Nanamarvion-The Bright Power

Chapter 1

Beautiful!

Thanks! I replied. It’s a tricky turn. A full circle, on one foot, with the other extended; one hand down and the other holding the sword directly up. I was aiming at looking like a spinning top.

It’s not the turn. It’s the bending over that I liked.

Putti! I hadn’t thought the spin to be risqué. Until he mentioned it. I wish he’d pointed it out before I spent the last hour practicing the maneuver. Maybe I should take it out of my performance?

Taking his feet off a table and tilting his chair forward and back down with a thud, Putti grinned unrepentantly and continued with, Do you want to pull the customers in or not? With a musing air, he added, You know, I’m not sure which view is the best, back or front.

I stared at him, offended but unable to keep back an answering smile. What woman could? He was a tall, dark haired, blue-eyed whip of masculinity with a devil-may-care way that was devastating. I may have lost my heart to him—if I hadn’t met his wife and their three children first.

To whom he was utterly devoted.

Even if he were not, I wouldn’t have considered a married man as a romantic partner. I might, temporarily, work in a tavern; but I tried to retain some standards. Bad enough to put up with the bad jokes and vulgarity.

Even worse that I generally enjoyed them.

Wiping sweat off my forehead with the back of my left hand, I spun Dnuorg up and sheathed it with the right then lowered myself down to sit on the platform where I’d been practicing.

Star, my infant dragon, jumped up to my shoulder from where she’d been wolfing down a plate of fried vegetables and bacon. With the ease of long practice, she wrapped around my neck. Her head, more blunt-snouted and big-eyed than it would be when she matured, peeked from the other shoulder at Putti. She was still short necked and featherless, too. Her wings were small and the adult dragons back home said that they would continue to adhere to her sides for a few more years yet. Apparently dragons didn’t start growing until they’d mentally matured, and the wings wouldn’t come out until then either. Indeed, the thin skin that covered them made them looked more like a design than separate appendages.

Good thing! As is, she passed for a lizard, rather than a dragon. Having a lizard as a pet was strange enough. Being the foster mom for a dragon could make me downright unpopular, particularly in Meta Bragosh, which had been terrorized by dragons not too far in the past.

Putti poured a glass of cool tea from a flagon, rose, and sauntered over to present it to me. Quitting already? I’d only been working on my sword drills for an hour. Usually, I stayed at it for at least two. Mother would have insisted on three as a minimum

I nodded tiredly.

He cast me a shrewd look and asked, Looking a bit pulled, Love.

He addressed me in Orehian, the standard language for most Meta Bragoshians, though the lower class used a patois that mixed elements of Orehian with Prandanese. Having Meta Bragoshians use Orehian as the country’s official language was useful, for I’d only started learning Prandanese in the last few years and that only for reading, not speaking.

Orehian, on the other hand, was one of my two, main, native languages. We used it back home five out of seven days, with Nelradian being used those other two days. Not that those were the only languages. There was Ikuzuan—one of my best friends since a child was Ikuzuan; understanding the Gigamish language—one of my other best friends was Gigamish; and the sign and spoken language of the Iron Mountain trolls—didn’t want to offend them, since they let my family live in their cave warrens. And understanding but still learning to speak dragonese—sigh.

But Orehian, Nelradian, and Ikuzuan were bastardized versions of each other, making the process easier.

With only a slight, Meta Bragoshian twang and narrowed eyes, Putti continued, Not carrying on with the patrons after hours, I hope.

If he only knew! I set down the now empty mug, stretched and provided, No. Then, flippantly, added, The bed has bugs. Which was the Meta Bragoshian way of saying that you couldn’t sleep.

Not that the beds in taverns didn’t frequently have bugs! But I’d removed every bug, smidgen of dirt, and most of the past sins out of my bed and room at the inn before setting my bags down. The previous year I’d become infested with lice at a tavern where I worked and had nearly gone mad before ridding myself of them. It was not an experience I cared to repeat.

As far as removing the sins were concerned… Well, it was a tavern and had certainly acquired its share of bad energy. But my talisman ring, aside from letting me see in the dark, was also quite good at clearing such dark energies. It had only taken the single Nelradian command, Lismour! to do so. At home, we used the command as a precursor to every complex spell so as to prevent random, lingering energies from upsetting the process.

Not that that was too much of a problem there, given that the caves that I grew up in were carved by stone trolls from solid basalt. Basalt was excellent for preventing energy from settling into unwelcomed places.

Putti, or Puternam Jani Fitqueril, if you will, chose to take my statement literally and gave a snort that twitched his finger-width of moustache. Bugs and taverns go hand-in-hand, By Frunk! You’d think the alcohol fumes would kill them! Then with still narrowed eyes, he probed, But surely there’s more to those circles under your eyes than that. He adopted his showman voice—all full of resonance and suggestive intonation. What evil deeds of your murky past haunt your sleep so, beauteous one?

Uneasy at his apt choice of words, I prevaricated, `Murky past’ is probably right. I am having a spot of trouble. Had a fight with a patron a while back in Meta Matta. He ended up shedding some blood. Saw him on the street the other day and been worried he might show up here.

I kept my eyes carefully lowered towards a belt pouch with which I fiddled while I talked. I’ve always had a talent for fabricating falsehood, but I was up against a master here and it put me off my pace. Certainly, what might pass muster with my family or even my foster father, King Martzin of Ikuzua, didn’t get by Putti.

Nor did the lowered eyes help. Patently unconvinced, he urged, Pray continue, oh young and novice teller of tales. And is this potential patron of a power to be feared? `A Prince or PON…’ as the saying goes?

His comment startled a spurt of laughter from me. At times I’d swear he was a clairvoyant. Close, Putti! I had actually, finally, killed most of the PON in Meta Bragosh—I hoped that I’d killed most—the previous night. The deed had been preceded by a week of little sleep and many a night prowl after the tavern closed; thus, those circles under my eyes…

The process leading up to their deaths started two months before. One of Gramps’ sensing talismen, which were placed in inconspicuous locations throughout the Orehian Empire, had indicated a release of power in the back streets of the city of Pinquin, the capital of Meta Bragosh. The type of energy indicated a PON coven. I flew down on dragonback—not Star’s back, of course—to investigate; but it had taken a surprisingly long time to sniff out the small group, which had proven to contain only two PON and a dozen followers. Every time I or my family had sensed their power being used someplace and I rushed to close with them, they’d already left. Evidently their losses in other places were making them cautious.

Knowing that my family’s ancient enemies recruited disciples from the riffraff, I had soon decided to mix with the same. And where better to do so than working as a dancer at a lowly tavern? Endless conversations with obnoxious drunks and tavern drudges had finally paid off with a rumor of the previous night’s activities.

Now I had only to clear away a few loose ends before I’d head back home. One of those loose ends being Putti. Pursuant to this, I said, At any rate, I’d best be leaving before the man shows up here.

He started to take me serious. But you said you’d stay until the end of the month! There’s still a week to go. If there really is some concern, you know that all you have to do is point out the chap. The boys will take care of him. The Furred Ducks bouncers were tough characters.

A spurt of laughter escaped me that I quickly stopped at his frown. I tapped my sword hilt, which extended above my left shoulder. You forget, I’m an Ikuzuan warrior. If I wanted him handled in that way, I’d do it myself. In fact, given the five, mayhem-laden talismen that I carried, I could take care of not only this single, fictional `him’ but most small armies…all right, most large armies…provided they didn’t contain other wizards.

An obstinate expression appeared that was foreign to Putti’s easy-going expression. You’re also just a wee bit of girl and not nearly as worldly-wise as you would have everyone believe.

Well, that was true in some regards; but in others… Wisdom came from experience and, in terms of violence, I’d seen more than a bit over the last few years. Maybe. But it’s a moot point for I still must be on my way.

It’s not a matter of money, is it; because…

No! The usual packet of choice jewels rested in one of my boots’ heels.

He exclaimed, But we have a great opportunity here! Some lords came last night. You could end up in the palace with your show! I hesitated, toying with the idea. I had reasons of my own for wanting to enter the palace. Would they really allow an act as risqué as mine in there? With a note of pleading, he added, At least you’ll stay for the rest of the week? I’ve already guaranteed Hubart. Listen! If your boogie man shows up, we’ll do his business for him!

The tavern’s owner, Lord Hubart, had never visited the place except for the one memorable evening when he won the tavern with a throw of dice from its previous owner. I certainly didn’t want to get Putti in trouble with the Lord for whom he operated the tavern.

However, Lord Hubart was small change to my true boogie man. Or, perhaps I should say `boogie men’—notably Father and King Martzin. If they found out I put up as a tavern dancer, they’d skin me alive. And if they found out that I danced in a palace as one, they’d then fry up my still quivering remains!

Well…not literally, but verbally, they would!

But, what the heck, I’d already been dancing there for several weeks. Finishing out the month was not that big of a thing. Maybe I could catch up on sleep before returning to my home on Iron Mountain.

On the other hand, I didn’t really want to dance in the tavern any longer.

And, I was seen leaving the scene of the previous night’s carnage by at least one person. Plus, the woman who cleaned the tavern saw me come back into it right after the alarm went up about the fire.

I didn’t want to risk having someone put one plus one together or recognize me. The Meta Bragoshians might try to take me up for murder and some perfectly innocent guard could end up being killed in the process.

I started to shake my head at Putti’s offer, but he molded his features into one of mournful, comical supplication. If men knew how attractive a sense of humor was to a woman, more would develop one. Casting up my eyes, I said, Well, let me think on it. I’ll let you know tonight.

A little later, after levitating the sweat of the exercise off in the privacy of my room, I slipped a dress over my leathers, Star wound around my shoulders, and I wandered out to the streets without my sword or shield. Most of the populace didn’t carry weapons like that. Silly to feel uneasy about going without them.

But lunch had started at the tavern. Exhausted as I was, it was still too noisy to rest there.

And too hot, particularly in my little room just below the Inn’s eaves. Midsummer in Meta Bragosh.

With all of the magic at my command, you’d think I could do something about heat!

In fact…I wondered…

Toying with ideas on how to use the enormous power in my talismen to cool off one small room without leaving an aura that a novice savant could spot, I drifted to a nearby bazaar, wandered in a few shops, and picked up some more items to take back to the family. A fancy, new type of sharpener for Mother’s weapons, which she would probably never use; a special filtering apparatus that I thought my Great-grandmother would use in making her witch powders; and, of course, another toy for Kintilean.

I missed my daughter, Kitten, terribly when I was away. More, I’m sure, than she missed me. After all, she had the rest of the family to care for her.

Though I, at least, had sweet Star to comfort me.

I missed the caves of home, too. Iron Mountain and the City. The cool, mountain air. The quiet. Tisha and Jasmina’s cooking.

Absent-mindedly, I picked up a second toy, a rather complex mechanical device that involved gears that played music. And then bought it without even attempting to argue the delighted shopkeeper down in price. This said something about the extent of my weariness, for I normally enjoyed few things as much as a good round of bargaining.

Fingering the toy and hardly knowing what I was about, I suddenly found myself meandering down a familiar, narrow street. With a muttered imprecation, I started to turn back, paused and then decided to continue on. The spirits in my talismen probably directed me that way. I’d found that it was just as well to hark to their nudging.

Most of the time. After all, one didn’t want them to get too cocky.

Soon I joined a group of people who stood gawking at the burnt wreckage of what had been a large, run-down house. It was separated from its neighbors by a wide stretch of grass and bushes. The extra space is probably why it had been chosen by the PON. Distance hid sounds…like chants…or screams.

These PON had gone to some effort to avoid drawing attention to themselves. The Priests’ homeland, Nelrad, lay far over the Vladian Ocean. Nelrad was not officially at war with Oreh but relations between the Orehian Empire and the Nelradian theocracy were difficult. Even having these PON come to Oreh unannounced was a breach of protocol. But having them perform human sacrifice on Orehian citizens to gain their dark power…That was a breach of international treaty large enough to start a war.

Of course, if it became known, the Nelradian ambassador would just deny duplicity in their presence, as he had upon occasion in the past. Amazing how many rogue, outlawed, Nelradia savants existed! Yet another reason for PON in Oreh to lay low. They didn’t get help from Nelrad if they ran into trouble with Orehian law.

Of course, such political concerns mattered naught to this group now.

Timbers within the shell still smoldered. A few of the Meta Bragoshian military stood about keeping back the curious.

Two young men, one fat, one skinny, stood in front of me, builders of some kind judging by the tools they carried on belts around their waists. The skinny one remarked, Roti was saying that there was some strange going-ons in there. Lights at all times of the night.

I heard that it was a brothel. said the tubby one.

Nah! The first gave a course laugh and a glinting look. I’d have known about that.

A thin, dyspeptic-looking lady turned and gave him a disapproving look. Then, obviously lowering herself but unable to keep silent, she supplied, Whatever it might have been, we’ll never know for no one escaped!

The men made suitable sounds of horror tinged with avid curiosity. It was enough to keep her talking. I live just across the way and saw it all! The smoke just poured out of the bottom windows when I gave the alarm. I kept my eyes on it the rest of the night. No one even came to the windows to look out!

Not quite true. I’d come out—and had barely reached a concealing doorway before she’d flung open her window and started shrieking like a banshee. In fact, it was she whom I thought had spotted me.

The skinny man said, Maybe it was already empty.

Nay! She turned to point. If you just look…see…just there.

The two men goggled. Damn. You mean that…

Aye. It’s too hot to remove yet. They’ve been able to sight two more, too. Can’t you smell them? She sniffed and the two men did as well.

In a surprised tone, the fat one said, Smells kind of sweetish, like grunt ribs. Then he had the grace to stop and look self-conscious.

But the woman nodded energetically and added, They won’t be able to check for others until everything cools down. She acted almost pleased.

I turned back toward the bazaar, feeling a little nauseated at their manner.

At least no hint of the identity of the corpses had become known and with luck, none would. That woman would certainly have told the two men if she’d heard anything about PON being suspected in Meta Bragosh. She had apparently been in the thick of matters all morning and was a gossip to boot.

That was, of course, the house in which I found the PON the previous night. They were in the process of extracting the life-force from a young man, whose skin had already started to shrivel. The PON had been choking him to death slowly. One of many ways that the PON murdered their sacrifices.

I had killed the two priests and one of their acolytes when I first burst into the room. The other six followers fled. Since they looked to be prostitutes, pimps, thieves or other such riffraff, I let them go. Their drugged and spelled states would ensure that they would be unlikely to recognize me later or even remember much of what had happened. Even if they did, who would listen to them…if they were stupid enough to talk about it?

I wasn’t nearly as tolerant of the occasional noble that I found at PON gatherings. To be born into privilege and yet still engage in soul sacrifice was beyond perversion.

After the house had emptied, I’d freed the young man’s spirit from its partial, unsealed link to a PON talisman, along with what life-force had already been garnered within the crystal. The man’s body died just moments later, thankfully without him regaining consciousness for his body was too damaged to support life for long.

Then I sensed about the house and retrieved another three completed talismen. They were now stored in one of my belt’s pouches. The spirits in them had yet to be released. I liked to do so at sunset. This was in keeping with reputed procedures; but I didn’t believe, as many lowlanders did, that, if I waited later, dark spirits and demons might try to snatch the essence of the ones released. Nor did I believe that spirits dissipated and were lost in sunlight. But, the poor spirits seemed to have an easier time letting go when they were released just as the sun set, at the time betwixt.

Or maybe releasing them just seemed inappropriate during the bustle of the day and too lonely and sad in the dead of night.

In addition to the crystals, I also found a number of interesting papers, some of them well-hidden by wards under floor boards. I’d hoped to find such but hadn’t really been expecting it, for the PON had been concealing their tracks well. Then again, so had I. The house contained the clutter incidental to occupancy—clothes, kitchen supplies… I suspected that they had used their own headquarters for that night’s sacrifice. One could hope!

Satisfied that everything of value had been retrieved from their house, I had then piled all of the flammable, non-metallic Ponnish symbols and devices near the two doors to the outside, then soaked them with enough lamp oil to assure that they’d burn to ashes.

The fire not only destroyed those Ponnish devices and runes but also blocked any would-be rescuers from entering and discovering the obviously sacrificed body of the young man. The corpse would have shouted, PON! to anyone who’d seen it.

The fire would have rendered the bodies of the male and female PON and the male acolyte unrecognizable. Many of the PON had tattoos or other markings on their bodies, which identified the Nelradian sects to which they belonged.

Still later in the night, I’d buried the remaining, Ponnish, metallic items in a hole under a large boulder that I levitated to the bottom a small, nearby cliff.

All of these subterfuges resulted from my family’s decision—against my increasingly vociferous advice—to conceal the insidious invasion of the Priests into the Orehian continent. They felt that if the PON’s presence were known, the population would panic and find an outlet for their fear in attacking good wizards.

Consequently, I’d been circumspect in how I’d countered Ponnish attempts to infiltrate the Orehian Empire over the last three years.

On the other hand, the previous two attempts at stopping them, in Meta Matta and Brem, had not been particularly quiet…

But, for the most part, it stayed a hidden battle between us. An undeclared war. They fought to gain a toehold and a following in the various countries of the Orehian Continent. I fought to stall them until I’d gained sufficient skill to combat them openly.

Meanwhile, my Aunt Rocares in Oreh and my best friend, Queen Chryssala in Meta Matta worked hard to assure that young wizards were being trained with the skills needed to combat the PON. It took a dozen years to train a savant and another twelve for them to gain true mastery in the magics.

Of course, with the Tomom talismen—my sword, Dnuorg; shield, Temarif; crown, Stalp; ring, Neveah; and armor, Baeco—and the spirits within them helping, I could already wield far more power than the majority of full wizards. In fact, perhaps more than any wizard in the world, save one who was similarly equipped. And I had not heard of any such, except for the Emperor of Oreh, to whom my family had gifted a second set of similar talismen.

Too bad the talismen didn’t supply experience and knowledge. Only time allowed those.

And time was a product of which I consistently ran short. In the five years since I’d first ventured forth from my home in Ikuzua and battled PON, I had parsed my study time between wizardry, learning Margowin doctrine, and training at arms. The last might seem a strange thing for a wizard to have to know, but there were many times when there was no substitute for good, skull-bashing ability. Besides, two of my talismen, Temarif the shield and Dnuorg the sword, demanded some skill in this regard.

And if they didn’t, Mother did! Having a mother who was once a Margowin Enclave’s guard ensured that I knew which end of a sword to hold.

And, though each of those activities could well take up all of one’s time, they proved minor compared to other duties. My newly acquired status as King Martzin’s adopted daughter had spawned a mass of unexpected, unwelcomed, and time-consuming royal responsibilities.

And, as if those things weren’t enough, the dragon’s egg I’d found on Iron Mountain had hatched when I was sixteen. To my chagrin, I found that the adult dragons who’d been caring for the egg expected me, as the Glowing Mother, to do most of Star’s raising.

Finally, there was my daughter, Kitten.

The PON, Jinto, had managed to connect the two parts of an ancient talisman called Mirtolanola’s rattle, which, in turn, acted as a key that caused the great talisman, the Flame of Margowin, to crack open, thus freeing Savant Mirtolanola’s baby. The huge Flame of Margowin crystal had enclosed the baby for three thousand years. I was there, fighting Jinto, when he reassembled the rattle and was killed by the spirit in it. It would have killed me, too, if I had not successfully answered a secret question concerning the baby.

What is its name?

But naming Kintilean had resulted in Mirtolanola, the spirit in the Flame of Margowin and the child’s true parent, insisting that I accept responsibility for the babe. And the great savant, even in spirit form, had some sneaky ways of getting at me if she felt that I shirked my maternal duties!

She’d given me a bad case of constipation as well as engorged breasts for nearly a week when I first tried to stop nursing Kitten so that I could go to the City of the Iron Mountain. Then, even after weaning Kitten, I’d broken into hives for two weeks upon leaving her in my family’s care to attend a round of ceremonies at the City. I don’t know which was worse, my appearance, the itching, or the pain.

For two years, I couldn’t even sleep in a separate room from her without risking an attack of insomnia, diarrhea, or some other malady! And all of my entreaties or the combined spells of my family were not sufficient to counteract her will.

So for those two years, I took both Kintilean and Star with me everywhere except the privy.

And that meant taking Tisha and Jasmina on any trips, too. They were Priestesses of Margowin. The Priestesses had tended Kintilean for three thousand years, while she was still in the egg-like, crystal talisman; and even though she was now birthed, the Priestesses would hardly let Kitten out of their sight.

And then there was Mother, who, taking her duty as the Priestesses’ single, remaining soldier-at-arms seriously, wouldn’t leave them; and then Father, who got even stranger when Mother wasn’t around.

And since the adult dragons insisted that at least one of their number had to be within five leagues of Star at all times… Well…any expedition became a major project.

I visited Chryssi in Meta Matta when she was about to be married; and my whole family, except for my great-grandmother, accompanied me along with King Martzin—Chryssi’s father—and my second father since my adoption by him—and an enormous merchant caravan. Meanwhile, Winneper, one of the Aerie’s dragons flew overhead, hissing at imagined threats and eating the real ones and generally causing conniptions among the Ikuzuan ponies.

King Jubitrin hadn’t been overly pleased with the dragon perching on the palace tower either. Only that one tower had survived a fire set by a PON. But since I financed the replacement of the rest of the palace with treasure brought up from the sea serpent, Yenta’s, nest, Jubitrin limited his displeasure in my presence to occasional mutters.

Anyway, despite their size, dragons were not very heavy. His silly tower took no harm. Except for dragon stench.

Then, when Kitten reached the age of two, PON activity in Brem reached a level such that we had to deal with it. I went into a trance to talk matters over with Mirtolanola’s spirit.

At first, she remained adamant about having me either remain at the Aerie or take Kintilean along while ridding Brem of the PON. She felt that as long as Kitten possessed Mirtolanola’s rattle, she would be safe.

Having been subject to that rattle’s power myself, I couldn’t disagree; but I maintained that I’d be too nervous about Kitten to do any good. And I pointed out, again, that the PON had destroyed the whole Margowin fortress, massacring or enslaving everyone inside, just to get Kitten when she was still encased in her crystal womb. And that they still wanted to get Kitten, thinking she might have powers that they could use.

Finally, after a full night of debate, Mirtolanola gave reluctant permission to me to leave Kitten at home.

I’d gone on many similar trips thereafter. Mirtolanola became reconciled to them after finding that Kintilean did fairly well with a doting, adoptive family consisting of my Great-grandmother, Grandfather, Father, Mother, Priestess Tisha, Priestess Jasmina, and Tag—my guardian troll.

Indeed, far from neglecting her, they came perilously close to spoiling her. Only her perfect disposition prevented her from becoming a brat.

My fond thoughts on that much-missed bundle of giggles was interrupted by a voice calling, Nana! in my ear. Startled, I jerked my head around. None of the Meta Bragoshians thronging the bazaar seemed to be looking at us.

Star had jumped at the sudden noise too, looked around, then turned to stare back at me, her eyes a fingers-length away. Understanding came and I murmured, Don’t worry! It’s just Daddy Foriss. Star relaxed as I slipped between two of the brightly colored stalls and into an empty, noisome alley. After checking for possible prying eyes and then passing an avoidant spell on the area, I finally said, It’s all right, Father.

His form materialized before me. Star chirruped a greeting that was returned with a smile and twitter. Of the whole family, Father spoke dragonese best. My comprehension had become fair, but I still found the twittering difficult to form.

Star, on the other hand, with a dragon’s perfect memory, had learned not only dragonese; but the Orehian and Nelradian that we spoke at home; Ikuzuan; Meta Mattian; and even a bit of the Iron Mountain trolls’ spoken language. Not bad for a five-year-old! But Star had my problem in reverse. She couldn’t form human words well as of yet. Still, we made ourselves understood by each speaking our own languages. And she came in handy as an interpreter on our travels.

Without preamble, Father’s projection inquired, Gramps told me you finished the PON enclave off last night.

I’d given a brief report to Gramps late the previous night. I nodded and added, Most of them. I found some papers at the enclave, too. Just looked them over a little while ago. Plans for taking over Meta Bragosh. I told him the principal points of the communications and urged that the information be turned over to the Meta Bragoshian authorities.

Frowning, which caused his winged brows to slant steeply, he said, I’ll leave the decision to you, but you might consider passing them on in private to King Zhadel. King Jubitrin has tried to convince him of the PON’s presence on the continent, but he refuses to believe they’re a threat. Maybe this will help.

There’s at least one other PON. In King Zhadel’s court.

Plenric told me. He hesitated, then said grimly. Get rid of him.

I nodded and looked down. I’d sooner kill a PON than slay a deer, but I’d even sooner not kill anyone or anything at all. I looked up again. How’s Kitten and everyone?

His fine-boned face cleared and he replied, Fine! Suddenly, he gave a snort of laughter and an impish look. She got into Rita powders yesterday and it caused half of one of her arms to disappear.

Granmere’s powders! She could blow the whole Aerie up with those! I didn’t worry about the disappearing. Such spells seldom did harm.

No worry. She’s fine. Tisha and Rita were both there. Kitten thought not being able to see her arm was great fun.

I said, When I was little and got into those powders, you practically snapped my head off and growled at Granmere for a week.

With an irritating quirk of an eyebrow, he replied, Yes. But then, I was the parent…

He made similar taunts often. Father took a fiendish delight in the parental aggravations I suffered. He considered it retribution for the troubles I caused when younger. I suspect he even put Kitten up to some of her antics. And my complaining only encouraged him.

Knowing this, I changed the subject, I suppose you’re contacting me for a purpose other than to talk about Kitten? Projecting from that distance was a major effort even for him.

Patently enjoying my discomposure, he replied, Certainly. King Martzin contacted us today. He received a request through his embassy in Meta Bragosh from King Zhadel for a detail of Ikuzuans. They’re needed to accompany Prince Elcsum of Oreh through Ikuzua, in transit to Oreh.

Shocked out of my irritation, I stuttered, Prince Elcsum! I…er…the…but…uh…is the embassy going to provide it?

Father looked surprised at my reaction, then curious. I took a breath and tried to recover my poise. He could be awfully tenacious when he got curious. You know that the embassy there is only a trading depot with half a dozen people. They have no guards of which to speak. Nor do they have anyone on staff who’s qualified to lead a caravan through the northwest passage to Iron Mountain. Why do you…

Anticipating, I interrupted, Neither am I.

The curiosity growing stronger, he paused then said, No. But you’ve flown over that area on Winneper and acted as co-captain on that last trip to Meta Matta. Again he said, Why…

Damn his unfailing curiosity. How do you tell your Father that the first kiss—in fact the only real kiss—you’d ever received was from the Crown Prince of Oreh? How further to tell that, possibly…probably…as a result of that kiss, you’d filled altogether too many daydreams with sleepy brown eyes and masculine dimples. I veered away from those thoughts. Fact is, I met the Prince…a long time ago. We…didn’t get along.

Nana, I know that the Crown Prince had you chased out of Thrane; but you said it was just because he was angry when you wouldn’t go to that hunters’ ball. Anyway, you have diplomatic immunity when you go to the palace. You haven’t annoyed him so much that he’d break covenant, have you!

It’d been a long time since Father had adopted quite that tone with me. It was nice to know I could still irritate him. All the same, I was an adult. He didn’t have the right to use it anymore. I replied, As a matter of fact, he insulted me! Before he could ask the obvious question, I continued, It was hardly a serious matter. Maybe he’s forgotten. It was possible… Why does he need to go to Oreh through Iron Mountain? I’d heard that the Prince was in Meta Bragosh, but the city was big and the palace sat at its other end, more than an hour’s walk away. I’d tried not to think about him being there.

With his eyes sharply focused on me, Father hesitated, then apparently decided to drop the topic of my quarrel with the prince. Messenger lizards sent notice to King Zhadel that the Emperor’s health is failing. The Prince is required back in Northport at once.

Why doesn’t he take a ship? I knew the answer but was stalling for time.

You, of all people, know what the Bremmian pirates have been like lately. If they got word of the Imperial Prince heading home that way—and they would!—they’d scour the merchant lanes for him.

The Bremmians had given up most of their pirating ways over the last century. However, when some of their highly placed lords fell under the influence of the PON, unmarked ships started taking up the old trade. When Mother and I journeyed to Brem two years before, we’d spiked the wheels of most of those PON and lords, and gotten the Queen of Brem on our side; but, the political structure in that country had always been weak and its lords, independent. Even she had trouble bringing the pirating activities completely to an end.

So, though the PON left in Brem were in hiding, we knew that they still assisted some of the pirates. Brem occupied a key position on the shipping lanes; and the pirates seriously affected commerce between Oreh and its provincial kingdoms of Meta Matta, Meta Bragosh, and Bin Lo.

So the Prince has to go overland. Why not go to Meta Matta and pass through the Twin Peaks Pass into Thrane? For a well-maintained road passed most of the way from Pinquin to Malucca Yenta. From there it was a quick trip…well, comparatively…through the Devil’s Maze to Orehian land.

That was the first thing considered, but the Twin Peak’s Pass is snowed-in.

It’s the middle of summer!

Don’t complain to me! I didn’t send the blizzard. His puzzlement at my resistance started giving way to irritation. Whether you like it or not, you’re the best bet the Prince has of reaching Iron Mountain in one piece and before winter. Once there, the King will arrange for other escort to Oreh.

Dreading the answer, I asked, Was it an order?

Neither the King nor I thought an `order’ would be necessary, since you were returning anyway; but if it comes to that…

He didn’t need to complete the statement. Originally, since I was a member of my reclusive wizard family and not an Ikuzuan subject, King Garvon Martzin had no power over me. In fact, my ancestors had caused the Ikuzuans no end of grief over the last couple of centuries.

However, his daughter, Chryssi, and I became friends; and he’d become like a second father to me. So, when he offered to make that relationship official and take me into his clan, I agreed—not appreciating the cost. The clanship ceremony morphed into an adoption ceremony, and the cost had turned out to be substantial. It’s no party being a princess, particularly to a nation of continually quibbling, honor-bound, masochistic warriors.

Nor could I look for help from my family to relieve the difficulty. They acted like I was a prize idiot when I told them of the adoption. I came to believe that King Martzin had taken advantage of my youth and naivety when he offered me clanship. I think Father was even a little hurt by the detail that I now had two fathers, though his friendship with King Martzin had only improved. I think they’d formed a common bond. Against me.

With a sigh that I tried to hide, I said, Very well. I’ll contact the Prince and offer my services. But tell the King not to be surprised if he refuses them!

Father gave a crisp nod, behind which I read surmise turning to amusement before he disappeared. I cursed. I wouldn’t put it past him to start suspecting something of my feelings. Maybe even do a divination. Not that I still had any feelings exactly. The past five years had been long, busy ones; and I’d actually had little room for daydreams in them.

It was just that the few daydreams I did have generally involved the Prince of Oreh.

Feeling a deal of irritation at the development, and an undercurrent of nervous excitement at the prospect of seeing him again, I stomped back to the tavern to prepare for my trip to the palace.

Chapter 2

Back in the tiny room, I levitated sweat and soil from my hair and person and slipped on my best pair of leathers. I only had two sets with me, both of them of thin-skinned animals to accommodate the lowland heat, albeit inadequately.

The set I chose was the newer of the two and I normally kept it for the tavern dancing. I left the detachable sleeves off and laid the high collar down by loosening the lacings down to below my bosom. I wore Baeco underneath it, thus preserving modesty. Well…some. Then I slung on the embossed shoulder strap that held Dnuorg’s scabbard.

The leathers came from one of the horse-sized, herbivorous types of mountain lizards, which were naturally colored a light grey that matched my eyes. The vest and trousers had accents of azure in the piping, laces and embossed mountain flowers. I added a colorful beaded sash, adjusted Stalp’s thin circlet in my hair, slung my cloak rakishly over one shoulder and diagonally across my back so as not to cover Dnuorg’s hilt, and turned to view myself in the inadequate expanse of mirror provided by the tavern.

I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. I levitated my hair—such an indecisive shade, somewhere between blond, red, and brown—first one way and then another around Stalp and finally settled on winding a pair of loose braids around the crown and each other. Then I tugged Baeco upwards and cursed an order at it. The Tomom armor insisted on hanging low across my chest revealing an uncomfortable amount of cleavage through the lacings of my leather vest.

The Tomom shrank when it was hot, and I’d begun to suspect, whenever good-looking men were around, too. Or, even bad-looking men. Probably at the instigation and for the amusement of the spirits of my various, deceased relatives who inhabited the Tomom. There are so few things with which to amuse oneself in the Void, after all.

I finally said, Damn it, Renba, I’m not going there half naked! The talisman spread itself upwards an inch or so.

I glowered in the mirror again. Nothing would help. Baeco still hung too low. My leathers clung too tight. Fine for Ikuzua but hopelessly revealing by Meta Bragoshian standards. I looked worse than one of those poor street girls. At least they stayed more or less covered by their skirts.

But I’d be cursed by demons before I’d go to the Prince in some common mop of a dress looking like I was ashamed of my nationality! At least the cape covered my behind.

I took up my shield, Temarif, and slung it over my back from a hook that was on the sword strap; then dug into my bag for my troll jatrip pendant; my Ikuzuan clan brooch; and my ornamental waist belt, which held pouches and my spelled daggers. All of which had been tucked away and protected by an avoidance spell when I started work as a tavern dancer.

Then, remembering that I might see the King of Meta Bragosh, too, I dug again through the bag for the correspondence that I’d found at the PON enclave the previous night. They barely fit into the largest of my waist pouches.

I chirped at Star and she leaped to my shoulders. In a foul mood, I left the room and stomped down the narrow stairs. When I reached the Great Room, Putti gave a surprised glance at my attire and accouterments, most of which he’d never seen, and shouted from the bar, Where to, O’ beauteous one?

Out! I stomped on, doing my best to ignore the intent looks from the tavern’s early patrons.

One big man, more lascivious or perhaps already more drunk than the rest, stretched out a long arm blocking my approach and would have wrapped it familiarly around me. No hurry, lovely. Come sit awhile on my knee!

I growled, Back-off!

Pretty little cat. Then over his shoulder to his smiling mates, I love it when they snarl. However, his mates’ grins faded when, barely pausing, I swept the chair out from under the man and levered his arm up to toss him backwards. A mug of wine went splish in his lap as he landed.

I’d passed out of the tavern’s entrance before he rose roaring from the floor, and I’d stomped halfway down the block before he came rampaging to the door. He chose not to follow, instead satisfying himself with shouting curses at my retreating back.

Maybe they were justified. How could he know that I wouldn’t appreciate his approach? Good women didn’t stay in taverns in the seedier parts of town nor walk about in revealing clothes.

And, to tell the truth, I usually didn’t mind such approaches. I’d become adept at fending them off with a joke and a smile; and it was fun, like a game, to flirt with the men. They came to the tavern expecting it. And if they got too importunate, Putti helped by acting like my lover and looking dangerous. He was very good at that.

It was just as well that such situations didn’t normally bother me, for I’d found the last three PON enclaves by being a tavern dance girl. Another time, I’d even wandered the streets and mingled with the prostitutes.

I admit, I’d developed a taste for the low company. In many ways it seemed warmer and more human than that which I found in the palaces at Iron Mountain and Malucca Yenta. The people in society’s lower strata had a certain honesty and naturalness, as well as a toughness, that I respected. And most of them—though I wouldn’t call them generous—at least shared as well as their situations allowed. I seldom saw the sort of excessive competition, legalized theft, hoarding, and senseless infighting combined with bootlicking at which aristocrats excelled.

But perhaps I didn’t give the gentry a fair shake. They knew me as Nanamarvion Seracor, Ikuzuan Princess; sister to Queen Chrysala of Meta Matta; famed slayer of the great sea-dragon, Yenta; and wizard extraordinaire. They walked small and talked quiet around me. The women eyed me with avid curiosity and whispered. The men eyed me with avid curiosity and tried to maneuver up to requests for use of my powers or intercession with Queen Chrysala.

But in the tavern, I became one of the crowd. Lower in status than the patrons; though raised marginally higher than a normal dancing girl by my weapons and the unheard-of rarity of having a Ikuzuan female entertain anyone. Not that many of the people believed that I was truly Ikuzuan, for most Ikuzuans had dark skin, strict codes of honor—well…supposedly—and tended to stick anyone who offered a slight. The attempted caress of that big man back at the tavern would have resulted in his death were I your typical Ikuzuan female.

But far from being angry at him, the anger I felt was directed inwards, at myself for how I treated him, and at Father for forcing me to see the Prince, and at the PON for being PON.

Or maybe I just felt innately angry.

I stamped onwards, muttering in an under voice and with thoughts racing around in my mind. Star nuzzled my chin in concern that my ire was directed at her. I comforted her and tried to calm down, but couldn’t. Life had forced me down paths that I increasingly had no desire to take. Going around killing people—even PON—was not a respectable occupation!

Only six years before, I’d killed my first man. Now…how many had met death because of me? Three dozen? Four? I’d lost count. The individual deaths didn’t even matter to me anymore.

Still, I doubted that even executing PON was a respectable occupation! But, as long as I continued to find those small, white talismen in the PON’s possessions, I knew I would continue. Child sacrifices constituted the PON’s main source of power. Because the children trusted the priest, it was much less difficult to attach the child’s spirit to a crystal. And less effort was required to grow a child than a full adult and less of an outcry was made at their disappearances. And the PON crystals still received most of the power that an adult would have provided without the expense of feeding and educating them all of those extra years.

Quite efficient on the part of the PON, in fact.

Thinking of losing Kitten in such a way made me crazy.

Meanwhile, Prince Elcsum and too many of the aristocracy went their autocratic, privileged ways, oblivious to the PON or anything save the latest fashions. I didn’t look forward to being in a subservient position to them. As their Ikuzuan caravan leader, they might rank me no better than a servant.

Of course, I could introduce myself as Princess Nanamarvion. In fact, I should. But the Prince already knew me as Apprentice Izrieldor Yrania and it would be awkward to let him know that I’d lied about my identity the previous time we met.

Anyway, I hated the pomp that occurred when I went by my own name.

Of course, they’d find out the truth once we reached Ikuzua.

Stressing over how I could broach re-introducing myself without offending the Prince and causing a schism in Orehian-Ikuzuan relations, I trudged onwards.

By the time I walked halfway to the palace, both the buildings and people had become better looking. A number of haughty eyebrows rose as I came into view, adding to my irritation. One mother made her children hide their faces. The palace loomed tall and elegant in weathered, ivory stone above me, atop the highest hill in Pinquin, still a long, hot walk ahead.

To cap it all, a lady’s carriage, making its intemperate way towards that edifice, sprayed a puddle of goo on me. I tried to jump out of the way but wasn’t quick enough.

Surreptitiously, I levitated the unidentifiable muck off of my leg and continued onwards, the breath tight in my chest from suppressed rage. Then I noticed a livery stable. The words `Golden Stirrup’ had been emblazoned on a sign over its wide doors.

My thoughts crystallized on an idea. A Horse!

I should have thought of it before, for the lowland gentlehome placed considerable status on what a person rode. At least I could go in style to the palace. Besides, if it turned out that Prince Elcsum still bore some anger toward me from our last meeting, I might need a means of rapid departure. I stepped into the stables.

And my anger evaporated.

And I still didn’t suspect the Tomom spirits of engineering the anger; even though I knew that strong emotions made it easier for them to insert urges.

The wide portal of the building opened into a high, marble-floored foyer and then into a sweet-smelling, enclosed, well-appointed corral. Someone had done their best to make the barn not look like one.

A number of elegantly dressed gentlemen in knee breeches and brocade jackets and three ladies, dressed in diaphanous, flowing gowns, sat on a tier of black marble benches to one side of the corral.

A haughty young man, elaborately dressed in formal—not to mention hot—Meta Bragoshian riding gear consisting of a heavy, bright yellow, burled jacket; tall boots; and baggy pants, cast Star and I a comprehensive, appalled glance. He walked quickly forward to step in front of me. His bulk partially blocked the view of the gentlehome on the benches.

May I help you… He noted my accouterments and recognized them as quality. Stuttering a bit, he added …Master? Clearly he hoped that he couldn’t and that I’d go away. One of the ladies caught sight of me and nodded in my direction with an aside to those about her.

Trying to adopt King Martzin’s regal mien, I replied, Yes. I’d like a horse. The best you have.

He gave my attire another look and replied, The…ummm…steeds in this establishment are quite…umm…the best that are available. The cost…

I dropped Martzin’s look and took on an expression of my own and repeated, I want a horse!

The man took a step back. Uh…if you will excuse me a moment… He padded around the corral to where a large, florid man squatted next to a filly, inspecting one of her hooves.

At the young man’s whispered words, the large man gave me a sharp look. Then, after a dismissing nod at the other, he rose and came toward me. His springy step belied his white hair. With a sparkling, mischievous eye and loud voice, he started speaking in a countryman brogue before he reached normal talking distance, My man tells me you’re in the market for a horse, Master.

Relaxing, I replied, Yes. One with quality…and show if you have it. In sotto voce, I continued, I have some gentlehome to impress.

He lowered his voice as well to say conspiratorially, It’ll cost you, Master…?

Izzy. You?

Everyone just calls me Dornbeam. Getting down to business, he said, The better horses will run two golden royals.

I gave a whistle. I could buy a small clan holding in Ikuzua for one golden.

He twinkled again. I could rent you something fine for a few days for just a couple of silvers?

No. I need to buy one. Chances are that I’ll take it back to Ikuzua. I noticed the gentlehome and the various grooms staring. Do you have a room where we can go for some privacy?

His eyes had followed my gaze. Certainly. Right this way. He led me into a small, cluttered office. Once in the office, without waiting for an invitation, I plopped down on one of the padded chairs and opened up the heel of one boot. Taking a small packet out, I spilled the contents on his desk, then gathered up all but three of the smallest stones—albeit all were fair sized—and shoved them back into the pouch and from there, my heel.

Eying what remained on the desk, he blew his cheeks out in a silent whistle, then said, Troll work! Well. That certainly would buy some legs.

Just barely, huh? I said meekly.

He ran his sharp eyes appraisingly over my face and replied simply, Humph.

I laughed and stood, You won’t find better quality gems in the King’s coffers. In fact, they may, all three, be the best in this country at the moment. I’ll leave them to you to have appraised. Return me the difference for the cost of the horse tomorrow. And, if you wouldn’t mind, cash in the rest. Small coin. Take a 10% commission for the trade.

You’re trusting enough. He looked a bit disgruntled.

Shouldn’t I be? Anyway, I don’t have contacts in Meta Bragosh where I can exchange the jewels. I suspect you do. I spoke with confidence. Neveah would have been tickling my ring finger the second the man started thinking in lies. I’ll…um…trust you not to tell anyone else of my boot heel.

And I’d just put him on his own honor to make a fair trade. My suspicions were that he’d get me more, even with his commission, than I could on my own.

As if reading my mind, he gave a slight nod and replied, Oh, I’ll get you a good price for them. Had more than one of the gentry exchange some jewels for a horse. Now. As far as what kind of mount you’re looking for… Show? Speed? Endurance? What’s most important?

All. And agility. A mountain bred horse would be best. And throw in a smooth ride, too. Caravanning through the mountains is hard on more than just the horse. If you have anything that’ll fit the bill. I added the last in a deliberately provocative voice.

Hmm. His sharp, twinkling eyes narrowed at me. Then, abruptly, he turned, leaving the stones lying exposed on his table and led the way back out. Fetch Voyager!

The grooms exchanged surprised looks and the supercilious, young man looked startled, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He and one of the grooms turned back towards the stables at the rear of the building. The remaining groom quickly led the mare away. An excited murmur rose from the occupants of the benches. Apparently this `Voyager’ had earned a degree of fame.

A few minutes later a loud trumpet rang out followed by a couple of shouts from the stables. The stallion more led the man named Quenter into the corral than the other way around.

The big horse stood at least seventeen hands, and glowed an ethereal silver-grey with a foaming, white mane and tail. His body could be fitted to poetry, and he moved as smoothly as water down a river.

On the negative side of the ledger, he had a monumental ugly, lumpy face with a lantern jaw from which coarse, albeit white, whiskers descended. He also had the meanest set of eyes I’d ever seen on any domesticated creature. Not to mention oversized ears.

Well…I did mention that his mane and tail were long and full?

After dragging the groom into the paddock, he gave the bench occupants a look of scorn, then started a fluid trot, dragging the groom along until he saw me. Then he gave a sudden shriek and reared, pawing the air.

Such a reaction had precedence, though the stallion’s sat on the extreme end of the scale. Horses often acted perturbed around me until they got used to the aura the Tomom gave off. People, of course, couldn’t see it.

With a bland look, Dornbeam remarked, He’s a bit fresh.

Uh-huh. Like a pile of manure.

His lips twitched, but he replied innocently, You asked for the best.

Yes. But I’d like to live long enough to enjoy it. And stallions don’t do well on a long trail. They wear themselves out showing off. Though I could understand the aesthetic appeal that horses had for people, my close association with the Gigamish—unicorns, in lowland parlance—led me to discount most horses’ beauty.

I’d think that a warrior like you would appreciate the challenge. Shouldn’t take you more’n a couple of days to break him. My ring suddenly started tingling. And I’ll let him go for only one, royal gold piece. Neveah tingled even more. Dornbeam had apparently decided to have a bit of fun at my expense.

One royal? Are you paying me or the other way around? This is one warrior who likes to ride in comfort without… I cut my comment off suddenly, when the `horse’ suddenly started cussing at the groom in Gigamish. I could barely understand the words since a curved bit distorted the whinnies and snorts; but it was definitely Gigamish.

You shit-eating excuse for a goat lover. Let loose my bridle. I’ll knock your head clear to the mountains! The groom had pulled-in the lead strap in a laudable attempt to impose some control over the stallion. Voyager bunched himself to make good on his promise.

I shouted, Leave go of the rope!

Voyager jerked around to look at me, forgetting his plans to rearrange the groom. Dornbeam cast me a startled look.

With Star scrambling to cling to my shoulder, I vaulted over the fence and took a stride toward the stallion. He reared back whinnying and