hollow in part, they will be manned after this day, they will be the defense of the city, along with the wall." Siska waved toward the countryside inland of the city.

"What wall?" asked the wizard.

"The one that the Blue Order is going to start building on the morrow," said the apprentice as she looked about. "Or maybe the day after that, we need a rest."

One of the men had returned, bearing a large wineskin that contained water; he helped Siska to drink her fill, beaming at her. He beamed silently over what he saw as both a privilege and a display of his bravery in coming to the frightening woman first.

Again, Salira examined the spires as more smoke cleared from the intervening bay. "Why, Siska? You had more than enough energy to destroy the entire fleet," she shook her head and thought a moment. "No one else can attack us thus, can they?"

"No," said Siska. "Neither they, nor any other power will be able to sail into our harbor without dealing with those." She waved her hand toward the looming spikes of wet granite.

"Some merchants will be cross. Their ships are too broad of beam to manage any of those passages," said Salira.

"They can hire Tressenite small ships to offload their cargo and bring it into port," said the apprentice, smiling. "You'll pardon me if I did not think foremost of commerce."

Beyond the spires, out on the open ocean, the remains of the Theocracy flotilla was regrouping. Their dismay would have been hard to overstate at the turn of events. On each warbarge, magi were found dead: some had burst into white-hot flame in their passing.

"The Theocracy did not teach them to shield their minds well," said Siska, resting once again against the mast. "They were easy to draw into the inner circle and utilize unto death."

"What of the sleepers?" asked Salira, suddenly terrified.

"Don't worry, they shall sleep a while and awaken unaware of what befell them. I managed to buffer their contribution to the circle, they were never in any danger."

Scores, perhaps hundred, of wizards slain in one stroke of this girl's hand, thought Salira, the fear in her body only receding slightly at Siska's reassurances. I cannot fault her destroying those of the Theocracy, but to toy with the sleepers, those utterly unable to defend themselves!

"Promise me something Siska, I beg you," said Salira, turning abruptly form the scene of destruction that had once been a quiet, glass-topped bay.

"If I can, of course," replied the apprentice.

"Never bring the sleepers into your circle again," said the wizard. "Promise me you'll not do that again."

A long moment passed, marked only with the calls of various men of Siska's Company to one another about the ship. She seemed to sit utterly still, like she had been struck dumb.

Then, she reanimated, blinking furiously and nodding. "Very well," she said.

"Thank you," said Salira, her face long and sad, despite the promise. "You are good, Siska, perhaps the best that has trod Feldare's surface, but you are but a mortal, and you can make mistakes. I would not wish you to know the pain of killing hundreds of innocent people."

That seemed to sink in further than her asking the favor in the first place. "I see," said Siska. "Yes, it's both a sensible and kind promise. I shall not touch the sleepers again."

One of the soldiers approached her and knelt, knuckling the decking before him. "Milady, there are no Theocracy forces for over ten blocks. Some men report disturbances toward the palace, though."

Siska held out a hand and Salira and the soldier helped her gently to her feet, where she swayed unsteadily. "Get me to my horse," she said. "Then tie me onto the beast if you must."

"Siska, if you try to wield magic now, you're more likely to make a mistake," said the wizard. "The sort of energies you are toying with, the backlash will be - memorable."

"Very well," said Siska, sighing. "But we should try to relieve those defending the palace."

"That we will," said Salira, gesturing to the nearest soldier as she held Siska's arm. The man trotted up. "Start marshaling the men and gather any others who are willing to fight."

He nodded and took off at a run, yelling toward others to begin rallying Siska's Company. "Are you sure you can ride?" asked the wizard.

Siska nodded, but it had no energy behind it. "Yes, I can ride."

Keeley awoke to find just herself and Maegan in the massive bed. Maegan was sitting up, watching her and idly stroking a small knife on a bit of broken-edged whetstone.

"Thank you," said the young woman as she struggled from where she had intertwined herself in the bed's coverings.

"I don't expect thanks," said Maegan, shrugging. "We're in this together and we need to remember whose side we are on."

Keeley nodded and looked at the muscular soldier. "You made it bearable, though," she said. "I can at least pretend that - well - you and I were with one another and he was but a distraction."

"A rather enthusiastic distraction," said the tall red-head. "But that seems a way to make it less a chore." She then ran her thumb over the edge of the knife. "This knife is for you. I've two more stashed in the antechamber."

"But we're moving again. Surely you can't mean to escape while far to sea." The young woman's protest sounded almost whiney and she clapped her mouth shut, embarrassed that she had voiced it.

"I have no idea when my friends have decided to move," said Maegan. "But I'll take my chances in the water rather than remain a slave forever."

Keeley's eyes went out to the rolling waves beyond the big widows of the stateroom. The water was a dead gray, except near to a small island that was sliding past, where it turned a more appealing pale green. The island was unpopulated, though, just one of hundreds of tiny islets that made up much of the Crystern Chain.

"Surely your friends have a better plan?" asked Keeley.

"I'm certain they do," said Maegan, shrugging. "But they keep it between them and I'll not press to know. What I don't know, I cannot tell under duress."

The door from the corridor into the antechamber opened and Maegan made the knife and whetstone disappear. A moment later, Tessa's narrow face came into view at the door frame. She was unclad, save for a pair of soft slippers. "Your master has deigned to allow me a visit," she said, slipping into the room. "Though I had to beg most enthusiastically to do so."

Maegan virtually flew from her place at the head of the bed and into the tall woman's arms, nearly toppling the more weighty Tessa. The blond caught her friend with a grunt, returning the embrace and kissing the redhead feverishly.

Their reunion was both heartwarming and somewhat distressing to Keeley, given what she and Maegan had been doing at the Templar's behest. She did not find the touch of a woman disagreeable, but she did not find it to be to her liking either. The obvious affection between these two only reinforced the fact that Maegan, at least from the start, had not needed to be coerced into loving a woman.

"So, this is your queen-apparent?" asked Tessa, finally parting from the fierce embrace of her lover.

Maegan made introductions and told Tessa what had happened at the Lord Templar's goading. Tessa's half-humored expression went soft.

"Apologies, milady, but you do understand that it must be done," she said.

"I do," said Keeley, suddenly feeling very naked before Tessa's rather forward gaze. She fought down the urge to cover herself. That was the easy part. The Templar had quickly disabused herself of the notion of covering herself. Her cheek still bore bruises from his convincing blows.

"Any word of when we will be going?" asked Maegan, speaking as if she were planning to leave a party.

"No decision yet," said Tessa, grimacing. "The fleet is moving to some islands south of Tressen to regroup and assess their situation. We should do the same and discover what exactly happened. These tales of the sea rising up and swallowing over half the fleet sound too widespread to be just rumors. I wonder what truly happened."

"Siska," said Keeley.

"What?" asked the tall blond, looking at her.

Keeley stood a bit straighter. "A friend of mine, Siska, might be able to do something like that," she said. "She is a very powerful wizard, though she is still an apprentice."

Maegan shrugged at Tessa's querying look and led her lover to the bed, sitting. "She has spoken of this Siska before, and Kreghel has spoken of her, as well, though he believes her to be some sort of leader among the Blue Order."

Tessa followed the petite redhead and continued the sitting motion until the two were sprawled out beside one another, their hands touching gently.

"I think I'll give you two some privacy," said Keeley, shying from the sleeping chamber to pull the door shut behind her. Their soft, knowing giggles followed her out. A peculiar form of comfort came from those two women's ability to laugh, even with their current situation. Keeley felt her cheeks warm at the knowledge that she, too, was smiling. Amazing what one can grow used to, she thought.

For two days, she had watched the locked grates of the cell door. When light streamed in, she cried out. "In here!" she yelled. "Help me."

An old man, wearing a ragged jerkin of poorly-maintained leather came into view down the stairs. "Who's there?" he asked.

Claya thought quickly. I must secure his help, she thought, yanking off her rather dirty tunic and skirt while his eyes grew adjusted to the darkness of the jailer's station.

"I'm over here," she said. "They were holding me for stealing some apples until a magistrate could be found to dress me down. She reached out through the bars. "Some water please."

The man was not as old as she had first assumed. He seemed careworn and tired. "You were the lucky one then," he said. "There's been war in the city, and many have died or been hauled off by those Theocracy bastards."

"So I could hear through my airslit," she said, waving her hand toward the back of her cell. "My clothes grew so dirty I had to remove them."

He looked at her slender body with increased interest. There heretic, let you lust guide your hands, she thought.

The man looked about the guardroom until he came up with a set of heavy iron keys on a loop of metal. "Let's try these," he said, approaching her door.

Claya had seen those keys before, they were the correct ones. He approached the cell door and she moved to stand there, her skirt behind her back and twisted into a thick rope.

In the dimness, he had to bend close and squint at the cell's lock. As he started to pull back, shoving the key into the lock, she whipped the dress through the bars and about his neck, twisting it and pulling the free end back through the bars.

Then the slight woman braced both feet against the heavy bars and began pulling. The man's face went from surprise to alarm, then terror, all within a minute. He let out tiny squeakings of sound, but nothing that sounded like a full breath, then went slack.

Claya's eyes gleamed with wild fury as she held the tension on the dress for another full minute, then let the man fall to the floor. She then reached through the bars and turned the key in the lock and left the cell.

A quick search around the guardroom yielded everything she needed. A clean skirt and blouse that fitted well enough, some stale water in a bucket, and a forearm-long knife with only one sharpened edge, like a small cutlass. You needn't have killed him, part of her mind protested.

That or reward him for my rescue, and I'll not allow a heretic to sample the blessings of my body, lest there be some true gain in it, snapped back the newly dominant voice, the one which had shown her the path to truth. It had lain mostly quiescent the days immediately following her capture. However, it spoke insistently as she had slept and slowly, she had come to realize that it uttered truth, powerful truth.

Two days hungry in the jail cell had given that voice volume and a receptive ear. It comforted the young and confused woman, offering her solace for the injustice of her captivity. She had tried to save these people from that cursed wizard, only to be thwarted by the heretics' minion, the poor duped soul.

Whether by choice or coercion, she serves the cursed wizard, and must die for her vileness or be put out of her misery, said the voice. Being right makes things so crystalline clear, does it not?

"Yes, it does," said Claya as she squinted at the lowering sunlight of a day starting toward evening. The streets were oddly empty, but she had expected that. People were staying hidden in their homes. Cowards, she chastised them mentally. A chance to aid the army of the blessed in ridding yourselves of heresy and you cower as if fearful.

Unerringly, she aimed for the source of her enlightenment, toward the palace. Yes, come to me, I have need of others of true faith, said the voice.