SylverMoon Chronicles: SylverMoon Chronicles, #2

Table of Contents

Continuations

Bane of the WarloKs

A Scharr in Time Takes Nine

The Enemy of my Enemy is my Enemy

The Dinner

Bladed Shaft II

Sleeping Dog on the Trail

The Depths of the Forge

New Material

The Passion for Life

Space Gladiator

The Daughters of Evul

Gray Tides

The ‘rents

Fluid Fire, Grounded Wind, Rooted Iron

Salvation, Maine

The Runner

The Replacement

Preacher & the Pale Devil

Coin-Operated

The Obol

The Ghost Coin

One Really Bad Penny

Dark Portal

About the Authors

Foreword

Back for more?

Don’t let the echoes of laughter you hear in your mind distract you, for you are not alone.  We of the Confederacy have also returned; and let us assure you, the power of the Eye of Morpheus has yet to wane.

Continuations

The sylver moon still hangs high in the sky, keeping its watchful eye over the creatures it spied one volume ago.  And just as the sylver moon does not set, these stories continue.  So enter here and find yourselves lost, once again, in familiar worlds and realms.

Bane of the WarloKs

(Fantasy Serial)

By Reiter

It was if he was standing in front of one of his instructors, the way the words remained in his mind. Forever their student, he received their guidance once more.

Reflection, one particular old master had said. ... it is the most powerful tool a mind can employ. Nothing is as clear as it will be in time. It is the here and the now which constrains us. Remember, Jharsen, reflection!

"Though I get the feeling he did not mean my literal one, Jharsen thought as he looked at himself in the mirror. That reflection is painfully clear at this very moment!" There had been a time when his hair was short, never quite reaching his shoulders. Now it seemed that with each TenStar he had to cut it again. What did that infernal Ashari woman put in his bathing waters to cause it to grow so quickly?

Do you have time for that sort of thing? Efam asked as he came walking into the room. Grooming when you should be preparing yourself?

"This is me preparing myself," Jharsen argued as he snipped at his long hair. He made three more snips, his eyes darting between the reflection of himself in the mirror and that of his young friend. Like Jharsen, Efam was a simple boy from Junn-Gladeer, an inauspicious place with an auspicious name. Like so many of the Terran notions, it had been built with hope for a future the founders believed they could accurately predict, if not control. They had failed to do either with any measure of success and the township had become nothing more than a glorified village. Still, two of its population had emerged from it and had managed to find good footing for their lives.

But that was not the sentiment in Jharsen’s eyes. His reflections were even further from Junn-Gladeer than he had traveled.

It is getting late, Jharsen said matter-of-factly. I was beginning to think you had gotten lost in the bazaar. It can get... thick there, as I’m sure you have witnessed.

Not as thick as the caverns of the KynnB, Efam said, taking a piece of fruit from the bowl on the table. He performed a cursory inspection for its freshness before taking a very large bite.

Indeed! Jharsen agreed, also reflecting over an event that had not been too long in the passing.

The KynnB walked on two legs, but they were not considered to be part of the Q’uor-Kwyn. Perhaps it was because of their propensity to wage war, kill and eat the culmination of hominid creatures. Standing at or around one meter in height, they were fairly small and not very bright. But KynnB females laid, on average, a score of eggs every other MooN for the last four YahrtoN of their lives. So what they lacked in physicality, intellect and/or skill, they made up for in sheer numbers.

Jharsen had researched and found evidence of an artifact hidden in caves which had served as the home for a powerful SpellCasteR. Since her passing, however, the caves had come under new ownership and the duo, after rather lengthy travels to find the cave, had found themselves at the center of a swarm of KynnB warriors.

Jharsen had reached for and readied his whip. Take to a knee, Efam! he had directed, but did not wait for any sort of verbal response. Efam had traveled long enough with his benefactor to know that he had to move quickly.

"Hetillda Vornathayne!" Jharsen had called, making his whip crack overhead. The sound was followed by a burst of blinding white light. The KynnB had wailed in dire agony. Being cave dwellers, they avoided the direct light of the DoaH Star, and Jharsen had produced a miniature star in their home. To Efam it was pure genius! He was already lowered and looking at the wave of approaching KynnB while they were looking up at him and Jharsen. None of them could move forward.

We’re here for the sceptre, not for genocide, Jharsen had reminded his compatriot. Do only what you must! Efam had quickly sheathed his swords and unfastened the scabbards from his belts, thusly wielding Ashari-styled clubs. Jharsen had only called for light twice more before they discovered what they were looking for and turned for the way out of the caves. Though eager to have their revenge, very few of the KynnB can ride and their short legs could not hope to keep up with the SorceroR and NoblE-AcrobaT. That evening, Efam complained of the pain in both shoulders, as he had never had to use his weapons for such a long period of time. Eventually, his whining yielded a treatment of ointment from the friend he had come to call Master.

No, Jharsen smiled in the midst of his reflection. Not so thick as the caverns. Efam took another bite of his fruit without taking his eyes off of Jharsen. The SorceroR looked into the mirror and his eyes met with Efam’s. The swordsman watched as his lord went from passive and pleased, to anxious and tight.

Did you get it? Jharsen asked, choosing a tone he believed would mask his anxiety.

Get what, Efam replied as he took a seat in a chair near the dining table. He leaned to place his elbow and forearm on the table as he looked up at Jharsen. The two held a stare for ten Krone-PahTs. Without the slightest change to his facial expression, Jharsen threw his cutting tool and Efam wailed in surprised delight as he tumbled out of the chair. He scrambled to his feet and lunged forward, sword suddenly in hand. His thrust was deflected wide by Jharsen’s cane sword.

We do not have time for this, Jharsen said, on the verge of losing his calm demeanor. He pushed off and sought to press the young lad but his speed, Efam’s damnable speed, kept him out of the range of Jharsen’s blade. He had nearly been drawn off balance as he swung. Efam smiled as he landed on the table.

You almost tripped, Master, Efam said.

I am not your Master! Jharsen’s thrust was deflected. He went with the force of the deflection and spun, swinging the cane scabbard low for Efam’s legs. A free-hand cartwheel returned Efam to the floor and he blocked Jharsen’s blade as it followed after the scabbard. The young SorceroR definitely had his fighting form now and Efam needed to step back. He only had to do something about the wall behind him.

"Walls, little Efam, are just floors with a slight lean to them," Efam recalled the lessons of his instructor. He smiled as he jumped up, spun and pushed off against the wall, bounding up and over Jharsen. He landed with his back to the SpellCasteR and managed three more blocks before turning to face his opponent.

Jharsen moved forward and they locked blades, turning their engagement into a test of strength. Efam smiled, knowing his body had grown stronger than Jharsen’s.

Master! Efam said in a disappointed tone. He pushed, but found nothing to push against as Jharsen had timed his spinning dodge perfectly. Efam stumbled forward and was robbed of his weapon. He tucked and rolled. Agility was his best defense, but he knew Jharsen was no drunken brawler. Among those of intellect, Jharsen’s speed was ominous.

"If I can get to the shelves," Efam thought as he tried to jump over the table. He was halfway over it when something wrapped around his ankle and robbed him of his forward progress. He fell to the table and rolled off the surprisingly sturdy furniture in pain. The reception the floor was also less than accommodating. A foot rolled Efam over on his back and he looked up to see Jharsen standing over him, the point of his master’s sword pressed against his chest. Efam’s eye was drawn to Jharsen’s right hand which held a whip; the device which had caught his leg.

No fair! he cried. This was a contest of blades!

"Firstly, your acrobatic skill is a MajiK unto itself! Secondly, the word you are looking for is yield. It should be quickly followed by the answer to my question," Jharsen said as he added pressure to the position of his blade. Efam’s eyes opened wide, quickly reading in Jharsen’s blue eyes the intent he held behind his weapon.

Yes, yes, I have it! Efam shrieked.

You know, it has become quite an exercise getting an answer out of you, Jharsen said withdrawing and sheathing his sword. He coiled the whip and placed it on his hip. Efam glared at the weapon as he got up.

I cannot believe you used MajiKs on me, Efam said. And I thought I put Hetillda away.

You did, Jharsen confirmed. Which reminds me. Jharsen took a hold of the whip and flung it out, grazing Efam’s left hand. That’s for putting her in the trunk. He flung the weapon a second time, again looking as if he gave next to no effort. The whip caught the same wound and cut it again, causing it to bleed. And that’s for stealing the fruit at the Gwearlyn market.

Master, that was two MooNs ago!

My apologies, Efam, Jharsen said with a smile as he recoiled his whip. "... but I have been busy. And stop calling me Master!

Now, back to more pressing matters, Jharsen said as he held out his hand.

You better let me hold on to it for the moment, Efam suggested. You were without your whip for three DoaH and you failed to even notice. As much as Jharsen wanted to argue the point, he knew he had little ground.

"What is happening to me?" Jharsen thought as he turned to face the mirror. It was more than the length of his hair which had changed, it was the man who wore the hair every DoaH.

And Master?

What is it Efam?

You summoned Hetillda without calling her name!

Jharsen jumped at the realization of it all. He looked to his hip and there she rested, as always, ready to serve him in whatever way she could. Most SorceroRs are very proficient with the weapon, but very few of them had a whip that did not need enchantment in order to possess and employ MajiK. Hetillda had been a gift from an instructor who had not meant the weapon to be such. He had taught Jharsen out of a need to clear a debt with Jharsen’s Mentor, the great Gwathyn of the Scarlet Keep. An Arch-Mage WiZarD and Grand Master DreamCasteR, the Sal-Ban Ashari SpellCasteR had taken it upon himself to teach Jharsen, though no one could say why. All which could be said was that Jharsen had applied at the Seven Towers and was refused the right of instruction after besting the primary battery of tests.

By the beards of my Masters! Jharsen thought as he continued to gaze at his weapon.

So it would seem he replied to Efam before returning to finish cutting his hair. Efam saw more than he would say, but left his master to tend to matters that meant little to the SorceroR and less to the one for whom he toiled.

Efam walked back to the table and started to pick up the overturned chair. Instead of bending down, he quickly hopped up with the side of his body landing on the table as small bits of window glass showered over his body. A moment ago he had damned the sturdiness of the table, but as a spear sailed through where he had been standing, he rejoiced at its strength.

Master, we are besieged! Efam cried as two more spears barely missed him. The last also came close to claiming flesh and blood from Jharsen as it shattered the mirror. Efam had rolled across the table and off the far side.

Jharsen looked at the weapons, and the thin chains attached to the stalks just under the massive black-steeled heads. Before he could focus on the markings in the steel, the spears were all recalled and flew out of the window through which they came. There was still enough light from the DoaH Star to see a tall, muscular figure standing on the roof of the building across the street. He was not alone, but Jharsen did not care to invest time in an investigation of his attacker's aides at the moment. His hand went to his hip opposite of Hetillda and tapped it twice, giving a soft whistle. Across the room, resting on the bookshelf, was Jharsen's shoulder bag. Receiving its summons, it flew across the room, streaking its way to Jharsen's hand. The speed of his retrieval just bested the timing of the spearman as a spear lodged into the wall after just missing where the bag had been hanging.

Enough of this, Jharsen whispered as he reached into the bag and threw powders straight up. In an instant, the room was completely shadowed; darker than a MoonTide on a stormy night. As he donned his shoulder bag, Jharsen looked to see Efam make his way to a wall. He was completely blind, but Jharsen smiled as he witnessed Efam reach the wall, reach out and touch the corner and re-orient himself with the room.

You normally give a warning, Master, Efam commented as he slowly stood up.

My apologies, Efam.

No need, Master, they were pressing us.

He said ‘they’, Jharsen thought as he looked once more out of the window. The spearman had already recalled his weapon and stood ready to throw it again.

How many are there? Jharsen asked.

I saw three, Efam replied. A black-skinned BarbariaN, a Toneiron and a robed woman.

It is not a Bar- Jharsen started to say before taking a closer look. He felt as if he should ask Efam to start training him. While there was no third person on the roof, the large man Jharsen had presumed to be Zuloian was actually black-skinned, though it was by no means naturally occurring.

A Spiritual Zombie! he whispered, concluding that the robed woman approaching the mammoth figure was indeed a WarloK, and probably the creator of the nearly dead soulless slave that threw War Spears as easily as Jharsen threw daggers.

Why does it always have to be BarbariaNs? Jharsen thought, recalling his last engagement with that particular Kaa-Trah.

The woman stepped toward the edge of the roof, but did not pass her captured Alderonn. She touched his shoulder and Jharsen saw the large man’s eyes light up with the effects of some sort of Energy. Without hesitation the Zombie threw the spear. Jharsen’s sleeve tore as the weapon just missed him, though not due to any defensive action of Jharsen’s; the vision of the Zombie had not been augmented to see through his Darkness Spell, it was now looking through the eyes of the WarloK and, to Jharsen’s advantage, she was not skilled in the use of the spear.

Master?! Efam cried out.

I am alright, Efam, Jharsen replied before thinking he might have just given the same information to someone who wanted him dead. He gasped as he saw the woman’s hand slide down from the BarbariaN’s shoulder toward the chain connected to his spear. He did not know by what means she conveyed Energies, but he had witnessed the building of power too many times to miss her intention.

Window, Efam! Jharsen commanded as he himself broke for the portal. Out and to the left. Jharsen reached for his whip and quickly sent the end to collect his cane. After he had left the floor and the room, Jharsen sent his free hand out from his side and waited for a hand to take hold of it. The room behind Jharsen exploded with blue fire and he could hear the interior walls give to the force of the blast.

A hand slapped hard against his forearm and Jharsen took hold of the arm which had grabbed him.

Swing for the alley, Jharsen commanded as he felt his anchor take hold. The cane was only a few fingers longer than the window was wide, but Hetillda had placed the cane perfectly across the window frame.

Efam released his master’s arm and threw his head forward, completing three somersaults before landing on his feet. He was on the walk just in front of the alley adjacent to the inn. He jumped back into the alley, escorted by a War Spear. He hopped back twice and threw his body into a back flip, avoiding three more War Spears as he moved back out of sight.

Jharsen smiled, knowing the WarloK had chosen the wrong body to follow and attack. But his actions had painted him to be more of the Guardian role than the SpellCasteR. Jharsen put his feet against the face of the inn and leveled his free hand toward the roof across the street. A thin circle of light formed around his forearm and the telltale breeze blew Jharsen’s hair back from his face. An instant later, the MannA he had summoned was added to the very air around his hand and forged into a weapon. The Blast Spell took form and flew away from Jharsen, streaking up for his intended target. The robed woman was blown up and away from the edge of the roof with a grunt of pain and surprise bursting from her mouth. The Spiritual Zombie obviously relied on the commands of its master. All it could do without instruction was gaze at the alley with War Spear held at the ready.

"That hound is only dangerous when its master is around to command it," Jharsen thought as he squeezed the pommel of his whip and its length increased, quickly lowering him to the ground. Another squeeze and twist and the whip came from the window, still holding the cane, and curled in Jharsen’s hand. The young SorceroR quickly put away his whip and held on to his cane as he started across the street.

Keep your place, Efam, he commanded as he ran.

Master! Efam shouted as he came running out of the alley. He started to his left, away from Jharsen, but ran to the column support of the roofing of a tavern. The War Spear tore through the column Krone-PahTs after Efam’s feet left it. He sprang off the column as he spun, drawing his swords. He sailed over Jharsen’s head, swinging down, deflecting the crossbow bolt meant for his master’s head. Tucking his own head, Efam quickly flipped and nearly brought his forward progress to a halt. A War Spear passed in front of him and lodged into the face of the inn. Efam landed and swung his blade once more, barely catching a second bolt across the tail. It spun and arched wide of Jharsen, who gasped at how close the missile had come to striking him. I think I know where the third man went off to! Efam moved as he spoke and threw his shoulder toward the ground, evading a third War Spear.

But while Efam’s agility had kept him alive and unharmed, it had also taken him away from his master. He came to his feet and looked back at Jharsen who had changed direction, charging down the street toward a dark-clad Toneiron man who stood up from his point of cover. He tossed his emptied double-level crossbow away and removed his jacket. He wore a sleeveless shirt and thick, studded Broke-Hide bracers. He walked out to the middle of the street and waited to receive Jharsen’s charge.

Dance with the WarloK, Efam, Jharsen directed as he stuffed his hand into his bag. He ran without drawing his blade from his cane. But mind you the BarbariaN!

"I say let the thug mind me!" Efam thought as he ran to the far side of the street, but then turned to follow his master. He felt he needed to stay close and keep out of the eyesight of the spear-slinging brute at the same time.

Greetings! Jharsen said as he ran toward the waiting Toneiron man who took a step forward so that his left shoulder faced him. Jharsen smiled as he took to the air, tossing a handful of powder in front of him. The gray-white dust quickly expanded into a small cloud. Jharsen jumped up into it as the Toneiron man sent a powerful side-kick into it; his foot found only air as Jharsen’s body did not come out of the smoke.

The man snorted as he took a step back, keeping his fighting form. He threw his arms up over his head and Jharsen’s boots landed on the man’s forearms. The contact made the man take one step back and caused Jharsen to bounce into the air. His appreciation for the acrobatic arts had moved Jharsen to study them, but Efam was clearly more gifted. Jharsen was barely able to keep his balance as he bounded up. He twisted and flipped to allow the force of the block to pass without taking him too high into the air. He landed and stumbled one stride forward. He turned the misstep into a forward roll and Jharsen could hear the spinning kick just miss over his head. His roll was sufficiently performed, but his opponent was too fast. After the spin kick, the man landed and performed a hopping front kick, landing a blow in Jharsen’s back. The power of the kick took him from the street to the walk where his body rolled into a storefront.

The man yelled as he took to the air, looking down at the stunned SorceroR. As his body began its downward travel, Efam’s feet found his chest and sent him wide of his target. He landed on his back and quickly rolled up to his feet. Efam had chosen not to stop his forward progress and landed, kept his momentum and spun as he took to the air. His feet swung up in a wide arc and hammered down on the man’s jaw. This landing was not as solid, but Efam had enough balance to jump off of one leg, spin and flip once more. He threw out his legs and locked them around the rising man’s neck. Efam threw his arms around to give his movement more power and the man, opting to not have his neck broken, jumped up and tried to follow the movement. The two of them spun in the air, but Efam came down on his fists and rolled. His opponent slammed down hard on his back and he cried out in pain and frustration. The Toneiron man quickly kicked up to his feet and turned to face his agile opponent, who was already in the midst of his approach.

The man smiled as he saw the intent in Efam’s eyes. He lunged forward, swinging his swords in wide arcs parallel with the ground. The man brought his wrists together before throwing his hands back and down as he leaned back. The blades crossed centimeters over his chest, but his foot kicked Efam in the leg and caused the young man to stagger back as the man stood up straight and exploded in a forward kneeling punch. Efam cried out as he dropped his swords, doubled over and fell back from the force of the blow.

Not taking time to appreciate his technique, the man stood up and lunged forward again, this time throwing a shuriken which lodged in Jharsen’s shoulder just as the thin circle of light was forming around his forearm. Jharsen gasped as he felt the pain of the throwing star, but his eyes gaped wide as the spell he was casting backlashed on him. The summoned MannA was not partial as to which way it would flow, but without Jharsen’s conscious direction, it would flow back to him... through him if need be! Jharsen put his hand to his head and staggered, as it felt like his mind was being crushed and his soul slowly being wrenched from his body. He screamed as he withdrew, but the man was not about to give a moment’s mercy.

Aaarrrgh! Efam yelled as he grabbed the shoulders of the man, placed his feet in the small of the back and pulled for all he was worth. Though surprised by the inverted somersault throw, the Toneiron man flipped in mid-air and landed on his feet. Efam was on his feet a moment later and charging. A kick to the head... blocked; a stamp to the sternum... blocked; a spinning kick to the jaw... landed but completely ineffective; a two-footed drop kick to the chest... also landed but all the man gave was two strides of ground. The next two kicks were also blocked and the man took one step back, allowing himself a smile at the rising sense of futility the boy must have been feeling.

You are fast... eager, the man said in broken Vor-Mahn, the common Terran tongue. But not good enough, he snorted, blocking a kick Efam was better off not delivering. It was weak and off the mark. Efam looked at the man long enough to let the slight spark of guile shine before jumping straight up. There had been too many earlier attempts. Efam knew what to listen for and what speeds he had to attain. The War Spear tore into the Toneiron man’s chest and ripped out his back.

You sure about that, mate? Efam whispered as he took hold of the chain.

As expected, the weapon was recalled and Efam decided to ride back with this one. He held on and looked up at the massive form he was quickly approaching. The BarbariaN had another War Spear waiting, but not to throw. His right hand, which held the retracting chain, moved away from his body as the left stood ready to thrust the spear forward into Efam’s chest. Just before the thrust, Efam released the chain and twisted his body to catch the stalk of the second spear. To Efam’s surprise, the man’s body showed no signs of receiving his weight. Instead, he flung the spear about in an attempt to remove Efam from it.

No, a woman commanded. Hold him still! Though she was on her back, the woman looked to be ready to resume her role in this fight, and her slave did as he had been told. Efam was over the BarbariaN when the command was received. No, not over your head! the woman barked, but Efam had already dropped from the spear and landed on the BarbariaNs face. He had kicked stone columns with more give in them! The BarbariaN took one step back as Efam landed in front of him and relieved him of his large, and rather heavy, dagger.

You idiot! the woman cried. Kill him!

My master sent me to dance with you, milady. Efam smiled as he bound up, took hold of the man’s head and used it as a post marker, throwing himself up and over the large Alderonn. He could hear the two spear heads drive into the roofing, so he knew he had a moment. He threw the dagger as hard as he could and the woman screamed as she realized her protection was now on the other side of her attacker. The dagger sank into her chest and the woman’s arms flailed about, trying to deny a very grim reality.

Efam jumped as he heard the loud cracking sound of Hetillda just behind him. He turned to see the BarbariaN being pulled off the roof of the building. There was a loud thud and a few screams. Looking down, Efam smiled down at his master who slowly collected his whip and smiled back at him. There was blood on his shirt and a hole where the shuriken had struck, but his master’s healing arts had already been applied to the wound.

Which did you do first? Efam yelled. Heal or strike?

I have two hands, Efam, Jharsen replied, holding up two fingers. ... two.

What do we do now? Efam asked as he looked for the best means down. Again he heard Hetillda announce herself and he smiled at his master once more before sliding down to the ground.

We explain ourselves to the approaching constables and pray we are not late, Jharsen said as he collected his weapons and himself. He believed his saving grace was that the only victims were Terrans and the Ashari Constabulary would already have to explain how a WarloK had breached their security measures. With any good fortune, they would be too busy explaining themselves to question Jharsen and Efam too extensively.

The DoaH Star was beyond the horizon and the stars were beginning to show. Jharsen and Efam had little time to get from the guardhouse to the estate grounds. The SorceroR was resourceful enough to always have a change of clothing of both traveling and formal formats in his shoulder bag. Efam had been with him long enough to have a minor wardrobe added in case of just such a situation as the duo now found themselves experiencing.

Master, there is something in your hair, Efam remarked as the two of them walked briskly down the finely paved street. Jharsen ran his hands through his hair twice and then looked at his guardian. Still there, Efam reported. Just throw your head forward and then snap it back.

Not sure what this would achieve, Jharsen did as he was instructed and as he brought his head back, Efam quickly drew his sword and swung his blade over Jharsen’s head. With a tight grip on his cane, Jharsen looked quickly to the road behind him to see his hair falling to the ground.

Your haircut was interrupted, Master, Efam reminded his benefactor as he fanfared his blade before returning it to the scabbard. Jharsen ran his hair through his hair again. It was not the best of cuts, but at least his hair was more uniform. He smiled and nodded at Efam before resuming his trek down the street.

I suppose we will discuss the WarloK-

Later, Jharsen said quickly as his walking gait became a slow jog. We both know what it means, Efam. But even the WarloKs would not dare to set foot within the Inner Sanctum of the Scarlet Keep. Our invitation will most surely be highly scrutinized as it is.

Truer words were never spoken, as it took nearly twenty Su-PahTs for the two to be allowed entry into the temple. It would have taken longer had Efam not adjusted his weapons belt. The moment the guards’ gaze fell upon the Ashari blades, their demeanor changed quickly and for the better. The guards asked for forgiveness, but Jharsen was beyond etiquette and Efam was quick to take up where his master had left off.

The view of the Hall of Crystals was indeed breath-taking, but Efam knew his untrained eye could only appreciate the most obvious beauty of the dangling pieces of glass. To Jharsen’s eye, however, the room was filled with an elevated stage of chromatic dancing stars, glowing and dimming as they flew through the room, around each jewel and along the surface of the ceiling and walls. Efam knew better than to speak. Jharsen had always been a very open person, often giving what Efam thought was too much of himself and whenever he could, the young swordsman made sure that his master would be allowed special times. This more than qualified as special.

And then she entered the chamber. She was not alone, but she could have been within an army of gigantic X’Au and Jharsen would have seen her just as clearly. Tharra was dressed in white and gold, and Jharsen quickly lowered his head while drawing up the hood of his cloak. By the time the procession had made their way by the young SorceroR, he was all but hidden. He would not distract her, not this DoaH. She had to maintain her focus and honor the traditions of her people. While dedicating her heart to someone outside the Ashari race would always be questioned, dishonor of the most ancient ways of her BlooD would not be tolerated.

The ceremony did not take long as each student of SpellCasting was presented to the Arch Magus and also to the pantheon of Ashari deities. Then they reached within a black jar where an ingot of pure silver awaited them. While possessive of some of the more powerful MajiKs, each Tribe of the Ashari, with very few individual exceptions, was weakened in the presence of a precious metal. For the Sal-Ban Tribe, that metal was silver. One after another, each applicant came forward and was presented and recognized, only to then reach into the jar and have one of three reactions: obvious enfeeblement, slight weakness or no reaction at all. For those few with no reaction, they would be allowed to take the ingot and have it fashioned (normally by something other than Sal-Ban) into jewelry which they would occasionally wear to demonstrate their power.

Tharra had already taken this test, taking hold of a silver coin Jharsen had given her, quite by accident, as he was giving her change for a purchase she had made, and after she had regained consciousness, he told her he believed that her reaction might not be a permanent condition and could possibly be bested.

Typical Terran, Tharra had snorted, quickly withdrawing from Jharsen. You know nothing of the world! Nothing of my people and our power! All you know is savagery!

You may have a point, Jharsen had agreed, offering her a cup of cool well water. But I can freely admit I don’t know everything.

That will include me, Terran, Tharra had snapped, smacking the cup away, despite her incredible thirst.

"That will be your choice, Jharsen had argued. I stand here ready to learn and correct a fault you have claimed I possess... despite the fact that you know as much about me as you think I know of the world.

But one thing I do know, Jharsen had continued. "... the world knows me as well as you do. Perhaps we can all take a few lessons on each other.

I’ll fetch you another cup of water, he had said before taking his leave to bring her another drink.

Tharra had been awestruck. No Terran had ever refused to argue with her. She had been of the firm belief that all one need do was speak to a Terran in a raised voice to lure one into argument. But Jharsen never yelled, save when his focus on his castings was fixed and then his voice only reflected the depths of his capacity. While she was a student of Wizardry and he was forever dedicated to Sorcery, they did not demonstrate the normal reactions between practitioners of the different fields. She found that Jharsen was a soft soul holding more power than even he realized. Over the YahrtoN they had become more than friends and Tharra had even gone so far as to tempt her father’s rage by presenting Jharsen at a festival dedicated to her younger sisters reaching the Age of Mahn. But the MannA Bolt her father had directed at Jharsen was simply caught in the young SorceroR’s hand and gently returned as if it were a dropped item of importance. Ashari listened to MajiK more than anything and the MannA had spoken.

Tharra had simply worn a gentle smile of pride as she watched the man who had won her heart... much like the smile Jharsen now donned as her hand came from the jar, holding the ingot firmly in grasp. She was obviously weakened by the touch of it, and her body shuddered. The attendants rushed in to catch her body, but Tharra never fell. Instead, her legs straightened as she turned to face the guests to reveal that she was holding the ingot. Never had anyone displayed an ability to overcome the effects of silver and for a moment, the ceremony was brought to a halt. Without the Steward’s direction or cue, Tharra turned and faced the statues which represented the Ashari deities. Her smile of accomplishment faded into a mask of shock and wonder when the statue of Lynneas opened its eyes and looked at her. A gentle smile formed on its face and the head nodded approvingly as light from the eyes shot out and struck the ingot Tharra held in her hand.

Jharsen lifted his hand to his bottom lip and chin, shaking his head in amazement of his lady love. But it was the shaking motion that adjusted the frame of his vision, and for a brief moment he looked out of the window of the chamber adjacent to the large room where the presentations were being made. The darkness of MoonTide he expected to see; the darkness, moving like thick mud pouring in through the window frame and on to the floor was something Jharsen could not say he expected to witness.

His first reaction was to tap the head of his cane to Efam’s arm. He too had been beguiled by the movement of the statue and was about to inquire to