MAGE, chapter 1
By HECK



Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THEY WERE MAGNIFICENT together. A majestic, bay mare and an equally majestic
beautiful woman, moving in harmony like a single entity. Two powerful females,
each the epitome of athleticism among her kind.

Brenhya rode easily, her body instinctively adjusting to the gait of the
galloping horse, flaming hair streaming behind like a triumphal banner. She
was filled with elation and anticipation as she neared her destination. Her
powerful thighs gripped the saddle, keeping her firmly in her seat as the
great animal’s muscles bunched and stretched under her. The landscape flashed
past as she rode, eating up the long miles like wildfire. Makaar stretched out
her long neck and flared her nostrils, responding to the sure grip on her
reins and the pressure of the legs clamped about her, and the pair revelled in
the wild ride.

The road stretched behind and before as the distances vanished beneath the
mare’s flashing hooves. Brenhya, white teeth bared in a wide grin of
exhilaration, leaned forward over her mount’s neck and let out an ululating
scream of sheer exuberance.

With a suddenness that was almost shocking, the road came to an abrupt end and
gave way to a vast grassy plain. Lush, green, and fertile, the rolling sward
spread out into the distance, dotted here and there with clusters of succulent
trees that offered welcoming shade.

Brenhya reined Makaar to a halt among the nearest stand, flinging herself from
the mare’s back to lie prostrate in the tall grass, magnificent chest heaving.
Her golden skin was filmed with a sheen of sweat as she lay with a huge smile
on her lovely face. The horse, flanks lathered with white, foamy sweat,
pranced skittishly as her own adrenalin ebbed.

Lying in the grass, her long, lithe body stretched out fully, Brenhya gazed up
at the small clouds scudding across the robin’s egg blue of the sky. Even in
repose, her elegantly muscled shape spoke of nothing but female strength and
power, and with the gloss of perspiration upon her, she looked to be carved
from polished oak.

As she recovered her breath, lost not through exertion - it would take far
more strenuous exercise than a wild gallop to tax her natural stamina - but
through pure excitement, her wide grin dissolved to allow her face to regain
its usual serene beauty

Viewed in isolation, her features were not perfect. The flaming chestnut hair,
normally associated with a pale complexion, was somehow at odds with the
golden tan and unblemished skin. The large, brilliant green eyes under the
high forehead were possibly just a shade too far apart. The long, straight
nose, that gave her a classical profile, could be said to be a touch too long,
and the high cheekbones perhaps just a little too pronounced. The jawline
might be seen as too square. And the symmetry of the wide, full mouth was
marred by a tiny scar on the edge of the upper lip, a souvenir of a past
encounter.

But seen as whole, the way nature intended, she was breathtakingly beautiful.
And when such a face was atop a luscious body of such power and muscularity,
it was little wonder that men were often left agog and breathless with desire
at the sight of her.

Yet Brenhya herself was totally unconscious of her own devastating loveliness.
Some might call it a naivety on her part, but while she appreciated that she
was a highly sexual and sensual person, as far as she was concerned her looks
were irrelevant and her body was a weapon which it behooved her to maintain at
maximum efficiency. Therefore, although she was accustomed to it by now, it
always slightly amused her when she drew lascivious glances.

There was nobody here to see her now, though, and the tranquility of the
afternoon, in sharp contrast to the stimulating ride that had brought her
here, was almost perfect.

However, a good horsemaster always sees to her mount first and foremost, and
lying here in the cool grass was of no benefit to Makaar, who now stood at
rest nearby.

Brenhya came to her feet in a single, easy motion and went to the horse’s
side. The superb, hand tooled, black leather saddle, high in the pommel and
cantle and studded with silver, had been gifted to her along with the horse.
It rested upon a sheepskin numnah, and was fitted with a special boot to hold
her special weapon, the mighty Wheelbow that none but she could string.
Brenhya unbuckled the girth strap, and swung the big saddle from her horse’s
back, easily supporting the fifty pound weight in one hand. She slipped the
reins of the ornate bitless bridle over the animal’s proud head, and led her
to a nearby brook to drink.

While Makaar slaked her thirst, Brenhya shaded her eyes with a big hand and
scanned the horizon. The green, gently undulating sward was a familiar vista
to the warrior. Here and there, stands of trees, eucalypts for the most part,
jostled for position along the banks of occasional streams, and small herds of
antelope rested in their shade.

Far away, at the very limit of her keen eyesight, a high crag, tiny at this
distance, raised its rocky head above the savannah. Her heart quickened at the
sight. She laid the heavy saddle on the ground, leaned her head against the
horse’s withers, and sighed.

"There it is, Girl". The animal raised her head at the sound of Brenhya’s
voice. "There it is. Home".

***********************************************

The near-vertical walls of the mountain stood incongruously in the middle of
the plain like some displaced chimney stack. It was actually the lava plug of
an ancient extinct volcano, the softer rock of its once sloping sides having
succumbed to erosion millennia ago. Clumps of heather clung to its narrow
ledges and stringy sedges nestled in its rocky cracks, while cliff nesting
birds fluttered around its stony skirts.

At the pinnacle was a flat plateau on which stood a brooding edifice, an aged
fortress known simply as ‘The Hall’. Its high, crenelated walls and its lofty
position made it all but impregnable, and legend had it that the Goddess
Themyra had caused it to appear, fully formed, atop the mountain to be a haven
for the women who were to be her followers.

While still some way from the base, Brenhya felt a quickening of her heart as
she viewed the place that she thought of as home, for the first time in some
years. Walking beside Makaar, who followed her faithfully without being led,
she gazed up at the high peak, recalling the first time she had seen it.

Aged ten, she had come here in fulfilment of her father’s dying wish. He had
heard that the Sisters of Themyra were good and kind, and would never refuse
aid to any female that asked, so he had told his daughter to seek them out in
the hope that they would raise her as he would have wanted.

He would not have been disappointed.

As a youngster, Brenhya had found a bell rope by a bare patch at the
mountain’s foot, but pulling it had produced no response. Determined to fulfil
her promise, and already an exceptionally powerful individual, she had
actually climbed the vertiginous cliff, wiry fingers finding holds in tiny
cracks and crevices where a less strong person could not. And upon reaching
her goal, exhausted and with torn and bloody nails, she had been denied
admission three times, as tradition demanded. She had almost given up and
turned back, but sheer stubbornness had stayed her and she finally gained
admission.

That was the beginning of what she had come to think of as her ‘real’ life.
She had been quickly accepted and begun warrior training, blossoming into the
finest fighting machine the Sisterhood had ever produced. And although she did
not personally acknowledge it, she had also become the strongest warrior in at
least two hundred years; possibly the strongest of all time.

Brenhya smiled to herself as she relived these memories. Already, she knew,
the guards on the walls would have marked her arrival, and an alert would have
been sounded. As a result of being taken by surprise some years ago, a battle
in which Brenhya herself had played a major part, she knew that arrows would
be trained on her as soon as she came within range. She raised a hand and gave
an exaggerated wave to the unseen watchers.

Following a well remembered path, the tall woman approached the mountain’s
base. She found the worn bare patch, with a long copper tube bracketed to the
cliffside. A stout rope protruded from the pipe, and she pulled it with a
carefully modulated series of actions, hearing the bell far, far above ringing
out the secret entry code. Then she hunkered down by the cliff and sat quietly
to wait.

Twenty minutes passed. She rose to her feet and looked up. About fifteen feet
above her head a stout wicker basket was descending. Two young female faces
peered over the edge, watching her with curiosity. Inside the basket, Brenhya
guessed, a pair of arrows were nocked on two bowstrings, just in case.

"Hello", she called, giving a friendly smile and wave. "I don’t know you two.
You must be new".

"Just stay where we can see you", one of the women said as the basket touched
the ground. Both were dressed in the same soft leather halters and skirts that
Brenhya wore, together with the hard leather pauldrons that were the Warriors
of Themyra’s only concession to armour. Dark red cloaks draped their
shoulders. "Who are you".

"My name is Brenhya. I am a Sister, too. I’ve ...been away for a while".

"Brenhya?" The shorter of the two women looked sceptical. "But the story is
that she’s dead".

Her companion nudged her. "Look at her, idiot!", she said out of the corner of
her mouth. "Who else could she be?"

The first woman looked the tall newcomer up and down, taking in the superb
muscularity and astonishing beauty. Brenhya looked down at her and raised a
questioning eyebrow. "I promise, I’m not dead". The woman looked sheepish and
nodded.

The taller of the two smiled a welcome. "Welcome home, Brenhya. We’ve heard
much about you. It’s good to finally meet you. Climb in the basket. Ezzie will
see to your horse".

She drew the great Wheelbow from it’s boot, and handed over the reins. "Mind
you take good care of her. She’s very special to me". Brenhya’s voice was calm
and held no threat, but the woman, Ezzie, looked both cowed and solicitous as
she led the mare away.

Brenhya cocked a long leg over the rim of the basket and climbed aboard. The
woman, Zoebda, gave three tugs on a rope, and with a slight lurch the basket
began its ascent.

"I’m sorry about Ezzie", she said. "She’s a good soldier, but she often opens
her mouth before her brain has caught up with it". She was a tall woman in her
own right, but nonetheless had to look up to the newcomer. She looked sincere.
"But she’s right, in a way. You’ve been gone so long, with no word, and many
of us believed that you must have been killed". She gave a little laugh.
"There’ll be some celebrating when they see you’ve returned. Especially among
the older ones. The ones who knew you well".

"Steady on". Brenhya feigned indignation. "I’m only a couple of years older
than you, you know".

Zoebda flushed with embarrassment. "Oh! I’m sorry. I ... Er..."

Brenhya dropped a friendly hand on the woman’s shoulder, and showed strong
white teeth in one of her most radiant smiles. "Relax. Don’t worry about it.
Look. We’re almost there".

The basket topped the rim. Zoebda hitched it to the mooring post and held it
steady while Brenhya climbed out. She gazed up at the dark, gothic walls
towering over her, with its intricately carved mouldings and stones that fit
together with mathematical precision. She gave a cheery wave to the guards
peering down from the battlements. Her guide ushered her to the door and
rapped the heavy iron knocker against the ancient wood. A deep tympanic boom
reverberated inside the building, and in a short while a small hatch opened in
the wicket gate inset into the main door, revealing another face that Brenhya
did not know.

"Sister Doorkeeper", Zoebda announced. "This is Brenhya, a fellow Sister".

Brenhya recalled the prune-like face of the previous Sister Doorkeeper, who
had perished in the attack of the Black Marauders. The face that was framed in
the hatch was young and attractive, but the mention of Brenhya’s name
obviously struck a chord. Her face lit with welcome and she threw open the
wicket gate to admit the traveller.

Motes of dust danced in the shafts of light that streamed through the high
windows, softly illuminating the lofty vestibule. One beam fell squarely upon
the big open fireplace with its arched mantel, the motto of the Sisterhood
carved into the heavy stone: ‘My Strength Is My Sister’s; My Sister’s Strength
Is Mine’.

A feeling of home flooded over Brenhya as she strode into The Hall, and her
heart lifted as the memories washed over her. This was the place that had
turned her from a lost, wandering child into the complete woman she had
become, and now she was back and ready to rest from her travels. She stopped
in the vestibule and looked about, remembering the first time she had stood
here, frightened and nervous but determined to find her place in life.

"This way". Sister Doorkeeper, swathed in the white robes of the priesthood,
directed her to an arching doorway in the far corner. "If you will follow me
into the refectory, I will see that you get some refreshments while I tell
Captain Vara you’re here". She ushered Brenhya forward with the sort of
reverence that might be reserved for a visiting dignitary. Brenhya smiled
quietly to herself, gently surprised at the woman’s attitude. She glanced with
a raised eyebrow at Zoebda, walking behind, and was equally surprised to see
her fellow warrior looking at her with awe. She puzzled over the reason for
this as she stepped through the arch.

In the refectory, several of the residents, warriors and priests, of The Hall
were gathered around the fire, chatting and keeping company. A few green-clad
servitors moved to and fro, attending to the household tasks.

"Sisters!" The priest’s voice rang out in the roomy chamber. "We have a
visitor".

Heads turned. Most of the women remembered Brenhya, and their jaws fell open
in recognition. They were on their feet and surrounding her with clamorous
welcomes before Sister Doorkeeper had a chance to announce her. She found her
self being hugged and patted on all sides by a huddle of women, none of whom
stood taller than her shoulder, and felt a huge grin spreading across her
face.

The few woman who did not know Brenhya of old stood around looking confused,
but with the same reverential look that Brenhya had seen earlier. She wondered
briefly about this, and then dismissed it, determining to enquire later.

A sturdy figure, womanly and voluptuous and dressed in warrior’s garb, pushed
her way through the crush and threw her arms about Brenhya’s trim waist,
sobbing her delight.

"Brenhya!", she cried. "Goddess, we all thought you were dead! It’s so good to
see you!"

Brenhya took the woman by the chin and turned up her face. She instantly
recognised the lovely face. "Geanna?" She returned the hug fiercely. "Oh, it’s
good to be back!"

"Steady on!", the woman croaked. "Careful of my ribs! I see you haven’t lost
any strength!" Brenhya eased the pressure. "That’s better. Some of the younger
girls wouldn’t believe us when we told them about you. It’ll be worth having
you back just to prove we weren’t exaggerating". They both laughed at the
quip. "Seriously, though. It’s so good to see you, I can’t tell you".

"I hope you haven’t been telling any wild tales about me", Brenhya said
modestly. "I wouldn’t want to disappoint anybody".

"Nothing but the truth. Honest!", Geanna smiled. "We didn’t have to make
anything up, anyway. You were always the strongest of us all"

Brenhya made a deprecating gesture. "It always seemed strange to me that you
all made such a fuss about it".

"So it’s true, then?" A young voice from the outskirts of the throng spoke up.
Brenhya singled the speaker out of the crowd and moved toward her. She towered
over her, but her open smile took the threat out of her commanding presence.

"What’s true?"

"All the stories about the Wheelbow, the Gloire Stones, the statue of
Themyra?" The girl boldly met Brenhya’s cool gaze. "All that".

"Well", Brenhya replied without a trace of arrogance. She pointed toward the
Servitor to whom she had entrusted the weapon. "There’s the Wheelbow. You’re
welcome to try to string it, if you like. As to the rest ...I can’t deny it".

The young woman looked at the bow, and then up at the newcomer, and shook her
head. "I won’t even try. But I’d like to see you do it".

The other women cheered the remark, and cries of "Yeah, we’d like to see
that", and "Come on, Brenhya. Show us!", rang out.

On her journeys as a girl, Brenhya had spent a year with a travelling show. As
a result, although she was normally modest and undemonstrative about her
physical prowess, there were times when the performer inside her came to the
fore. She paused for effect, letting her impromptu audience build the
atmosphere, before nodding with a shrug. The refectory rang to the sound of
applause.

The Wheelbow was a masterpiece of the bowyer’s art. Sharply recurved in shape
and six feet from tip to tip, it was constructed of laminated layers of woods
varying in hardness; softer timber on the inner curves, harder on the outer.
At it’s thickest point it was the girth of a strong man’s wrist and tapered
gently along it’s limbs. The handgrip was exquisitely carved from finest
ebony, and the whole was expertly planed and smoothed to a highly polished
finish. It was over two hundred years old, yet had been so carefully
maintained over the years that it showed almost no signs of age.

A small pulley wheel was incorporated into the tip of the lower limb, and a
loop of leather passed around it. Another wheel fitted into the loop and then
into a notch in the upper tip, and that, combined with the tensile strength of
the wood enhanced by the shape of the bow, gave the weapon it’s incredible
power. The trade-off for this was that it took an incredibly powerful archer
to string and draw it, and in the last two centuries only one had been strong
enough.

Brenhya held the weapon in her large hand, fingers curling around the familiar
grip. She ran her other hand along the sweeping curves of the limbs, feeling
the superb balance and sensing the dormant power of the bow. She fitted the
pulley into the loop and braced the tip of the lower limb against the instep
of her right foot. Her left hand gripped the upper limb.

The corded muscles of her shoulders and arms sprang into relief as she took
the strain, forcing the thick limb downwards toward the pulley in her right
hand, simultaneously pulling the looped string upwards. Eyes boggled and jaws
fell open when the great slabs of muscle in her back rippled and the wood of
the bow actually groaned as it fought against her strength. Slowly, very
slowly, the mighty Wheelbow bent under her onslaught as she stretched the
tough cord to finally slip the pulley into it’s notch.

Brenhya was guilty of playing to her audience a little; it did not normally
take her more than a few seconds to string the bow. But if she was giving a
performance, she thought she might as well make a good show of it. She held
the strung weapon, almost humming with its own latent power, out for
inspection. Many of the woman had been holding their breath while she gave her
demonstration, and there was a collective gasp of exhaled air that gave way to
a ripple of applause and cheers.

A heavyset, dark haired girl, one of those whom Brenhya did not know, rolled
her eyes and tutted. "I don’t see what all the fuss is about", she commented,
loud enough for everyone, including Brenhya, to hear. "She only strung a bow,
for Goddess’ sake!"

"Shush, Myrla!", one of her colleagues said. "It’s the Wheelbow - nobody but
she can string it!"

"So she says", Myrla muttered. Brenhya overheard, and approached the woman,
holding the bow in her outstretched hand.

"Myrla, is it? You seem to be unimpressed. Fair enough. That’s your
prerogative. Tell you what. If you can unstring it, we will all concede that
you were right". There were rumblings of dissent among the women. The tall
warrior turned on them. "No, stop it. She has the right to be sceptical. And
if she can unstring the Wheelbow, then she is right to be unimpressed and you
are all too easily overawed. Go ahead, Myrla".

"Listen, I’m not saying ....", the younger woman began.

"Take the bow". Brenhya’s quiet voice would brook no denial. "You look like a
strong, well-built girl. Take it".

Myrla was herself a tall, powerfully built woman. Touching six feet and with a
broad, muscular build, she was undoubtedly a strong warrior in her own right.
She was a little nervous as she took the bow, but met Brenhya’s gaze bravely
and, it must be said, a little defiantly. Brenhya showed her how to brace the
weapon against her foot, and how the pulley fitted into its notch, and stepped
back with a ‘go ahead’ gesture.

Myrla glanced around the watching faces. Several looked annoyed that she would
dare to challenge the hero, but as many gave her looks of encouragement.
Heartened by this, she braced the bow as she had been shown, and threw her not
inconsiderable strength into the task. Her own musculature was impressive
enough, and her biceps swelled into smooth, hard balls as she bore down on the
limb. The bow gave not at all.

She looked at Brenhya with new respect. That person smiled encouragement, and
nodded for her to try again. She took a deep breath and hurled herself into
the job, throwing her whole weight and power against the implacable weapon.
She gritted her teeth and grunted with exertion, heaving down with her whole
being. With no result. She yelled her frustration at the object, let go the
string, grasped the limb in both hands, and jerked repeatedly at it.

The best she could do was move the tip about a quarter of an inch. Which was
less than half the distance required to remove the pulley. She gave up, and
hung her head.

"Sorry, Brenhya. I guess I underestimated you".

Stepping forward, Brenhya took the bow from her and unstrung it in about three
seconds. She handed it to the Servitor, and laid a friendly hand on Myrla’s
shoulder. "Don’t worry about it. It was a good try. There’s a lot of potential
in you. Maybe we can exercise together, sometime?"

"I’d like that".

"Sergeant!" The sharp voice snapped from somewhere behind. Despite the fact
that she had been absent for several years, Brenhya’s training was deeply
ingrained and she spun on her heel to snap smartly to attention. She met the
stern gaze [trying hard to stifle a welcoming smile] of her old instructor,
Lieutenant Athlo. The other women drew back, some shifting their feet
nervously, as the strongly-built, stocky figure approached.

Goddess, Athlo thought. Look at her! She’s even bigger and more beautiful than
I remembered. And standing to attention like that - ramrod straight, head up.
She looks like it would take a team of oxen to move her. Magnificent!

None of this showed on the lieutenant’s face as she moved to stand close to
the warrior, staring up at her from just above breast height. Brenhya kept her
head up and her eyes fixed on a point in the middle distance, way over the top
of Athlo’s head, striving to keep her expression neutral.

"Out of uniform, Sergeant?"

"Lieutenant?"

"Your cloak?"

"Gave it to an old woman in Brandwick, after the raid. Her house was burned,
and she was cold and wet. Seemed the right thing to do".

The Lieutenant softened a little at the news. She smiled. "Relax, Brenhya.
Neither of us are on duty. Not really. Here. Let me look at you". Athlo’s
strong fingers closed about Brenhya’s elbows and she held the woman at arm’s
length.

Brenhya wondered, not for the first time, why people did that when they wanted
to look at someone. It would be far better to stand back a way. But that
didn’t matter, now. She was home, and she allowed the pleasure she felt at
seeing Athlo again to show in her face, although she resisted the urge to
throw her arms about the smaller woman.

"Goddess, it’s good to have you back, Brenhya!" Athlo’s grin spread even
further across her tanned face. "We all thought ..."

"I know. You thought I was dead. But I’m pleased to say I’m not, and it’s good
to be back!"

"The Captain will want to see you". Athlo was suddenly all business again.
"She has a lot to say to you. Best get it over with. You lot, get about your
business. Sergeant, follow me".

Brenhya’s mouth formed a grim line as she followed the Lieutenant’s broad back
along familiar corridors, wondering all the while what it was that Captain
Vara was going to say to her. Since she was fourteen, she had been both bigger
and stronger than her commanding officer. But she remained a little in awe of
the stern militarian, and felt the flutter of butterflies in her belly as they
approached the plain office door. Athlo rapped twice.

"Come".

The office was just as Brenhya remembered it. Banners depicting warrior women
in heroic poses hung from the walls. The glass-fronted cabinet that had once
housed the Wheelbow still stood in one corner, looking a little forlorn now
that the weapon was in Brenhya’s keeping. The large, utilitarian desk stood in
the geometric centre and, exactly as it was on the first day she came here,
the white-blond cropped head of the Captain was bowed over her paperwork.
Brenhya marched smartly in and stood to attention. The Captain looked up, her
sharp features wearing the strict expression the warrior recalled so well.

Captain Vara was a die-hard militarian. She was famous among the sisterhood
for getting things done quickly and efficiently, but in doing so her brusque
manner had brought her a reputation for hardness that was not entirely
deserved. She did nothing to counteract this impression, however; that she was
highly respected was beyond doubt, and if a little personal unpopularity was
the price of efficiency, she was more than willing to pay it.

Those that were allowed to get close enough to know her well, though, knew
that she could be warm and highly compassionate.

Standing up briskly, the Captain revealed herself to be a tall, wiry, rangy
woman who moved with the grace of a cheetah. She strode around the desk to
stand before Brenhya, looking up at the warrior from the level of her chin.
Brenhya kept her eyes focussed dead ahead, on a point on the far wall, while
the Captain spoke to Athlo.

"Lieutenant, is there anyone in the corridor?"

Athlo pulled open the door and peered left and right. "All clear, Captain".

Vara kept her gaze steady on Brenhya for a moment. Then her severe expression
softened, and she stepped back, holding her arms wide.

"Welcome home, Brenhya".

With a great sigh of relief, Brenhya relaxed and stepped forward into the
embrace. The two women hugged fiercely, cheek to cheek, in their delight at
seeing each other. Athlo pushed her way in, tucking her stocky body under
Brenhya’s arm, joined the three-way hug, and the three women held each other
for several long moments. Three pairs of eyes squeezed tight shut and three
pairs of lips squirmed in an effort to hold back tears of joy.

Athlo was the first. A huge sob escaped her, and she gave in, to let the tears
flow unchecked. And that was it. Unable to hold out any longer, Brenhya burst
into floods next, followed quickly by the normally inflexible Captain, and the
three sobbed their hearts out in a welter of joyful tears.

To an observer, it would have been an incongruous sight. Three stalwart and
undeniably powerful women, locked together, sobbing into each others’ necks
like young girls. But such an observer would have overlooked the fact that,
warriors or not, they were still human, and subject to all the emotional
upheaval that entailed.

In the end, and not unexpectedly, it was Vara that broke the embrace, wiping
the wetness from her face with the inside of one wrist.

"All right, Ladies. Enough silliness. Lets pull ourselves together and behave
like the soldiers we are".

Brenhya produce a linen kerchief from somewhere inside her brief clothing and
dried the tears from her perfect face. Athlo blew her nose loudly and
luxuriously.

"Well", the Lieutenant said. "I don’t know about you, but that did me the
power of good".

The Captain harumphed as she retreated behind her desk, motioning Brenhya to a
chair. The first time, incidentally, that Brenhya had been permitted to sit in
this office.

"It really is good to see you", she said, all business once more. "We have a
lot to talk about, but the details can come later in your formal debriefing.
For now, though, we’re both anxious to hear what you’ve been doing these last
few years?"

"There’s not a lot to tell", Brenhya said with a deprecating shrug. "Where
would you like me to start?"

"Well, we know what happened here, during the invasion", Vara told her. "And
we can surmise what happened in Brandwick".

"That’s right", Athlo put in. "We found some of your work". Brenhya supposed
she was referring to the number of Black Marauder corpses she had left around
the place. "And, by the way. We found Ped and his father. We gave them a
decent burial".

"Thank you", said Brenhya, feeling a hard knot form in her belly as the memory
of her first lover, strung up by the ankles and, throat cut, bled out like a
slaughtered beast, slammed into her mind. "I hoped you would".

"So we really need you to start from there". Captain Vara saw the importance
of getting Brenhya past this sudden memory.

"OK. Well, I picked up the trail of the raiders fairly quickly. I followed
them from village to village, and they killed, raped, and razed everywhere
they went. At one stage, I began to think that for every band I found and put
to death, another two would take its place. We soon discovered that they were
under the control of a tyrant named Boulic. He was the warlord that was
responsible for the death of my parents".

"So then it became personal?", Athlo interjected.

"Personal?" Her eyes flashed, and there was venom in Brenhya’s normally calm
voice. "These bastards had raided this Hall, killed many of my friends, sacked
Brandwick, and slaughtered my lover like an animal". She took a deep breath.
"How much more personal than that could it get?" She gave a wry smile as the
fire in her eyes died down. "But, yes. His presence gave the quest a certain
...edge.

"Anyway, we tracked them right across the Destitution Desert, into the heart
of Pallandry and to the city itself. The people of a nearby town, that we
helped during yet another raid, gave us the layout of the city and helped with
logistics. And when I finally found Boulic and killed him, the Black Marauders
were like a snake with its head cut off. There lost all sense of purpose, and
eventually disbanded".

"I suspect it was nowhere near as easy as all that", Vara said with a raised
eyebrow.

"Well ...no. He suckered me at one point, and took me prisoner". Brenhya
looked at both women in turn. "You remember Drucia?". They both nodded.
"Well", Brenhya went on. "It turned out she had taken up with Boulic, and was
working for him. She had me chained up, and tortured and beat me quite badly.
That’s where I picked up this". She indicated the tiny scar on her upper lip.
"I think the Goddess must’ve given me strength, though, because I managed to
free myself, and killed her".

Brenhya fell silent and stared at her feet for a moment. She did not regret
the killing of Drucia; the woman had richly deserved death. But the memory of
the blind fury that had come over her, resulting in an extreme display of
vengeful violence that left the body of her adversary smashed and
unrecognisable, was hard to bear. She had never, before or since, lost control
to that degree, and never wanted to again. "Anyway, that’s about it".

Lieutenant Athlo had been holding her breath throughout the tale, and let it
out with a whoosh. "I suspect", she said. "That there’s and awful lot you’ve
left out of that story".

"I have to agree", Captain Vara said. "But the details can wait. I have a
couple of questions. First, you kept saying ‘we’. What was all that about?"

"Oh, I picked up a travelling companion along the way. He came to mean a lot
to me, although not". She fixed the grinning Athlo with a stare. "In the way
you obviously think, Lieutenant!"

"Fair enough. My other question concerns events since then. The quest, as you
have described it, would’ve taken a year, perhaps two, but no more. Where have
you been since then?"

"I got involved in something else. A friend of mine, the Fool, from the show,
you remember?"

Her colleagues nodded in unison. "He got himself captured by a megalomaniacal
madman, who tried to use daemonic power to rule the world. We went to rescue
him. And then I had to take Lon to meet his new master, so he could continue
his apprenticeship". She made no mention of magic, uncertain as to how the two
very practical woman would take it. A knock sounded at the door.

"Come". Vara called. The head of a servitor appeared around the door jamb.

"Sister Serenity is ready to see Brenhya, now", she reported.

Vara got to her feet. "Better go", she said. "Don’t keep the Sister waiting".

*********************************************

Following the servitor through the dark corridors, lit only by flickering
torches bracketed in sconces at long intervals on the walls, was something of
a trial for Brenhya. The servitor, although very pretty, was a tiny creature,
and Brenhya towered over her by a foot and a half. For all her guide was
almost trotting to stay ahead, Brenhya had to shorten her normal stride so
much that she was all but mincing along. She was sorely tempted to tuck the
little woman under her arm, and complete the journey in half the time, and
only her concern for the woman’s dignity prevented her from doing so.

There were three castes of Sisters of Themyra; Priests, Warriors, and
Servitors. Each existed to compliment the other, and each, in its own way,
paid homage to the Goddess. The doctrine of the Sisterhood decreed that no
woman should be set above the other, with the exception of whoever was
currently Sister Serenity. This meant that no woman, except among warriors and
then only when on duty, could demand anything of any other. They could ask,
though.

"Do you think you could pick up the pace, a bit?"

The servitor glanced back nervously at the warrior who was nearly treading on
her heels. "Sorry". She broke into a trot.

Brenhya lengthened her stride, and in a few minutes they arrived at a plain
door that looked no different from the dozens of others they had passed. The
servitor rapped on the wood, and Brenhya followed her in.

The Chamber of Serenity was very different from the last time she had been
here. She who had been Sister Serenity previously, an ancient, devout woman
who had tragically died during the Battle, had kept the room very austere,
with nothing but a few stone benches for comfort. Now it was comfortably
furnished with deep, welcoming sofas and a useful table laden with bowls of
fruit and sweetmeats, and colourful wall hangings gave the place a cheerful
aspect.

Curled up on one of the sofas, wrapped in the pure white robes of her calling,
the incumbent Sister Serenity sat awaiting the arrival of the traveller. A
young woman, just a few years older than Brenhya herself, she retained the
blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes that the warrior remembered with
affection. A sprinkle of freckles dusted across her nose, and an elfin beauty
radiated from her face.

She rose from the sofa gracefully. "Thank you, Barsa. You may leave us, now".

The servitor scurried from the Chamber. The Priest and the warrior looked at
each other across twelve feet of stone floor, piercing green eyes boring into
glittering blue.

Brenhya was the first to crack. She threw back her head and let out a wild
whoop of pure joy as she flung out her arms. "Jal!"

All the dignity of her station lost, the priest ran across the room to throw
herself into the waiting arms, allowing herself to be whirled around and
around in sheer ecstasy.

"Hi, Bren!"

***************************************