Silver Blades: Plate Male

Prologue 2 - The Wise Legion

Warst 17, LEY 3252

The Tower of Rhemmiel dhu'Abbear—about 10 leagues East of Ishtano, Kalibar

Rhemmiel.

I lifted the dainty china cup to my lips and inhaled the strong fragrance of black Sidian tea.

"Ah!" I gasped. The cup was a bit hotter than I had expected, but adjusting for the discomfort, I blew cool air over the surface, and tried again.

"Too hot, Sahwan?" my guest asked, a crease of worry forming momentarily between delicate brows. I sipped.

"Not at all, Miss Selter," I smiled, and returned my cup to its saucer so my lips could recover. "My mind was drifting."

The following silence turned feral, stalked into the space between us and reclined territorially, as though ready to pounce on the next person to speak.

Gayle Selter, the newly appointed to steward of my lands and fortifications, seemed hesitant about her new position in my household, and though she was a natural organizer and leader, found herself uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Normally she was unafraid to speak her mind, and I welcomed her opinions, judgement, and candor.

I searched my not inconsiderable mind for a topic but found myself equally unsettled.

"More tea?" she asked.

"Please," I answered, and thrust my cup forward, thankful for some form of interaction with the lovely woman, though I had only taken two sips.

Gayle had ordered a large meal prepared for our supper, from a light porswaa bread with figs and dates, to roast mutton and broth, complete with sautéed greens from the garden. It was more than any ten people could eat in a sitting, and I plucked at a candied orange in despair. If the silence before tea was bad, the meal will be torture!

"Sahwan?" she asked, "aren't you hungry?"

"Oh, yes!" I laughed, with a touch of nerves. In my reverie, I had lingered in observing the shape of her lips longer than was strictly proper. "Very hungry!"

Gayle favored businesslike garb of the Xaxian variety: a short, stiff tunic tucked into billowing pantaloons, cuffed at the ankles and wrists. It was scandalous by Kalibarian standards, but my tower was far enough from Ishtano that she need not fear the judging eyes of fundamentalist priests and backward zealots. In my tower, only my men—nomads from the deep desert who cared little about such things—and I—a man of cosmopolitan experience and standards—were present to see. I averted my eyes from the curve of her hip where she knelt on the cushions, across the low lacquered table from me, and heaped mutton and greens onto my plate.

"Na'Selter, I feel I must remind you to don sarwa when our guests arrive," I said, finally alighting on something to say. "To avoid the risk of seeming improper." A forerunner from the escort of Vizier Malwi ibn Boolam had arrived earlier in the day to inform us that his master would be arriving from the Arbash province that evening.

"Y-yes, Sahwan," the girl said, blushing prettily and tucking her feet further under her... pantaloons. A hammer of guilt struck my chest as I realized she thought I was accusing her of immodesty.

"Oh, no!" I said quickly, "I did not mean—that is to say, I am sorry, I didn't—"

My inexpert apology was interrupted by a flash of silver light from the corner of my dining room.

"Oh thank God—" I gasped, preparing for an attack.

Gayle gave a quick cry of alarm, and I bounded wordlessly to my feet. A gesture with my left hand activated half a dozen defensive spells in my Bracer of Defense, and surrounded my body with a blurring, shimmering shield of force and misdirection. The artifact, wrapped around my forearm, was one of my own invention, a product of months of ceaseless incantation and fabrication to bind the primal radiance of my defensive arsenal in place so I could easily summon or dismiss magic that would otherwise take long minutes to cast.