"Brother Sun and Sister Moon C: 15-17" by Sandra Leigh Wagner

      Brian woke on his own some time around dawn. Finally caught up on his rest, his body was a virtual alarm clock, falling back on old patterns. In fact, when he first opened his eyes and rolled out of bed, it took the gauzy curtains hitting his face for him to remember that he wasn’t getting up to go milk the cows. He moved away from the bed, looking around the huge apartment. It was all one room, with a sitting area set up by the fireplace, a wardrobe with a chest of drawers beside it, the washstand with its china pitcher, basin and oval mirror. There was even a desk in one corner. He found a silk robe draped over the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled it on over the nightshirt he had been given to wear. The angle and color of the light beginning to spill into the room through the tall windows told him that he had either a North or a Southern room, something he had not paid attention to earlier.
      He crossed to the doubled, glass-paned doors and opened them. The moment the door frames parted, he could hear the ocean below, pounding rocks he could not yet see. The smell of salt in the air and the wheeling of seabirds refreshed him, as did the slight coolness to the air. He stepped to the rail. The balcony itself was bigger than his room back home. There were potted plants on the corners by the wall, and the floor was tiled in a subtle mosaic he realized would be more dramatic at night, when the colors were less discernable and had been rendered to their basest elements of shade and hue. The balcony came to a triangular point, which from below, would emphasize the star-like quality of the structure. He imagined that under the full moon, the castle would be a glowing beacon visible miles out to sea and across the plateau they had crossed the day before. It all felt like a fairy-land, so unreal yet so… solid and alive.
      He rest his hands on the wide rail and leaned forward, looking down and out to sea. The rocks seemed almost black in the early light, all sharp edges and crannies from what he could see. Far below, he thought he heard the sound of a bell tolling, but told himself if must just be an echo from the city he had traveled through the day before. He watched the light slowly creep out across the world from the east as the sun rose, turning the sea into a living jewel and the few, white sailed ships upon it to graceful glittering adornments. They were sailing, unmistakably for the cliffs below him. He wondered what could be drawing them there, what purpose they could see in coming to rest beside the barren crags.
      He heard a sound in the room behind him and turned. Lord Tuweal was standing near the door, with something in his arms, looking around. He smiled as he saw Brian and turned to speak to someone behind him. A man in blue and silver livery came in carrying a heavy tray and headed for the sitting area by the fire. Brian came inside and closed the doors as Tuweal hung his package on the inside of the wardrobe door.
      “Good morning, my Lord,” he crowed, words echoed by the man setting the tray on the table, who gave a brief bow before turning to attend to the cold fire.
      “That’s ok,” Brian interrupted him. “I don’t think I’ll be needing a fire this morning.”
      The man stopped, looked to Tuweal questioningly. Tuweal nodded.
      “Thank you though. If I think I need it later, I’ll light it myself.”
      With another bow and an “As you wish, my lord,” the man quietly left the room.
      “Morning, Tuweal,” Brian smiled, coming over to what he sincerely hoped was breakfast.
      “I hope that’s to your liking,” Tuweal said, returning the smile. “We weren’t sure what you were used to, breakfast wise.”
      “A big one,” he sighed, breathing in the aromas of the smoked meats and what seemed to be colored eggs. There was more of the fruits from the bath and a different type of cheese, though no where near the proportions he was used to. He tried to hide his disappointment.
      Tuweal laughed as he sat down, poured two cups of a dark, slightly viscous liquid. “Oh, this will fill you, have no fear. It will hold you well into the afternoon. Lunch is a light affair, due to the weight of breakfast, and dinner can be either light or feast, depending. Tonight will likely be feast, since both the Princess and you slept through dinner last night. I hope you are refreshed.”
      He nodded, swallowing what was in his mouth as he dug into breakfast. “I hope that’s coffee,” he said, nodding to the dark cup. “Or something like it.”
      “Not knowing this coffee, I couldn’t tell you. But it’s coppa. It may take a bit of getting used to. It’s kind of sweet and bitter at once.”
      Brian picked up the teacup, glancing with mild trepidation at the lavender steam rising from it. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked.
      “I’ve eaten, thank you. But I hope you forgive my presumption of sharing a coppa?”
      “Not at all. I was feeling kind of… rude, eating while you just sat there. Sharing the coff… coppa soothes my …insecurities I think is the word I’m looking for? No, that’s not right but you get my meaning,” he said and took a sip.
      Lord Tuweal watched him carefully.
      It was as sweet and bitter as the ord had promised, like a smoother version of a very robust coffee, but the flavour was at once menthol and something slightly vanilla or completely indefinable. It went down fairly smoothe, but slowly began to tickle the back of his brain, like a eucalyptus-menthol cough drop opens the sinuses. The effect was mild, but more immediate and obvious than a morning cup of strong coffee. “Not bad,” he nodded, set the cup down. “Though it needs a chaser. Kind of thick and sweet.”
      Tuweal nodded. “Even well-watered, it’ll do that until you’re used to it. That’s why the fruit. The Sengol berries are excellent for that,” he said, indicating the heart shaped fruits he had enjoyed yesterday in the bath.
      As Brian finished his breakfast, he asked Tuweal about the ships. “I mean, it looks like they were sailing for the cliff itself, but that didn’t make sense, unless there’s something down there that can’t be seen from up here.”
      “Seahold,” he smiled.
      “Seahold?” he echoed.
      “It’s another city. A harbor, really. The seaport is inset into the mountain, cradled in a natural cavern with a natural harbor that it shielded from the worst storms. There is a carefully guarded tunnel that leads out of it to the east, onto the trade roads.”
      He frowned. “If the city is in a cave, what do they do for light?”
      Tuweal laughed. “Living in the shadow of the moon, they rely upon the reflection of the sun. There are great mirrors inset into the mountain, which guide the sun inward, and the moon too. The wytchlights do the rest.”
      Brian finished his breakfast, saving a single berry until after he had emptied his cup. The ord had been right, the berry was precisely the right remedy for the thick sweetness of the coppa. Though he understood why they would drink the stuff. It banished any lingering mental fuzzies or sleepiness and provided a mental clarity the makers of energy drinks back home would kill to reproduce. Putting the cover back on the plate, he sat back, eyeing his companion. “Now. I take it you are waiting to show me what’s in the package?”
      Tuweal smiled. “Very perceptive. You have quite a day ahead of you and there is a need to look your best. So my wife and I worked all night. Your first suit of clothes is ready.” He waved off any protest Brian was about to make about having worked so hard on it and rose. “I won’t hear of it. I wanted to do it. It was a challenge to dress you, Brian. And I have not been given both challenge and license in a very long time. I was inspired, so I hope you like it and forgive any liberties.”
      Brian had mixed feelings all of a sudden. On the one hand, he was eager to see what the ord had come up with, but on the other… he was a little afraid, considering what he imagined had to have inspired him. They crossed to the wardrobe and removed the cloth covering the garments.
      “Now, do not look at each piece separately. Wait ‘til you are wearing it all for the full effect. Anything can be changed so, feel free to comment as needed. Now, we could not duplicate the fabric…”
      “Thank God,” Brian breathed. Tuweal looked at him curiously but continued.
      “But we came close I think.”
      “Wait,” Brian said as the man handed down a pair of coal colored trousers, “you made all this from the fabric up?” he exclaimed.
      “My wife, actually. She’s a weaver of extraordinary skill,” he boasted. “She can make a loom fairly dance. She can weave a bolt of simple one color silk in about fifteen or twenty degrees.”
      Brian’s head translated that more easily now, that came to a little over an hour. Magic again. Yet he wondered how there were things that his people did by machine that these dayns could not by magic.
      Brian slipped into the pants. They were supple and cool, though the fabric was about as thick as suit material. They had a hidden button fly that otherwise lay flat, but then he hardly expected a zipper. They were sleek, too, almost form fitting though they did not feel tight. There was some give to the soft fabric that he had not expected. He pulled off his robe and night shirt and laid them aside, sat down on the chest at the foot of the bed to fully test them out. They were surprisingly comfortable.
      The shirt he was handed, while not quite grey, was a lighter black than the pants, and had the hint of shine to it, like raw silk. It fit over his head easily enough, though he was surprised to notice a bit of give to the fabric across his chest. It wasn’t as stretchy as his favorite t-shirt, but there was a definite stretch to it. Except that it did not button from throat to hem, it reminded him of a light version of a Nehru jacket, with a straight-edged mandarin collar and slits on the sides from hem to the top of his hipbone. The neck buttoned to the center of his breastbone with three silver and jet buttons that were designed to resemble, front top to bottom: the new moon, the crescent moon and the gibbous, with the jet filling out the dark side of the three moons. It was incredibly comfortable. The hem fell to mid-thigh, providing him the modesty he had protested the bat-suit lacked.
      Tuweal brought him a wide belt of black leather built into which were several magnet closed pouches. “Now, I know this may seem severe, but I was working with a vision in mind, and I could tell from yesterday that golds are just not your color. Now red, maybe. Or a deep, royal blue,” he murmured, thinking as Brian took the belt from him. “If you want other colors, feel free to ask. This is not to be your only suit of clothes by any means.”
      “I like blues,” he answered. “Dark reds, greens… though I’m not really into pastels. I can handle mild patterns but nothing outlandish. Plaid but not paisley,” he chuckled, began examining the silver rimmed Onyx cabochon that served for a buckle.
      It looked almost like an eclipse, with the thin band of silver around its edge. There was no loop and tongue as he expected, merely a peg-like hook on the back which slipped easily into one of the holes on the belt. It rattled a little as he swung it up behind him, and he fastened it on before he began to inspect the pouches. His bullets had been placed neatly accessible in the first four pouches. The other two, on the back, were empty, save for the small fairy charm of Layla’s. Suddenly he remembered that there had been six kernels of wheat wrapped in cloth inside his ammo pouch.
      Tuweal seemed to know what was the matter, as he brought him another box. “Everything you had in your other belt are in those except for these. We… weren’t certain what they were for, but they were so carefully wrapped we took them for a talisman of some kind and put them in here. If we were wrong, forgive us.”
      He opened the box and held it up to him.
      Brian lifted out the silver serpentchain and locket. The locket itself only weighed maybe a couple ounces, though it was very sturdy. It was silver backed, though he could not tell if the front was a black stone or enameled, but a sliver of the silver crested the left side by the catch. He held it delicately in his fingers and eased it open with a nail. Inside, the six kernels of wheat were safely nestled, still in the blood stained scrap of dirty white cloth that Silouan had wrapped them in. He closed the locket and slipped the chain around his neck. “Thank you,” he said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. He cleared his throat. “She said I needed to keep these with me, to find my way home again.”
      “Ah. I am glad you are pleased, then.”
      Brian looked up, saw one last thing hanging from the wardrobe and frowned. It was black as night with a very suspiciously inverted scalloped edge. “No. Please tell me you didn’t,” he groaned.
      Tuweal crossed immediately to the wardrobe, began taking it down. “Now, this was the greatest difficulty and my greatest achievement. I know you professed a dislike for the outfit you came to us in, but… to confess, you put it on in the first place. Yes,” he said, cutting off further protest, “it was intended only for a night’s revelry but still, you chose it. In your heart it must mean something for you. And… you did not see yourself as you arrived. You did not see the vision you presented coming up that moonbridge from the town on the mare’s shadow, with that cape flowing behind you. It was that vision I began to work with. Now, I think you will be pleased with the cloak’s other properties as you discover them. I designed this to work with your power.”
      “How could you when even I don’t know what that is?”
      He grinned, full of mischief. “Ah, that is one of my special little talents. I don’t have to know for it to work with you. Were another dayn to wear the garment, it would behave differently. Once it has acclimated itself to you, it may not work at all with another.”
      “You say that as if it were alive,” he said, hesitating.
      Tuweal shook his head, began fastening it to the shoulders of Brian’s jacket. “Oh no, nothing so fantastic as all that. I mean, who would want a living garment? What if it took offense to one’s treatment of it, or took a disliking to your shirt? No, but it is reactive, it could react to your mood, the weather, there is no way of knowing until you’ve worn it a long while. It gets used to you, like a shoe gets comfortable and there after doesn’t really fit right on anyone else even if they have the same size feet.”
      “Oh,” Brian murmured warily. He watched the attachment of the cloak in the mirror, still not sure how he felt about it.
      It was silky, flowed like water over his shoulders. At the moment, it gathered in neat folds from the buttons and ran down his back, with the long points just reaching his heels. “Now, you can wear it like this when it’s warm or you’re in a casual mood. It’s easy to flip back. However, when you need the warmth or the effect, just shrug like this,” he demonstrated.
      Brian mirrored the subtle, down, back and up rotation of the shoulders, watched the folds slide sinuously over his shoulders to cover his chest. Tuweal showed him the three buttons in the front that brought it up to a high collar and stopped just over his heart. The buttons were identical to the ones on his shirt.
      “Run your hands over it like this,” Tuweal said, running his open hand smoothely from his collarbone over and down the arch of his deltoid.
      Brian did so and immediately felt the material there stiffen. He rapped his knuckles against it. It felt as hard as boiled leather.
      “If you will it, the whole cloak should stiffen like that. It should shield you from most missiles.”
      He stood in front of the mirror, turned left, then right, then grabbed the edges of the cloak and spread it open. The leading edges stiffened as if lined with rods and the fabric hung from it like great bat wings. They quivered for a moment, as if expecting to do something more, but nothing else happened. He let it fall back down, threw the folds back over his shoulders. The buttons at his throat slipped easily out of their holes and the cloak fell into place at his back.
      Tuweal handed him a tall pair of black leather boots.
      Brian accepted them, sat down again to pull them on and was surprised that he didn’t choke himself as he sat on the cloak. He glanced back at it, could have sworn it had slithered back out of his way. “You sure this thing doesn’t have a mind of its own?”
      Tuweal chuckled. “Quite. The mind it has is your own. Given enough time to become accustomed to you and it will react readily. You won’t even have to button it up or pull it forward. It will know. I love this fabric, though she does not make it often. My wife has a dress of it that changes color with her moods.”
      “Ah,” he said, still not sure, but bent and began to pull on the boots. They came up over his kne` 1hies, though they laced at the very top in the back to make them fit snugly, and he suspected they would fold down if he wanted to wear them that way. “Well, I think I’m ready to face whatever it was you have planned for me.”
      Tuweal smiled. “Oh, it’s not what I have planned. You will be attending the council meeting by request of Sister Moon. If you will allow me to advise you,” he began, waiting for an acknowledgment to his question before continuing.
      “Of course.”
      “Very good. Remember these are Mandayns, they are not lord or lady. For the most part, you should stand just behind and to the side of Sister Moon. Don’t really say anything at first. You’ll know when the time is right to speak. Let the Prince and Princess deal with them. When you do, you address the men as ‘sir’ and the women as ‘dame’. Just listen and follow the Sister’s lead and you shall be fine. And remember that these are the dayns who decide who serve as Moon and Sun and Night and so on. These dayns make our laws.”
      “Mind my manners, don’t speak unless spoken to. I think I can handle that.”
      “Good. If you will follow me, I will take you to where the others are waiting,” he finished, indicating the door with a slight bow.
      Brian frowned, tying the last lace on his boot and jumping to his feet. “You let me waste time here with breakfast and getting dressed while they were waiting for me?”
      He chuckled. “Of course, not. From experience I know how long it will take Brother Sun to get ready. You should arrive just before he does.”
      “Oh. That’s ok then.”
      Brian let himself be led back down to the main floor, to a small solar just off the atrium where Silouan stood, radiant in a flowing white gown with an over lay of fine silver lace. She was facing the window, watching the birds wheeling in the morning light, as a maid stood behind her, tying back the front half of her hair in a fancy plait with a silver ribbon and a strand of crystal beads, interspersed with pearls. He was tempted to just stand there and watch her, but even as Tuweal melted into the background, he could hear her brother complaining brightly and loudly about something or another in the near distance. He thought it best to speak first.
      “I thought tying your hair was like tying your hands,” he said gently.
      She turned just enough to see him and smiled, “It is. But, like peace-binding one’s weapon, it is a sign of respect for the Council. While it will not keep me from casting should I truly feel like it, it would make things a little more difficult and provide them some warning of my intentions.”
      He was not given time to answer when Soliel literally filled the room with his presence.
      “It has been brought to my attentions that only Dame Daseth knows we are coming,” he said loudly, brushing past Brian as if he wasn’t there. Brian could feel the room grow warmer and a great deal brighter.
      “She is the only one I contacted,” his sister replied serenely. The maid finished with her hair. Silouan thanked her and let her go, though Brian noticed she fluttered her eyelashes as she passed Soliel.
      “Then how are they getting here so quickly and under what pretense?” he complained.
      She smiled and glided across the room. She stepped up to her brother and made some minor adjustment to his collar. His jacket was a dark, red-gold, heavily brocaded with a swirling golden over-pattern, and his trousers looked to be cloth of gold. His golden curls were brushed back and tied in a neat queue at the nape of his neck and a gold and jeweled, crenellated coronet circled his regal head. Compared to his ornate attire, his sister seemed almost a dim reflection, a minor lady beside the emperor of the sun, but Brian felt that her understated elegance and the simple filigreed filet of brushed silver with its moonstone center portrayed more grace and taste than all her brother’s finery. But that may just have been because he was attracted to her. Though, thinking about it, she did seem a little less luminous than she had that night in the barnyard.
      “They do not yet know that I have been recovered,” she said simply, gave his shoulder a pat and brushed past him to Brian, extending her hand to him a little hesitantly. “Good morning, Brian. I hope you slept well.”
      He took her hand delicately as his mother had taught him to do and brushed his lips across her knuckles. He felt her suppress a light shiver and smiled. “Like the dead. You?”
      “Well, I don’t know about the dead, but, I am as rested as can be expected.” She looked just beyond him and nodded to someone he did not look back to see. “I believe our carriage has arrived. Shall we go?”
      As Brian turned to offer her his arm, he saw Soliel staring hard at the two of them, a slightly confused look on his face. He politely ignored it, privately taking a perverse delight in it, something which would have made his sister proud, he thought with a pang. With Silouan’s arm tucked in his, he escorted her out to the waiting carriage and handed her in. Still wearing a wary, confuddled look, Soliel followed them.


      
      As the carriage crossed the last few hundred yards of the moonbridge, the bells of Silvertown welcomed them merrily, and the dayn who were out and about that morning, waved cheerily. Both Soliel and Silouan made certain they could be seen inside, waving back. When they left the bridge, they followed a circular drive around a large fountain and drove back the way they had come, down the road they had driven above now that the bridge was gone. They stopped before a large building with broad front steps and those architectural marks that seemed to grace every town hall just about anywhere. The building itself conveyed a sense of security seen from the street, but standing upon its steps made one feel very small and in the presenc of power. On the face of the single tower, in which Brian could just see the glint of the bells, was what looked to be a giant sundial, except that it faced forward like a clock and was marked in degrees and had a sun which was currently in prominence, though there was a slim crescent moon lower down on the dial, marking moonrise, Brian guessed.
      Two guards in navy blue uniforms with silver trim stood at the door, bowed at their approach and held open the doors. Soliel led the way, with Silouan followed by Brian. In the broad hallways of the building, she walked slightly to the side, and Brian strode along at her elbow, felling more than a little Darth Vaderish they way his cloak billowed around him as he walked. But as they approached a set of ornate double doors, she stepped directly behind him, and he did not need her subtle hand gesture to know he should be right behind her brother.
      They could hear voices from the far side of the door, which, though loud enough, were unintelligible until Soliel threw them open. Brian felt the heat pouring off the ord in front of him, found himself beginning to squint at the brightness. The voices fell silent and Soliel marched into the council room.
      The chamber was large, with a domed roof of etched glass that cast shadows of celestial patterns on the tiled floor. The room was tastefully and simply decorated in dark blue with gold and silver accents, and where there were patterns, they were largely celestial in nature. Underneath the center of the dome was a giant, round table at which sat seven dayns, widely spaced apart. Almost all of them came to their feet when the prince walked into the room.
      “My Lord!”
      “Your Highness!”
      “Please tell us you have some news of your sister,” exclaimed the largest of them, a tall, broad man who looked very much as if he made his living with his hands.
      “I do,” Soliel said simply, with a nod in the man’s direction.
      Someone shouted for a chair, and activity could be heard in the outskirts of the room.
      Soliel stepped aside and the council regarded Brian suspiciously. He quickly scanned the table. There were two women and five men from what seemed all walks of life. At the seat immediately opposite the door, and the only one who had not stood, was an old woman. Her hair was silver and sensibly dressed, the coiled braids decorated only with a tiny spray of some white flowers. She wore a robe-like gown in warm earth tones and no jewelry beyond a band of gold on one finger. She had laughing blue eyes in a face that had aged gracefully. Her gaze was calm and patient, grandmotherly. Brian imagined she was what Mother Nature would look like if she were real. He smiled. Here, she probably did. He bowed, maintaining eye contact with this silver woman, then he raised one arm, the cloak clinging to it without his being conscious of his desire for it to do so. He swept it up and back like a magician doing his big reveal, and stepped aside to expose the princess. The council gasped and made several exclamations in varying degrees of relief and concern.
      Brian noted that the woman was not among them. She had a knowing look about her. Dame Daseth then, he thought. He noticed Soliel smiling at him, apparently pleased with his theatrics.
      Silouan floated forward, accepting the chair which had been brought and the questions and exclamations of the council. A servant brought a second chair, glanced at Brian questioningly, but he shook his head lightly, chose, instead to stand behind Silouan. Soliel parked himself with a flourish.
      “Please,” said Silouan, in her soft, silvery voice. “Do not let us interrupt the purpose of your meeting.”
      Dame Daseth spoke, her voice had that velvety quality of indulgent grandmothers, “My dearest princess, you are the purpose of this meeting. When the oracles went blind the whole of Kerowain was thrown into a panic. We are glad of your safe return.”
      The deep voice of the large man spoke again, “Please, your highness, tell us what happened. The table is yours.”
      “Thank you, Sir Tenari,” she said with a graceful nod of her head. “As you may or may not know, my close friend, Lady Alena, was married last moon. I went to visit her and her new husband. Seven days ago I began my return home. I never made it. My carriage and small entourage were attacked.”
      The only other woman gasped, her slim hand drifting to her mouth. “What happened? Who would dare?” The others glared her to silence.
      Silouan only smiled indulgently. “We traveled by night, but the night went dark. We could not even see the stars and the wytch-lights on the carriage went out. I could not see the attackers, but there were several, and they screamed like,” she shivered, “horrors of nightmare. There was the sound of leathery wings and for a long time, I thought the hell had finally conquered their fear of darkness.” This statement drained the blood from several faces. “I was bitten by what felt like a serpent. A very large serpent. I knew no more until I awoke in a tower room.”
      Here she paused, politely waiting for something. Tenari provided it, his brown eyes scowling with righteous anger. “The remains of a carriage were found twenty leagues Northeast from the estates of Lord Mordant, but there wasn’t enough left of it or its guardians for us to be able to tell who it had belonged to. It was torched.”
      The princess nodded her thanks to him, and though he could not see her face, Brian somehow knew she was deeply disturbed by the news. Her servants had been killed. He set his hand on her shoulder and her white hand drifted up to it. She took a deep breath and continued her narrative. “I was taken captive by Night’s Watchman, Duke Ranish.” She paused to let that sink in. The table erupted.
      Shouts of outrage and fury reigned for more than a degree, throughout which the princess sat still and quiet, waiting patiently. She answered none of the questions which flew at her.
      “After all, an attack on the Council’s choice is an attack on the Council!” shouted a narrow man in blue and gold robes and a gold chain of office. He had dark, carefully curled hair and many rings on his balled fist.
      At his outburst, Dame Daseth held up her hand and they all fell silent. “What did he want?” she asked.
      “To negotiate a marriage contract.”
      “What?” snapped a man with very hawkish features. “Did he say why?”
      “No, I am afraid he did not. There were no protestations of love or affection, either,” she pre-empted. “He simply made it abundantly clear that I would have no choice. He more than insinuated that if I waited until the moon began to wax, he would take steps to neutralize my magic until I agreed.”
      She allowed them to voice their complaints and outrage for a whole degree before she continued. “I, however, have a few suspicions,” she said quietly. Their attention was once more on her. “He seemed to me a desperate lord.” The hawk-like man seemed eager to ask several questions and Silouan inclined her head to him. “Yes, Sir Telwyth. By all means, ask away.”
      “How much did you see?”
      “Enough.”
      “There are rumors flying out of that county, have been for years.”
      “They are true,” she answered shortly. “They are, however,” she continued. “Grossly understated. Everything we heard about his father is true. And he has changed a few things, but not enough.”
      Everyone turned to the younger of the two women who gave them a vacuous look as she studied her nails. There was something about her that made Brian somehow doubt she was as empty-headed as she came across.
      “Peri,” growled Telwyth. “It is time you came clean.”
      “I took a bath this morning,” she complained.
      He narrowed his eyes at her. “We can rescind your chair,” he threatened.
      She went pale beneath her golden tan. “No,” she whispered.
      “Then tell us what we need to know,” said Dame Daseth with more patience than anyone felt at the moment.
      She seemed on the verge of tears. “I can’t,” she exclaimed. “You don’t understand what it’s like out there, living on the verge of the hell! I am only here because he allows it and that is all I can say.”
      “Can’t or won’t,” Telwyth glared. His eyes were piercing.
      “Can’t. One, I don’t know much. I’m not allowed to. I never go there if I can help it. I live in the fields of the Sun,” she protested. “I get my orders from the book, directly from him. I know nothing of the kidnapping or his intentions.”
      “Surely you can tell us what life is like there?” said an old man in white woolen robes. Brian thought he looked like a benevolent wizard, wizened, white hair and long beard and gentle manner with gold rimmed spectacles resting on the end of his nose.
      There were tears in her eyes. “No. I can’t!” she sobbed.
      Telwyth’s eyes narrowed. “You mean to tell us that he cast a spell on you!”
      Her tightlipped silence and the look of terror in her eyes were all the answer he needed. “Are the rumors true then, that he holds all power and he treats the Mandayn as serfs?” her expression confirmed it. “And the other abuses?”
      To his surprise, it was Silouan who answered. “No. While they were true under his father, they are not true under him. Women walk without that fear at least. But that is the only thing he does not permit to be taken.”
      “The abominations, his father’s experiments. Has he continued them?” he pressed of the dame.
      Peri shook her head. “I don’t know. He controls the Hunters, the Drakes his father created, I know that. They are actually one of his defenses against the hell, but… they are nightbound. If he is seeking a way to bring them into daylight, I would not know.”
      “I can tell you that he has done something,” Silouan said. The attention returned to her. “There is something about him that disturbed me deeply. But I could not place it. If he is experimenting, I do not know, but something out there has gone terribly wrong and he has been reduced to desperation. He did not tell me what he hoped to gain from marriage to me, but it is my belief that he wishes to become my dark side.” She let that one sink in for only a few seconds before continuing. “However, as you can see, I have escaped his clutches, but he has gone too far.”
      “How did you escape,” asked Telwyth shrewdly. There was something in his manner which Brian did not like. “None of this explains why the oracles lost their powers.”
      “They lost their powers because I was no longer in this world.” This time she did not allow them time to murmur. “I managed to force open one of the sealed windows in my tower, and, combining water and what little moonlight was to be had, and a few other things, I tried to summon a portal home, or a moonbridge, which at that moment I did not care. Instead of taking me home, the portal opened into another world completely. Somehow his Hunters found me, followed me wherever it was I had gone. In my flight I ran across a pair of natives of that world, a brother and sister who did their best to take care of me after injuring me with their carriage. Which was entirely my fault. I ran out in front of them, I did not see them, breaking out of the fields as I did, and they had no time to stop. Unfortunately, the sister was taken by the Hunter in my place. I believe, covered in my blood as she was, the Hunter mistook her for me.”
      The narrow man with the curled hair and rich clothes sneered. “And this has what to do with us?”
      Brian felt a surge of anger rising, and a strange sense of pride in the searing glance the princess aimed in the man’s direction. “It has to do with me, Keperus, and my honor. She was taken defending me. She is a prisoner in my stead. As her brother risked a great deal to help me, knowing nothing of who or what I am, I am honor-bound to do everything I can to recover her. What concerns me is that while the Duke has no doubt discovered his mistake, he has made no moves or efforts to release her. Nor do I think he intends to. As you well know, my honor influences the services I provide this world. If that should be tainted because I allowed this lady to remain captive in my stead, a place she did not willingly or knowingly take,” she added pointedly, “then so will the power that I wield in your service.”
      Keperus gave an oily smile, “We could always replace you.”
      “And you would prove yourself a greater fool than we all suspected you were,” came a familiar voice from the door. Everyone turned to see Apolladine led in by young Tammerlain. The others murmured quietly, but Dame Daseth rose and crossed to the oracle, accepted her arm from the young werewolf and pointed out to her where she could find her mistress a chair. She led her over to the table where Sol surrendered his seat to her.
      “Welcome, Oracle. You honor us.”
      “No, I come to listen and enlighten you. But don’t mind me.”
      With a slight bow, the dame returned to her seat. “As you wish.”
      Keperus scowled but closed his mouth. When Tammerlain returned with the chair, Sol thanked her and took it for himself. The girl shifted to full wolf and curled up at her mistress’s feet.
      “What exactly is it that you desire from us, your highness?” asked the scholarly old man, turning back to the princess.
      “Simply put, sir, an army,” she said.
      “To what end?” asked a portly gentleman with a wiry beard and rich clothes. “Ultimately.”
      “Primarily, to recover Lord Valantyne’s sister,” she answered calmly. “Ultimately? To remove Ranish from his keeping and replace him with someone we can trust. To free the Mandayn from his tyranny.”
      “You don’t understand how much we need a tyrant out there,” Dame Peri whimpered.
      “Spoken like a cowed slave pleading for her master,” snapped the portly man.
      Keperus sneered, glaring at Silouan and ignoring the woman wringing her hands across the table. “Spoken like a lady with a heart full of vengeance and spite.”
      “Weren’t you the one, just moments ago,” Brian said, “who was shouting that an attack on the Council’s choice was an attack upon the Council?”
      They turned to him, startled that he had spoken. They had taken his silence for granted, and his position and manner as that of a bodyguard to a lady who had reason to fear for her person.
      Soliel smiled. “Sirs, Dames, allow me to introduce Lord Valantyne. Brian,” he said, began indicating individuals starting on his left. “This is Keperus of the Veldt, as you may have divined,” he said, indicating the curly haired man, then on to the portly gent, “Ulath of the county of Ocean, Telwyth, from Boreal in Wildwood,” he said, pointing to the inquisitive man with the prominent nose. “Dame Daseth, Council head and elder here in Silvertown. Tenari, famed blacksmith from Monset, the southeastern mountains.” The large man nodded his head. “Peri, as you know from Night, and Korak, University headmaster from Aurin in the Fields of the Sun.” The old man gave a warm smile.
      “Lord Valantyne,” explained Silouan, “is from the other world. He has gone through a great deal to protect me and bring me back to you safely. He has even slain one of the Hunters with the weapon he brought from his home. It is his sister who is Ranish’s captive and I dare you to deny him succor when he has done so much for Kerowain already.”
      “I hate to admit this,” began Ulath, “but Keperus could be right. Marching against Ranish to force him to relinquish his illegal prisoner is one thing, I’m all for that. But to replace him? Is that not being hasty? I mean, who else do we have who can do the job who would do the job?”
      “Is not his breaking of the ancient laws enough?” asked Tenaris. “To treat men so crudely, to dare to compromise the sworn duty of a councilman, to make them little more than a puppet? It is unforgivable.”
      “Would the other Ords even support such an action?” offered Peri weakly. “I mean, taking a keeping that has been basically an inherited one for six generations now? It’s almost a tradition of itself.”
      “That is a good question, would Father Ocean or even Mother Nature agree? Would they aid?” said Telwyth.
      “They will if I ask it of them,” said Sol.
      “And will you ask, Brother Sun,” asked Daseth.
      “I fully intend to do just that. No matter what else happens, something must be done, the matter investigated.”
      “He will not relinquish his keeping,” mumbled Peri.
      “Which means,” inserted Korak, “that he may have to be killed and that would not sit well with anyone. And if he is merely captured, how are we to assure ourselves he has been rendered harmless, that he won’t retaliate in some way. How could we even begin to hold him?”
      “If I may, sir,” began Brian, nodding to the old man. “That may be something you need to deal with at a later time.”
      “That is hardly a wise tactic,” countered Korak.
      “There is so much you don’t know,” Brian continued, fighting the urge to pace. “There is so much you need to know before you make final decisions and in the end, no matter what you decide, he might make that decision for you, or force you to change your intent. If you decide to strip him of his ‘keeping’ as you say, and imprison him, he may well force you to kill him trying to capture him. I hope not, for my sister’s sake. But you cannot even begin to negotiate if you do not approach from a position of strength.”
      The council remained quiet, watching him intently. Brian was a little uncomfortable speaking like this, trying to convince these people to wage war on one of their own, but his sister’s life hung in the balance. “There is one thing that has bothered me in all of this. Something that neither of you,” he said, speaking directly to Sol and Silouan, “have even considered. Why is he doing this, and why would he keep my sister alive with as much trouble as I know she has to be causing him. Forgive me, my Lady,” he bowed to Silouan, kissing her hand, “but your understandable and fully justified outrage has blinded you to possibilities. You all agree that something is not right out there. You have called him a watchman, hinted that his county guards something important or dangerous. Ok, it is in your best interests to find out what is happening. And removing him without knowing what that is,” he said, looking down at Silouan, “may not be the wisest thing, if he has started something that will crumble without him. You have no idea what barn doors that will open.”
      “What are you suggesting?” asked Telwyth, leveling his shrewd gaze on him.
      “I am suggesting that you gather an army, march openly upon his county and stop, give him time to understand that you mean to parlay, but will fight if he fails to satisfy your questions or release my sister. You have to give him options, or at least seem to, whether you do or not. But with so many variables, the actual decisions can’t be made here and now. You have to either march with us or authorize us to make those decisions as necessary. And you must be prepared for us to remove him if we have to. Frankly I am surprised you are at all reluctant. The moment it was learned or even suspected that he had reversed the order of power as set down by your ancestors, you should have been calling for his head. I’m shocked you did not do something back when his father was terrorizing the people.”
      “We had no confirmation of those practices and they were so outlandish as to be wholly unbelievable,” snorted Keperus. “If we do this, and I’m saying if, ” he said louder, raising a finger in the air. “One of us or a delegate should go with you.”
      “A sound idea,” Soliel commented.
      “My nephew, for example. Duly deputized and authorized to make whatever judgment calls he sees fit…”
      “Not on your life,” snapped Soliel.
      Keperus shut his mouth in shock. The other members of the council stared. Apolladine just smiled.
      “I’ve met this nephew of yours, if my memory serves me correctly. Weasely little man, recessive chin, obsequious little brown-noser who’s loyalty is for sale to the highest bidder?”
      Keperus struck the table. “Base lies and foul slander, my lord! How dare you…”
      “I dare easily in regards to a man I know to have betrayed the lord he worked for,” he shouted, rising from his seat. He set his hands on the table and leaned across it toward Keperus. Brian could feel the heat rising in the room. “Your nephew was sent in by Lord Ferrys to negotiate a marriage contract, and instead, he revealed priviledged information and negotiated a deal that signed over more than Ferrys had been willing to concede in the marriage.”
      “How do you know this?” he hissed.
      “My aunt is an oracle,” he snapped.
      Silouan reached over and set a hand on her brother’s back. He calmed instantly, the room began cooling off and he sat down again. Keperus swallowed.
      “We consent to an emissary coming with us for negotiations and authorization,” Soliel continued, “but no one with a connection to that house,” he added, nodding in Keperus’s direction.
      Keperus seethed, but kept his mouth shut.
      “Bear in mind, however,” Brian injected. “That Ranish has no respect for Mandayn, and is not likely to receive such an emissary well. Best they are willing to stand in the background and advise and authorize. At least as far as appearances for the Duke are concerned.”
      Daseth nodded. “Understandable. I think that can be managed.”
      “Also keep this in mind,” he added, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am not one of your subjects and my agendas are my own. I will help you in any way I can, but I will not put my twin at risk nor will I accept or honor any agreement in which she remains his prisoner.”
      There was a gasp at the mention of twins and Daseth nodded deeply, her whole demeanor changing from one of forceful displeasure to complete understanding and acceptance at that single word. “We can expect no less,” she said, cutting off protests from other members. “Nor would we. We shall do everything in our power to restore your womb-mate. Of that you have my word.”
      He bowed. “I thank you, Dame.”
      “This said,” she continued, raising her voice slightly, “I believe we have much to discuss. Your highnesses, My Lord,” she stood and bowed to them, “if you would pardon us, we will inform you when a decision has been reached.”
      Silouan and her brother rose, bowed to the council. Brian held out his arm to her and she accepted it, the two of them following Soliel outside.
      “I think that went well,” Soliel crowed when they stood upon the outer step waiting for the carriage.
      “I hope I didn’t overstep myself in there,” Brian frowned, noticing how much of her weight Silouan was resting on his arm. It worried him.
      Soliel clapped him on the back. “You did wonderfully! Aunt Dina will make sure they see reason.”
      Brian looked over his shoulder, noticing the absence of the large blind woman.
      “What say we return to the castle and I begin your fencing lessons,” he grinned.
      Brian swallowed. “Already? Shouldn’t we wait for word?”
      “They will be at it most of the morning arguing the details,” said the princess. “I have much I need to do if I am to be away for such an undisclosed period of time and I am already weary.” Silouan squeezed his hand as he handed her into the carriage.
      Before entering himself, he turned to the brother. “Is she all right? She seems… ill.”
      Soliel smiled, clapping him on the back. “Nothing to worry about, Brian. Just that time of the moon. She’ll start getting stronger in four days when the moon starts to fill out.”



Arriving at the castle, Silouan floated off down one corridor with a lady carrying a ledger, while Sol guided Brian in a different direction. Soliel brought him down two flights of stairs and up one, and through numerous halls before he stopped and threw open the double doors, waved Brian in with a flourish.
      At first, Brian thought it was a ballroom, until he saw the weapons lining the walls. There were a few scattered chairs along the walls, hooks and benches near the door for extraneous garments and more types of bladed weapons than Brian had ever seen in his life, not even at the county gun and knife show.
      Sol swept off his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby hook, rolling up his gold silk sleeves past his elbows. Hesitant, Brian reached for the buttons on his cloak and felt them slide out of the buttonholes like butter. The cloak seemed to resist being hung up on the hooks, clung lightly to his hands, but as he mentally fussed at it to stay put, it fell limp against the wall. He stared in surprise, suddenly realizing what had just happened. He did not have time to gawk as Sol took him by the arm and led him to the weapons wall.
      “Ever used a sword before?” he asked.
      Brian glanced around. “Not a real one. I mean, I’ve played at pirates as a kid, but slapping a pair of sticks together doesn’t qualify.” Soliel looked at him as if he had no idea what he meant. So he pointed to one that looked suspiciously like a machete, but with a slightly flatter end. “I’ve used one of those to clear underbrush, but no. I haven’t.”
      Soliel smiled, a bit more friendly and indulgent than Brian thought he had before. “Then pick one.”
      “How?”
      “Just take one off the wall and swing it, test the weight, see how it feels in your hand. You’ll know pretty quick.”
      Brian shrugged and walked to the nearest wall, taking down a short sword that reminded him of the Roman swords in his high school history books. He gave it a few machete test swings. It felt… well, …short. He hung it back up and moved along the wall, ignoring the shorter weapons and daggers altogether. Out of curiosity, he took down the biggest one, a tall great sword that stood nearly as tall as he did. He had difficulty finding the balance between its weight and its length. “How do you use one of these things?” he frowned. “I’ve always seen these in books and museums, but never understood how they could be in the least bit practical… unless you’re a giant.”
      Sol laughed, crossed over and accepted the blade from him, stepping back and going through a series of kata-like exercises that left Brian speechless and with no more doubts that it could ever be an effective weapon. Sol started to hand it back to him and Brian held up his hands. “Um, I don’t think that’s a beginner’s weapon.”
      Sol laughed, tossed the blade, hilt up towards the wall. Obediently, the sword flew back into place as if handed there. “You know your limits. That is good. You do not let your ego rule you.”
      Brian gave an embarrassed chuckle. “Yeah, well that was pure childhood curiosity.”
      He turned to the next wall and took down a long sword. It was a simple weapon, like the simplified Excalibur’s that his friend Billy had shown him in a sword magazine once. It was well balanced, felt acceptable in his hands, swung fair enough. He tried a few moves he remembered from movies, which elicited a good natured laugh from Sol who was watching as he danced about with a whippy little rapier. Still not sure, he hung it back up and moved along down the wall, past rows of similar weapons. There was even a tall, golden flamberge with vague dragon shapes along the swept hilt. He passed it by after admiring the workmanship. Next he tested basket-hilted rapiers, which felt ok, but were too light, called for more dexterity than strength and for some reason he felt more drawn to strength than finesse as far as blades went. Maybe when I’ve some experience, he thought.
      Then his eyes fell on the bastard swords. He took one down, liked the way the simple, leather wrapped hilt felt in his hand. The weight was right, the balance where he needed it, and the hilt long enough that he could use both hands should he need the extra oomph. He tested it both ways, one and two handed, nodded, satisfied.
      He almost jumped when Sol’s voice came from just behind him. “Solid choice,” he admired.
      “Thank you,” he said, trying to get his heart to stop racing.
      “Are you ready?” the prince asked, taking down a second bastard sword.
      “Not really,” he confessed.
      Sol laughed. “Honest. I like that.”
      “Have…,” Brian began, hesitated. “How does this work, exactly?”
      “Well. I have had years of training and study and practice in the bladed arts. So much so that my knowledge is practiced instinct. I know and react without ‘knowing’. I just do. The process of using the knowledge is faster than the act of thought. This spell confers that ‘instinctual knowledge’ on to you. You will remember my years of training physically if not mentally. I mean, you’re not going to remember every failure or success. You won’t get anecdotal knowledge, or even how I gained the knowledge. …It’ll be kind of like committing a book on the subject to memory. Let’s say I were to come at you like this,” he said, demonstrating with exaggerated slowness. “You will instinctively remember that you have to block like this,” he added, turning the blade and bringing it up in the blocking pose.
      Still wary. “Have you ever cast this before?” he asked, remembering the way Silouan had mentioned this spell in the first place.
      “Yes,” he grinned.
      “Successfully?”
      He visibly deflated. “Eh…”
      Brian frowned. “‘Eh’ doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”
      Soliel shrugged. “You must understand, I’ve never had a subject in proper physical condition before. I’ve been successful in transferring the knowledge without detriment, if that is what you mean. But the poor ord could hardly put it into practice when the only exercise the dayn got regularly was lifting books. Granted, he could pick up and carry the blade, but swinging it is an entirely different set of muscles. You, at least, are physically fit. I imagine you’ve wielded an ax at least.”
      He nodded. “Many times.”
      “See. I believe the lack of physical conditioning accounted for previous failures. Are you willing to try?” Brian thought he might be imagining the pleading tone in his voice.
      He sighed. “Your aunt told me to submit to the magic, not to prevent you from casting it, so likely nothing bad is going to happen.”
      Sol beamed again. “Wonderful. Now, hold the sword like this,” he said, gripping his hilt with both hands, setting the point on the floor. Brian mimicked him, the hilt placing his forearms almost perfectly perpendicular to his body. “Good. Now close your eyes and open your mind. Reach out for what I am going to give you.” Brian obeyed, taking a deep breath. “And whatever you do, don’t let go.”
      Brian’s eyes snapped open. “What?”
      Sol brushed his hands over Brian’s eyes, forcing him to close them again. “Ah! Trust.”
      He began to chant under his breath words which Brian did not understand. He resolved to ask later, at the moment, he had other things on his mind. Entering them, to be precise. He felt the cool touch of the metal crosspiece, the leather warming in his grip, the weight of the sword and its balance point. He was intrinsically aware of the weapon and the presence of an external heat circling him, touching, tapping the blade, his elbow, his wrist, his knee, various parts of body and blade. His mind felt like that first sip of the coppa, wide awake and burgeoning with fresh knowledge, followed by an electric tingling in his muscles as synapses fired and sent messages back and forth. He held still, something that was becoming increasingly difficult as the surges grew in speed and power. Soon it felt like his entire body had gone to sleep and was just beginning to wake up again, pins and needles all over, but at the same time he could hear an electric hum all around him, crackling in his ears and making his hair stand on end. He realized he had begun to resist the power surging through him, the invisible presence that felt like it was rifling through the filing cabinets in his mind and reorganizing everything. Instead, he focused on the sound, trying to hear the underlying source of the humming, hoping that would help him to relax and let the magical file clerk do its job.
      It was not that he trusted Sol. It was more a trust by proxy. He trusted his sister, and that blindly, he admitted. Layla might tease or tweak any of his girlfriends, but he knew she would do them no harm, nor jeopardize the relationship in any way. Not if she wanted to sleep safe at night. He trusted blindly that this too was the case.
      There was something under the hum and crackle. As his mind flitted from one proverbial drawer to the next, he realized was that underlying sound was. Focusing on it, he soon separated it from itself and could hear, distinctly, the clash and clang of metal on metal, the sounds of genuine swordplay: the hissing slide of blade on blade, the ringing tones of broadsword on long, the bell-like ting of rapier against rapier. He half expected the knowledge to hit him like a floodwater, like going through the portal, but it enveloped him more like a heat wave, creeping in at first, warm and comforting, like a day at the pool, then building to oven intensity until he was sweating and struggling to breathe. And over it all, he became aware of the electric static building until he felt a single touch that discharged it.
      He jerked back, though he held onto the blade, as the shock discharged so violently he could feel it in his teeth. Apparently, Sol felt it too, as he had jumped back swearing. Brian ventured a peek, opening his eyes just enough to see the prince looking very unprincely with his two forefingers in his mouth and his hair looking more like the bride of Frankenstein than his usual perfect Adonis curls.
      “It over?” he asked.
      Sol nodded. Pulled his fingers out and looked at their tips.
      “Was it supposed to do that?” he asked.
      Sol shook his head. “Well, it didn’t the last time, but… therein may be the difference. And Aunt did say your alien nature would affect things. Shall we give it a try?”
      Even with the rush of new knowledge pressing against the back of his skull begging for release, he was hesitant. “I suppose… are you sure this worked?”
      “One way to find out,” Sol grinned devilishly, bringing his sword up to his face.
      Brian jumped back, so not ready for this and held his own sword up en garde, wary of what might come. To his surprise, Sol kissed his two fingers, whispered Entanda, and then ran the fingertips up the blade from hilt, ending with a light tap to the tip. Suddenly it was surrounded by a golden nimbus of light.
      “What did you do?” asked Brian.
      Sol smiled, held out his arm and sliced right through it with the sword. Brian jumped, then came closer to examine the fully intact limb. The blade had gone through as if it weren’t even there. The prince reached the blade out and tapped Brian’s sword. The metal rang out, and moved his aside. “Only impacts with metal.”
      “Why not all inorganics?” he found himself asking.
       “’Cause I value my wardrobe?” Soliel laughed. “Come on, you do it.”
      “What was that word again?” Sol told him and Brian thought about what he wanted to happen and mimicked the prince’s motions and words almost perfectly, as if he had always known how to do it. To his surprise it worked, though the golden glow was darker, blade held to blade it was like comparing the light of midday to late afternoon.
      “You felt how it happened?” the prince asked. Brian nodded, trying to hold onto the blade in his hand, to touch the glow. “Well, having felt that, you know what’s supposed to happen. From now on, how you do it doesn’t matter.”
      Brian looked up. “Wait, you mean… there’s not like a set spell for certain things? No set words, no set motions?”
      Sol laughed. “Not here anyway. The magic is intrinsic to us. It may be different for wytches, but I would not know. The execution of magic is little more than the execution of your will. How you perform that task,” he shrugged. “We each do whatever helps us to focus best on what we want.”
      “Then how do you teach your children?”
      “For the most part they figure themselves out. But there are some things… there are ways of connecting to another ord as they cast, to allow one to feel the way the magic and will work as one to a particular end, but once learned, we all find our own way.” He leaned in, spoke in a conspiratory tone, “The first time my sister and I tried to conjure a light together, all we got was glowing steam. I could never cast the way she does.” He stepped back. “Now, you ready?”
      “Go easy on me,” Brian sighed, stepping back and taking up an en garde position. “I’m just a farm boy.”
      “A farm boy with a prince’s knowledge of the sword,” he laughed as he lunged.
      Brian’s arm reacted before his brain was even aware of movement. Well, his cognitive brain anyway. They danced across the floor with increasing speed as Brian’s confidence grew. Brian tried to follow his reactions to certain movements, tried to study his own impulses, and found it impossible. He simply could not separate the knowledge from the action quickly enough. It was like trying to rememorize one’s multiplication tables. The mind kind of glanced over it and refused to dig deeper. It just accepted the knowledge. Then too, there was the fact that he and the prince were now a perfect match. They had the same basic knowledge, reacted the same to the same stimuli. Until Brian took a misstep, neither could land a blow.
      “So it works,” grinned Tuweal.
      The pair turned. The lord was taking off his coat.
      “It works beautifully,” smiled Soliel. “Now I just have to find a subject of our world with the physical conditioning and try it again.”
      “Or you could try it with a non-combat skill,” the ord suggested with a grin as he went to the sword wall.
      Soliel stopped, looked surprised. “That thought never occurred to me.”
      Tuweal chuckled, taking down a rapier with a glittering swept hilt. “The Prince of Knowledge didn’t think to use it to teach history?” he tutted. “Mind if I join you? It looks like you need a second opinion,” he said, wiping the blade with a small handkerchief. The blade began to glow a pale yellow.
      Soliel gave Brian a long look. “Yes, there is a small problem with fighting one’s own skill. We should test it out on someone with a different style. Do you mind?”
      “At this point I’m game for anything,” Brian answered with renewed confidence.
      “What does that even mean?” exclaimed the prince with mock exasperation.
      Tuweal laughed. “I believe it means On Guard!” he shouted and lunged.
      Brian was ready for him, laughing as he parried. Sol on the other hand, was not ready, expecting that the ord only intended to spar with Brian. He jumped back, barely getting his blade in the way in time as Tuweal’s blade weaved between one opponent and the other easily. Brian found this battle almost a delight compared with fighting the prince. This time he had to actively apply his instincts, choosing when to attack and when to feint and where the real attack was coming from instead of unconsciously noticing that flicker of muscle and instantly knowing what the move was going to be. It was unpredictable perhaps because he didn’t know it intimately.
      Tuweal’s style was very different from the prince’s. It was flashy, but in a different way, light and quick. It reminded Brian of the old Saturday morning serials that he and his family used to watch on the old movie channels: Robin Hood and Disney’s Zorro, of which he considered the black and white episodes the best, and of course, the Errol Flynn and Tyrone Power films. Secretly, he had always wanted to study fencing, but small town country high schools do not typically have programs for it.
      Just as Brian thought he was getting the upper hand, he miscalculated, and Tuweal’s blade sliced across his throat. He staggered back in surprise. It had felt like an electric cattle fence, and he had personal experience with that thanks to Layla. Oddly, this gave him more confidence in himself. It meant that he was beginning to apply the skills he had been programmed with, rather than the skills applying him.
      The combat paused. No one was really breathing heavily yet, though Brian and Tuweal wore a fine sheen of sweat. Brian somehow doubted the prince ever perspired.
      “That was interesting,” Soliel commented. “Though I think you have the upper hand, Tuweal, fighting two men with the same style.”
      Tuweal grinned, “Ah, but you were fighting in tandem though. He was beginning to adapt. He may have your skill, but he doesn’t think like you do. Therefore he acts differently, even though he reacts the same. Would you care to try something with me?” he asked Brian.
      He was instantly wary of the ord’s expression. “Like what?”
      “Put your cloak on.”
      “Why?”
      Sol shrugged, “Probably because seven out of ten fights will catch you in one. And it can be a tool, you need to learn to use that if you can or practice throwing it off.”
      It made sense. Brian nodded and crossed to the hooks where it hung. It practically leaped into his hand the moment his fingertips touched the fabric. It slithered across his shoulders and the buttons slide easily into their holes as he fastened it at his throat. “Should I have it down like this or throw it over my shoulders?” he asked, turning around.
      “Oh, whatever feels right,” Sol was grinning.
      Both ords were slowly approaching Brian, sword first. Apparently the prince had switched sides. Brian began backing away, flicking one side over his sword arm and letting the edge of the other drape just at his hand so he could hold it out of his way. He took several hits trying to deal with both opponents. On the one hand, he could read Sol easily, but as he would move to parry him, Tuweal would whip in and nick him, hitting him with that light jolt that would numb whatever was hit for just a few seconds, usually long enough for the prince to get in his shots.
      “Use it,” Tuweal coached. “It is an effective weapon, distraction if you know what you are doing with it. Get it out of your way if you don’t.” He glanced over at the prince, “You did train in cloak fighting, didn’t you?”
      “Yes, I did. Brian, you have it, use it.”
      Brian took a second, closing his eyes and focusing. He didn’t quite remember anything about cloaks, much less creepily intelligent cloaks made from magical fabric. But perhaps that was to his advantage. As he thought about it, he could feel the material shift ever so slightly about him, settling into a combat stance with him. Tuweal had said that, given time, the cloak would act even as he thought. Had he given it enough time? There was only one way to know.
      Even before he opened his eyes he knew his opponents had shifted positions. Was it because he heard Tuweal move? Or because the hem of the cloak had shuffled just a hair toward that side? Or perhaps both. It’s the chicken or the egg, Brian, he told himself. Forget about it and enjoy the bird.
      He lunged left at Soliel with his sword even as the right edge of his cloak hardened and clipped Tuweal on the chin as he swung his arm outward and half turned. He caught both by surprise. Grinning, he swept into the fray, letting the cloak play shield and distraction whilst he applied his spell granted knowledge and his years of farm-wrought strength training together. He still took hits from time to time, but in the end he dealt more than he received. After several hours, the three of them fell, exhausted in a heap in the middle of the floor, laughing.
      “He’s a quick study, eh, my prince?” Tuweal grinned, staring up at the painted ceiling as he lay flat on his back.
      Soliel leaned back on his hands and stared at the strange young man folded with his head on his knees with yards of silky black spread out around him. “Aye, that he is,” he grudgingly admitted. “So, Lord Valantyne, what do you think of my little spell?”
      Brian looked up, trying to catch his breath. He had not exerted himself this much, or had this much fun, since he’d almost taken the greased pig at the rodeo a few years back. “Honestly?” he began.
      “Preferably,” smirked the prince.
       “Well, I’m not sure I like it.” Soliel frowned. “Not that I’m not grateful and all, but… you said it was an experiment, right? So you need real feedback. Academically…, it might work, be good for quickly absorbing all those necessary little basic facts and principals that take up so much time and you never completely get everything. But with physical things I don’t know. It’d be good for the basics, but I think in the long run it will overshadow creativity.”
      “Explain.”
      Brian tried. He formed and reformed what he felt into words that might come close to explaining his reservations, but said none of them as they all fell short. The prince was silent, waiting patiently. “All right, look at it this way. You have a master painter. He uses this spell to train an apprentice. This apprentice suddenly has all the master’s knowledge of style and form and technique. But misses out completely on the stage where he would normally be experimenting, discovering his own style. He can now crank out masterpieces just like his master, but the forms are the same. Eventually all art looks alike and you lose out on variety and… all those little things that make artists great.”
      “And how does this apply to combat?”
      Brian shrugged. “Ok, maybe for basic training of raw recruits. Give them all they need to know that normally takes months of drilling and training: formations, marching, what certain orders mean, etc. But …like the problem we had. You and I were evenly matched, because I knew your style, intimately. I knew every little trick and variation you discovered, learned or invented during all the years you trained. Now imagine an army of people like me, fighting each other. Now bring in Tuweal, an ord trained in a completely different style and who took the time to learn it the old fashioned way. He’s got new tricks, learned subtleties that probably elude me right now. He comes along and wipes the floor with both armies, because they’ve never fought or see anything but the style they’ve memorized and can’t adapt.”
      Soliel was still frowning, but now it was a thoughtful frown. “I think I see your point. It should not be a substitute for years of training and practice.”
      “I’m not saying it’s not a good idea,” he continued, not wanting the prince to abandon the idea completely. “I mean, I would have loved it if someone had used that spell on me in grade school with history and geography. Or, hell, even math. But just the building blocks, with the rest you lose the fun of discovery. And it’d be a great way to pass on knowledge that would otherwise be lost. Like if my great grandfather were to use it on me to show me what life was really like during the first world war, what it was like to live through the Great Depression, things that would be lost otherwise cause no one thinks it is important or writes it down. And if you have to raise an army quickly… it would save time and lives being able to do months of basic training in minutes. But without actual study, there can be no discovery.”
      “You have made your point,” he sighed, getting up and dismissing the subject. “I will consider these things and confer with the professors at the University. They too should have input, as they were most interested in the outcome of my field work. Though I do see now why previous experiments failed. I was teaching the minds of scholars how to use a weapon their bodies could not wield.”
      “Basically, asking the lame to run,” Tuweal chuckled.
      Sol finally smiled. “In so many ways,” he sighed. “Let us adjourn to the baths, shall we?”
      They all agreed that was a wonderful idea and disenchanted their swords, hanging them up again and headed out, all looking forward to a massage and hot soak.