Chapter 7

The wide avenue with the central grassy strip terminated at the very park where Siska had first met Mannis. The young man smiled at the sight of it. "I'm not used to approaching from this way," he said. "The Defenders' training house has its own gate."

"Let us go there, and get off this street, it's too busy for my liking or for conversation," said Keeley, but the wistful looks she kept giving Varan told Siska speaking was a thing of small import in her mind just then.

Varan made Siska a bit uncomfortable, though. His eyes were intense, as she had known from their first meeting. Now, though, they studied her, as if taking some measure of some unfathomable criteria. He did not stare, which would have truly put her in a mood to end the outing short, but he did look at her often.

Mannis and Keeley seemed to not note the interplay between Siska and the powerfully-build trainee defender with piercing gray eyes. Keeley, no doubt, because she was too busy trying to see if everyone around them realized he and she were together. Mannis spoke a lot during their walk, and looked about himself, almost like a visitor to the city.

The park caretaker allowed them entry without fee, due to the presence of the Defender trainees in their dark gray uniforms.

"I have to say," said Mannis, continuing his long monologue to her, "you're easier to speak to than I would have thought a wizard."

Siska gave that comment some thought. "What about wizarding makes you think it would make me different from any other girl?" she asked after that consideration.

"I don't know," admitted Mannis with a sheepish grin. "I've only spoken with one or two others, and they were rather more - well - aloof."

"More likely distracted, Mannis," said Siska. "Try not to take it personal. Wizards seem an easily diverted lot, from what I've seen."

"And why aren't you, then?" asked the tall red-haired youth.

They were walking down the graveled path of the park, which made a wide circuit of the many acres of land enclosed in its grounds. Off the path, perhaps ten paces, were dense growths of oaks and elms and some pines, the native trees of the island. The sun was high in the sky for now, though, and the trees cast only small shadows.

"I've yet to become as involved as most, I suppose," she replied smoothly. "Besides, my mother told me it was rude to not give someone your full attention."

Keeley and Varan had stopped behind them, walking a few paces from the path and sitting in the shaggy grass. "You two go on," said Keeley, giving Siska a half wink. "Varan and I wish to rest a bit."

She still held Mannis' arm, with her hand resting on his. "Very well," she said, smiling at her friend. Truth be told, she would rather have some distance between herself an Varan's disturbing gaze.

At first she had thought that Defender training had made his eyes so hard and penetrating. That theory was discarded as she spent more time looking at Mannis' eyes. His were not hard, far from it. They showed a depth of emotion that she liked and found comforting. Siska suspected that if Mannis tried to lie to her, those eyes would betray him in his effort.

The two walked away from Keeley and Varan, already sitting with one another, Keeley laying her upper body over his legs and kissing before they were even out of sight. "I'm surprised to have never seen you about town before, Siska, you're easily pretty enough to remember had I."

"Pretty enough?" asked Siska with a mock lift of an eyebrow. "Only that?"

Mannis blushed and shook his head. "Far from any only in those words," he said. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever had the pleasure to speak to."

"Much better," said Siska, lifting her nose slightly. "You'll learn how to charm a girl yet."

Mannis' voice was much lower than before, telling Siska that he was not teasing now. "Only one girl do I care to charm, that I know, and I only pray to the One that she is charmed."

Siska felt heat suffuse her cheeks and she dropped the playful tones in her own voice. "Perhaps not quite charmed yet, but definitely willing to let you keep trying," she said.

"More than fair," he said, nodding and giving her a smile that said that seriousness was far too hard work for such a lovely morning.

They had stopped for this exchange, and he offered her his curled arm again so that they might continue walking. Siska wriggled her hand around to his and pulled the loop out, lacing her fingers with his. It felt good, the warmth of his hand against hers and he seemed quite pleased that she wished to hold hands.

"What does your father do?" asked Mannis, as they passed over a narrow creek spanned by a wooden footbridge. Siska stopped walking at that question and swallowed. Now she would find out what he thought of such as she.

The expression on her face told Mannis much and he looked concerned. "If you'd rather not speak of it yet," he offered.

"No," said Siska, plainly. The deadness in her tone warned him that she, at least, thought the answer would be less than pleasant. "I had hoped that we might have longer before that was asked, is all."

"Then answer when you're ready," said Mannis, wanting the smiling version of Siska back. "Or never, it matters little, it was just a curiousity."

"One that deserves a reply," said Siska. She let go his hand and took hold of the age-darkened wood of the bridge's handrail. "Until about a week ago, I was a slave," she said, exhaling at the end as if she had thought that it might take more words to finish. Siska's eyes were down now and she did not wish to meet his eyes until she knew his thoughts.

"My father was a slave, as was my mother. He died when I was six and she and my brother are still owned people."

Mannis stood silently for a long moment, regarding her. "You've been freed?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "My mentor now, Phillip, freed me." She longed to look into his eyes now, to see the look that was there before of near worship. She feared it would never be there again. "Some are not comfortable with those who were slaves before," she said. "I'll understand if you are."

A slight upward look showed her that he had turned to face the creek, too, not her. "I don't know," he said. His face, in profile, was considering. "I have to admit, my family owns slaves, several, in fact," he said. "I don't know how they would react to my being involved with a freed one."

"I understand," said Siska, giving him a sober nod which she knew he saw by the look from the corner of his eye. "At least you're not insulted," she said. "Or at least I hope you're not."

"One no," he said, turning finally to face her. "Insulted? How?" he asked. "You're still beautiful and clever, and, frankly, a wizard, no matter what you were before."

"Kind words," said Siska. "But I'll not court a man who could not present me to his kin without worry."

"Then I will," he said. "If that's what it would take."

"You said they might not accept," said Siska, inhaling deeply. "I would not cause strife in your family."

"They'll be corrected, if they don't," said Mannis, with a tone of finality that made Siska smile. He was turned now, and his eyes firmly aimed at hers. "I choose to not care, lest to feel that I should reconsider my views on slaves."

Siska grinned at that. "So long as you're not wanting to own one yourself," she said. "I can live with you only hating it a little."

Mannis laughed. "Then I'll hate it exactly twice as much as you require," he said. "I'd not give up a small chance at your affection by lack of fervor."

"Let us walk on, then," said Siska, offering him her hand again which he took enthusiastically. A small wry smile formed on her lips as she counted in her head and watched his eyes as he thought.

"Have you ever..." he started to ask.

"I'll not answer that of a man I've just met," said Siska, interrupting him and widening her eyes while squeezing his hand playfully. "Just you hold that question in your mind until I decide I know you well enough to say."

Mannis got a embarrassed smile on his own features and nodded. "As you wish," he said in a soft voice. "It is none of my business, and I apologize for even starting to ask."

"Accepted and forgotten," said Siska, using her grip on his hand to tug him closer. "I'm easily distracted by handsome men." This last was delivered in a soft croon that reminded him of cats purring.

"You're positive?" asked Phillip, eyeing the orb dubiously as the older wizard puttered around it with dozens of odd instruments of gleaming steel and finely etched bronze.

"As I can be about such things," said the old wizard, Gelten. He was a scrawny man and well past a hundred, which, even for a mage, was a respectable age. "I've watched their movements for months, Phillip, and they're massing for something."

"But the Theocrats agreed to the truce," said Phillip, eyes wide.

"And you expect those One forsaken dogs to keep their word?" asked Gelten, his trimmed beard bristling as he grimaced. "They've never stuck to an agreement any longer than they wished. On a happier, note, if your young apprentice, Siska was it? If Siska can do what she did with this orb with manacrystal, it will usher in a new age of enchantments of Power."

"That's a big 'if'," said Phillip, used to Gelten's rapid changes in focus. "Manacrystal has proven impervious to magical manipulation."

"True, true, but still," said the old mage. "Worth an experiment in that direction or two."

Phillip nodded. "What about the Theocracy?" he asked.

"The fleets of at least ten templars are in nearby waters, according to our picket runners," he said. "Ten. Who would have thought that so many could cooperate?"

"If the prize is large enough," said Phillip, shrugging. "They probably plan to divide the city up among the survivors."

Gelten nodded to that. "I will convene the Great Triad," he said. "This must be discussed and plans laid in case my suspicions bear fruit."

The Triad was the head of each of the Blue Order, the Defenders, and the Graysails. They met only in times of great danger to the city. If what Gelten thought passed amid the isles to the south, then danger loomed these days.

The Blue Order possessed no leader, per se. The office of master went empty over a hundred years ago, when civil war put all the members of the royal house to the sword. By the laws of Tressen, the master was an office held only by the magister of the royal court.

There was no royal court today, but that law was worked into the other laws of Tressen in such a way as to make its removal all but impossible. A provision in the laws allowed for a member of the council to stand in for the master for any particular given need. Therefore, the role was played by all members of the council on a rotation.

"Who shall stand as master?" asked Phillip.

"Embrule is next on the rotation," said Gelten with a sour expression. "He does not agree with my assessment of this situation, but he will do his duty, if grudgingly."

Phillip nodded at this and took a seat on one of the high stools that were scattered around the large classroom. The house of the order had many such classrooms, though they were often not even close to full for a given class.

"Your apprentice has tongues wagging all about the place," said Gelten, chuckling. "I hear she's powerful, beautiful, and possessed of a certain 'spirit' that will stand her in good stead."

"She's all that, Gelten," said Phillip, smiling with pride. "And more, as you can see by that orb."

"Remarkable that an apprentice should be able to even think of doing this, much less pulling it off," said the old man. "I don't think anyone else could do this, with even a year to do it slowly."

"She did it in an hour," said Phillip. "She can hold four concurrent streams."

"Four?" asked Gelten, widening his gray eyes. "Damn, Phillip, you can only hold three reliably."

Phillip sighed and stuffed his tongue into his cheek. "I can do four most times," he said, trying, unsuccessfully, to not sound defensive.

"No shame in three, son," said Gelten. "I can only do two!"

"I've seen you hold five, you old goat," said Phillip.

"With two manacrystals," said Gelten, chuckling. "Just because you didn't see them doesn't mean they weren't there."

Phillip's jaw dropped open. "You sneaky bastard," he said. "You had us believing you could hold five streams for twenty years."

"I know when it's time to confess my sins," said Gelten. "I'm an old man now, and this whole possibility of war has me thinking of retirement."

"Wizards don't retire," said Phillip, shaking his head. "We like meddling too much."

Gelten barked a laugh and handed the glowing orb back to Phillip. "You best hide that, else you'll have every member of the order sending crates of talas spheres to your house for 'purifying'."

Phillip nodded and put the sphere in his belt pouch.

Mannis was not only startled when she kissed him, but he was truly weak in the knees when the kiss ended and his breath was coming in nervous gulps. "Thank you," he said in a breathy whisper.

Siska smiled at him, her lips curling upward and showing her teeth back to her molars. "For what? I wanted the kiss," she asked.

"I've never kissed a woman so beautiful," he said. "One bless me, I've never spoken to a woman so beautiful. I feel that I have been blessed beyond my dreams."

"A tongue so sweet will likely land you in trouble, Master Mannis," said Siska, her eyes flashing violet and moving rapidly over his features. "You best watch what it says, lest it give promise you cannot fulfil."

"Anything I promise would be insufficient," said Mannis, his voice still quavering with the pounding in his chest that was his heartbeat. He seemed on the verge of saying more.

Siska stilled his lips with another kiss, even more forceful and impassioned. With a loud smack she pulled back. "No more of promises, Mannis, not yet," she said. "Just let me enjoy your company for a while, and let us see what the morrow holds."

Mannis nodded slowly and his eyes focused on hers again. "As you ask, milady," he said, kissing her wrist. He knew her well enough, now that they kissed, to touch lips to her wrist, rather than the back of the palm, which was more casual. He might not be highborn, but that was little reason not to follow the proper rules. He soon would wear the black and gold of the Defenders, and he would do his utmost to not shame that respected and proud name.

A rich blush rose in her cheeks from the kiss to the wrist in a way that did not happen from the kiss to his soft lips. Such kissable lips, she thought, watching them as he smiled.

"There you two are!" exclaimed Keeley from nearby. The tall brunette giggled as she saw him lift his head from the gentle kiss to her wrist. "And I see you two are growing to know one another."

"Hush, Keeley," said Siska, giving her friend a wide smile and sidelong glance. "Do not embarrass him for making me short of breath."

The wide-eyed look from Varan did make Mannis blush richly, his cheeks burning red.

"Unfortunately," said Varan, after clearing his throat and causing Siska and Mannis to tear their eyes apart when they drifted toward one another again, "Mannis and I have duty this afternoon, in under an hour. We had to trade two shifts for our one this morning so that we could come to meet you wondrous ladies."

Siska smiled and opened her mouth slightly with astonishment. "You did that? How sweet!" she said, sweet dragged out for a long syllable, making the very saying of the word a torment to a young man's ears.

He stepped back, kissing her wrist one last time then bowing. Varan performed the same ritual with Keeley, both girls smiling and trying to not giggle at the theatrics of the departure.

"What do you think of her?" asked Mannis as they crossed the lawn toward the defenders' gate at the back of the park.

Varan gave a snort. "I think that I wish I had met her about two weeks ago," he said. "She is a lovely girl, Mannis, you're very lucky."

"I am," said Mannis. "When those girls starting coming to the park, I hoped to meet at least one of them, as you did."

Varan gave him a wry smile. "And yet, you waited until Siska came with them to finally come up the hill and speak to them with me," he said. "A fortuitous discovery of your courage, that."

The laugh Mannis barked was loud enough to attract the eyes of passers by. "Courage?" he asked. "You threatened to hide me if I didn't finally stop talking about them and come speak with them."

"Well, there is that," said Varan with another wicked grin. "You spoke of them constantly, and yet would not come. I grew weary of the desire and lack of action."

Mannis gave Varan a deep bow of respect. "I thank you for your threats of bodily harm," he said. "Else I would have never met that wondrous creature of Siska."

Varan laughed and returned the bow. "I shall remember to threaten you more often in the future, friend Mannis," he said in a somber tone, though his blue eyes sparkled.

The two yearling defender trainees standing guard on the gates snapped to attention as the two near graduates approached and moved in a crisp, if imperfectly executed salute. "By the blades, Tressen shall hold!" said the one on the right, in a heartfelt, ritualistic tone.

"So long as one Defender stands, so it shall be," replied Varan, who was walking on the right of the pair. He and Mannis returned the salutes, somewhat less crisply, but much more smoothly executed, their hands crossing to sword then chest. That they wore no sword did little to lessen the impression of one being there.

All the young men had sober expressions, and while performing this rite of the Defenders, their eyes hardened to resemble those of warriors throughout the ages.

The left gate guard opened the gates and stood to the side at the two older youths passed in.

"That Mannis is taken with you something terrible," said Keeley as they crossed the market square. Both moved with unconscious grace, navigating amid the press of people, carts, horses, and carriages. It was midday, and the market bore the heaviest traffic of the day then. Merchants, goodwives buying their daily grocery, workmen out to purchase a lunch, and soldiers changing their post.

"I hope so," said Siska, smiling. "I certainly find him worthy of another walk in the park."

Keeley's eyes widened. "Oh?" she asked. "Should I make sure Varan gets word of that to him?"

"If you wish," said Siska, pretending haughtiness. "I'm certain I can ensure he knows my intentions."

The tall brunette harumphed into the air and smiled. "You two certainly got along well, I saw you kissing," she said.

"I don't know how, with your lips pressed to Varan so tightly," said Siska, giving her friend a poke in the ribs with an elbow.

Keeley blushed and poked back with her own elbow. "I've courted Varan before, you," she said. "We did not kiss on the first outing."

Sudden and real concern flashed onto Siska's features. "Did I go to quickly?" she asked, truly worried. "I had no idea."

"No, no," said Keeley, giggling. "You did fine for a girl of eighteen years."

Siska sighed. "I didn't know age made a difference," she said.

"Of course it does," said the brunette. "A girl of fifteen or sixteen, even seventeen should make a boy wait for several such meetings before allowing a kiss. A girl your age, or older, is considered to know her mind well enough in a single hour to judge a lad worthy of a kiss."

"I'm glad someone knows my mind, for I surely don't," said Siska.

"When it comes to men, I don't believe any of us know, truly," said Keeley.

Two men passed by Siska and Keeley, drawing the two girls' eyes. They wore the stark black wool coat and pants of the Defenders. Gold piping ran along the outside of arms and legs, and their metal-linked belts gleamed golden, as well. High boots came to the top of their calves, tight and gleaming with polish.

Long, slender, curved swords hung on their belts, with long grips. Most guardsmen Siska had seen had shorter blades, meant for one-handed use. These blades had long handles, meant for one or two hands to use them. When they had watched the trainees yesterday, the young men had switched from one handed holds to two to one again, and seemed to be required to use both hands with equal facility.

The two men moved with a catlike grace that Varan and Mannis only now were beginning to possess themselves. Siska was sure that Defenders trained after their elevation to full status, though it was then accompanied by true duties, as well.

Defenders were more than simple soldiers, they were a symbol of the armed might of Tressen. Limited in numbers and elite in their training. Even a novice member of the Defenders was considered a man to be reckoned with in a fight.

Further, they were educated outside of the martial arts as well. They were expected to fully be gentlemen, capable of standing their ground, with pride even in the courts of the world and amid the most genteel of nobility.

A Defender was expected to be a scholar, atop all the other things, learned in the sciences and arts. The more Keeley told Siska of them, the more she felt that she had found something special in attracting the eye of such a man, even if only nearly completed in his basic training.

Keeley laughed when she intimated this. "You?" she asked. "You feel special? You are among an order of only five hundred, the Blue Order is at least as highly regarded as the Defenders, Siska. Trust me when I say that he is as impressed, if not moreso, at having earned your attention. If anyone here should feel awe and like they possess the luck, it should be me, who has nothing impressive to offer the quartet."

Siska blinked at her. "Nothing to offer?" she asked. "You're beautiful."

"Next to you, Siska," said Keeley, giving her a wry smile, "I'm just a plain town girl. Men will desire your hand for your eyes alone."

"Say what you will," said Siska. "But I think you're lovely, and I'll hear no more against it. Else, perhaps, I should bring up the topic next I see Varan?"

"No!" exclaimed Keeley in mock upset, though she giggled. "I'll allow that I'm lovely, just don't get him started on that. I made a remark like that two weeks ago, and he muttered about it for two hours. We had almost no time left to kiss that day."

Siska's haughty expression came on again. "Very good," she said. "Just you remember that."

The two had passed through the market and were now on a roughly paved street that passed amid shabby buildings that were kept only in a haphazard manner. "Where are we?" asked Siska. She had been following Keeley's lead.

"I live near to here," said Keeley, though she looked about with a bit of worry on her face. "Please don't think to ill of me."

"Ill?" asked Siska. "I'm a former slave, remember?"

Keeley gave her a weak smile. "Well, former slave or no, your opinion means much to me."

"I'll hold nothing like your neighborhood against you," said Siska.

"My father used to fare better, but we had some bad luck and a fire," said Keeley. "We believe one of his apprentices stole most of his barstock and then set the fire to try to cover his crime. We've not seen him since that day and father lost most everything, including a larger shop and home closer to the town center."

"Barstock?" asked Siska as they rounded a corner and approached a small shop with a placard hanging over the door, showing a silver bowl.

"The ingots used to make silver goods," said Keeley. "Half a pound and dear to buy, fifty marks each."

Siska gasped at the very thought. "How many did the man take?" she asked.

"A hundred bars, or near that," said Keeley, nodding as she opened the door into the silversmith shop. "Would you like to come in?"

"If you wish it, I have no obligations this afternoon," said Siska.

"That makes the one of us then," joked Keeley.

The shop was tiny within, barely half as large as her own bedroom. A middle-aged man hunched over a workbench near the far wall. He was somewhat plump, but not overly so, just enough to mark the passage of years since he was a youth. He had a careworn face, though, and Siska knew this must be Keeley's much put-upon father.

He was using a tiny tool to etch the surface of a silver goblet. Two others stood to the side, finished, from what she could see, and three more were on the other side of the bench, smooth and unetched. "I'm back father," said Keeley, walking up to the man and giving him a brief hug. "I would like you to meet Siska, my new friend."

The man returned the girl's hug with a smile and turned to regard Siska. "Well," he said, smiling. "You'll have your brother tripping over himself to meet this friend, Keeley Davshan." He straightened his back from the hunch that he must have adopted for the fine detail work. "She's prettier than the other two, though they've no lack of good looks."

Siska blushed and found herself unable to meet the man's light blue eyes. "I thank you, Master Davshan," she said, glad to have heard his surname, as she had not asked Keeley for it before. She thought it possible he had used the name for Keeley just for such a purpose. She accompanied that with a shallow curtsey and a guileless, natural smile.

The man wearing the plain workers woolens felt right to her, like she could trust the man with anything. She was unsure why she should feel this way about Keeley's father, but she did.

"Who is your father, young woman?" he asked, setting down the scribing tool and standing to pour himself a tall cup of water from a crockery pitcher into a leather cup.

Siska blushed again. "My father's name was Davas," she said, again finding herself unable to make eye contact with the man's penetrating gaze.

"Davas?" asked the silversmith. "Is that your surname?"

"No, Master Davshan, I have no surname," she said, the blush deepening.

"I see," said Keeley's father as he sat back down, then his eyes widened. "You were a slave?"

Most of the joy of the moment had fled Siska. "I fear so, yes," she said, keeping her gaze down.

"Ghastly business that," said the man, "I'll not have truck with those who peddle in human goods." He had a disapproving look on his face that made him seem carven of wood. The wrinkles deepened, then slowly smoothed when he finally broke into a smile. "Yet, you're not now, correct?"

"No, Master Davshan," said Siska. She was amazed at how different the forms of master were in her mind. Master Davshan was nothing like simply 'master'.

"Call me Endrick," he said. "I'll not have someone who wore the gray call me master," he said, as if he had read her mind. "Most folk don't get to call me that, but you shall be an exception."

Keeley was beaming at her father from behind his shoulder. She was proud of her dad, despite the harder life they now lived. This made Siska wish he was her own father, if her friend could be so proud of the man.

"You have a year and a day to pick a surname, is that right?" asked Endrick, his leathery skin breaking into another small smile.

"So they say," said Siska. "I've not thought on it yet."

"With a unique name like Siska, I'll wager not," said Endrick. "You're not likely to run into another, lest you travel to the Eastern Realms."

"Could be my forebears hailed from there," said Siska. This was the first she had heard from whence her name originated.

"I doubt that, they're a dark haired, ruddy people, with brown eyes," said Endrick. "If there is someone who is utterly not an Eastron, you're she."

Siska smiled at him. "Perhaps my mother just liked the sound of it, then," she said.

"Will you be staying for luncheon, then?" asked Endrick, peering over Siska's shoulder at something behind her.

"If you ask, yes," said Siska. "Though I have no wish to impose."

"Nonesense," said the silversmith. "We're not wealthy folk but we can afford another mouth from time to time."

Keeley grimaced as his self deprecation, but Siska found it charming in the man, humility was something to be cherished, especially in someone who seemed to be a worthy soul.

He walked past Siska and bolted the front door then closed the wooden flap that had 'closed' painted by hand on the inside, where it now faced out to the street. "I don't get a lot of walking custom, anyway," he muttered.

"Most of father's customers are referred to him by others," said Keeley. "This location isn't ideal for the person idly shopping."

Endrick snorted. "Far from it, girl," he said. "Not like the old lot." He patted her shoulder and smiled. "You should have been born a boy, Keeley, you'd have made a fine silversmith. Quite the head for business."

He led them behind the little shop into a small common room, then into a even smaller room, dominated by a single large table with benches down each side and a armchair at each end. Bread, cheese, and a soup that smelled like spiced onion soup were arrayed on the table. A slender woman bustled in with a small platter of strip-sliced beef, simply roasted.