Prologue

 

        The world is changing.

        For centuries, millenia, for ages upon ages, the world of Sennadar was a world of magic.

        And not just magic, but magic.

        It is a Prime, a material plane close to the center of all things, which imparts upon this world, this universe, magical energies much richer and stronger than other worlds, and this gift has shaped the world.  On Sennadar, all sentient beings are capable of learning to use magic of one sort or another.  On Sennadar, magic infuses the planet in a great Weave of magical power, a Weave carefully tended by the Elder Goddess Niami and her mortal followers, the katzh-dashi, also known as the Sorcerers.  This Weave fuels not just the power of the Sorcerers, but acts as the bridge for the powers of the Wizards and Priests, spreading magic through the world.  Only the mysterious power of the Druids, who draw on the power of the All, are isolated from the power of the Weave and safe from the power of the Sorcerers to control magic that moves through their domain.

        There have been, on Sennadar, magicians the likes of which have never been seen in other worlds, mortals who command such incredible power that they would seem as gods on another world.  The greatest of these magicians, Sorcerers known as the sui’kun, have been known to single-handedly lay waste to armies, alter vast tracts of local geography, and unleash power the likes of which even the gods of Sennadar fear.  These individual, however, are as rare as they are powerful.  For thousands of years, there were only seven, seven mortals representing the seven powers of magic, but a betrayal caused a cataclysmic disruption in the power of magic, a dark time known as the Breaking, and after a thousand years of only one sui’kun surviving, more than seven were born to carry the burden and prevent another such disaster.  There are only ten of these sui’kun, seven to carry the burden of the power of the Weave, and three more born to step into that role should one of the seven perish.

        For its entire history, Sennadar has been dominated by magic, awesome magic, incredible magic.

        But the world is changing.

        Magic is still a force of unmitigated power, but the power of technology is beginning to appear.  Fueled by the unparalleled cleverness of the human nation of Telluria and the driven Wikuni, a race of hybrid animal-like people, the power of technology is starting to spread through the world, technology that both stands alone as a testament of the power of ingenuity, as well as technology melded with the abundant magic of Sennadar to produce machines and inventions that have never been seen before.

        The world is changing, and the other nations of Sennadar watch the kingdom of Wikuna and the nation of Telluria with both fear and admiration, curious to see what they show the world next, but fearful of their growing power, for their technology has branched magic off in a new direction, a frightening direction to some, for that which is unknown can be both frightening and hard to counter.  Some fear that either or both nation might use their mysterious merging of magic and technology to wage war on their less advanced neighbors.

        The world is changing…and not everyone is welcoming that change.


Chapter 1

 

        It was a rare hot day in Wikuna.

        The day was warm and muggy, with a cloudless sky allowing the sun to shine down on the ancient city of Wikuna, capitol of the kingdom of the same name, the sun heating the stone of its streets and buildings, buildings that reached higher into the sky than anywhere else in the world.  Towering monstrosities of steel, stone, and glass that had as many as fifty stories reached hundreds of spans into the sky, reaching for the Skybands, buildings unlike anywhere else in the world.  Those huge buildings clawing upwards towards the heavens were the headquarters of some of the largest corporations in the world, Wikuni trading conglomerates that had offices spread across the twenty seas and nine continents of Sennadar.  Only the Black Tower reached as high as the Wikuni-built buildings but was separate from them, the tower of the katzh-dashi, the tallest of the seven towers but also the tower with the smallest population of Sorcerers staffing it.

        It was quite a view of the sprawling city of Wikuna from Winding Road, a long lane that twisted upwards along a hillside that overlooked the city, a hill carpeted with rugged evergreens and oaks and sturdy blueleaf trees that hid estates of the rich and powerful, but also hid some roving bands of bored Wikuni teens looking for entertainment, often at the expense of those who crossed their paths.  The sons and daughters of the rich and the nobility, they lurked on the hillside with the surety that their powerful parents would keep them out of any real trouble.

        The solitary figure cresting a rise on the ridge upon which the paved road followed would be a prime target for them, for she was not a Wikuni.  She was a human, a lone human female who appeared to be very young, and not a little bit lost.  She rode upon a contraption which the Wikuni called a scoot, a two-wheeled apparatus that had been developed from the mechanically propelled bicycle, but had been enchanted by the Ministry of Magical Applications to move of its own volition, by magic, when one twisted a throttle on the handle bars.  The device itself was a magical adaption of an earlier, all-technology version that used a combustible liquid to generate mechanical power to turn the wheel, which they had called a motorized bicycle.  That design had been scrapped quickly because of the vast resources required to produce the liquid fuel on which the device had operated, and magic quickly replaced the engine that made it go.  Scoots were quite popular with messengers and middle-class workers, those who either moved about the city for a living or could afford to buy one of the devices to get around town.  The device was one of a new generation of objects the Wikuni called techmags, technological devices that were either powered or augmented by magical energy.

        That a human was riding a techmag was notable, but even more notable was the human herself.  She was almost unnaturally tall, taller than human males and most Wikuni by half a head, with a full, thick mane of wild blond hair.  Her body was sleek and lithe, like a dancer, but also carried all the curves that men admired in welcome abundance, her form dressed in a neat white dress with a concave four-sided star enclosed within a six-sided star enclosed within a circle embroidered in rich, vibrant color on both the back and the left chest, a symbol known as a shaeram, which marked this human as a resident of the Black Tower, either as a magician or as a servant.  Her face was ruggedly handsome and quite striking.  She was not pretty like a delicate human lady, but she was quite pleasing to the eye for a male of that race.  But it was her eyes that caught one’s attention, for they were the color of molten gold, a deep, rich, burnished yellow that almost seemed to glow from within with a warm radiance.  Those warm eyes framed a squared face that was very handsome, with high cheekbones and a straight nose, slender, sloping eyebrows, but the expression on that handsome face was not very cordial at the moment.  It was actually quite pensive, like that of a servant handed a task that was quite distasteful.

        She guided her enchanted conveyance up and down the hillside, along curves, avoiding carriages and the motorized horseless carriages that were just now beginning to become popular now that the problem with their belching smoke had been solved by using magic.  Wikuni watched her go by in surprise, for seeing a human anywhere on the continent of Wikuna was extremely rare, and not entirely welcome.

        It was quite an unusual spectacle for any human to come to this land.  Wikuni, also called the animal people, were just that.  Every Wikuni was different.  They were bipedal versions of both common and uncommon animals, and there was no discernable logic to how they appeared, nor were they separated into sub-species within their kind that bred exclusively with one another.  Every Wikuni looked like an animal, but the Wikuni were all one race, and Wikuni of different animal appearances were often married and produced offspring that appeared nothing like either parent.  There was a reason for it, of course…magic.  The Wikuni had been touched by their gods to appear the way they did, and that magical touch was why they appeared differently from one another yet were still members of a single race.  The human passed by an ornate iron-wrought gate where parents and two children were about to mount an open, unroofed, horseless carriage known as a motorcoach, driven by a coachman and two footservants, and none of them were of the same species.  The wolf-looking father gaped at her and gave his deer-like wife a startled look, as the female pulled her rabbit and bull Wikuni children towards her, as if the human would veer off her course and try to run the children down.  Wikuna’s streets were a riot of hundreds of different species of Wikuni, but they were all a single race.  And to the last man or worman, they were avaricious, cunning, and clever people.  A Wikuni spent his entire life either amassing wealth or sailing the seas, for those were the two callings of the Wikuni people, the two things they were very good at.  The Wikuni bent for technology was nothing more than an expression of the Wikuni need to be one step ahead of the competition, to be just that much better.  To them, technology was a tool to amass more wealth.  Wikuni were also a rather arrogant lot, and that arrogance translated to a fierce dislike of seeing non-Wikuni on their continent.  Oh, they had no trouble sailing the world and visiting other nations, other kingdoms, but they were militantly resisant to the idea of allowing non-Wikuni to come to their kingdom.  If a non-Wikuni wanted to come here, they had to have a very good reason, jump through a thousand hoops, and maybe wait years before the Wikuni finally granted that permission.

        She rode on past the motorcoach, past lavish, huge estates, and then turned onto a side road that was both long and foreboding.  It led to only one house, far up the hill and away from all others, a house that had a dark reputation, so dark that no one would buy the land and build anywhere near it.  The road was immaculately maintained, with its concrete—an amazing invention of liquid stone that dried and hardened to be just as rugged as any rock—unbroken and painted with a single white stripe that separated the lane into two sides.  Wikuni rules dictated that one that was on any kind of conveyance always stayed to the left of that line, which prevented traffic moving in two directions from crashing into each other.  Every street in Wikuna was also divided, with elaborate rules about how one operated a scoot , bicycle, carriage, or motorcoach in the city proper.  They were so elaborate, one had to demonstrate their aptitude and knowledge of the rules to earn a paper permit to legally operate a vehicle on Wikuna.  It was necessary, though, because of the large amount of traffic on the roads.  Rules had to be developed and enforced to allow traffic to flow smoothly and cut down on accidents, and drivers of the vehicles had to prove they could use those roads safely.

        The lane had an unsavory reputation, but that reputation attracted those who had unsavory things on their minds.  The lone female human came around a gentle curve in the road and found a group of about ten Wikuni youths standing both in the road and along the side, seven males and three females, the males dressed in shirts and knee-britches which were the current style, their waistcoats hanging from a nearby low-hanging branch.  The three females were wearing simple yet elegant wool dresses, “outing dresses” often worn by the children of the well off for outdoor activity, brown, yellow, and blue, and all of them quite well made.  The group of Wikuni spotted the lone traveler, and with a single whistle from the leopard Wikuni male that was obviously the leader of the group, the males spread out to block the road.

        The woman stopped in front of them calmly, easily, putting a slippered foot down to steady her scoot, then leaning over to put her elbows on the handlebars, lacing her fingers under her chin and regarding the smug-looking leopard with an easy, disarming half-smile.  “Can I help you, young man?” she asked, speaking flawless Wikuni.

        That did not surprise them.  The very few humans on Wikuna all spoke Wikuni.  “Here now, just where do you think you’re off to in Wikuna, human, acting like you own the place?” he asked, which made a couple of them snicker.  “I think you should just go back to whatever rathole your kind comes from.”

        “Little boy,” she said in an agreeable, almost pleasant voice, “you have absolutely no idea just what you’re about to get into.”  She rose up and pointed at the symbol embroidered on her dress, then pulled a gleaming metal amulet from under her bodice was sculpted into the same symbol.  “Do you know what this is?”

        “It marks you as one of the human gophers in the Black Tower,” one of the girls said.  “That explains where you stole the scoot from.”

        “No, the amulet means she’s a Sorcerer,” a panda Wikuni girl said fearfully, and she took a step back.

        “No Sorcerer would be up here, they’re restricted to the city,” the girl sneered.

        “I’ll get to you in a minute, little miss,” she said, giving the girl a glance, fixing her luminous yellow eyes on the leopard.  “Now then, kidlet, let’s talk about just how much trouble you’re going to get into if you don’t get out of my way.”

        “I don’t take orders from humans,” he said, puffing out his chest as one of the girls gave him vaporish looks of adulation.  “Not even ones with fancy necklaces who think it makes them better than they are.”

        “Ah, so, if I told you, say, that I’m on an errand for the King himself, it wouldn’t make you think twice about getting in my way?”

        The leopard laughed, and was quickly joined by the others.  “You?  On an errand for King Faalken?  That’s the biggest joke I’ve ever heard!”

        “So, you’re not going to get out of my way, then?”

        The leopard glanced at his friends, and with a wave of his hand, they started to surround the human.

        “Oh dear, what a frightening display,” she said with a strange deadpan voice, dripping with sarcasm.  She stood up and dismounted her scoot, then carefully set the kickstand and stepped away from it.  She then cracked her knuckles, making a very loud and unpleasant sound.  Off the scoot, the woman’s height became obviously apparent to the young Wikuni, taller than they were, and her confidence and utter lack of fear made a few of them take a wary step back.  “Now then, kid, I’m going to give you one more chance.  Step aside, please.  I even asked nicely.  Wasn’t that sporting of me?”

        The leopard looked up into those unwavering yellow eyes, and he wasn’t as confident as he was before.  “She’s a Sorceress, Manny, this is a bad idea!” the panda said in a worried voice, then she quickly turned and ran away.

        Smart girl.

        “I’m not stepping aside for any human,” the leopard said with a sneer.

        “Little kid, you have me confused with someone else,” she told him with a predatory, malicious smile.

        “What?”

        “Kidlet, I’m not human.”

        And then she changed.  Her body shifted, melted, reformed, and her dress vanished like it was never there.  Her arms were suddenly covered with sleek black fur, hands large and long-fingered with short, sharp claws.  Her head melted into a new appearance, a canine head covered in black fur, with those yellow eyes seeming to blaze with inner radiance, so much so that it was hard to see her pupils.  Her body was covered in thick black fur, still feminine in form but heavier, stockier, more powerful, and her legs were more canine than human, with a duke joint and wide feet.  The leopard Wikuni gaped at her in shock, but he didn’t move, even when she leaned down and brought her muzzle almost nose to nose with his own.

        The dog girl behind him gasped “Were-wolf!” and scrambled backwards.

        “Well, little boy?  You think you want to step aside now, or are we going to play?” she asked in a calm, almost conversational tone, blowing her breath out in a snort that washed over the leopard’s face, ruffling is fur.  “I should warn you though, I play rough.”  She reached out into empty air and closed her fist, but her fist closed around the metal haft of a polearm, a long length of pole with a single-edged swordblade affixed to its top.  She set the butt of the weapon on the ground and stared unblinkingly at the youth.  “I am a Sorceress, kid, but I prefer to have my fun up close and personal.  Well, kid?  If you don’t mind losing an arm or two, then let’s play.”

        The leopard gaped up at her, then swallowed and took a nervous step back and to the side.

        “That’s a smart boy,” she told him, turning and grabbing her scoot in a large clawed hand, her black furred tail swishing back and forth.  “You’re not old enough to play with me yet.”  That intimidating wolf-like form blurred, melted, condensed, and then the white dress-garbed human female again stood in its stead, all smiles and disarming, almost challenging casualness and unconcern.  The weapon, however, did not vanish as she got back on her vehicle and slid past them, puttering on her way.  Only when she was well up the road from them did she release the weapon, which caused it to vanish.

        They were lucky.  The woman was not someone to be trifled with, and she was too busy to stop and beat the snot out of a bunch of Wikuni wanna-be thugs…no matter how much such a detour would improve her mood.

        Her name was Amara Dereth, and she was, simply put, the only one of her kind in all of Sennadar.  The dog Wikuni girl that called her a Were-wolf was almost right, for Amara was kind of a Were-wolf…but not quite.  She was the daughter of a Were-wolf and a very special human that had become a Were-wolf out of love, for her father was the son of the legendary Dolanna Casbane.  Dolanna, her grandmother, was a human who had magical immunity to Lycanthropy, and whose condition was passed down to her descendents due to the unusual way her immunity was imparted to her.  She gained her immunity through the use of a Wish spell, one of the most powerful Wizard spells, immunity granted to her by another legend, the almost mythical Tarrin Kael.  Thanks to that wish, Dolanna and her descendents were totally immune to Lycanthropy, but could give that immunity up if they so desired, which was because Dolanna was had fallen in love with a Were-wolf named Haley, and Tarrin Kael had wanted to give Dolanna the best of both worlds, the ability to be married to Haley without being infected but also the choice to embrace Haley’s Were-wolf condition.

        Part and parcel of that immunity was that Dolanna and her descendents could abandon that immunity if they so desired, and that’s what her father did.  He fell in love with a Were-wolf, and unlike his mother who had never given up her protection, he decided to commit to Audrey Dereth utterly by becoming Were himself, even taking the name of her Were-wolf clan.  Amara was the result of that devotion, but much to everyone’s shock, Amara was born with the gift of her grandmother coursing through her, but twisted, altered, changed by the fact that she was born of two Were-wolves.  She should have either been a Were-wolf herself or been a normal human, but the protection of her grandmother’s magical gift had only partially isolated her from Lycanthropy.  Amara had the powers of a Were-wolf, but was not a Were-wolf.  She could change into the hybrid cross between human and wolf she had shown to the Wikuni boy, but could also assume the form of a wolf.  She had the inhuman strength, agility, and endurance of a Were-wolf, but only in her hybrid form, but unlike a Were-wolf, she could not pass her condition to others, and she was not vulnerable to silver.  She had all of their powers, but none of their weaknesses or liabilities.

        Up to a point.  Amara’s shapeshifting powers were based on a Were-wolf’s abilities, but she both was more able and more limited than a true Were-wolf, with more freedom in some ways and more limited in others.  She could completely control how she appeared, which was not normal.  She could change her facial features, the color, texture, and length of her hair, the color of her skin, her body proportions, everything but her height, her weight, and her eyes.  The color of her amber eyes were the only cosmetic feature she could not change, though she could change the shape of her eyes, and she was unable to make herself more than a few fingers taller or shorter, nor could she change her weight more than maybe one or two stones lighter or heavier.  She could change into a hybrid and a wolf, but unlike true Lycanthropes, she had only a very limited ability to change her height and weight.  True Lycanthropes could change their height and weight, but Amara could do so only very weakly.  Her hybrid form was larger than her human form, but smaller than the hybrid form of a true Were-wolf in relation to her height…though she was actually just as large as any other hybrid, since she was already so tall to begin with.  The true difference, though, was in her wolf form.  Amara’s wolf form was massive, because she could not change her size very much.  Her wolf form was nearly the same size and weight as she was as a human, which made it absolutely clear to anyone who looked at her that she was not a true wolf.

        That condition had shaped her entire life.  Her parents’ Were-wolf clan had rejected the child, considering her to be unnatural, an abomination, and threatened to kill her.  Instead of allowing their daughter to be killed, they instead sent her to her grandmother, and that was where she was raised.  She grew up in Suld, the largest city in the West, being cared for by her grandparents and only visited by her parents when they could sneak away to see her.  Amara didn’t begrudge her parents that action, for they loved her very much and had done as much as they could to be part of her life.  Besides that, growing up in her grandfather’s festhall in Suld, surrounded by love and excitement and wonders had been a wonderful place to be a child.

        Her grandparents had accepted the clumsy, strange child with open arms.  Unlike any Lycanthrope, which was born locked into a single form and only gained their shapeshifting powers at puberty, Amara was born with her shapeshifting powers already there.  She couldn’t control that power when she was a baby, and there was no telling how she would look from one day to the next.  It was a surprise every time Dolanna came to her crib in the morning.  She got better, though, and found that the circles in which Dolanna moved didn’t see her as an abomination or a freak, as some called her, they simply saw her as a high-spirited, adventurous little girl that gave her grandmother fits.

        She grew up in Suld, spending almost as much time in the Tower of Six Spires as she did at home, surrounded by Sorcerers, Wizards, Knights, and Elementalists while in the Tower, and surrounded by nobles, thieves, criminals, and honest men and women when she was at home, and it was in this unusual environment that gave Amara a very deep and well-rounded education.  The gangly girl was unnaturally strong, which caught the attention of the Knights and the Selani family that was connected to her grandmother, so they taught her how to fight.  She was very bright, so much so that she’d learned her first Wizard cantrip at the age of six…which utterly infuriated her grandmother.  Dolanna was outraged when she found out that Rina Kael had taught her Wizard magic, fearing that it would lock her down the path of Wizard magic before she could be tested for aptitude in Sorcery.  It took a while before Amara understood that concern.  It was later that she learned that the Elder Goddess of the world, Ayise, did not allow any mortal to learn more than one order of magic.  Some people got around this restriction by transcending “mortality,” like the Sorcerers and Lycanthropes.  Sorcerers, once they committed to the katzh-dashi, were made ageless by the Goddess of the Sorcerers, thus no longer qualifying them as true mortals, since they did not die of old age.  This was done so the Sorcerers, who were also the Priests of the Goddess, could use minor Priest devotions and spells in the furtherance of their Goddess.  Lycanthropes were not mortal by Ayise’s definition, for no Lycanthrope could die of old age.  They did not have finite lifespans, and becaue of that, they were not considered mortal and could learn more than one order of magic.

        Amara was not a Lycanthrope, but it seemed that she too shared the ageless quality of the katzh-dashi and her parents’ brood, for she expressed aptitude in Sorcery at age twelve, much to the eternal delight and relief of her grandmother.  Her father, Jevin, had no talent for Sorcery at all, for Sorcery was not a skill that one could learn.  Sorcerers, Elementalists, and Druids had to be born with the innate ability to use the magic, where anyone could learn the magic of the Wizards or the Priests.  Her father’s lack of ability in Sorcery was one reason why he decided to become Were, so he could escape the ticking of the clock of his life’s duration and truly spend eternity with his beloved Audrey.  Amara felt that her grandmother was always just a little disappointed that her only son was not a Sorcerer, but she was truly happy and proud that her granddaughter had the ability.

        She spent her teen years in the Tower, in the Novitiate and the Initiate…and boy, what years those were.  Amara left behind her in the Tower and almost legendary reputation for troublemaking, chicanery, and general mayhem.  Amara was a very bright girl, she entered the Novitiate already knowing more than most of the teachers, she bored easily, she was a shapeshifter with the power to look like anyone she pleased, and she had no real qualms about finding ways to entertain herself that got her in trouble.  Those added up to an absolute nightmare for the katzh-dashi, so much so that Amara was sent to the office of the Keeper of the Tower herself at least once a ride, who was a close personal friend of Dolanna’s family.  Jenna Kael was the sister of Tarrin Kael, a name literally out of legend who also happened to be her grandmother’s closest, deepest, and best friend.  Amara had even met him twice, and the glaive, the weapon she had brandished at the Wikuni kids, had been a gift from him.

        Perhaps she’d always been destined to be a katzh-dashi.  After her Initiate, and much to the dismay of most of the Sorcerers who taught her, she decided to follow the path of her grandmother and enter the order.  She spent two years in formal training under her grandmother, where she learned more than most Sorcerers learned in a hundred years.  Her grandmother was one of the best Sorcerers alive, with hundreds of years of experience, and Amara soaked it up like a sponge.  In two years, Amara was already one of the most learned of the Youngers, those Sorcerers who had not crossed over in the trial of facing one’s own power to become da’shar, but her grandmother seemed confident that Amara would be facing that trial soon.

        Though she was young, she was a powerful Sorcerer, and thanks to Rina, she knew several Wizard cantrips and even a few of their minor spells, which was much more than the common citizen.  Sennadar was a world of magic, and on Sennadar, nearly everyone knew at least one or two Wizard cantrips or Priest devotions.  They were simple spells that did little things that made life maybe a little easier, like dusting a piece of furniture or moving small objects without touching them. 

        It was her independence and her unusual condition that brought her here, to Wikuna, for her first official assignment as a katzh-dashi.  She was supposed to be in her hybrid form right now as she moved around outside, because Wikuni hated outsiders in their country, but it was too hot to go around in all that fur…and it wasn’t like Amara to do what she was told anyway.  Her ability in Sorcery, her ability to protect herself physically without a Knight along with her, and her connections had landed her a job in the Tower in Wikuna, where she was a War Sorcerer.  Her primary, official designation was a Sorcerer attached to the Royal Navy, in the Aero Division, one of the Sorcerers that supplied the magic that made their flying battleships fly.  When performing that duty, Amara would literally be the living engine making the ship go, controlling its flight.  She would be the navigator and the engine, sitting in a special magical device on the bridge so the captain could issue his commands to her directly.

        The human Sorcerers that performed this service usually stayed in the Tower, since they were so unwelcome elsewhere, but Amara had family here in Wikuna.  Her extended family included the Royal Family, for King Faalken Eram was part of the inner circle of friends that surrounded Dolanna’s life, which made them part of Amara’s life too.  And it was that family, and the obligation to that family, that brought her to this place.

        It was a task to which she was not looking forward, especially since she’d arrived in Wikuna just this morning, and found a letter waiting for her from Faalken, asking him to do this.  She didn’t even have time to settle in before having to do this.

        She was there.  She slowed to a stop and put a foot down to steady her scoot, and looked up in both trepidation and admiration.  It was a grand iron gate and stone fence encircling a large estate, a huge manor house on the tallest point of the hill, which no doubt had breathtaking views of the city and the sea beyond.  The road went up the hill at an angle, lazily curving back towards the house as it cut through manicured lawns raised in ledged terraces up to the main house, whose front had a circular garden in the front of the front doors filled with flowers, the center of which dominated by a fountain.  The gate of the manor was unguarded and unattended, but it opened for her of its own volition.  The signet in the pocket of her dress was a magical key of sorts to which the gate reacted, allowing her entry.

        She traveled up the road slowly, taking in the sights.  The place was…empty.  There was no army of groundskeepers one might expect to see in a manor so large, yet everything was meticulously maintained.  As she rode up the terraces, she saw that the garden in front of the manor was a floral arrangement of a shaeram, the symbol of the katzh-dashi, but the fountain in the center was a statue of Kikkalli, the Wikuni goddess of the seas, weather, and sailing.  The dark stone of the manor was kept scrubbed clean, almost gleaming in the hot summer sun, and most of the windows had curtains drawn over them.  She slowed to a stop in front of the winding double set of stairs leading up to a set of impressive mahogany doors gilded in bronze, curving around smaller fountain that had another statue, that of a mink Wikuni wearing a flowing dress, the scultpure obviously done with magic…it was just too detailed.  The figure almost seemed alive, depicting a cheeky mink with a short, boxy muzzle and a mischevious smile, holding a pair of knitting needles of all things.

        A uniformed hand took her scoot when she arrived, pushing it towards a small lane going around the house.  She mounted one of the curving staircases towards the door, which began to open as she came up.  A dog Wikuni wearing a black butler’s uniform stepped out, and he bowed to her when she reached the landing.  “Miss Dereth, his Majesty informed us you’d be visiting today.”

        “You’re, um, Clancy, right?”

        “Yes, madam,” he said in a stately voice.  “We have told her Highness of your visit, but we are unsure how much of it she understood,” he said with a deep, sincere sigh.

        This was the manor of Keritanima-Chan Eram, the Queen Mother.  She had been the Queen before Faalken, a dynamic, powerful figure that had literally changed Wikuni society with reforms and a radical change in her government, moving from a totalitarian monarchy to a represtentative form of government.  She’d been a wise woman, seeing that Wikuna needed a change, and having the strength and courage to force that change when the other noble houses were violently opposed to surrendering their power and their legal advantages.   It had nearly brought Wikuna to civil war, but the Queen was not a woman someone crossed, not when she had the solid support of the formidable Vendari who lived in a colony on Wikuna’s southern tip.  Just the thought of facing an army of twelve span tall Vendari warriors, one of the most feared fighting forces on Sennadar, cowed the nobles into submission once the Queen threatened to use them.  She had been a Sorceress, a genius, and a figure that shook the world in her day.

        But no longer.

        The Queen Mother was a sobering lesson to anyone who had become other than mortal.  She had been married once, to the Prince Consort Rallix Eram, but her husband was not a Sorcerer.  He aged, grew old, and then passed away while Keritanima remained young and vigorous.  Her deepest friend in all the world, Miranda, who began as her maid and ended up the High Priestess of Kikkalli, had also aged and passed as the years marched onward, and the loss of those two from her life had been too much for her to bear.  She abdicated the throne in favor of her son and retreated to this manor over a century ago, and from what Amara knew, she had not left this house since then.  She was a recluse, her condition a closely guarded secret for the government, for the years of pining for the past had eroded her mind.  She was a hollow shell of the woman she once was, unable to let go of the past, and facing an eternity trapped in a future that gave her no joy or solace.

        If there was ever a living hell, this had to be it.

        Amara didn’t want to be here, but she had a duty.  Keritanima was family, just like Faalken was family, and their particular family took family very seriously.  Amara had never met the mother of the king, but she was here in Wikuna, she was obligated to come visit her, introduce herself, and do what every other member of the family tried to do; show Keritanima that life could go on, that she was still loved and cherished, and they wanted her to come back to the world of the living.  Her grandmother had been very specific about this.  Amara was to be polite and friendly, try to engage her, make her wake up from her dark reverie.

        “Please remember, my Lady, that her Highness is very, erratic,” the butler, a regal looking panther Wikuni, told her.  “It is very important that you speak to her carefully.  She reacts with extreme violence if you make mention that her husband or her friend have passed away, so avoid that at all costs.  It is one of the few times she displays any ability to use her magic, and it takes us weeks to clean up the mess.”

        “My grandmother explained it to me,” Amara assured him.

        “Very well.  If you’re ready, follow me, please.”

        “I’m ready,” she said with a bolstering sigh, drawing herself up to steel herself for this unpleasant task.

        The butler led her down dark, gloomy, unnaturally cool passages, so cold it made her shiver and hug herself, the walls filled with paintings and stands holding momentos of the past, some of them quite unusual.  On one cherrywood stand by the door to the ballroom, there was a single black sock.  The sock was kept clean and neatly arranged, obviously meant to be there.  Another stand held a shoe, and there was a stand that had a wooden platform that held two knitting needles crossed like swords…just like the knitting needles in the hands of the statue outside.

        Was that statue Miranda?  Gramma had told her that Miranda had been a maid before becoming a Priest, and had had a fondness for knitting and needlepoint…were these knitting needles once hers?

        The portraits on the walls were all unknown to her, but whom she could identify through the stories her grandmother told.  The white-haired man and tall Amazon woman in one portrait, engaged in heated debate, had to be Phandebrass the Unusual and the High Priestess Camara Tal, both long dead.  A figurine of a small Faerie was an image of the Faerie Sarraya, who had passed away long before those two; Faeries had a lifespan of only about forty years.  A picture of a noble Mahuut wearing ornate armor had to be the legendary Azakar Kanash, one of the greatest Lord Generals in the history of the Knights, and the six-armed, menacing woman behind him was Shaz the Guardian, who acted as the personal attendant and bodyguard of the Lord General of the Knights.  She had first served under Azakar, but when he retired, she went with him, serving him and tending to him until his death of old age.  But after he passed away, she returned to the order and took up a place as the advisor and protector of the new Lord General, and had served every Lord General since then.  Shaz was an intricate, integral fixture in the order of the Knights of Karas.

        Amara had been on the receiving end of Shaz on the training field when the Knights started teaching her to fight, and she was a nightmare on the battlefield.  But it was her mind that everyone respected and admired, for she was one of the smartest people on Sennadar.  Through her advice and wisdom, the current Lord General, Brian Goldshanks, guided the order and kept it on a path of prosperity and rightful honor.

        Another picture, another face long gone, and another, and another, as she read the captions on each portrait.  Field Marshal Kang.  Kyrienna Strela.  Ulger Grent.  Faalken Strongsword, the namesake of the king.  Tomas and Janine Brightsail.  Binter and Sisska.  Szath.  The sashka.   Dain Darax.  Bragg.  Ulfan.  Kalina.  Jal Kael.  She came across a picture of her grandmother, but it was clear that this was Dolanna from centuries ago, not the Dolanna that Amara knew now.  Pictures of the Kaels as children; it was strange to see the stately, sober Rina Kael as a little Were-cat girl, to see her smiling.  Every picture was a picture from the past Keritanima longed to reclaim, Amara realized, even portraits of her son as a boy and young man.  There were portraits of Rallix Eram almost every other picture, of him in every pose imaginable, every expression, as if Keritanima were trying to surround herself with her dead husband.

        So sad…so sad.

        She stopped when she reached a portrait near the closed door at the end of the hallway, for this was a picture she knew.  It was her godfather, Tarrin Kael, much younger and with black fur on his right arm.  Strange, Amara never knew his fur was any other color, for it was white and had always been white to her memory.  It was a face almost any literate person knew, for this face was plastered all over every history book ever written.  The Avatar, that’s what they called him, the destroyer of the dark god Val, and the most powerful user of magic on the face of Sennadar.  He had a very grim reputation, and most people thought he was just a figure out of history, and maybe mythology.

        The butler opened the door, and Amara remembered herself and stepped through, entering a dark, gloomy sitting room filled with stands and tables holding all manner of strange things, placed haphazardly all over the floor.  There were two chairs in the room, far on the other side, flanking the window facing each other.  One of them was empty, but the other held Keritanima-Chan Eram, the Queen Mother.

        She looked…awful.  Keritanima was a red fox Wikuni, but Amara only knew that because she was told that she was.  Her fur and hair had turned gray, and was dry and brittle, thin and wispy, with bald patches here and there, primarily around the collar of her dress.  Her flesh was sunken under the fur, gaunt, and her nose was brown and dry and wrinkled.  Her pointed teeth were eroded and pitted, and her eyes were milky and vacant.  She sat there in complete silence, holding a small piece of clothing or something similar, staring at the empty chair across from her unblinkingly.

        Amara threaded her way through the chaotic arrangement of tables and came up to Keritanima’s chair, then she girded herself and put a hand on her shoulder.  “Your Highness?” she asked.

        She didn’t respond.  Dolanna had told her what to do to get her attention, so she continued on.

        “Keritanima?  Kerri?”

        She blinked, almost violently, then looked up at her with those milky eyes.  “Is that you, Miranda?” she asked in a weak, weary voice.  Amara almost shuddered when a single tear formed in the Queen Mother’s eye.  “Where have you been?  I’ve been waiting for you.  It’s time to take Faalken down to the park for his walk.”

        “I’m not Miranda, your Highness,” Amara said gently, coming before her and sitting down in the chair across from her.

        “What are you doing!  That is Rallix’s chair!” she snapped angrily, making feeble motions as if to get up.  When that failed, Amara sensed her try to set her will against the Weave to use her Sorcery, but it slipped through her fingers like smoke.  She no longer even had the mental faculties to command her magic, Amara realized in shock.  The Weave around them seemed to shudder as if to obey, but then it retreated away from her.

        “I’m sure he won’t mind if I borrow it for a moment,” Amara said easily.  “After all, I’m family, aren’t I?  It’s a very nice chair,” she noted, rubbing her hands along the red velvet on the arms.  “Rallix has very refined taste.”

        Keritanima gave her a long look.  “Who are you, and who taught you such bad manners?”

        “I’m Dolanna’s daughter,” she said carefully.  Dolanna specifically warned her not to use the word granddaughter, that Keritanima often reacted violently when one reminded her of the present.  “My name is Amara.  My gr—mother told me that I should come visit you when I came to Wikuna.  She named me after Camara…well, mostly.”

        “Shaul?  If your mother catches you in that dress, she’ll skin you, girl.  Go put on your tripa right now!”

        “No, I’m not Shaul,” Amara said calmly.  “I’m Amara.”

        “Who is Amara?”

        “That’s me,” she said with a cheeky grin.  “I’m your goddaughter, Kerri.”

        “My..my, daughter?” she said, her eyes distant.  “I…don’t have a daughter.  What kind of mean game are you playing now, Miranda?  If you’re practicing for the Count Jex, go do it on Binter or Sisska.”

        “I’m not Miranda, your Highness,” she said again.

        “You smell like—oh, hi Audrey.  What are you doing here?”

        Amara blinked and took a sharp breath.  Her mother knew Keritanima-Chan Eram?  She’d never said so!

        “Audrey is my mother, miss Kerri,” Amara said, changing tacks.  “She wanted me to come see you.”

        “Oh, why didn’t you say so?” she asked with a cackling laugh, struggling to move.  “So, I see she finally chased Haley down.”

        “Ah, no,” Amara said with a light, amused smile.  “My father is someone else.  Haley is married to Dolanna.”

        “He is such a rascal, I wouldn’t put it past him if he was your father,” she said with a sudden lucidity in her eyes.  “How has he been doing?  Still fighting with Arren over the taxes levied on all his businesses?”

        “Haley fights tooth and nail with the Palace every day,” Amara chuckled.  “Some things never change.”

        “No, they don’t.  Any word from the dragons about their counsel?”

        “I’m afraid my mother doesn’t keep me in the loop for such things, miss Kerri,” she said carefully.

        “Well, girl, you never learn anything by waiting for people to tell you.  If you want to learn, go find out for yourself.  How is your mother?”

        “Quite content right now,” Amara answered.  “She’s enjoying the married life.”

        “I never quite figured Audrey would leave the forest.  I guess Haley was just too irresistable,” Keritanima mused.  Amara let that pass; for some reason, she wouldn’t abandon the idea that Amara was the daughter of Haley and Audrey, and she wasn’t going to push it by correcting her.  It might set the Queen Mother off, and that was something that Dolanna warned her not to do under any circumstance.  “Anyway, it’s nice to see a new face.  How did you manage to get all the way here?”

        “The Tower sent me,” she said, very carefully.  “Since I’m a Were-wolf and I can move around here without attracting attention, they sent me here to talk with your son about some Tower business.”

        “Practical.  Jenna was always practical,” the Queen Mother said with a nod.  I really hope Rallix comes home soon, I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

        “I’m sure he would too,” Amara murmured.

        “I’ve told him over and over to just leave the Twenty Seas be, but no, he just can’t keep his nose out of it,” Keritanima fretted.  “It keeps him away for so long, and I get lonely waiting for him to come home.”

        “Well, I’d be happy to keep you company for a while,” Amara said sincerely.

        “I think I’d enjoy that, my dear,” Keritanima told her with a vacant smile.  “It’s been so long since a new member of the family has come to see me.  Oh, the stories I could tell you,” she said with a weak laugh.

        “I’d love to hear them, miss Kerri,” Amara assured her.

        “Then let’s have some tea.”  She let go of the garment in her hands, which Amara could see was a baby’s bib, then fumbled in her chair for a moment.  She produced a small bell, which she rang.  Clancy scurried in immediately, weaving between the tables, then bowed by her chair.  “Yes, your Highness?”

        “We would like some tea,” she ordered.

        “I will bring you a tray immediately, your Highness.”

        Clancy gave her a surprised look before he rushed off, and Keritanima gave Amara a watery smile.  “So, my dear, who would you like to hear about first?”

        “I’d love to hear about what happened during the Firestaff War, miss Kerri,” she said.  “My mother hasn’t told me much about it, and you were there.”

        “Ah, that.  Everyone always wants to hear about that,” she sighed.

        “I know the general stuff, miss Kerri.  I’m more curious about what happened to my—uh, to you and Dolanna.  She never talks about it.”

        “Well, it wasn’t that long ago, and I’m sure Dolanna’s busy trying to get pregnant about now,” Keritanima giggled.

        It wasn’t easy to keep up with Keritanima, because her frame of mind seemed to jump years, even decades, at the drop of a hat.  What she reported as present tense between two sentences might be events decades apart, and it was a little confusing at first, as she started telling her stories about her extended family.  The arrival of the tea, though, seemed to focus her mind a little more, and she kept herself in a single frame of mind for most of the afternoon.

        What Amara thought at first would be a crushing chore actually became quite the pleasant afternoon.  The Queen Mother seemed quite lucid, and hints of the personality that Dolanna had described started to peek through, a clever, streetwise woman with a sharp sense of humor and an eye for detail.  She told several stories about that time in history Amara knew as the Firestaff War, when Tarrin Kael and his band of friends and family ranged all over the world in a quest to prevent the Firestaff from being used…and in the end it was used anyway, by Tarrin Kael himself.  He became a god, then died fighting the Dark God Val, who had been trying to get the Firestaff for his own dark purposes, but Tarrin Kael managed to kill him before he died.  But, Keritanima told her, Tarrin knew he was going to die, and took steps that ensured he could be resurrected back to life after the battle, returning as a mortal with a touch of divine power inside him, a mark from the time he was a god.

        Afterwards, they went to another world, the world of Pyrosia, on a quest to find the long-lost descendants of the Dwarves.  They found them, but also got into a tangle with a god native to that world, who then summoned a Demon Lord after Tarrin Kael nearly killed him in a battle.  The two enemies banded together to fight the Demon Lord once the enemy god realized he’d made a terrible mistake, and it was there, on Pyrosia, that the Firestaff was destroyed once and for all, the Demon Lord was defeated, and Tarrin Kael managed to abandon his divinity and become a pure mortal once again.

        “Oh, Tarrin is a clever one, girl, never let his attitude and his mean looks ever make you think he’s not,” Keritanima laughed, putting her hands on the arms of her chair and pushing, obvously trying to get up.  “Dear me, I feel a bit weak today.  Mind giving me a hand, dear?”

        “Sure!” she said, jumping up and helping the frail woman to her feet, gently and carefully.  Though Sorcerers didn’t age, it was obvious that Keritanima had aged from atrophy and grief.  Her body was weak, like an old woman.  “Where are we going, miss Kerri?”

        “I want to show you something,” she said.  “Walk with me?”

        “Of course I will,” she said.

        “I always liked you Were-wolves.  Such good manners,” Keritanima said approvingly as she started taking weak steps towards the door.  “Even your father has good manners, even if he is a thief and a scoundrel.”

        “My father is neither of those things, miss Kerri,” Amara laughed.

        “Oh yes he is, girl.  Don’t let those handsome looks fool you.  Haley’s as corrupt as any Arakite slaver.  He has his hand in every illegal deal that happens in Suld.”

        “Haley isn’t my father, miss Kerri, but I do know him very well,” she said.

        “He’ll spin you a wonderful tale and make you leave with a smile on your face without ever noticing he’s cut your purse under the table.  The stories I could tell you about him…” she trailed off, looking rather strangely at the table in front of them.  “Why on Sennadar did I put this here?”

        “Allow me,” Amara said.  She touched the Weave, felt it fill her, complete her, flood her with its sweet power, and she wove a simple weave of Air that moved every table out of their path to the door.  “There we are.”

        “I didn’t know Were-wolves could be Sorcerers,” Keritanima mused.

        “My father was turned, miss Kerri,” she answered. “His mother was a Sorcerer.  I guess that’s where I got it from.”

        “Ah.  Who was your teacher?  I hope you got Lula.  She trained me, she’s quite good.”

        “I was trained by Dolanna, miss Kerri.  She’s a friend of the family.  She took over my training after I graduated the Initiate.”

        “Oh, good, good,” she said with a rough giggle.

        The butler looked astounded when Amara opened the door with the Queen Mother heavily leaning on her arm, as they shuffled slowly and carefully into the hall.  “Now then, you know who this fellow here is?” she asked, pointing at the portrait of Tarrin Kael.

        “That’s my godfather, miss Kerri,” Amara said with a chuckle.

        “Oh, he is, is he?  Why hasn’t he told me?  Is he off on another of his fool missions with that gnarled old bat Wynn out in Crossroads?”

        “I think he is, miss Kerri.  I haven’t seen him in years.”

        “Such an idiot,” she growled.  “But I love him anyway.  He’s family, what can you do?”

        “What indeed?” Amara said with a smile.

        “I can tell you some stories about him, oh yes indeedy,” she cackled.

        “I’d love to hear them,” she said.

        “Later, later.”

        The Queen Mother led Amara through the halls of her manor, pointing at portraits or items and asking her about them.  When Amara confessed ignorance, she would tell them who they were or what they were, and always used the present tense concerning people who had died long ago.  Keritanima seemed to be more lucid than usual, given the alarmed look on the butler’s face, but she was still stuck in the past.  The butler and more and more maids began following at a discrete distance as they puttered through the manor house, amazed that the Queen Mother was out of her room. Keritanima led her through the manor, down into some dark hallways that showed a lack of us in the basement of the west wing, until they came to a heavy iron door locked with a strong chain.  Keritanima touched the chain, which caused it to retract of its own volition, and then the door swung open with surprising silence and ease.

        Beyond could only be called a king’s ransom in treasure.  Gold trade bars, gems, jewels, chests filled with valuables, and racks and displays and cases holding artifacts, trinkets, and treasures.  Amara gawked when she came in.  Even Haley’s strongroom back home couldn’t hold a candle to the amassed wealth piled into this room.  The Queen Mother led her across the room, stepping on stray gold coins laying on the floor, and Amara toed an emerald the size of a child’s fist out of her path, her mouth turning dry when she wondered just how much such a fantastic gem would be worth, and here it was laying on the floor like so much garbage.  Keritanima stopped at a large chest wrapped in heavy chains, then, with a single touch, caused it to open of its own volition.  The chains retracted with a long rattle, vanishing into the chest, and then the lid opened.  Inside the large metal chest was a single object, a black two-handed sword with a gentle curve to its blade and only sharp along one edge, with a chisel tip rather than a point, which was nearly seven spans long.  It was resting on a red velvet cushion.

        Amara almost had a seizure, for she recognized that weapon almost immediately from the stories her grandmother had told her.  It was the Sword of Fire!  It was the sword that Tarrin Kael used when he was a demigod, the sword he’d used to battle the Dark God Val!

        “This is Tarrin’s sword, dear,” she told her.  “Go ahead and pick it up if you like.”

        “Would I!” Amara said giddily, her hands diving into the box.  The sword was almost unnaturally light, well balanced, and felt curiously warm to the touch.  She admired the weapon for a long moment, soberly understanding that she was  holding history in her hands.  “How did you come to have this, miss Kerri?  I’d think that my godfather would have it.  His house is just full of old relics like this.”

        “He gave it to me a long time ago, dear,” she answered.  “He told me that he didn’t want it in his house.  He never did sleep well with it around.  So, he brought it to me and asked me to keep it for him, that I was the only one he could trust with something like this.”

        “I’m really honored you’d show it to me, miss Kerri.”

        “What’s a good story without a prop or two?” she asked with a laugh.  “Just hearing the stories isn’t the same as touching them.”

        “Too true,” Amara agreed, reverently placing the sword back in the chest and closing the lid, hearing it click audibly and the chains wrapping themselves around the chest on their own.  “It’s starting to get late, your Highness.  I’ve really enjoyed our visit, but I’m getting hungry and I’d like to get some dinner.”

        “Dinner?  That sounds nice.  Would you like to stay for dinner?”

        “Miss Kerri, I would love to,” she said with absolute sincerity.

        They dined in a small room down the hall from her sitting room, at a small table for two set by a bay window that displayed a breathtaking view of Wikuna and the sea beyond.  The butler and maids that attended them seemed shocked and overjoyed, and Amara figured that they weren’t used to seeing the Queen Mother engaged in the real world enough to talk.  And oh, how she talked.  She prattled on and on about people and places and events far in the past, speaking like they were still here, like they just happened yesterday.  And by no means was it boring in any way.  Amara was captivated as Keritanima spun tales from her past, fascinating people, amazing places, and almost incredible events.

        What was supposed to be a painfully brief visit to fulfill a family obligation carried through well after the sun went down, as Keritanima enthralled Amara with tale after tale, long after the dishes were cleared and the gas lights and magical glowglobes illuminated the city below.  Keritanima never looked out that window, Amara noticed, but then again, she realized that Keritanima lived in the past, and the modern Wikuna was a reminder that this was not the past.  Those fifty and sixty story buildings weren’t there in the world in which Keritanima lived.  It was only when Keritanima yawned that Amara realized that they’d been talking all day, and the Queen Mother wasn’t used to this kind of sustained activity.

        “Miss Kerri,” she said quickly after Keritanima finished another story, reaching across the table and taking her hand.  “I really hate to say this, but I have to go.  I’m already quite a bit overdue to return, and they’re probably worried that I got in trouble.  And it’s clear to me that you’re quite tired.”

        “I, yes, I am a bit sleepy,” she admitted.  “Are you Teleporting back to the Tower, my dear?”

        “I’m not a da’shar yet, miss Kerri,” Amara admitted with a smile.  “I have a sc—a horse.  I’m staying down in the city right now with a complement of other Sorcerers, and they’re probably wondering what happened to me.”

        “Just send them a message, dear,” she said, absently reaching for her chest, then patting  her dress curiously.  “Where is my shaeram?  I must have taken it off to bathe.”

        “I’m not the kind that sends messages, miss Kerri.  I just let them wonder,” she winked, which made the Queen Mother laugh.

        “You’re a naughty Were-wolf, dear, just like your father.”

        “I can only hope to be half the scoundrel he is,” she said earnestly.  “I have some work to do the next few days, but may I come back and see you soon, miss Kerri?  I’ve really enjoyed our visit.”

        “You can come see me any time you wish, my dear.  My door is always open for you.”

        “I appreciate that,” Amara told her, standing up.  “I’ll walk you back to your parlor, if you like, then I’m afraid I have to be on my way.”

        “That’s fine, dear.”

        Amara escorted the Queen Mother back to her sitting room, and made sure she was securely back in her chair.  She knelt by her chair then leaned in and kissed her on the side of her muzzle, and Keritanima put a withered hand on her shoulder.  “I’m glad you came today, Shaul,” she said with a watery smile.  “I get so few visits from the children.”

        Amara sighed.  She had been doing so well.

        “Well, I’ll be back to see you in a few days, once I get all this Tower business out of the way.  Is that okay?”

        “You never need an invitation to come here, my dear.  My door is always open for family.”

        Amara picked up the bib that Keritanima had been holding and placed it back in her hands, patting them gently.  “I’ll be back as soon as I can, miss Kerri.  You get some rest, and I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

        “If you see Rallix on your way out, dear, tell him I’d like to see him.”

        “I will.  Have a good night.”

        “You should change before you go home, dear.  Your mother will kill you if she sees you wearing that dress.”

        “I’ll be careful,” she winked, then kissed Keritanima on the muzzle again.  “Goodbye, miss Kerri.”

        “Good night to you, Audrey.”

        “Amara.”

        Keritanima looked up at her.  “Amara.”  Then she fixed her gaze on the empty chair across from her, and her expression slowly began to turn blank.

        She hated leaving her like that, but she really did have to get back.  She had her initial navigation training at sunrise tomorrow, and the nights were very short this time of year in Wikuna.

        She hurried out, not wanting to drag it on, pausing only to put all the tables back exactly where they’d been using Sorcery, then found Clancy and about ten maids in the hall outside the door when she came out.  “Amazing, my girl, amazing!” Clancy said in a hushed voice.  “She’s never shown such interest in a visitor before!  My dear, I must talk to the King about this.  Would it offend you if he asked you to come visit regularly?”

        “Clancy, I’d love to help in any way I can,” she said sincerely.  “She’s part of my family, and what kind of family doesn’t help each other?”

        “Too true, too true,” Clancy said.  “But my dear, let me say, with all sincerity, thank you.  It was such a joy to see her Highness so engaged with the real world, if only for a little while.  Usually, she’s incoherent and disjointed and takes no interest in anyone who visits her, not even her son, Lady Allia, or Master Kael.”

        “I wasn’t looking forward to this, but I’m glad I came now,” she admitted.

        “So are we, my Lady,” one of the maids, a little raccoon Wikuni, told her earnestly.  “We all love her Highness very much, and it hurts us to see her in this condition.”

        There were fervent nods of agreement from the other maids.

        “I’m afraid I really have to get back now.  Could—“

        “I have a hand bringing your bicycle around now, my Lady,” Clancy told him.

        “Thank you, Clancy.”

        “Would you prefer a coach to return you to the Tower, my Lady?  It’s getting dark, and the lights on those scoots are not very good.”

        “I’m not really a human, Clancy,” she told him with a smile.  “I can see perfectly well in the dark. The light just restricts my vision, to be honest.”

        “Ah.  Well, may we escort you to the door?”

        “Sure.”

        The whole complement of staff saw her to the door, and they even shook her hand and gave her hugs and kisses out on the landing.  She felt a bit foolish with all the attention, but she could tell that they were excited and relieved, so she endured it with all the Were-wolf dignity she could muster.  But she took her leave when the hand brought her scoot around and parked it for her, then waved and hurried back around the house.  She took her leave of the servants, who stood on the landing until she reached her scoot, then filed back into the house.  She mounted the vehicle and pulled up the kickstand, musing at the visit.  She’d learned a great deal about quite a few people today, even her own grandmother, and she was both hopeful that maybe Keritanima could snap out of her dark reverie, and she could hear more stories.

        “Amara.”

        It was a voice, a ghostly voice, that tickled at the edge of her awareness.  She looked around, unsure of its origin or its owner.  Was it her grandmother trying to contact her using her amulet?  She put her hand on her shaeram and waited for another attempt.

        “No, girl, over here.  Look this way.”

        Amara’s eyes followed the voice, until she was looking back at the house.

        “Down.  There you go.  Come here.”

        Amara found herself looking at the statue between the stairs, the statue of Miranda.  She parked her scoot and walked over curiously, wondering what kind of magic was at work here.  Sennadar was, after all, a world of magic. There was no telling what kind of spell or weave had been placed over the statue to allow it to talk.  She faced off with the statue boldly.  “Who is this?”

        “Who am I?  You know who I am, silly,” came a cheeky reply.  “I’m Miranda.”

        “You’re a spell placed over a statue to make it talk,” Amara said bluntly.

        “No, girl, I’m the real thing.”  The statue glowed softly, and then a shimmering image of the mink separated from the statue, shrouded in a ghostly aura of soft light, her image partially transparent.

        It was a ghost!  Amara had never seen one, but she’d heard enough stories.  A spirit of a dead mortal, remaining in the mortal plane by sheer force of will.  Most of them were benign, most of them didn’t even know they were dead, but a few of them could be exceedingly dangerous.  Amara reacted with her training.  She had to be polite and careful, just like with Keritanima.  Most ghosts were confused and frightened, and could be violent and dangerous if provoked, so she had to be very careful here.

        “Silly girl, I know I’m a ghost,” Miranda laughed.  “I usually don’t intervene directly like this, though. My Mistress keeps my busy doing other things.”

        “Your, your mistress?”

        “A Priestess doesn’t just stop serving her god when she passes away, young one,” Miranda grinned.  “I still serve Kikkalli out there, in the world beyond our own.  But she allowed me to come back so we could have a little chat.”

        “Umm, what did you want to talk about?”

        Her,” she said pointedly, nudging her muzzle towards the house.  “You’re the only one she’s ever shown any kind of rationality to, child.  I think you can reach her, nurse her out of her self destruction and make her rejoin the living.  It’s killing Rallix to see her like this.  He’s quite anguished.  He wants her to move on with her life and find joy again.”

        “He’s a ghost too?”

        “No, but I’m allowed to go visit his spirit.  He followed a different god, well, goddess, so we’re not exactly living near each other.  I heard that Clancy is going to talk to Faalken about having you visit.  That’s all well and good, but he and Faalken will just want you to keep Kerri company, and not try to snap her out of it.  That’s what I want you to do.”

        “I thought that was what they’d want me to do.”

        “Sure, that’s what they want you to do, but you won’t do it doing it the way they want you to.  Kerri is deluded, Amara.  She’s living in a dream world, a world of her own creation, and there’s only one way to break her out of it.”

        Amara was quiet a moment.  “Make her face reality.”

        “Exactly.  Clancy and Faalken would never permit you to do such a thing, not the way it has to be done.  But that’s the only way she’s ever going to get out of this.  Now, you can’t just march up and do this either, hon, or she’ll reject you.  That’s what happened to Allia and Tarrin.  They can’t even come visit her anymore, because she gets violent when they’re here, because of what they did.  You need to connect with her, get to know her, be her friend, and only then can you help her through this.  Others have tried to break her out of it, but my mother forsees that you have a better chance.  Kerri likes you, and there’s something about you that she’s connecting with.”

        “I can do that, my Lady,” Amara told her.  “I’ll do anything I can to help.”

        “That’s good to know.”

        “I just don’t understand.  My gramma said that Kerri was like a sister to my godfather and Lady Allia.  Why couldn’t they break her out of it?”

        “Because they were too close to her,” she answered.  “They’re a part of that dream world she lives in, honey.  Because they’re built into her own little world, they weren’t able to make her see reality.  And now, when they try to come and see her, they’re like demons in her mind, cruel hallucinations that are trying to drive her mad.”

        “When it’s really the other way around,” she said with pity in her voice.

        “Yes, that’s exactly right.  That’s why you have a chance here.  She sees you as a new member of the family.  You’re someone she can accept, but not someone she’s already incorporated into her delusions.  She’ll trust you in ways she won’t trust others, and that gives you a chance to help her see reality again.”

        “I’ll try.”

        “It will be easy enough.  When you think you’re ready, and she’s ready, just show her this.”

        Miranda held out something.  Amara held her own hand out, and felt a biting cold when something was deposited into her hand.  She looked at it, and found that it was a small silver mirror.

        A mirror.

        A mirror?

        A mirror!  Of course!

        “I see you understand.”

        “I do, my Lady,” she said with a nod, pocketing the mirror in her dress.  “I’ll talk to Faalken tomorrow and see if he can split my time.  I can do my training with the Navy in the morning and come see the Queen Mother in the evenings.”

        “I think that’s a good plan.  Oh, and Amara.”

        “Yes, my Lady?”

        “Don’t mention me to anyone else, not even Faalken or your grandmother.  The only one who could really understand our little chat is your godfather.  You can tell him if you see him.  He knows I’m still out and about, but to the rest of the world, I’m nothing but a memory.  I’d like to keep it that way.”

        “I can keep a secret, my Lady.”

        “Call me Miranda, girl.  I was never a lady,” she laughed.

        “I heard some of the stories the Queen Mother told about you.”

        “They were all true,” she said with a cheeky, almost insufferably cute grin.  “If you’d have been alive back in my time, we’d have been very good friends.”

        “Well, I don’t see why we couldn’t be good friends now.”

        Miranda laughed.  “Too true, I suppose.  Though I don’t think I’d be much company at tea.  It would destroy the upholstery.”

        Amara looked at her strangely, then laughed when she got the joke.  “We’ll have to find you some ghost tea or something.”

        The ghost of Miranda gave her a bright smile.  “You’re certainly a member of this family, girl.  Most people would have a conniption at the idea of inviting a ghost over for tea.”

        “I know.  I’ve seen too much already to be freaked out by the little things now.  I grew up in my grandparents’ festhall and the Tower, where what other people thought as weird I just thought as just another day.  After you meet Shaz and Sapphire, what else can possible shock you?”

        Miranda laughed delightedly.  “What indeed?”

 

        Amara was a bit amazed.

        The Wikuna Shipyards were a maze of steel, concrete, seawater, and thousands and thousands of Wikuni Navy officers and enlisted.  The main bulk of the Wikuni navy was stationed here, in the massive harbor south of the city and its commercial port.  The place even had its own name, Brass Harbor, because of all the admirals that had offices here.  Scoots by the thousands milled about, couriers running papers and orders back and forth between long blocky buildings and piers holding the ships of the Wikuni Naval fleet.  Amara was one of twenty Sorcerers, the new recruits, being carried in a long horseless carriage that was powered by a steam engine fueled by magic.  Its rear was a long double row of seats in which the katzh-dashi sat, gawking at the naval base, and what was more, gawking at the ships.

        They’d seen Illusions of them, pictures, but they were no preparation for the real thing.  Where the ships that sailed into the harbor of Suld were galleons, caravels, schooners, clippers, and even some steam-powered paddlewheel ships, they were nothing like these.  These ships were built out of steel, massive metal behemoths bristling with gun barrels that were at least forty spans long and six spans across, ships so huge that the largest of them were the same length as six galleons set bow to stern, hundreds of spans long.  Amara remembered from their book instruction that there were five classes of ships here.  There were destroyers, the smallest of them.  Then there were the heavy destroyers, then the light cruisers, then the heavy cruisers, then the true behemoths, the battleships.

        They could see one of them now.  A five hundred span long hulk of heavy steel and guns so huge, so powerful, they could fire shells that weighed more than a church bell nearly ten longspans.

        Not all of them could fly, though.  The old flying devices they once used for their clippers and dreadnaughts didn’t have the power to lift these steel monstrosities out of the sea.  The flying ships were kept in the center of Brass Harbor, built on the battleship design and identical to them, so a foe would never know if they were facing a ship that could lift out of the sea.  But though not all of them could fly, all of them were powered by magic.  Magic produced the steam that drove their propellers, magic lit the interior of the ships, magic provided the communication system that allowed the captain to relay orders and receive information.  The only non-magical parts of those ships were their armor, their guns, and their crews.  Priests divined the seas to find their friends and enemies.  Enchanted flitters, one-man winged conveyances capable of flight, scoured the seas around the ships searching for any ship being concealed by magic, which were launched and recovered from a special pad on the deck of the ships.

        Some of the flitters were even armed now, with new fearsome weapons called machine guns, repeating rifles that could fire many bullets every minute.  It was only fifty years ago that the Wikuni had perfected rifles and hand pistols that used self-contained cartridges that were loaded in ways other than through the muzzle.  Some enterprising Wikuni scientist had developed this new weapon, only a few years since release, that caused the weapon to load a new round and fire it with total automation.  The weapons were large and clunky and prone to jamming, but it was only a matter of time before the Wikuni perfected the design.  When it came to technological advancement, there was little that could hide from them.

        Not all of them would be aboard the flying battleships.  All of the ships needed Priests or Wizards, but also Sorcerers to power them, and that was where most of the katzh-dashi were going.  They would be stationed aboard the other ships to power their steam engines, but Amara already knew where she was going to go.  She would be a navigator, both providing the magical power to make a battleship fly as well as being the woman at the helm, guiding it.

        Such amazing progression, when people back in  Suld had just started embracing the idea of the musket, now that a Sulasian scientist had unlocked the secret of gunpowder.  It seemed almost funny that the West had just discovered gunpowder when the Wikuni had given it up in favor of something they called smokeless powder, a new formulation that was supposed to be stronger and more efficient.  The Sulasian army had just received its first shipment of muskets, while the infantry of the Wikuni Army and Marines carried rifles that loaded cartriges and could be fired six times before they had to be reloaded.  The Sulasian Navy had just equipped cannons on their ships, while the Wikuni had these things…and all their technology was kept secret and untouchable on their continent.

        It was almost sobering. The Wikuni were centuries ahead of the rest of the world…and gods help the rest of the world if they ever decided their homeland wasn’t all they wanted or needed.

        “It’s almost unbelieveable, isn’t it?” the Sorcerer sitting beside her said in an awed tone.  “And the rest of the world barely knows anything about it!”

        “Oh, I think they know,” Amara breathed.  “But there’s nothing they can really do.”

        The vehicle stopped after a few moments beside a pair of Wikuni wearing black robes standing at the head of a contingent of twenty Wikuni Marines in their sharp blue dress uniforms. The two robed Wikuni were part of the Arcanum, a special division of the Wikuni armed forces that dealt primarily with magic, both using it as a weapon and defending against it.  There were both Wizards and Priests in the Arcanum, and their sunburst insignias marked these two as Wizards.

        “Welcome, katzh-dashi!” the taller of the two, a hulking bull Wikuni, barked.  “If you would please, disembark the carrier.”

        The Sorcerers got down from the vehicle, which puttered away once the last of them was down, standing in a loose knot.  “Welcome to Brass Harbor, ladies and gentlemen,” the bull continued.  “I am Brevis Thorn, Captain of the Arcanum and the officer in charge of your orientation.  For the next two days, it is my responsibility to introduce you to the naval base and familiarize you with our rules and regulations, and give you tours of the ships that you will be serving aboard as crew.  Most of you, anyway.  Which of you have been designated as Navigators?” he called.

        Four Sorcerers raised their hands, Amara among them.

        “You four shall be in the care of my lieutenant, Myarr,” he said, motioning at the female cat Wikuni standing beside him.

        “If you would, please follow me.  Your orientation will begin at the north pier.”

        The morning began with a tour of one of the new ships.  It was named for the Queen Mother, officially called the Queen Keritanima, but the Lieutenant joked that its crew had nicknamed the vessel the Queen Mother, as she was most commonly known among the Wikuni people.  It was an unusual honor of naming a ship after a living person.   It was, quite simply, massive.  The Lieutenant was polite and knowledgeable as she guided them down long steel passageways and through short hatches that required Amara to both duck down and pick up her feet, since she was so much taller than the average Wikuni.  She showed them the engine room, where Priests or Wizards would stoke the fires that created the steam that powered the vessel.  She showed them the communication room, where Priests relayed messages to other ships and back to Wikuna, and showed them the galleys, where all meals were prepared.  She showed them one of the gun turrets, where a burly squad of five Wikuni sailors manned each of the massive guns, manhandling huge charges of explosive powder and shells that weighed more than a boulder.  She showed them the main machine room, a nightmarish chasm of a chamber where a spiderwebbed knot of pipes went in every direction.  It was a secondary boiler room separate from the main engine rooms, where steam was created and piped to other parts of the ship, like the gun turrets, that gave them the power to drive motors and engines used elsewhere.  They were shown the crew quarters where they would be staying, which were actually rather nice.  The Navigator was the second most important person on the ship, only behind the captain, and that status meant they were treated like a high ranking officer.  The quarters they were shown were downright spacious when compared to the tiny rooms that three crewmen shared and the small cabins that officers either shared with one other or occupied alone, depending on the officer’s rank.  It was the command quarters deck that Myarr showed them.   There were only seven cabins on this deck; three for the Navigators, and rooms for the captain, first officer, commanding Arcanum, and the ship’s ranking Priest.

        Lasty, Myarr showed them the bridge.  It was where the command crew operated the ship, which would also be their station.  The device Amara would occupy was an odd glass cylinder sitting in a recessed area of the tiered bridge, surrounded by windows and other stations, and also surrounded by five positions for Arcanum members, the Wikuni told them, who were tasked with the sole mission of protecting the Navigator and the device that would allow her to move the ship.

        “So that’s where we’ll be?” the taller male Sorcerer asked, looking at the cylinder.

        “Yes, that’s the part of the flying device you can see.  It’s connected to the main device, which begins six decks down and goes all the way down to the keel, and is surrounded by the heaviest armor on the ship.  The bridge windows and bulkheads are magically reinforced to be the strongest part of the ship.  We tested it, and it can withstand a direct hit from the main guns of one of our own battleships.  Trust me, master katzh-dashi, you’ll be quite well protected here.  Probably more than anyone else on this ship, since the walls of the flight chamber are also magically reinforced.”

        “How do you get in?” the small dark-haired Sorceress asked.

        “You push through the glass, but to warn you, you could not do so now.  I am told that your clothes and your amulet do not pass through.  You must enter it nude.”

        “That’s not really a bother,” she said with a smile.

        “Yes, so I’ve heard.  Not much modesty among the katzh-dashi,” the cat Wikuni mused.

        “Only if you’re from Suld,” Amara told her, approaching the glass cylinder.  “Suld is my Tower, and since I don’t know the others here, I can only guess they’re from other Towers.”

        “I’m stationed in Telluria,” the dark-haired woman said.

        “Dala Yar Arak,” the tall man said.

        “Zakkara,” the other, smaller blond man said.

        “Well, I see a problem here,” Amara said.  “My amulet won’t come off.”

        “Why so?”

        “It’s…unique,” she said.  “A gift from my godfather,” she explained.  “It’s sealed to me.  It won’t come off.  It lets me shapeshift without losing my clothes.”

        The woman gasped.  “You’re Amara Dereth!” she exclaimed.

        “Guilty,” Amara grinned.

        “You are known among the Sorcerers?” Myarr asked curiously.

        “She’s the granddaughter of Dolanna Casbane!” the woman said, almost gushing.

        The Wikuni raised an eyebrow.  “Quite a reputation you’re facing,” she said sagely.

        “More like a family legacy,” Amara said with a foolish smile, scratching the back of her head absently.  “A really, really big one.”

        “Indeed.  Being the descendent of a living legend must not be easy.”

        “Eh, I’ve never known anything else,” she said, sending her dress into the elsewhere of her amulet, a kind of non-space that surrounded her.  It was there, but not there, and it was the magic that allowed her to keep her clothes when she changed form.  The amulet was responsible for that, and it was magicked so it would not come off her.  It also was magicked so it would change into a slender metal collar when she changed into a wolf.  She put her hands against the cylinder and pushed, and found that the material gave quite readily to her pressure.  She pushed in, feeling cold needles all over her skin as it passed through the glass, but there was an audible tink when the amulet made contact with the glass.  It would not pass through.

        “You’d better consult your Arcanum,” Amara told her as she pulled away from the glass.  “We have a problem here.”

        “Can your amulet come off?”

        Amara shook her head.  “It won’t come off at all.  Trust me, I’ve tried.  My grandmother uses it to keep an eye on me, and it’s hard to have fun that way.”

        “Hmm.  Why did they not take this into account when you were selected as a Navigator?” Myarr pondered.

        “I guess that would be my fault,” came a strong voice from the far side of the bridge.

        Standing there, in all his tall, regal nobility, was the King of Wikuna, Faalken Eram.  He was a tiger Wikuni, a very rare breed, a head taller than any other Wikuni, heavily built, and radiating power and authority in his Naval uniform; in addition to being the King, he was also an honest Commander in the Naval Reserve, having earned his rank just like any other officer.  Though he wore Commander’s insignia, that naval rank was superseded by his royalty, as the slender gold crown badge affixed over that insignia denoted.  He was the King before he was a Commander.  Myarr gasped and immediately curtsied, and the three other Sorcerers quickly bowed or curtsied in respect.  He entered alone, with two red-uniformed Royal Guards standing discreetly by the door…not that Faalken needed any protection.  He was a sui’kun, one of the seven Keepers of the Towers, and his magical powers were without equal anywhere on Wikuna.  Faalken was the King of Wikuna, but he was also the Keeper of the Tower of Wikuna, the head of all katzh-dashi that served on this continent.  That dual authority was often overlooked, since the Wikuna Tower had only been up for about ten years, and it was still barely manned with a skeleton complement of Sorcerers.

        “Faalken!” Amara called, coming over to him.  The two guards almost surged forward, but they stopped and took a step back when the king opened his arms to the naked woman and embraced her.  “A letter?  That’s how you greet me when I get here?  A letter asking me to do you a favor?”

        “I’ve been busy, cousin,” he told her.  “Now put your dress back on.  My wife might get some bad ideas if word of this gets back to her.”

        Amara laughed.  “I hate that nasty old bitch.”

        “If anything, Sivameleni is not old,” Faalken smiled.  “As to the nasty bitch part, eh, I could call you the same thing and not be far from right.”

        “You would be right,” Amara agreed with a wolfish grin as her dress appeared on her once again.

        “Lady Arcanum, mind if I borrow her for a moment?  I need to talk to her,” the king asked, looking to the cat Wikuni.

        “Of course, your Majesty,” she said with a ruffle of her cheek fur, a Wikuni’s blush.  “We can wait.”

        Faalken took her out onto the deck, and they stood at the rail, looking out over the naval base.  “I think Myarr likes you, Faalken,” Amara teased.

        “The Arcanus?  I get that a lot,” he chuckled.  “How you been?  Still causing trouble?”

        “You know it,” she agreed pleasantly.  “Did Clancy talk to you?”

        “Yeah, that’s one reason why I’m here.  He said that my mother was quite, you know, when she was with you.  If you don’t mind, would you please visit her regularly?  I’d really appreciate it.  Maybe you can help her.  I think she’s lonely.”

        Amara gave him a dark look, then touched the Weave and wove together a Ward.  A Ward was a boundary set by a Sorcerer to restrict something at its border.  It could be set virtually any way the Sorcerer pleased, and designed to stop on one side or both sides.  A Ward could be set to keep humans out, stop metal from coming in, prevent air from moving in either direction, or even as specific as preventing a particular person wearing a blue polka-dot dress with a white ascot from passing over it during the third hour of a night when all four moons were set.  Wards were one of the few magical effects a Sorcerer could create that lasted longer than they actively worked to keep active, it was one of the limitations of Sorcery.  Most spells only lasted as long as the Sorcerer actively worked to keep them up.  Amara’s Ward was a rather special one, for Wards was one of Amara’s knacks.  She was a well-rounded Sorceress, with access to all six spheres and only a weak touch on Air, and she had a special talent for weaving together Wards of many various types.  This Ward was designed to stop their voices, and only their voices, from escaping its boundaries.  Such an highly specialized Ward would be hard for any other Sorcerer that wasn’t someone of Faalken’s caliber, but for Amara, it was rather easy.  Generally, the more particular a Ward was, the harder it was to weave properly.

        “Now, speak frankly, Faalken,” Amara told her.

        “I should have done that,” Faalken chuckled.

        “Like you could ever out-Ward me,” she teased.

        “You’re about to stain the royal honor and make me demand satisfaction,” he said with a sly smile.  “Anyway, Clancy said that mother was more lucid with you than he’s ever seen her.  Something about you seems to make her come out of it, and I’d like it if you could spend more time with her.  You never know, maybe you can help bring her out of it permanently.”

        She put a hand on his shoulder, which wasn’t hard for her.  She and Faalken stood almost nose to nose in height.  “You don’t even have to ask, Faalken,” she said sincerely.  “I’d love to.  I can go visit her every afternoon after I’m done here.”

        “I was thinking more of transferring you to the manor permanently,” he said, “but I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

        “No, I have a job to do here, Faalken.  I’m sure that daily visits in the afternoon will be just fine.  I think your mother wouldn’t react too well if we changed her routine that radically.  I can come see her longer after a while, but I think we should ease into it.”

        “I think so too.  So, how do you like the Black Tower?”

        She laughed.  “I haven’t seen much of it so far,” she told him.  “Just my room and the dining hall.  I’ve only been here two days so far.  I got here early yesterday morning, then I went to go see your mother, then I had this thing here today.”

        “Well, we’ll see what we can do.  You do have to come to the palace today.  You can come for dinner.  Senni and the twins want to see you.”

        “Only if you lock Sivameleni in a closet while I’m there.”

        Faalken laughed.  “What do you hate about her?  Nobody else has any issues with her, not even Aunt Allia.”

        “She’s an arrogant, stuck up, snobby little bitch who think she’s entitled to be part of the family just because she’s married to you.”

        “Umm, Amma, that does make her part of the family.”

        “Not to me it doesn’t,” Amara snorted.  “And don’t call me that.  Amara, Faaklen, Ah-MAR-ah.  Say it with me now.”

        “What’s wrong with Amma?  Dolanna calls you that all the time.”

        “That doesn’t mean I like it when she does it either.  I’m about sixteen years too old for a baby name.  But she kept right on, even when I used to kick her in the shins when she called me that.”

        Faalken laughed.  “Sometimes I’m surprised Dolanna raised you.”

        “I know, she’s terrible disappointed,” Amara winked.  “I’ve got too much wolf in me.”

        “Well, I like your wolf.  If anything, you were always really entertaining during family reunions.  You might be the only person on the face of Sennadar that survived looking under Sapphire’s dress.”

        “Hey, I was curious.  I mean, she’s a dragon, and that human shape is just magic.  I wanted to see how complete of a change it was.”

        Faalken laughed helplessly.  “How long did it take to heal?”

        “About a ride,” she answered.

        “At least she didn’t hold a grudge.”

        “Thank the Goddess for that,” Amara laughed.  “Oh, look, you’re drawing a crowd,” Amara noted, motioning at the gathering throng of Wikuni that were gathering on the pier to get a look at the Wikuni King.

        “It always happens this way.  At least those vultures in the press can’t get in here.  Someday I think I’d like to find that Tellurian that invented cameras and strangle him with a scourge.  I always have a pack of them following my coach around.  Oh, and I guess they’ll start looking for you, now that people have seen us talking, and then dig enough to find your name in the rolls of the Tower.”

        “Nah, most don’t make the connection,” she said with a wave of her hand.  “If I was Amara Casbane maybe, but I’m Amara Dereth.  That name doesn’t have as much recognition as Casbane, or Eram, or Kael.  Besides, as soon as they get used to seeing this face, I’ll just change it,” she winked.  “They’ll have fun trying to keep up with me, since they’ll never know what I look like.”

        “Your little trick isn’t as foolproof as you think it is,” Faalken noted.  “As soon as they figure out you can’t change your height, they have you, no matter how you look.  You’re probably the tallest woman in Wikuna right now, Amara.”

        “True, but they don’t know I can look like a Wikuni too,” she winked.  “I really need to work on that, I guess.  I can change my height a little.  If I could get a little better at that, I could really blend in well in places like Sharadar and Telluria.  Those people are too damn small.”

        “They’d say you’re too big.”

        “They’d be wrong,” she snorted.  “Big is beautiful.”

        Faalken laughed.  “I guess I can’t disagree with you there.  I think we’d better wrap this up before I bring the entire base to a halt, Amara.  Think you can handle swinging by for a visit tonight? I’d love to have you over for dinner.”

        “I think I can manage it, after I go see your mother,” she told him.  “Oh, and you really need to get your Arcanum people on my little problem,” she added, tapping her amulet.

        “I’ll get them to work on it right now,” he assured her.  “I’m sure they can figure something out, either with the flying device or with your amulet.”

        “Who knows, if they can get my amulet in there, maybe they can get clothes in too.”

        “Modesty?  Is this modesty I hear, from the little girl I remember who used to run around naked in Haley’s festhall?”

        “I’m too wolf for modesty, Faalken,” she winked.  “But I’ll bet that little Sorceress in there won’t like the idea of a bridge full of Wikuni staring at her butt for nine hours a day.”

        “They won’t see her, or you,” Faalken told her.  “Once you’re inside, you control the glass.  You can make it foggy so they can’t see inside very well.”

        “Myarr didn’t say that.”

        “I doubt they’d explain that on the first day,” Faalken shrugged.  “The only opportunity they’ll have to ogle you is when you go in and come out.”

        “I can show them all kinds of things I’m sure they’d rather not see,” Amara said evenly.

        Faalken laughed, patting her on the back.  “I’m sure whichever ship is unlucky enough to get you won’t be boring.”

        “I’m sure you know already which ship that’s going to be,” she said, looking at him.

        He chuckled.  “I called in a favor.”

        “Riiiiiight,” she drawled.

        “You’ll be stationed on this ship,” he told her.  “The Queen Keritanima.  It’s the flagship, I only want the best serving on this ship.  And if I can’t trust family on this ship, who can I trust?”

        “You know that’s a bad idea.  I’m not the military type, Faalken.”

        He chuckled.  “No, but you do obey orders when you know it’s necessary…and I threaten to tell Dolanna if you’re causing any undue problems.”

        “You wouldn’t!”

        “A king has to know how to use his power, Amara,” he said easily.  “And I know which button to press to keep the wilder side of your personality from getting the best of you.”
        Amara reared back and slugged Faalken solidly in the arm.  She was not gentle.

        Faalken winced and rubbed his arm, then leaned over and licked her on the side of the neck, a Wikuni’s version of a kiss.  “I’ll take that as an ‘I’ll behave myself, Faalken.’” he said teasingly.

        “You know, sometimes having the relatives I do sucks,” she huffed, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.