Guardian Heart
Cendorly Spellweever
Tholuxe Paells

Story by
Phaedrus

istress," Jobaner whispered, his ghostly figure barely visible in the night.

"Speak," a woman's voice, thick and sweet like honey, poured into the air. It spilled from lips that gave the impression they once knew how to smile, but had long since forgotten the art.

"Seven score Knights of Katta stand ready," Jobaner spoke quickly but distinctly, "opposing them are fourfold their number of Coterie."

"Wizards?"

"None of any power among the Coterie, only several faint flickers of the gift, trained but untalented. One glimmer from a Kattaen, though inexperienced," he spoke as if he were an odds maker, sizing up the midday race, or the stable master selecting a new mount.

Cendorly Spellweever gazed down upon the forming battlefield. The knights were lost. A fair fight between equal numbers would have been their victory for the taking. Even outnumbered two to one against the Coterie they would have seen only light casualties. This would be a massacre.

"I must work," she said plainly.

"Mistress," Jobaner whispered again softly, as he faded into the night.

Cendorly closed her eyes and mind to the world around outside and let the magic flow through her. Power from far beyond the borders of Norrath now churned in her veins, the same power that the gods themselves draw for their purposes, good or evil.

Cendorly turned to face the Coterie army and began to chant.

sma-tir'e tuscolac huoy
ming-a'di'e myng a'sarc huoy
smy-la a'benc huoy

She spoke softly, slowly. Her tongue's tip pushing against the roof of her mouth firmly. Her breath came in through her nose, deep into the center of her body and slowly out of her lips. Her body went limp, but she remained upright. Her arms hung limply in front of her thighs. Her jade-like eyes stared at the Coterie, but did not appear to see them.

As she chanted, her arms, hair, and garments began to lift slowly as if floating on an ever-quickening river that flowed around her body from behind, out over the field below. Her tempo and volume kept pace with the unseen current, and as her voice grew louder and faster she was surrounded by a haze of brightening light.

On the field below, the Coterie paid no heed to the dark mass of clouds gathering to the east. They did not notice the sudden drop in temperature or air pressure. They did feel a bit frustrated at the slow pace the ever softening earth forced upon them, but thought it nothing unusual.

It wasn't until hailstones the size of small pigs vaporized half the rear ranks that anyone thought something might be amiss.

The Kattaen Knights paused in wonder at the spectacle. They watched as their enemies were pummeled into the earth which swallowed their corpses and the hailstones as the sea does a handful of pebbles thrown by a child's hand. Had armor allowed, all hundred and forty Knights would have been scratching their heads in furious bewilderment.

Not all the Coterie were slaughtered; Cendorly allowed two hundred to escape completely unscathed, directly into the path of the waiting knights. The battle was quickly finished, all Coterie were dead, and fifty-five unskilled knights proved they would have been a burden.

As the knights began to collect their fallen comrades, Jobaner materialized before them.

"Stop," Jobaner spoke as if to himself, but one hundred and seventy ears heard him clearly, and eighty-five heads turned simultaneously towards his voice, "the dead have no need of your services, but there is one who does. Silence. The mistress approaches."

A cloud descended behind him and started moving slowly towards the group of knights, leaving a trail of soft grey smoke in its wake. As the cloud passed the ghost a face was revealed slowly, eyes of jade fire framed by hair of dragons breath. So terrible was her beauty that every one of the company became instantly enthralled. As she reached the front ranks and entered the assembly the last of her coat of clouds fell off and trailed away on the breeze. The men parted, widening into an broad semicircle as she passed. She continued on until she stood face to face with their commander.

She silently studied him for a moment, this was the glimmer Jobaner had spoken of. He would do nicely.

"Captain," she said, "you should have died here today, along with all of your men. I have chosen you and spared you from your fate. Your lives now belong to me, and are only of use if they serve me."

He dropped to one knee and laid forehead to the other. Burying the tip of his sword in the earth before him he rested his hands on its upright pommel.

"My heart, my life, mistress, forever. What would you have of me?"

"Justice," she replied in a whisper, "only justice."

As she spoke, eighty-five men mimicked the motion and message of their former leader, and pledged themselves eternally to the service of their new mistress.

She had work to do.