MAGE
By "heck"
Chapter three


Comments to heck@heckster.co.uk

"MY REMARKABLE FRIEND?" Lon was surprised by the question, as he had thought
the old wizard had hardly noticed the woman, but his face visibly brightened.
Talking about Brenhya was his favourite subject, and one he was happy to
pursue for as long as he had an audience. "What do you want to know?"

"Well. Mmm. Anything you can tell me, really. She, um ...she intrigues me".

"That's hardly surprising. She intrigues every man she meets".

"Eh? Oh! Not in that way". Drosklyn Chaithe was both pleased and embarrassed
that Lon supposed him to be sexually interested in the warrior woman. "Heh
heh. No, no, no. Not at all. Mmm. Too, um, old, doncher know. Hee hee. Me,
that is. Not your friend, of course. Yes. Although I can see that you think of
her in that way, what?"

Although the old man had not touched him, Lon had the distinct feeling he had
been nudged in the ribs. He blushed and muttered something under his breath.
Chaithe nodded understandingly.

"Ah. Unrequited love, I see. You love her, but she does not return the
feeling, eh?"

"No, that's not true. She does love me. She's said as much. But ..."

"...but not in the same way". Chaithe surprised Lon with his empathy. The aged
wizard, dithery frailties not withstanding, was mentally as sharp as a tack.
"Shame, shame", he went on. "Still, you are both yet young, what?" He patted
Lon on the knee as he stood up. "She may grow to reciprocate your, er, your
love in time, eh? Nil desperandum, d'you see? Nil desperandum".

"I don't think so", Lon sighed as he stood up.

"We'll see. We'll see".

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and the manservant Quaff leaned around
the jamb. "Quaff will serve dinner now, if it please your sires".

Chaithe rubbed his hands in glee. "Excellent, excellent. Dinner, what?" He
gestured Lon to the far end of the long table. "Sit, lad, sit. Quaff is a
wonderful cook. You have a treat in store, eh?"

Taking his seat as directed, Lon gazed down the shining length of the table.
At the far end, the wizard seemed a distant companion. Dinner conversation
will be hard, he thought, as the kobold poured steaming vegetable soup into
the plate before him. It smelled delicious, based around a succulent meat
stock. Glistening yellow globules of fat floated temptingly in the broth, and
when he tasted it Lon found it to be even better than it looked.

"This is good", he said to himself, smacking his lips.

"Isn't it, though?"

The young man looked up in surprise. Given the length of the dining table, he
was amazed that the elder could hear him at all, much less answer him without,
it seemed, raising his voice at all. Chaithe noticed his bemused expression.

"Acoustics, dear boy. Mmm. Goes along with the, er, dimensional manipulation,
doncher know. In any room in this house, we can hear each other without
shouting, no matter how far apart we are, what?"

"I'm impressed", Lon smiled.

"Ach! Don't be, lad, don't be. This". His gesture encompassed the whole room.
"This is a mere trifle, compared to the secrets we shall find together, eh?
Now, about your friend ...?"

"Of course. What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Who is she, where does she come from? Everything". He waved a
hand. "Everything you feel comfortable about telling me, of course".

"What can I say? You've seen her, so you already know how beautiful she is.
She's strong. Certainly the strongest person I've ever met, either sex. There
can't be many, if any, who are stronger. She's kind, warm, gentle, serene.
She's just the nicest person, and she's my best friend".

"Hmm. Kind, you say? Gentle, you say? Mmm. You surprise me. Um. I though she
was a warrior".

Lon laid his spoon in the bowl and pushed the empty dish away. "Oh, she is.
And by gods, she can fight when it's called for. Which is a good thing. And in
extreme circumstances, she is capable of the most horrendous violence. That is
the only thing I don't like about her; frightens me a bit, although I have to
admit it's saved my life a few times".

"Really? How interesting".

Lon, thinking Chaithe was referring to the life saving, continued. "She's an
expert swordswoman, horsewoman, and archer, and is well versed in woodcraft.
She trained as an acrobat, juggler, and gods know what else. What else would
you like to know?"

"Where, um, where does she come from?" Chaithe asked, as Quaff served the main
course. Sumptuous quail wrapped in wafer thin slices of ham, served with a
fruity sauce. Lon salivated at the wonderful aroma. He tasted the delicacy.

"Mmm, this is fabulous", he said around a mouthful of meat. "Originally, she
comes from a small village in the back country. But since she was ten, she's
been a member of the Sisters of Themyra". Lon gave a small laugh. "Not that
she's religious, or anything".

"Sisters of Themyra? Mmm. Splendid body of women. Splendid. And where, um
where is she now?"

"She was going back the Hall of her Sisterhood, as far as I know".

"Back to the Hall, eh? Interesting".

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

As the days passed, Brenhya and Jaliza lapsed into their old familiarity. They
were comfortable in each other's company, and spent long hours cloistered in
the Chamber of Serenity, talking and laughing, catching up and generally
enjoying one another. They made love frequently and with great enthusiasm, and
took great joy in rediscovering their bodies. Each encounter was a journey of
exploration, and their sex never became stale.

In front of the other sisters, of course, they were the very model of decorum.
Brenhya was conscious of Jaliza's position as Sister Serenity, the leader of
the order, and was always careful to neither do nor say anything that may
detract from the dignity of that position. Of course, in such a closed and
close community, their relationship quickly became common knowledge, but
neither they nor the other women made any mention of it.

Over the weeks, Brenhya made several trips into the nearby town of Brandwick.
The sisters were well respected there, and their arrival was always greeted
with gusto. Priests, warriors, and servitors alike were welcomed with open
arms, not only for the trade they brought to the town but because of the
services they performed. Healers from the Hall would care for the sick;
priests would offer counselling; warriors, on request, would supplement the
meagre police force. And, of course, the townspeople would never forget the
aid and support they received from the Sisters in the aftermath of the raid of
the Black Marauders, some years earlier.

Her first visit to the town, after her return to the Sisterhood, was one that
evoked mixed feelings in Brenhya. The winter quarters of the travelling show,
with which she had spent a significant period of her childhood, were shut up
for the season, while the carnival was on the road, but the sight of the
stabling and staff living quarters brought back many happy memories for the
warrior.

With the agreement of the new owner, she spent a solitary hour sitting on a
bale in the town's livery stables, lost in memories of her first lover, Ped.
She remembered the first time they made love, in the hayloft of the stables
while Ped's father was away on an errand. She recalled standing over the
trapdoor, hauling him up into the loft on a rope, laughing at his incredulous
expression as he experienced her strength for the first time. And his wonder,
when he realised just how marvellously sensual that strength could be.

Her memories were bittersweet, however. As she reminisced about the happy
times and their joy in the discovery of sex, the image of his dead body,
strung up by the ankle with his throat cut, a huge pool of blood on the ground
beneath him, and her frantic but senseless efforts to revive his lifeless body
as she carried it to a pile of hay and cradled it in her arms, intruded
insistently on her thoughts. A lump came to her throat, and a single tear ran
down her cheek, leaving a wet track on her perfect skin.

As a sergeant, she took charge of three squads of warriors, forming a phalanx,
and commanded them firmly but with absolute fairness. She drilled them in
weapons skills and combat, until they were the most efficient and deadly cadre
at the Hall and the envy of all their peers.

Her life was filled with routine. The military traditions of the warrior
caste, as was the norm with all societies that kept a standing army, operated
on a system of regular hours and activities which, while demanding, was
nonetheless comforting. Brenhya basked in the comfort, and took solace in the
routine. At first.

Several months further on, however, the cycle of drills, training, and
gymwork, began to pall a little. She had experienced freedom during her
quests, a sense of purpose and drive that was exhilarating in itself. Added to
that was the adrenalin rush of the unexpected, the battles, and the sense of
achievement at the completion of the mission. She missed it.

She missed it all. She sometimes thought that the only thing that kept her was
her relationship with Jaliza. And she would even be willing to set that aside,
temporarily, in exchange for some time on the road again.

Her reaction to this was to spend more and more time away from the hall,
galloping over the plains on her majestic bay mare, Makaar. When she was not
on duty, asleep, or making love, she was out on her horse. When on duty, she
worked her phalanx as hard and fair as always, but was just a touch more
irritable. Anyone not totally familiar with her moods would not have noticed.

It was noticed.

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

Lon learned his trade. Drosklyn Chaithe admitted to being impressed by his
theoretical knowledge, but early came to realise that his practical skills
were sadly lacking. The apprentice was clumsy. He was, as his mentor put it,
"cack-handed, not to, um, put too fine a point on it". He was nervous to
demonstrate such skills as he had, in front of his new master; his first
attempt at a fire spell nearly incinerated them both.

"Your gestures should be flowing. Graceful", Chaithe would say. "Your voice,
mmm, should be, what's the word? Masterful. Yes. Masterful and powerful. Mmm.
The power does not come from within you, d'you see? Oh, no. It, um, flows
through you. From another plane of being, d'you see? Yes. Another plane of
being. You are merely a channel, and it is your task to, um, regulate the
flow, what? Rather like a sluice gate on a canal lock, doncher know? The more
bold and open your gestures, the more power you release. Keep them small, yes?
Small and subtle, and the power is more controlled. Focussed, as it were. So
to speak. To coin a phrase. Eh?"

Lon quickly settled in and enjoyed his studies. He rapidly caught up with the
theory of mundane magic, as befitted an apprentice hedge-wizard, and even read
a little of the Great Magicks of old. And eventually, he began to grow out of
his previous youthful ineptitude in the actual practice of spells and rituals.
He was a little in awe of Drosklyn Chaithe, and uncomfortable around Quaff, at
first. However, he soon found the former to be a great and kindly teacher, and
the latter to be a harmless, almost mindless creature. The servant almost
never spoke unless spoken to, and then no more than necessary, and went about
his duties with a geologically slow, dogged efficiency.

At least once a day, Chaithe would disappear through a locked door at one end
of the ground floor corridor, leaving Lon alone with his books a studies. He
was always careful to lock the door behind him, and had admonished the
apprentice never to enter the room. Usually, he was dothery and vague, but on
this subject he was absolutely adamant, and Lon was careful to obey his
instructions.

Just occasionally, when the wizard thought he was not looking, Lon caught a
glimpse of Chaithe looking at him with what he imagined to be sinister
interest, but when he looked up the old man was smiling benevolently, as
usual.

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

The entire second storey of the Hall was given over to the use of the warrior
caste. The floors above were supported by great fluted pillars, and the area
comprised a drill ground, archery butts, weapons practice area, and a large
space, thickly matted and with cushioned walls, that was devoted completely to
unarmed combat.

Brenhya brought her phalanx here almost daily, to practice some aspect of
their soldierly skills. Today they were working on hand to hand combat, and
Brenhya was demonstrating moves, using a hardwood dummy to represent an
opponent. The dummy was nothing more than an ironwood log, roughly man- sized,
with a pair of painted eyes and a couple of batons to represent arms.
Barefoot, and dressed only in her soft leather skirt and halter, she kicked
and struck at the dummy, showing different ways of disabling an attacker.

From the shadows of the surrounding cloisters, Captain Vara and Lieutenant
Athlo observed her class with interest. She would demonstrate a move, and then
invite her warriors to practice with each other.

"No, no, Lura", Brenhya said to one of her acolytes. "Use your instep. Sweep
the legs away, then use the top of your foot to kick to the head. That's
better. Cari, don't forget to break your fall".

The class continued for a full hour, and the tall woman put her phalanx
through their paces in strict form. At the end of the session many were stiff
or bruised, but all had learned some more about handling themselves in a
one-to-one situation. Towards the end of the lesson, Brenhya held a short
debriefing, during which they discussed what they had learned.

"In these situations, you need to be in control", Brenhya told them. "It would
be nice if we were able to see the whole of the opponent, but normally we're
too close for that. Where should we focus our attention?" A hand went up.
"Cari?"

"The eyes", Cari replied. "The intention to act is telegraphed in the eyes".

"Stand up, Cari". Brenhya positioned her student in front of her. "Watch my
eyes. Don't lose eye contact for an instant".

The two women faced each other for a long moment, Cari looking up intently
into the Instructor's eyes. Brenhya's face was impassive, gazing back with
apparent disinterest, hands hanging loosely at her sides.

Cari never lost concentration for an instant, never even blinked, but before
she was aware of it, Brenhya's hand shot out and she touched the other woman
on the nose. Cari jumped back, taken by surprise.

"Did you see that coming?" The student shook her head. "Thank you, Cari. Sit
down, please". Brenhya addressed the class as a whole. "Cari is right, of
course. When you're combating a street fighter or a brawler, some of the
common thugs we encounter who think they're hard, think they can fight, then
the eyes are the indicators, without a doubt. But if you're up against an
experienced opponent, she or he will know that as well as you. If they have
any sense, they will have schooled themselves to block that reaction, and
their eyes will tell you nothing.

"But there is one thing that nobody can block. One sure-fire way to spot when
the move is coming. The shoulders. Nobody, and I mean nobody, and I don't care
how good they are, can make a move without first bringing the muscles into
readiness. So the first indicator will always be a tiny twitch in the
shoulders. We'll come back to that next time.

"Thank you, Ladies". Brenhya dismissed her students. "Next time also, we'll
look at handling more than one opponent at a time. Off you go".

The warrior watched them go. For a while afterwards, she practiced alone,
developing her own more advanced skills, sometimes using the dummy, sometimes
not. Then, thinking the arena to be empty, she started a little role play.

"So. You think you're a big shot, eh?" She addressed the dummy, smiling a
little self-consciously, pacing back and forth before it. "Think you're tough?
Well, come on, then. Let's see what you've got".

Dancing on the balls of her feet, hands loose at her sides, exceptionally
light and graceful for such a big woman, she moved round the dummy as if
looking for an opening. She dodged and feinted, ducking imaginary blows, head
bobbing and weaving. From time to time, a hand would flick out or a foot would
kick forward, back, or to the side. Each blow was delivered faster than a
striking snake and with the full power of Brenhya's muscles behind it. Yet
each strike was so perfectly timed and executed, so controlled, that she
barely touched the rough wood each time.

Her motions were precise and finely tuned. But as her session progressed she
became more and more focussed and intense. Her expression became fierce and
her brilliant green eyes narrowed. The air about her all but crackled with
pent up aggression.

In the shadows, Vara leaned closer to her adjutant to whisper in her ear.
"Look at her, Athlo. She's like a caged tiger. Pacing up and down like that.
You can almost feel the frustration in her".

"Yes, Captain. I've noticed it for some time, now. But what can we do about
it?"

"I don't know. But we're going to have to channel it, somehow. Those years on
the road have given her needs that we can't satisfy here at the Hall. Just
look at her. I mean, she's about the most self-controlled person I ever met,
but this can't be good for her".

Athlo nodded in agreement. "I can't imagine her ever losing that control. But
if she ever did, I don't know about you, but I wouldn't like to be in her
way".

Brenhya was now squaring up to the dummy, glaring at it with an expression of
pure aggression. She was growling deep in her throat as she danced around the
'enemy'. In a fraction of a second, she leaned to one side and her long, long
leg, powered by the full strength of those incredible muscles, drove out and
up to strike the dummy at the precise point where it's chin would have been.

The thick ironwood broke through with an ear-splitting crack that echoed
through the huge space and made the two onlookers jump with surprise. The top
third sailed through the air and bumped onto the floor about thirty feet away.
It rolled a few yards and spun gently as it came to rest.

Brenhya's hand flew to her mouth as she looked around guiltily to see if her
actions were observed. It was obvious that she had not intended to damage the
dummy. She gathered up the broken section and trotted from the arena,
presumably to find an artisan to repair the manikin.

Vara and Athlo stood silently side by side, mouths open and eyes agog. They
slowly turned to look at each other.

"Did you see ...?" Vara began.

"Goddess!", Athlo replied. The two just stared at each other for a long
second.

"I think", the Captain said. "It's time we talk to Sister Serenity".

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

"The assassin clung tenaciously to the moss covered bough, inching forward
silently, eyes fixed unblinking on the target. One foot was slowly and
delicately placed in front of the other as she swayed gently, unswervingly
dedicated to her murderous task.

The unwitting victim, intent upon her mission, was oblivious to the
approaching death. Her life was busy and tiring, so as she sat she partook of
a meal, hungrily ingesting the energy packed goodness, completely unaware that
this meal would be her last.

Carefully, very carefully, ready to freeze and fade into the background in an
instant, the assassin crept closer to her quarry. She was within striking
range, now, and the target was still unaware of her presence. Arms held in
readiness, she tensed, ready to strike.

Faster than the eye could follow, the powerful arms of the mantis shot out,
enfolding the delicate butterfly in their deadly embrace. Bright wings
fluttered in panic, but her fate was sealed. Settling back on her haunches,
prey held tight in her unbreakable grip, the mantis began to feed on her
still-living prey.

Twenty feet below, oblivious of the drama occurring above, Lon whistled
tunelessly as he ambled along a well-trodden path through the trees. His thick
and rather flaccid lips were not ideally suited to the task, and the breathy
sound he produced was thin and reedy. Nonetheless, he was happy in his studies
and today, on a rare day off, he was thankful that he had found a mentor who
was learned and wise, as well as being hospitable.

The track led to a clifftop promontory overlooking the sea. Here, Lon stopped
for a while. He folded his long, gangly legs, that seemed to be built entirely
of joints, under him and sat on the grassy point to spend some time watching
the breakers crashing on the rocks below.

Brenhya would love this view, he thought. He experienced a pang of regret that
she was not here with him. That was the only drawback to his new life - the
woman he loved and admired was not a part of it. As he hauled himself to his
feet, he consoled himself by remembering that, one day, they would meet again.

A walk around the entire island only took half a day, even if he dawdled and
stopped to look at everything that caught his interest. And many things caught
his interest. He was fascinated by nature in all her guises, and would lose
himself in the intricate way a flower's petals fitted together, or the way a
looper caterpillar hunched and arched its way along a twig. Down on the small
beach, he would desert the white sands to explore the rock pools, immersing
himself in the doings of the denizens therein. Up in the forest, he would
become engrossed in the song of birds or the business of a colony of ants. To
a person with Lon's unquenchable curiosity, the island was a treasure trove.

Today, however, before he had gotten half way round, the sky filled up with
heavy, dark nimbus clouds and it began to rain. Unwilling to be caught out in
one of the torrential downpours to which the island was subject from time to
time, he quickly picked his way back to the house and escaped indoors just as
it began to rain in earnest. Quaff was shuffling along the corridor as he
entered.

"Where's Master Chaithe?", Lon asked. By way of an answer, the kobold nodded
toward the forbidden door and disappeared into the kitchen. At a loss for
something better to do, Lon stepped into the parlour, marvelling as always at
the vast dimensions of the room. He crossed to the fireplace and sat down in a
cosy chair, bathed in flickering firelight from a fire that was always alight
but never too hot or too cold.

He gazed into the glowing coals, amusing himself by picking out images in the
embers, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. Which palled very
quickly, and his lively mind was soon bored. He got up in search of something
to do.

Because of dimensional manipulation, the house was much larger inside than
out. No matter how often he explored its floors and corridors, there was
always something new; a new passage or a different room he had never seen
before. Yet it was impossible to get lost. For instance, having climbed, say,
five flights of stairs, if Lon wished to return to the ground floor he would
only have to go down one flight, and there he would be. It seemed that he had
only to fix in his mind where in the house he wanted to go, and that was where
he would arrive.

This afternoon, his wanderings had taken him down a new corridor on the second
floor. At one side, he found a small, narrow doorway set flush to the wall so
it was not apparent until he was actually on top of it. The handle turned
under his fingers and it swung open silently and smoothly to reveal a slim
spiral staircase. Almost unconsciously, his innate curiosity had guided his
foot to the first step, and he began to climb up.

And up. And up. It seemed that the staircase was never ending. It was dark,
and festooned with cobwebs that caught in his hair and clung to his face.
Fortunately, one of the spells he had almost mastered was the illumination
spell that Chaithe had used when he first arrived. It was nowhere near as
effective as his master's version, of course, but Lon was able to produce a
dim glow that, at least, showed him where to safely put his feet.

His thighs were beginning to ache, screaming out for rest when, breathless, he
eventually reached the top of the staircase. The top step led directly to a
door that may have been the twin of the other below, and again it yielded to
his touch, opening on to a small, bare room without furnishings of any kind,
except a heavy drape across the entire length of one wall.

He had not been forbidden to explore the house, so there was no reason why he
should not be here. Nonetheless, he had the distinct feeling that he was
trespassing, that to be in this room was wrong. There was a cold, eerie
atmosphere to the place that he could not quite put a name to.

He was about to leave, resolving to ask Drosklyn Chaithe about the room when
he had the chance, when a sound caught his attention. A muffled voice, almost
chanting, seemed to emanate from behind the curtain.

A little afraid but consumed by curiosity, Lon nervously approached the
curtain and lifted one corner. A cloud of dust enveloped him, and it was all
he could do to suppress a fit of coughing.

Behind the drape, Lon found a blank wall. Nothing else. But the voice became
clearer, and as he discerned its words his blood ran cold.

"Hail Shaitan, Lord of the Underworld, Master of Evil, King of Darkness, hear
your humble servant.

"I will bring you tribute. I will bring you power. I will bring you souls.

"Hail Shaitan. Hear your humble servant. I seek the knowledge of the ancients.
I search for the mysteries of the Mages. I quest after the secrets of the Dark
Ones. I follow the path of the Great Wizards of old.

"Hail Shaitan. Hear your humble servant. Hear my plea and grant me thy boon.
Lead me to enlightenment".

The voice was not that of his master. Quite. It was strong and unhesitant,
whereas Chaithe's was piping and full of 'um's' and 'er's'. But there were
similarities. It could have been, Lon thought, the voice of Drosklyn Chaithe
as a young man. Which was impossible. Wasn't it?

The feeling on being in the wrong place at the wrong time became overwhelming.
A stunned expression on his face, Lon turned and fled through the door, back
down the stairs, out into the corridor.

Straight into the arms of Quaff.

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

"Do you want to take this thing off me, yet?"

Despite the fact that she was a strong and fit woman, the ostler servitor's
knees were beginning to buckle under the weight of the big, black leather
saddle.

"Just put it down on that bale". Brenhya occasionally forgot that she was so
much stronger than others. Where holding the fifty pound saddle for ten
minutes would not have been a problem for her, it definitely was for the
ostler. She finished fastening the cheek straps on Makaar's bitless bridle,
and settled a thick sheepskin numnah on the animal's back. With an easy, one
handed action, she swung the saddle into place and fastened the girth tightly.

The big mare, seventeen hands at the withers and shining after the grooming
Brenhya had just given her, was always a beautiful animal. Athletic and
muscular, she was an equine version of Brenhya herself, and the two
complimented each other perfectly.

But when she wore her expertly tooled leather tack, with its bridle studded
with silver and the majestic saddle with its high pommel and cantle,
comfortable as an easy chair, Brenhya thought she was a gorgeous sight. An
expert horsemaster as well as a rider, she took great care of the tack and
pride in keeping her mount fit and looking magnificent.

The warrior slid the Wheelbow into its boot mounted on the saddle, and led her
horse from the stable to where Captain Vara and many of her closest friends
were waiting. She recalled the conversation that had led to this day.

It was not often that she was formally summoned to see Sister Serenity. She
often visited her friend, both for sex and socially, but was rarely asked to
visit by the young matriarch's aide, using the priests formal name. So she
curious when she stood outside the plain door, wondering whether to knock and
wait, or go straight in.

Deciding on a compromise, she knocked and pushed open the door. She was mildly
surprised to find Captain Vara and Lieutenant Athlo, as well as her lover,
waiting within.

"Brenhya. Sit down. Please". Jaliza was smiling but her eyes, Brenhya noticed,
were troubled. "You're probably wondering why we've asked you here".

"It crossed my mind. What's wrong?" Perspicacious as always, Brenhya had
picked up on the mood straightaway. Silently, Sister Serenity nodded to
Captain Vara, indicating that she should explain.

"Sergeant, are you happy here?" As was her way, Vara got straight to the
point.

"What sort of question is that?". Brenhya was a little indignant. "This is my
home. Why shouldn't I be?"

Vara smiled grimly. "The fact that you chose not to answer in the affirmative
says a lot more than you know". She held up a quieting hand as Brenhya opened
her mouth to protest. "We've been watching you lately and, quite frankly,
although you may be content to remain here, you're not truly happy, despite
what you might say. You're restless. You spend as much time as you can out
riding. You pace up and down in front of your phalanx like a caged leopard. We
saw what you did to the dummy, out of sheer frustration and pent up
aggression". The Captain leant forward and laid a concerned hand on Brenhya's
knee. "It's not good for you. After your adventures, you have a need to be
free, to have space around you. And it isn't good for us, to see you like
this. We're worried about you".

"You're going stir-crazy, Bren", Jaliza put in, using her pet name for her
lover and not caring who heard. "I can't stand to se you like this".

A lump formed in Brenhya's throat. "You, er .." She cleared her throat. "You
want to send me away?"

Jaliza hurried to sit beside her, decorum now forgotten entirely, and threw
her arms about Brenhya's shoulders. "Goddess, no! What would make you think
that? That's the last thing we want to do".

"What, then ...?"

"We've found a new role for you", Vara explained. "If you want it".

"It's the best of both worlds, Bren". Jaliza's face was more animated, now.
"You're gonna like it".

The big warrior was intrigued, now. "Tell me more".

"We'd like you to be an emissary", Vara explained. "We would send you out from
time to time, if there is something we'd like you to look into. Or if we
receive a request for help. You would be an agent on behalf of the Order, and
it would be your job to respond. Always respecting the tenets of the Order, of
course. If you found that the request was spurious, or the Order is being used
against a weaker opponent ...well, you know".

"Of course. Sounds interesting". Brenhya was smiling, now. The idea appealed
to her.

"Think of it, Brenhya", Athlo put in.. "You'd still have the Hall as your
home, and you'd be here most of the time. But you'd also have a chance to
travel, get into adventures. Right up your alley".

Brenhya's grin widened, showing strong white teeth and lighting up the whole
room. "It sounds just like my kind of thing. When do I start".

"Well, first we'd have to decide what to call you". Vara returned the grin
with one of her own. This was so rare that, when her thin lips drew back,
Brenhya was almost surprised that she had any teeth at all. "You can't be an
emissary for the Order and just be a sergeant. We'd have to think up a
suitable title. But, basically, straight away".

"Oh oh". Caught up in the moment, Jaliza was excited as a little girl. "I
know. We can call you The Equerry. I like the sound of that".

"Excuse me, Sister" Athlo was puzzled. "An equerry is someone who is in charge
of horses, usually for a royal or noble house. I don't see that that describes
her role".

Well, she has a horse, doesn't she? And we may not be royalty, but the Order
has its own style of nobility. And she'd be working for Themyra, for Goddess'
sake. What could be more noble?"

Brenhya laughed. "I like it too. You can call me Equerry, if you like".

"That's settled, then". Jaliza became more businesslike. "You are still part
of the Warrior Caste, but outside it, in a way. You will still be answerable
to Captain Vara while you are at the Hall, but once you are out on your
equerrial duties ..." Brenhya raised an eyebrow as if to say, is that a word?
"...you will be answerable only to the Goddess and your conscience. You will
have free rein to conduct your duties as you see fit. I trust you implicitly
to uphold the standards we would expect".

"That's a given", Brenhya said.

"Of course", Vara said. "You won't be able to lead your phalanx anymore. As
you know, that needs a continuity that you won't be able to provide. We will
take your recommendation as to a successor ..."

"Geanna", Brenhya said without hesitation. She turned to Athlo, who made a
note. "She would be my choice".

"You got it", Vara continued. "But when you're at the Hall, it'd suit me if
you would continue as an instructor".

"That would suit me, too", Brenhya agreed. "So, is there anything for me to
get started on, or are we talking sometime in the future?"

"As it happens", Jaliza said, her Sister Serenity persona now firmly back in
place. "We have already had a request. The King of Anusol has sent us a
letter". She produce a parchment and began to read. " 'Sisters, from His Royal
and Most Exulted Majesty King Pabloth III, greetings. We send you this missive
in the hope of enlisting your aid. Our beautiful and noble country, Anusol, is
beset by strange occurrences. Strange creatures have been seen abroad, people
have vanished without trace, unheard of diseases have struck our outlying
communities. Crops have failed in good growing seasons, and water supplies
have been tainted with no sign of any culprit.

'We are a small and peaceful country, without a standing army of our own. Such
warriors as we have are mercenary and untrustworthy.

'However, we have heard of the skill and prowess of your warriors, and of one
warrior in particular'" Jaliza looked up at Brenhya and smiled. " 'We would be
eternally in your debt if you could send this warrior to speak with us and, at
the least, advise us as to our best course of action'. Signed and sealed, and
it all seems genuine. Do you want to go?"

For an answer, Brenhya had simply smiled. And now, she was about to leave, and
most of the Order had come down from the mountain to see her off. She and
Jaliza had said their goodbyes last night in their own special way, and this
morning the Priest had been too choked to actually come down. But everybody
else was there.

Vara gave her a letter of introduction. She grasped the warrior above the
elbows firmly and warmly. "Give this to the king. When you have completed your
journey, come back safe".

Brenhya returned the embrace, and swung up onto Makaar's strong back. "I will"