Storm Mage; Chapter Two

"Tala!  The Maid's were saying that you had a private audience with Father.  Is it true?  Did you talk to him?"
Tala's sister, her only full blood relative besides her father, was sitting in her usual spot next on the balcony with her knitting and a book, 'Illusions for the Royal or Mildly Paranoid'.  Unlike, and in many ways because of, Tala, Niste had become a proper princess.  To the rare human visitor to the court, it was obvious that she was the prize to be won if one was to try and marry into the family.  She was feminine, delicate, looked good in a dress and knew it.  She had wavy blonde hair that came down to her shoulders and shimmered like good silk, and even though she was several years younger than Tala, she was both taller and curvier.  And that was all before she broke into her vast supply of magical illusions and mystic alterations.
Of course the Nielda didn't think of a princess as someone you married off.  A princess was someone you expected to lead armies into battle and come home victorious.  A princess didn't have to be pretty, she had to be smart and able to run a country when her parents passed.  And when a delegate from the Imperial Guard had visited the Summer Palace on Gasca, where both Tala and Niste had lived their whole lives, he had still assumed that Niste was the princess.  Because when you boiled it all down, Tala was the shortest person in the court, and people expected to look up to their leaders.  Especially in her family, lead by the tallest man in the empire.

"It's true, I talked to him.  He wanted to make me an offer."
Niste set her knitting aside and jumped up to face her sister.
"And?  Is he going to protect us?"
"He'll protect you."
"What about you?  What'll you do?"
"I'm goin to command his troops.  I leave for trainin in the morning."
Tala could see her sister catch her crest as it fell and compose herself.  Much as they both disliked it, the guard had been right, Niste would make a much better princess than she would.  Even if it didn't convey strength, strength wasn't all people wanted to see when bad news was delivered, a little bit of weakness said just as much as years of strength.  Tala never would've been able to give them that, but Niste couldn't stop herself.  She'd do well at court, it was where she'd always been meant to be.  Tala wished she could say the same of herself.
"But who will protect you if I'm not around?"
Tala laughed and hugged her sister.  They both knew she needed no help taking care of herself.  Niste was an illusionist and even dabbled in enchanting, but Tala could kill men with her stare and stop light in its tracks if she tried.  The only thing that had given Niste the peace to wear dresses and knit her, whatever you called them, was Tala's ability to fight off anyone, and there were many, who tried to hurt them.  It was that strength that had gotten their father's attention, and it was that strength that would keep her safe.
"I guess we'll both have to trust our father's men to take care of things."
They both retired to their own seperate chambers for the night.  The suite they lived in was three rooms and the balcony.  It was luxurious, but small by palace standards.  And alongside access to the Palace facilities, it had given the two of them enough room to stay out of each other's hair, while still keeping them close.  Tala was pleased to find that her father was a man of his word, as she could detect, though only barely, that there were two guards posted on the balcony, and another at the door.  With that knowledge, she slept more soundly than she had for many years.

"Have you got my cloak?"
"The green one or the blue one?"
"I was thinkin the gray one."
"You want to go into battle in Gray?  But its so droll and uninspiring."
"Yeah, but it'll stand up to the weather better than the rest would.  Have to be practical about this sort of thing."
Niste sighed and opened the closet.  Tala never went in herself, Niste had much better choice in clothes than she did.  If it was up to her, she'd have marched into her father's court in jeans and a T-shirt.  All these formalities just seemed like a lot of nonsense as far as she was concerned.  But Niste liked them, so she tolerated it.  She'd have done anything for her sister.
"So if you're wearing the gray cloak, I think we should go with the dark blue blouse, the loose one, and black trousers.  And a swordbelt, even though you haven't got a sword to wear with it.  It'll give you kind of a swashbuckler sort of look, and I think it'll go great with your hair."
Tala tried to picture it, but she'd always had a bit of trouble visualizing and couldn't quite wrap her mind around it.  Niste brought the indicated articles of clothing out and did a little tiddly thing with her hands.  Tala had never really understood why Niste preferred the tiddly movements over a simple brushing gesture, but she did and ultimately they both got her in and out of clothes without her having to figure out how all of the laces and clasps worked so she wasn't going to complain.  Niste conjured up full length mirror and moved to Tala's side to get a proper look at it.
"How'd I do?"
"You're right, it would look better with a sword.  But I do like it."
Niste pulled her hair back as gently as she could, which wasn't as gently as she thought it was, and began to tie it into a pony tail.  It wasn't easy, and it hurt a bit.  Tala did not take nearly as good of care of her hair as Niste did, and it was frizzy and tangled.  People had always said it had the potential to be extraordinarily pretty if she put some effort in, but Tala just had other things she was more concerned about, like keeping Niste and herself alive.  Finally she felt a last few stray hairs being pulled as a fancy jeweled clasp was locked in place at the end of her hair, it barely weighed anything but it still rested against her back and Tala would've never admitted to her sister how uncomfortable she found it.
"There, now you look just like Petra herself, a right swordswoman."  Niste was beaming, and Tala wondered if anyone else would have been able to tell how she really felt.
"I'll miss you Niste.  Who will protect me from my bad fashion sense and poor hygiene when you aren't around?"
"I'm sure you'll meet a nice man with a good sense of style and class up the wazoo."
"What's a wazoo and why would class be coming out of it?"
"Oh its the sort of small pitcher they put the..."
Niste was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"I'm here to escort Miss Tala to the shuttle.  Are you both decent?"
"No, but we're both dressed."
The door opened and a gruff looking gentleman stepped in.  He looked to be in his hundred and fifties, judging by the gray of his mutton chops and the tone of his skin.  He wore an oblong hat that was as wide at the top as at the brim, but much smaller in between, and a uniform that had been kept clean, decorated with the sort of medals only obtained by getting dirty.
"The name's Coleridge, David Coleridge.  But you can call me Chops, or David, or Colonel Coleridge.  I even respond to Colonel Mustard sometimes, if I'm not hearing well or the wife's not around.  I'll be your Executive Officer, and top adviser."
"I thought I was going to trainin?"
"You are, of a sort, strategic command the old fashioned way, by watching us old hats until you feel ready to pitch in yourself an' what-like."
"You mean, By commandin actual troops?"
"Yes, I believe that was what your father meant when he told me to get you out into the field as soon as possible."
Tala could feel Niste's grip on her cloak tighten.  This wasn't what either of them had expected.