ã€ŠThe White Hawkã€‹


 The White Hawk - Part 1

    Still a few miles out from the Imperial highway, Leresai grimaced as she glanced at the late afternoon crescent moon. The stallion she rode bristled when she clenched and unclenched at its reins.

    Finely, Leresai relaxed her hold in resignation. She could not pick up the pace without causing the pair of horsemen who followed her down the foothill path to hurry up their steeds in response.

    Leresai expected difficulty along the trail from local bandits but what caught her eye was the peculiar eastern riding style of one of the companions. He held the broadside of a heavy, curved sebel blade over the rump of his beast to guide it.

    A man of the D''jestre steppes, not of the foothill thickets she now descended. What were these two doing on this side of the Usu¨¹l Craigs?

    Many D''jestre now made their homes in the city of her destination, Nevespora. Most of whom came from the sea-faring commercial cities on the eastern shores of the Mooring Sea, not from the wild and barbaric steppes nomads.

    Leresai assumed her own vestments were queer to them. The gelded helm of a White Hawk set in platinum and the white chain mail of an elven spearmaiden she wore caught all eyes she passed in the lands of the Imperium.

    She was no elf in spite of her guise of raised eyebrow and even spider web knitted ear extensions, but a human albino of Sgo?the origins. This Northern Isles heritage gave her a long, tall, even sporting physique.

    She also possessed a lustrous ivory skin tone befitting an elven warrior of the high North.

    She guessed correctly the horsemen would make their approach shortly before the Imperial highway leading to Nevaspora came into view. As she heard the hooves strident beat behind her, she made no response, but kept her composure intact.

    "Is this an elven maiden? You are far from your goddom home," asked one of the horsemen who veered to her left and joined her pace.

    She acknowledged him with a well practiced fetching smile. She stole a glance from beneath her helm.

    His shirt was of an earthen green hew and garnished with orange silk embroidery. His cap turned askew to the side, in typical style of the merchants of the eastern city-states. His hair of coarse, curly brown was tied in a single strewn knot thrown back on his left shoulder.

    This was also typical of the pragmatic class of men he seemed to fit so well.

    The Empress'' Imperial flowed from his lips without accent. In that, he was not what she was expecting at all.

    The man she assumed to be a steppes nomad now rode to her right. His horse''s trod was more ponderous than that of his lithe bodied companion.

    "I said to myself upon the sight of the pair of you, ''T''nonnon''B'', for that is my self name, ''those men who ride with the natural grace of gallants do not appear to be from the western lands.'' You must be far from your homeland as well, strangers."

    "Myself, my home is merely a few hours ride. My guests -," the D''jestre said, gesturing for her to acknowledge his companion, "- is a man of the steppes just east of the Nin from the valleylands beneath the Usa?l Craigs."

    She gave a fleeting glance that sized up the horseman. Dressed in billowing cotton and hide leathers, he gripped his sebel blade tight against the flank of his mount.

    Otherwise, his composure was relaxed and amiable. A squinting whole face smile spread through a soft beard of redhair. A cap of leather covered his head with scarlet hair flowing from the back.

    The merchant pried once more. "Quite late isn''t it for even an Elven spearmaiden to be out and about the far paths from city and highway - mountain lions, bandits, goblins - you could encounter anything on the back roads if you are not careful."

    "As you may notice," she began with her lips moving in supple turn and her voice lyrical as expected of an elven spearmaiden, "there are no hovels along this stretch and I''m obliged this evening to continue until I reach the palace and deliver this package."

    Leresai revealed a package in the grip of her riding glove with an upturned twitch that alarmed the D''jestre merchant. It could have just as easily been a knife thrust out with the same motion, hidden from his companion, to catch him in the throat.

    Her lips bowed up in an arched challenge.

    "What is the matter, good D''jestre," Leresai asked with feigned concern that sprung from her voice in the lilting tilde that flavored elven speech.

    "There''s talk of an assassin on her way towards Nevespora."

    She gawked and blinked.

    "An assassin?"

    "Coming from up river, but evidently avoiding the riverboats."

    She felt a chill run down from her navel and tense up through her loins. She quickly dismissed the warning as being one incongruent with her present concerns.

    Leresai laughed with an intended nervous stutter, "I''ve met a rough element on these paths, but no assassins, sieur. My vision extends into the night, my hearing even further.

    "Even the casts of their dark cloaks on the shadows of a great elm would be revealed to me. The tread of their soft boots on the moss of the wilding trails would set my ears to a steady twitch."

    The D''jestre assessed her with an expression set like fossilized wood.

    "She could be dressed in any fashion she so chose. Wearing the helm of the White Hawks even."

    She held her fingers against her lips in a theatrical gesture of naked mockery to goad them in action.

    "Sieur, you cruelly jest!"

    Leresai listened for a misstep from the nomad''s horse that would come when the blade rose from the beast''s haunches. They might attempt to take her head even if they were not entirely certain she was the one they sought.

    "We are told the assassin is one of renown. A human albino."

    She kept silent. In a pose of wrinkled brow and lowered chin, she feigned to show her thoughts affixed on considering his words and what they suggested.

    He continued. "An elven maiden and a human albino could easily be mistaken for one another, do you not agree?"

    She fluttered her eyes. She shook her head with her shoulders hunched in an over-wheening flair. An emphatic smile formed as she suspired; air eased from beneath her bosom.

    "D''jestre of Nevespora, I accept your apology."

    "None intended," he shot back.

    "I wasn''t insulted. I merely thought the notion silly."

    His tone finally broke into an exasperated shout.

    "No apology intended! Do you deny an elven courier would be an effective disguise if one wished to be well-received with little scrutiny into the palace? Is the notion so credulous given the good terms the goddom of Voil¨¦t¨¦l and the kingdom of Midvries are on?"

    "The palace, you say?" Leresai spoke, her voice slow and sober, "I ride into intrigue this evening. Who would deign to harm the Lyoneid family? Their enemies are most surely few."

    The D''jestre rankled through a snarl he no longer made any attempt to contain. "Expertly clever distractions. Your modus changes upon a ducat to keep us off our guard."

    The path towards the Imperial highway began to smooth and wear well trod against the brambly ledge. From around the next high hedge the coastal marshes beyond it were now aromatic.

    Soon Leresai and her escorts would be exposed to the traffic going to and fro Nevespora. She saw a moment of hesitation as the merchant''s eyes darted from her and to the highway ahead.

    He intentionally avoided the eyes of his companion. The D''jestre was near a decision. One he wasn''t comfortable making.

    Leresai closed her eyes as they warmed in the silver of Rhoethella''s gift. She swung her right arm out in a smooth singular motion as she flung a dart in the eye of the sebel bearing man. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    The man fell from his mount with a double tapping thud on the ground.

    His horse whinnied and galloped into the brambles in an overanxious stride. It cried in anguish as it rolled over itself in a downward plunge. The bones of the beast snapped against the trees as it fell into the gulley.

    "Halt," she commanded the remaining D''jestre. Her voice no longer gailey elven in accent, but low and dusk.

    He gasped at the silver glowing from her eyes. Many men, Leresai reminded herself, go their entire lives without the intrusion of arcana upon their mundane existence.

    "I said, ''halt.'' I will skin you alive if I have to repeat myself."

    He said not a word as his eyes glared back. When he tightened the rein, his nervous steed became still.

    "How did you know," she asked.

    A leaf-bladed throwing knife readied threateningly in the grip of her fingers.

    "You''re Leresai Fervarryn. You don''t appear at all like a human at this moment."

    As he said this, his voice cracked even as his words kept their sense.

    He was a man of the Ko Laga, the D''jestre crime syndicate, she was certain. She ascertained his operative role in he notorious organization was not of a soldier, nor that of an enforcer; with his diplomatic and educated bearing, he was an intelligencer.

    "My geas. How did you know about it?"

    "You''ll kill me no matter what I tell you."

    She considered his response for a moment before she decided how to proceed onward.

    "That is most presumptuous," Leresai answered. "Get off your horse."

    His eyes fixed on the arch of her steady forearm as she kept the blade readied. It gleamed sharp with intended menace.

    He obeyed her command with care.

    Leresai surveyed the weapons strung on the saddle sides. Pleased she was at the sight of a sorely needed crossbow. It appeared to be of expensive craftwork. It also possessed a bandolier of bolts attached to its side.

    Even more impressive in the D''jestre''s possession was an obsidian cutlass of sea-faring D''jestre design. She could see it reflect the light of the late sun as it peaked through an encasement of twined leather.

    Authentic of the D''jestre city of renown crafters, Haffya Schtas, this blade also appeared to have never been used.

    She took both weapons and smiled. A gloating malice shined in her eyes.

    The D''jestre grimaced in turn as he stared at the loss of his prizes.

    There was nothing else in his bags but cured dried meats that reeked to her nose of D''jestre spices, a half full wine sack, and several coins.

    She held the coins in her fist. Sifting through them for a specific issuance of coins as she dropped them one by one back in the bag. None were to be found amongst the coins she examined.

    Leresai stared down at the man.

    "I''ve been hunted before and on those occasions they possessed a specific coin. Do you know of this coin?"

    He shrugged with his head fixed in a stare towards the distant sea. She knew that look in D''jestre men she had clashed with before. He was making his peace with the demonic lords of Dom Daniel.

    "So, you do know of it," she chided.

    "The Usurper''s Ducats," he volunteered, "a beautiful set of coins. I even own a few in my private capacity, but it has nothing to do with us."

    "And, just who is this ''us'', D''jestre?"

    He raised his chin and spat out, "you do know of it."

    "Of course, but why would you care about any affairs I may have at the palace?"

    She didn''t expect an immediate and satisfactory answer but she had no time to entertain a hostage. With the cutlass still in its scabbard, she used it to smack the remaining horse on its haunches. It hurried down the path.

    "Take off your clothes," Leresai commanded, her voice brusque, "down to your loincloth, little D''jestre."

    As he obeyed, she trotted her horse in a tight, intimidating circle around him. Beneath the embroidered coat his clothes were even more formal than Leresai would have expected for his current outing.

    Evening attire fit for a royal occasion. This did not comport well with her. What did this encounter mean? Did this man, a Ko Laga criminal, serve in some capacity as an emissary to the provincial lord of the Midvries?

    Was the palace expecting her?

    Leresai did not let her concerns expose themselves as she chortled in malicious taunt. He was bare of chest now with hair bunched thick around his dark brown nipples. His chest hair was blond.

    She suspected he was of mixed D''jestre and Imperial heritage. His face bore the long thin cheekbones of the D''jestre who also tended to be raven or dark red haired. His head was covered in a brown mop instead.

    He was a handsome specimen and if she had more time for a proper interrogation she would mortify his defenses by forcing herself on him. Instead, when he was stripped down to his loincloth, she freed the cutlass from its scabbard and she used it to snip the belt rope from his waist. The cloth fell to his ankles. Now he stood exposed.

    She gave him an admiring whistle and a pleased, whispery moan of ''mmm'', as she circled around on her mount.

    Leresai halted her horse to watch as his cock grew in arousal, otherwise he did not move, nor look up to meet her gaze. She once more circled around and found evidence of the fear she sought to exploit in the clinch of his buttocks. The creases pressed against his thighs fluttered with a spastic twitch. Bloodheat, vitaechemist called it.

    She reached out now with the cutlass unsheathed and she placed the flat side of the blade along the length of his shoulder blades. His breathing grew shorter. She rubbed the blade slowly down his back.

    Twisting the blade over as it reached the indent of his spine, she scraped the edge of the blade across his ass cheeks roughly enough to make the D''jestre gasp.

    Leresai dismounted and stood behind him. Riding gloves pocketed, she pressed the nail of her thumb into his bleeding wound; the other four fingers gripped his ass cheek with her nails dug deep into his flesh.

    Glancing over his shoulder, with her breath warm on his neck, Leresai whispered into his ear, "even facing death, you''re excited, dear little D''jestre man. I would take care of that for you if time wasn''t short and circumstances were not so dire."

    She laughed teasingly at first but stifled a giggle upon seeing a trickle of piss splatter his feet. Time was being wasted for frivolous sport.

    "Now I ask you once more, how did you know about my geas?"

    Though his lungs rattled as he exhaled, his articulations remained clear, even as his tone stayed disdainful.

    "The alliance of those whom you are employed is not so secure that it doesn''t leak like a sieve."

    She released the rough grip with which she clutched his ass. With the hand free she began to muss his hair.

    "If this were reversed, were I at your mercy, D''jestre, and I answered you so cryptically, would my reward be life or death?"

    "The brother," he blurted out.

    Leresai did not understand at first. "Lord Lyoneid''s own?"

    "No. No. No. Her brother, the one who pursues you."

    She lay her chin on the D''jestre''s shoulder, her eyes fixed on the moon. She dug her thumb nail into his right nipple with a rough twist. Leresai let him know her decision.

    "All right, pretty D''jestre. You actually told me something pertinent to my cause so you live. Now start walking. When you reach the Imperial highway, you don''t go southward to Nevespora.

    "You go North. So long as you continue northward, I don''t care what you do or what becomes of you. Do not cross my path in the next seven days and you may return home, understood?"

    He nodded curtly with his feet springing forward. His figure grew smaller until he disappeared behind the curve of the hedge. Leresai shredded the clothes in case he tried to return for them. She bore the D''jestre no ill-will, but she wasn''t going to make it any easier for him to return to his duties.

    As she bent to pick up the sebel blade that had fallen nearby, she heard a hissing pneumatic moan coming from the D''jestre whom she had thought dead. Keeping an eye on the wounded man, she gave the blade a quick appraisal.

    The blade was not practical to her preferred means of combat so she tossed it far into the gully beneath the brambled ridge.

    The man stared straight up at the sky with his remaining eye, appearing perfectly dead but for the slow blinking lid. Leresai plucked the dart from his crushed eye, and she cleaned off the ruined orb from the needle with a swipe against his hide leather vestment.

    She examined the needle. The tubular shaft enclosed in the point had failed to draw enough poison to kill the man quickly. He was dying slowly with every muscle in his body tightening.

    His fingers bruised purple, curved together, mangled. Similar dark bruising crawled up along the length of an exposed leg even as she watched.

    "You speak the Imperial?" She asked.

    He lay in the cast of her shadow. His response so slow as to be near to imperceptible.

    "The Enigmatic," he whispered.

    When his lips moved to whisper, his mouth spread wide; it stretched impossibly long across his face.

    The creased ends of his lips butted against the bruising on his cheeks. The skin cracked and flaked; it revealed an oozing sheen beneath.

    It was the first time on hearing her own nom-de-guerre, Leresai shivered. Her mind reeled back fifteen years.

    She recalled her friend, Hosparr the Gnoyul, as she accompanied him on an expedition to dig up a near half an eon old fort ruin in a squalid Su¨¹dland''s march far from the currents of contemporary civilization.

    She needed to stay incognito for a season and in turn Hosparr needed a guard for his student assistants and himself as they practiced in the gray art of archaeology.

    After an arduous but productive day of excavation for his team he asked Leresai to join him in his tent. Once there and settled in, he brought out a bottle of the fortified Ninci wine of dark grape and rye grain, blushbort.

    With assuredly lust driven flattery, he toasted her with a song written for her.

    "Leresai,

    Your hair is spun of the spirit of translucence

    Made manifest in this world.

    Your eyes are of a violet

    No one forgets

    And haunts the shadowed realm

    Of their dreaming minds to their dying day.

    Your smile is dangerous and disarms any man.

    As it befits the nomenclature

    They whisper in the better quarters,

    You are so indeed Leresai, the Enigmatic."

    The name stuck as she gained a reputation in the dark arts.

    Leresai shook her head free of cruel memory; it was time to end the Djestre''s suffering. She retrieved the crossbow. She placed the bolt into the stock groove and then she cocked the drawstring.

    Leresai picked a position twenty yards from her target. With a sharp pitched swish, his skull split into, spread out from above his brow. His brains, nearly evenly perforated, seeped out onto the ground.

    She walked over to the corpse. The piercing was not as well centered as she would have liked. Leresai cleaned off the bolt and examined it.

    There was no flaw in its construction. She studied the crossbow with care. A knot in the polished wood embedded in the arch of the bow caused the flaw in the flight of the bolt. Within one hundred yards the accuracy would be under compensated by nearly a foot.

    She flung the crossbow down the gully. Eyeing the crescent moon, Leresai cursed the name of the ensorcelled god, Izdun the Patriarch, long ago defeated by her very own patron, Rhoethella.

 The White Hawk - Part II

    Three miles out from the outer gates of Nevespora the grand curve of the river Kayili''s west bank corralled the Imperial highway eastward before forking into a canal built along Nevepora''s westernmost holdings until it buttressed the levees southward before sprawling into the Nya Delta. The other branch continued to the east where the river opened into the harbor before emptying into the Mooring Sea.

    The traffic now slowed as the city''s hightower walls came into view. In front of Leresai, a small caravan of three coaches, a pair of oxen carts with wares stacked high under stretched canvas followed by four fatigued guards on horseback, pushed forward to enter the Donneamor bridge. The bridge spanned two hundred and forty yards across the Kayili.

    Two whitestone towers flanked the bridge on each shore and a third pair set in the middle of the river supported by counter levering tresses held the bridge up with minimum suspension beneath.

    Between each set of towers a narrow crosswalk held guards in rapt study of the composition of the travelers illuminated below in the early dusk by large, bronze braziers that capped the towers. The guards unfurled a banner on each side of the walkway identifying those who entered the city.

    On the canvas a simple oxen cart with an eight above it showed there were fewer than eight armed guards in the party. Leresai could see the same banner now appearing unfurled on the next tower walkway. The practice would continue up the length of towers deep into the city until it reached the scribes at the public administration building in Center Market.

    As Leresai passed under the tower walkway, she leaned her head back up to see the banner now being unfurled.

    It displayed an emblem of a horseshoe under two silver feathers above the goddom lord''s signet of a hand holding the sun like a pearl in a field of aquamarine blue.

    Soon, the message of a royal courier''s approach would reach the palace. They would have an escort greet her at the gate. If luck would have it, one would already be readied as was standard practice throughout the Imperium.

    If not . . . to this thought Leresai noted the planets, the Twin Travelers, now framed just above the next walkway . . . time would be wasted.

    Leresai breathed in slowly, meditating on her need to retain her patience, especially now with so many conspiring and so much going against her geas. More important to her than even Roethella''s geas inscribed on her heart, her belov¨¦d Breitess awaited her after the quest was completed. She had chosen this evening for her confrontation with Lord Carro for it fell upon her fortnightly visitation day.

    No. No. No. The brother that pursues you.

    Still in the heat of Rhoethella''s silver at the time, she did not react at all to the desolate meaning of those words. She wished she could always be so unflinching as she was a few hours previously in the heat of the manna silver, but now her gut was wrenched in dread.

    Brietess'' brother Baratheil was among those who conspired in the palace. A nephew of the Duchess, he could come and go as he pleased; his education in law also afforded him official status. Why would he draw her near, so central to what she had to assume to be his royal station, just to strike at her? There must be more to his motives than a personal vendetta.

    More towers flanked the Imperial highway for the next two miles until the highway ended at the city gates. Between the four sets of towers along this last stretch of the highway were hovels, mangers, fire pits rich in the aroma of meats sold on skewers, pot kettles filled with steaming vegetable stews. Street musicians walking around the crowded streets with lutes and hurdy-gurdies in their hands.

    Closer to the city, the simple hovels were replaced with inns and the open-air mangers replaced with stables offering far more accommodation but for a price. From the balcony of an upscale inn, a voice called out to Leresai.

    "What is this," she heard a man''s voice boom. "Could it be? A genuine elven maiden!"

    Leresai peered up with a half cast smile lopsided on her face. Three young men wearing the severe, jagged short beards common to university students and dressed in vestments indicative of familial wealth stood gawking down at her. The beards did little to hide the rosy cheeks and tender soft jawlines beneath their gaping mouths.

    She gave them an idiomatic greeting in Haute Elven. Every word of which she exaggerated for accentuated effect. One spoke to the other two in an exasperated whisper said loudly enough for Leresai to hear.

    "I don''t believe she even speaks the Empress'' Imperial. What a find!"

    "I do, but little only," she protested in palate rolled syllabics of Elven equivalent; sounds strange to native Imperial ears not worldly of fey kind.

    The first student who had spoken to her quieted his two companions. He towered over them. She noted the large ring signet he bore on his right hand, entwined dragons indicative of a broken infinity. He was the scion of a royal house. She pulled on the curb rein to halt her horse and hear him out.

    "Dear elven beauty, lay your travel-wearied body down with us this evening. We promise you comfort that you won''t receive anywhere else in Nevespora. A dinner of roasted goose, three courses of desserts, fruits, puddings and cakes glazed in butter and honey, a wine cup with no bottom, cured somniferum drawn smooth from a steaming copper hookah into the late evening. And best of all, three kind and gentle lovers to please your every desire."

    Leresai laughed gaily and she let her skin flush pink. In Haute Elven she gave her answer.

    "If you can understand these words, you beautifully depraved louts, I''ll take you up on your offer once my service to the palace is fulfilled. I will come back here and I''ll take you each in turn, fucking you with such raw menace you''ll pray to your gods to give you the strength to endure T''nonnon''B. But your prayers will be futile and I''ll be merciless.

    "Once I''m done with each of you, I''ll make you take me altogether. One cock jammed up dry fucking my shitter. One most fortunate cock soaked in the sweet musk of my pussy. And you sir, with your cock in my mouth, I will hold you in, slapping your head and shaft against my eager tongue, and I will finally let you nut as you are begging me with tears straining your eyes for my sucking lips to release you."

    They only heard the lyrical music of Elven in the unassuming provincial accent of an elven spearmaiden. One companion yelped with his fist clenched and shaking. "The Sisters be damned. My house tutor offered to teach me the Haute Elven."

    Leresai shook her head, and as she slowly turned her horse away, in Imperial said, "I must attend and towards them go to my duty."

    The mingled syntax mimicking an Elven tense form.

    A short distance later, she heard a trotting horse step to her own pace. From the shadows of a tower, a man dressed in the armor of a high ranked palace guard rode up beside her. Leresai jerked her head back to appraise the man, then she shrugged.

    "I''ve never heard an elven maiden with words so well sauced," he commented in Haute Elven.

    "The offer of goose was tempting." She answered.

    The captain''s quick laughter to this rejoinder put her at ease.

    With a wave of her hand towards the balcony, she dismissed the three fraternity brothers.

    "Three college boys not battle-honed. How was I supposed to take them seriously? ''Kind and gentle lovers.''" She winced as if disgusted by the thought. "Where are these facile mores coming from?"

    "I''m Vingt Bierd¨¦," he continued in the language as it was spoken throughout the elven nation of Voil¨¦t¨¦l, Veiled Winter. Evidently he relished the opportunity to speak the language, "Captain of the palace guard to the House Lyoneid. I''ll be escorting you this evening."

    As they neared the entry gate to the city, the Pendragon of the House Lyoneid, consisting of a serpent head in a chromatic display of platinum, silver, electrum, gold, and copper set against wings of cobalt, spread out above the entrance. Prosperity was the mythical beast''s name.

    He gave her an appraisive once-over.

    "You are with the White Hawks. You must have seen much in the way of battle. The Bloody Seven?"

    Leresai considered what she should say. The captain with his fluency in Haute Elven she did not count on as an eventuality when she prepared for the geas.

    "I was wounded early on in an outpost near the old Sgo?the tower," she answered.

    "Aie," he nodded. "Foeren''s Fjeld. I well remember it."

    Leresai noticed the row of medals on the breast of his bronze adorned plate mail. Emblems marking three of the Bloody Seven battles, the dual death-heads embellishing the lyre of the bardic college, the Lyre Assembly; another pendant marked him as a shield brother to the Bronze Eagles. The elite warriors led by the Sunwelder''s own brother, Prince D''tuout''N.

    Her thoughts strained with doubt that she could succeed in her ruse; she continued on with her story as she had planned it.

    "The frost giants nearly trampled us underfoot, good sir. We dug in our spears as they charged. Damn near severed my arms as they tackled into us. Broke both in several places and tore deep into my tendons.

    "Our healers massaged them back in good form, but I''ll never be able to weld a fully stout maidenspear again. As it is custom for a White Hawk no longer battle prime, I''m now posted in the courier services."

    "Still most glorious," he commented, chin set up just above the death heads with their leering smiles.

    She glanced back at the twin skulls, she felt a shiver which she suppressed. The Lyre Assembly possessed a reputation for chauvinism amongst her friends and peers in the acting troupe she often served as a player. Leresai gave the captain a curious glance with her chin twisted to the side of her shoulder. Bierd¨¦ nodded, acknowledging her puzzlement.

    "To be close to the charge of frost giants, like the ascent of frozen Neverness upon the world, enveloping your very being in utter terror. It must have been enlivening."

    His eyes became distant, lost in his own remembrance. It gave her some hope she could keep him distracted from her own facile tale if she could keep him rhapsodizing along their journey on his own battles and life venture.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    Though her guise was well-crafted, her Haute Elven fluent and properly accented provincial for her station, the ruse wasn''t designed to pass the scrutiny of a man who had lived amongst the elves.

    Passing through the gate, in the city proper, the roadways were cobbled in smooth stone and granite filled, aligned with streets maintained for pedestrian traffic with lanterns well-paced down the length of the streets and changed by the city guards throughout the evening. Captain Bierd¨¦ veered her from the center road to one on the east which bore a more winding character.

    "The main concourse leads directly to the Central Market district. However, between that district and the palace, the streets become a dense maze not suitable for our navigation. This way is longer, but it is scenic and easy to transverse"

    Leresai checked the moon''s own concourse with a quick glance to which Bierd¨¦ chuckled and waved her forward. She joined him and they resumed their pace.

    "To whom are you here to deliver that package?"

    "The package is for the coinsman of the House Lyoneid," she answered.

    "In the Midvries, a coinsman is called a ''treasurer.''" He corrected her.

    "Pardon. I''ve heard that term of usage in the Su¨¹dlands on a few occasions."

    He shrugged. "They are often slow on the uptake of modernity given the decline and fall of their own empire. Nevespora, even the name reflects that it was once their possession in bygone centuries. The usage of the word ''treasurer'' merely reflects current ledger practices."

    As they traveled the road East, the buildings became larger and further spread apart. Pedestrians and coaches traveled in groups going in the same direction as Bierd¨¦ and Leresai.

    "Soon we will come upon Theater Row. You''ve surely heard of our city''s reputation in the performance arts?"

    "I''ll be admonished if I were to return home without taking in any shows," she answered. "''T''nonnon''B,'' they''ll say, for that is my self-name ''how can you call yourself an elf when you remain so uncultured?''"

    "You have never been to Nevespora," he inquired.

    Leresai snorted to prevent laughter from spitting out.

    Well, sir, I have a suite of chambers right there in that tower above the theater on our left.

    "I''ve spent most of my service in the Royal Veiled Winter Couriers on the roads of the Su¨¹dlands to the west and south of the river lands."

    The captain leaned his head forward and nodded.

    "Look on. You are fortunate, White Hawk. They are staging an outdoor promotion for tonight''s show at the Sparrow."

    In the front lawn of the distinctive playhouse with its tower built of dark olive limestone, a crowd gathered around two actors in costumes adorned in large matted leaves of a holly native only to the Northern Isles. Indigo tattoos curved along the contours of their skin.

    "Speaking of the Su¨¹d", Captain Bierd¨¦ continued, "these actors hail from the city of Barronne."

    Leresai had seen the two actors before at the Sparrow. They were part of a traveling troupe that was the season''s attraction.

    The man was tall, dark-haired, hawk-nosed and wore a greased goatee on his chin. The woman was a young mulatto going by the stage name Honey.

    The tone of which well described the lustrous sheen of her curled golden hair, the deep maroon of her eyes and the tan of her skin. She was of medium height, a full head shorter than Leresai. She possessed a voluptuous black widow spider''s insignia of a figure, ample in her bosom and bottom, but tiny in her waist.

    The male actor, Rohandas, held Honey in his arms. He delivered his lines, an oath to curse the Godless, as the Sgo?the were known in ancient times, for all their succeeding generations. The lovers the actors played were the last of their tribe.

    "They are not going to strip down and engage in coitus on the stage," Bierde explained. "In the Midvries we tend to be more modest in our social customs. However, we also tend to appreciate the literary qualities of a story. Even this rewrite is too polemical for our taste. But it is something different, and the actress is very beautiful."

    With a giddy croak in her voice, Leresai nodded.

    "Oh, I''m very much aware of the Su¨¹dland plays. I''ve been to many." Leresai''s tongue rolled on the words mischievously as she flushed her skin in the suggestive, heated pink that she played up for her T''nonnon''B guise.

    "I gather you are," he responded with laughter.

    "You well know the aesthetic qualities expected of my people, so I request you to keep it secret from my betters how I enjoy the Su¨¹d romps like an Abysmal fire unsatiated in my belly."

    He smiled at the frankness given with such a winsome delivery.

    In front of a playhouse further up Theater Row, a troop of jesters threw dangerous appearing objects at one another. A shuffling tassel footed fool swung daggers into the painted white face of another jester.

    The dagger shattered into glass-like fragments against his forehead. He wagged his oversized, swollen tongue. Finally, catching the last dagger, he slapped it''s broadside against his tongue, and sucked on the broken blade with the hilt sticking out of his mouth like a binky. Blue foam stained his pale lips and poured down his chest.

    "A metaphor for the plague, and it is intended to be funny," Leresai asked, her voice rising in strain on the words. Her accent barely retained.

    Bierd¨¦ scowled. "So it would appear... quite in bad taste"

    Leresai peered up at the lunar crescent. She imagined its secant formed from the moon and the twin towers at the end of the Theater Row. Four hours and another half she had for her task.

    Brietess so still, your lips so blue.

    Not until the dark cast of the new moon eclipsed all the sun''s back glow as it did every fortnight would Leresai''s beloved girl rise again.

    "Fools play the fool. Never mind them, dear elf. I see you notice the two towers at the end of Theater Row. The one on the north side is a conventional water tower. Four men can fit the levers of the water pump wheel on each tower story. They draw the water up, and then circulate it through a multitude of shafts built into the sewers.

    "The other tower of the same design on the south side opposite is filled with lye. Our sewers are cleaned daily. Less stench, less accumulation of filth, less chance of disease and plague."

    Leresai furrowed her brow. "The perennial evil spirit of plague fears the lye?"

    "The plague festers in filth, as it is indeed an evil spirit. Cleansed of filth, the demons cannot feed as the vitaechemist have proven beyond any doubt."

    "That makes a certain sense", Leresai said, and with a hesitant, pregnant pause affecting sensitivity, "I don''t mean to pry, Captain Bierd¨¦, but the towers I see give you a great deal of comfort. Did you lose anyone to the plague?"

    "A literal decimation", he answered. "A tenth of every man, woman and child of whom lived here was stricken down. I lost my father, but I was not living here at the time."

    "The plague year was after the Bloody Seven," Leresai queried.

    "Yes, I stayed on after the war. I was a married man, an emissary bound to a foreign post. "

    She had noticed no wedding band outlined beneath his glove. She checked once more to see if it had been an oversight on her part.

    "My Mer''Kendretta. She died by another means, not the plague," he commented. His voice shorn of emotion.

    It did not escape her notice his late wife had an elven name. How could this man possibly be fooled by Leresai''s own guise?

    "I''m sorry, good sir."

    "No. You have given me no offense. Life is temporal glory. I long accepted that. My Mer''Kendretta did not."

    The college district would come upon them soon, but not before the road wound through a fair-sized park ensconced with a sparse density of manors, immaculately kept hedges, woods stripped of wildlings, and also possessing neatly arranged flower gardens. Ample opportunity for distractions from possible inquiry, she thought.

    Even an elven courier should expect some informal interrogation when conducting affairs with the palace. It wasn''t possible to avoid all scrutiny, but finding opportunities to minimize it was part of her tradecraft.

    "Temporal glory," she tried the words rolling upon her tongue in syllabificated mimicry of human speech and then turned to him and asked, "you miss it, don''t you, Captain?"

    He grinned with low cast eyes to her query but he hesitated to answer.

    She stared at the leering skulls once more, but this time with a coy leer instead of the queasy objection she let slip through before. "Would you tell me of the fight? Just so to entertain a maiden this eve?"

    With a nod of his helmed head, he cleared his throat and he began.

    "Do I miss being in the fight? I''m a poor excuse for the diplomatic corps that I do so love conflict. I recall an apothecary came to heal an ill lady of the House Lyoneid once.

    "He overheard my men and I in bardic assembly reciting our deeds in metered form. He listened silently, and to be fair to him, politely for a long stretch, but then he became more and more and then most agitated until his arms shook and he pointed his finger at me.

    "''Bloodlust'' he did so accuse.

    "The man stomped out of our barracks, clutching his robes to free up his nobbed knees. He cared not how silly he appeared so long as his flight away from the flounce tongued brutes was hastened."

    Captain Bierd¨¦ paused. Leresai thought she may have to pry him further, but then he drew his chin down in a sad grin.

    "No," he said, shaking his head. "It isn''t bloodlust that fuels us. I once thought myself a simple man, a simple soldier with an uncomplicated need to prove his mettle in battle, but soon after I met Mer''Kendretta, and she made me understand.

    "No, not bloodlust, but blood sacrament. As all that lives should duly know, blood seeps, blood flows, blood tides, blood is a tithe. Payment for everything sacred and everything worthy of eternal damnation or temporal exaltation."

    Another pause, his hands slowly arced. "Perhaps, I grow too fluent, and too precious with facile words that rise too easily to justify myself to those who live in a world entirely removed from our battle-honed understanding."

    As her mount trotted through a bed of brown pine needles, Leresai was pleased to find the captain in full recitation as he would in barracks, mead-hall, or auditorium.

    As Bierd¨¦ spoke she thought of what awaited her once her geas was fulfilled. The smiling face of Brietess. Her dark sheened hair lay down in a tiara of winter violets. Leresai would escort her to the court fountain in the center of the winter garden where they would dance back-soled estampies and hand joined chass¨¦s for the night entire.

    His suddenly raised voice jostled her out of memory and revelry.

    "I asked, why do I feel this need," he continued. "I should be entirely self-satisfied, should I not? I asked you this, apothecary, a man of healing, or in turn, a man of poisons, a man whose words of condemnation still shadow me. What do you know of the Absolute?

    "Have you ever driven a pike into the heart of a frost giant? Held the weapon steady as your clenched fists shook to keep the killing blow in place? Have you ever heard the beast roar in your face? It''s eyes centered on you, this huge, monstrous brute while it''s arms flayed helplessly, killing you it''s only desire, and you grinning upward staring into its eyes.

    "There you stand so enticingly out of its reach; it struggles to sink it''s clawed hands into you until its life is near its end and it gives up all wanton hope to do so. Those eyes dilate; bloodstreams from the sides of its slacken tongue for it is choking on its own bile.

    "Then it happens, dear sister. It is said there is a vibration in the very fabric of existence that if one''s soul is so well aligned it will fill you with an omniscient understanding surpassing that of the greatest of the elder gods.

    "T''nonnon''B, I tell you this - I held that pike in place. I could feel its heart thump, a shaking resonance through my bones. Then, when it stopped, it felt even more terrible still.

    "Its heart contracted, it stuttered, and the vibrations reached into me, singed into the scalp of my hair, wrung as a searing ache in my teeth. Its heart exploded through the ribs of its chest. I held my stance. Blood showered over me. Bone splintered, and I had to shut my eyes tight as it''s bursting innards pounded upon my helm.

    "The smell of viscera overwhelmed my nostrils as its internal organs collapsed within its chest. The giant fell down hard on bent knees.

    "I wiped my eyes and surveyed the widespread fjeld now drenched with the mincemeats of battle laid out as if for a buffet to be dined upon by gods old and cruel. The remaining combatants, elves and men, frost giants and goblin folk, all turned to me, all watched as I roared.

    "All consumed in the terror of that moment. For in that solitary moment, I was no longer a mere man, but a dragon, an agencier of an all-pervading doom, risen to strike fear into this world.

    "Even still, in the midst of the great and the grotesque, mine was merely temporal glory. For, in the next several minutes, I was fighting for my life and retreating from a horde who once shorn of shock fed from that very fear I had driven into them."

    When he finished, she let the silence set the mood, confident that the last of the green hedges and scenic rows would provide the proper enchantment to keep him engaged in any subject but her purpose. Captain Bierd¨¦''s armor gleamed in the night lamps. His face cast half in the dark shadow of his helm. His jaw ponderous; his lips pensive.

    She was reminded of the expedition in the Su¨¹dlands lying beside Hosparr one night. She asked him why he did not employ guild mercenaries to guard his dig-site. His words came back to her now.

    "All I could find on loan were members of the Lyre Assembly. Shithouse philosophers every one of them. I only need a killer without questions pounding upon his own damnable soul. No offense."

 The White Hawk - Part III

    Soon the first set of buildings in the glossy white granite and marble of academia came into view. Students went about corralled between the garden district and the campus sprawl with the festive sounds of light conversation and soft instrumentation lilting vibrant under the gentle glow of floating lanterns.

    The captain and the elven spearmaiden caught the attention of all those surrounding them. Their armor appeared as exotic costumes, out of place and almost archaic; their horses intruded the grounds as overly vested beasts, an exotic addition to the stark modernity of the plainly ornate campus plazas.

    The captain''s voice startled her. The roughness of it, though honestly earned through his bardic performance, had no place amid the soft, genteel whispers of their present environs.

    "You seem troubled," Bierd¨¦ inquired.

    She relaxed the tension in her face to put him at ease before speaking the lines she had prepared.

    "Though the courier service isn''t a boring life, I too miss the camaraderie of my fellow maiden. Our battles were never so fierce as to draw comparisons to the Bloody Seven. I killed a fair share of goblins, regardless. Shredding kobolds to ribbons with the jagged, kris edge of my maidenspear, outsmarting the conniving bastards..."

    Now that the words flew from her tongue, Leresai grew concerned. They were less than adequate to sustain her cover.

    You are a simple spearmaiden of the proven?ale stock of elf. No attempts at a higher meter.

    However, by remaining plain-spoken, she risked losing his interest. She needed to challenge him to keep the captain engaged.

    "... But, I have to say. There is a matter that still bothers me. That places limits on the extent I can derive pleasure, or what you would perhaps refer to as ''meaning'', from the kill of the beast."

    Captain Bierd¨¦ raised his head. His brows revealed to be furled in a tight clinch.

    "Please continue," he pleaded. "My reminiscing is becoming a bit rude."

    "No pardon is necessary, Captain. When I am back at camp after a successful m¨ºl¨¦e, I return with my emotions strung to a high chord, my mind sublimely alert, but once that feeling wears down, I lay there at night, and I wonder about those of whom we kill. I feel as if my own glory brings about a sadness into this world."

    "They are mere monstrosities, driven by evil", Bierd¨¦ said, dismissively.

    "That is just it. When we are killed in battle, elvenkind can look forward to the Summerlands of the EverSolstice; for mankind, your paths are myriad. When goblins die, they return to the Abyss.

    "This life, as they live it on mundane Earth is nothing but shit smashed under boot. Short-lived, vicious, with no joy to be found and their pleasures even fewer. For them, this life is it. It is as good as it will ever be.

    "Their howls when stricken down sound with the reverberation of a sadness that if I were to feel it, I certainly couldn''t bear it. My loathing in such circumstances would be all-consuming if I were to have been born to a life so misbegotten as a kobold''s."

    The journey through the university was short as the road transversed through the width of the central campus block and not along its substantial length.

    Above the university the road led to Chapel Mound where the old cathedral had been set ablaze five years previously. Leresai could see an emblem of the Midday Star grace the central steeple of the recently constructed temple ziggurat.

    It replaced an emblem dedicated to the Twin Travelers. The moon was a finger and thumb spread width against the rod holding up the seven points of the ornamented star by the measure of her hand.

    It was now in the seventh hour past noon by her reckoning. Just after the eleventh hour, the crescent of light would give way to the new moon.

    Music of bell, bowl, and wind chime came from above them. It still sounded exotic to Leresai''s ears even though she was no stranger to this quarter of the city. She had even been inside the ziggurat when she peeked inside the heart vessel within to confirm Rhoethella''s suspicions.

    "You will find yourself in a sweet lull to that strange music before you even realize it," Bierd¨¦ warned. He gestured to an assembly of Natya dancers on the steps.

    "Their motion, swaying so sweetly, is most beguiling."

    She regarded the dancers. She once blended in with this very troupe in a guise that made her appear as a native of the Niagatanee islands in the D''jestre half of the Mooring Sea. They tended to be the tallest of the Eastern stock.

    She was treated well, like a long lost sister, by the other dancers during her short stay.

    "I''ve heard the D''jestre temple was built on the same site where the old cathedral burned down."

    "That is correct," Bierd¨¦ confirmed with an askant slow nod.

    "Why would they be allowed to do that? Are the grounds not sanctified?"

    "Sanctified? As in the grounds form a connection to the eternal and true that grounds a mere inch over do not?

    "I suppose, do not all things have loci? Isn''t that what the thaumaturgist call it?"

    Bierd¨¦ chuckled. "True enough, all things not demonic have specific disposition."

    Monks dressed in burlap, swaddled in layers of cloth crossing their chest in subdued colors of a dull blue and gray, strode the outer streets encircling the hill where the ziggurat stood. Most of whom were evidently D''jestre, though many appeared to be native of the tall, fair-haired Midvries. The Temple of the East was gaining converts.

    "I was pondering upon your words, White Hawk. About the creatures returning to the Abyss. That death rattle of theirs I have heard it myself on many an occasion.

    "It is imbibed with the knowledge of their eternal torment. Your words resonate with me, though I am not bothered by their, in lack of a better, less profane word, ''fate'' as you are. Their existence tempers and hones our own purpose so that we ourselves are reforged into a better people."

    Bierd¨¦ paused long enough to bow his head in a greeting to a monk. The captain threw the man a coin in alms. It flashed of newly minted silver.

    "Spend it wisely, good father," Bierd¨¦ told him before turning back to Leresai.

    "Would you like to know what Prince D''tuout''N told me about the other side?"

    "I would be most curious," she answered, stifling a matter that bothered her.

    "He said, ''Bierd¨¦, in the beginning there was only the Abyss and Oblivion both without substance, and a Mundi without spirit. Monstrous creations infused with demonic spirit naturally crossover into the wretched Abyss.

    "The souls of man and elf naturally return to the peace that is Oblivion from wince Mundi stole a bounty of geist that formed our souls in the first place. Everything else is a construct, even the EverSolstice of my people''."

    Leresai gasped. "The Crown Prince does not believe in Eversolstice?

    "That is not what the prince meant. Eversolstice is a construct. A tulpa created by merkind to achieve a desirable afterlife long before Sunwelder was even a gleam in his mortal mother''s eye. That is, Eversolstice was created to reshape the eternal destination of elvenkind much more to the liking of your ancestors."

    "This, I did not know," she said. "It is profound, but it changes nothing about what I believe."

    Leresai looked away to the east. From the apex of Chapel Mound just before the street that held the ziggurat, she could see the harbor bay with its drift of lights in the nightlife bustle.

    Ships slid through the rap of waves guided by the three lighthouses planted on the islet host of Zhair''s Pillar. It was built on the ancient ruins of Castle Barso and Old College. They were destroyed by the fleet of Izdun the Patriarch over a thousand years ago.

    Farther out, the Twin Travelers'' shimmered in the night air above the Doukres Bay waters. Leresai and Captain Bierd¨¦ passed by the ziggurat. The D''jestre structure was formed of dense meteoric and molten black rock engraved in gelded patterns. The floor and roof boards that lined it were set in a jade-colored metal unfamiliar to the Midvries. It shined with a subdermal luminescence.

    Leresai upon reflecting on their conversation understood what bothered her. Captain Bierd¨¦ had avoided answering her question concerning the D''jestre.

    It was time to pry.

    "The temple is a lovely edifice, Captain. How does it compare to the old cathedral it replaced? Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    His unburdened left hand grazed the mane of his beast ever so slightly.

    "I have my own opinions, but in the House Lyoneid, it is of no little discretion. My own opinions if expressed would be speaking out of turn. I''m a mere guardsman to the diplomatic corps, but still sworn to uphold the will of my Lord, Archduke Lyoneid."

    "I see," Leresai said letting a capricious sulking frown press almost child-like against her chin.

    Bierd¨¦ snorted back a near titter. Her pose must have been more comical than she intended.

    Still, it worked to her greater ends for he gave her an answer less politic.

    "I say that with such restraint, even as we have grown to be fast friends, so formal and so frosty.

    "But officially, I am supposed to give a good-natured, but derisive sneer, and then say with most gruff pragmatism, ''what do I care, so long as they don''t worship at the feet of the Patriarch? Aside from that, the D''jestre can go about as they please'', and when we, those who serve to staff the palace, pass by a monk of the Temple we are to throw him a silver piece to convey to other residents of Nevespora that we accept them as our own, untroubled that they brought the plague with them nor troubled by any other aspect of their manners, mores, and means that differentiates them from us no matter how harshly they may contrast with our own social graces.

    "But my opinions, I shall abide by the command of my Lord and keep them to myself."

    "I won''t pry any farther, Captain."

    His nod was terse though his smile remained friendly.

    Did this go to the heart of the matter? The reason why the conspirators purpose so well aligned with her own geas? They brought unfortunate haste to her task as the palace insiders had failed at an attempt on Lord Carro''s life soon after he was appointed Treasurer to the House Lyoneid.

    She had to take actions that were less than circumspect to make up for their blunder.

    She left that question open for the moment as she saw the obelisk in the middle of a street square that marked the Cemetery of the Commons. The second-largest boneyard in Nevespora, counting the Catacombs of the First Dead beneath their very feet.

    At the street square, they made a turn Westward towards the House Lyoneid grounds. The outer wall of the cemetery came into view. Covered in long vines of ivy, the wall stretched along the south sidelining the current street in their approach to the palace.

    Leresai''s eyes darted to the cemetery wall; she imagined a small mausoleum edifice within. It''s marble rotunda walls overlapping like fingers clasping; it''s pendentives made of twine ivory arches.

    In the center lay Brietess; her corpse by the necromancy of Pestilence herself was not encroached upon by decay.

    She turned her head forward so Bierd¨¦ would not catch her as she ruminated in a most un-fey like manner. The top of the bridge towers leading into the palace grounds came into view.

    This close to the palace entrance, there was still an unresolved matter that lay beneath Leresai''s skin. She was tempted to close her eyes to call on the silver for guidance, but to do so would be conspicuous in her present company.

    Leresai thought back to when the feeling made its presence known. She imagined her tummy, beneath her supple muscles, an itch spread from her navel to her pubis much like a gasp of lost breath. Suddenly, clenching her vagina an intense jolt invaded her inner cavity wall. The moment came back to her.

    There is talk of an assassin on her way to Nevespora, coming from upriver... but evidently avoiding the riverboats.

    They have to know how she obtained the package and deduced from that knowledge that she would have avoided the riverboats. Recent memories gushed back like the joyful and exquisite pain of an open gash.

    The rough handed sailor, who dragged her by the tits into an alleyway along the wharf in the port town of Gareen. Hands all calloused up, and scabs running the length of his arms. They scratched into her ribs with every thrust as she thrust in a grind against his arms when he fucked her from behind.

    When he showed his softer side with a tender caress of her hair, she smacked her hip bone into his abdomen. He responded in kind with a tight jerk of her hair, snapping her head back. He put his gritty thumb in her mouth.

    "Bitch, you be gettin'' your ass ridden. I dare you to bite me thumb."

    She answered with manic laughter that made him stutter his thrusting motion. She clenched his thumb with her molars and stared up into his eyes, grinning wildly.

    The sailor laughed. "Bitch, I like you fine. You one crazy one, tho''."

    He lifted her haunches and gripped her tight. With a jack rabbit''s quiver in his legs, he released a long moan. Pushing down with a huge palm, he pressed the indention beneath the curve of her spine. His cock squeezed out of her pussy. She felt the warmth of his cum splayed on her ass cheeks.

    With a gasping sigh of relief followed with a blustering swear, the sailor smacked his cock against her haunches; his jizm rubbed out and smeared along her asscheeks. Pulling his trousers up, he snorted a flippant, "I''ll see what I can do."

    He gave her a wink and tied his trouser rope together as he strode off whistling a chanty.

    She scurried to an open-air bath shack. Her hands squeezing a much a much-eroded iron grip. She pumped fresh water into a bucket and poured the water into a sieve over her head.

    Boats sailed on one side of her, sailors waved to her, harshly expressing aesthetic appreciation in three languages mingling together.

    On the boardwalk nearby, longshoremen walked in-troop carrying crates between them.

    Leresai took a block of lye soap and scrubbed her loins and belly where she now itched. The sailor from the mail barge was the fourth she had fucked that morning.

    Hosparr once showed her the crab-like creatures that nested in pubes and caused so much discomfort. They especially proved troublesome for the hairy-faced, hyena-like men of the Gnoyul tribe from the Nayasid Desert.

    He handed her a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers to remove several of them off the soft downy of his pubic hair. Between the tiny metal grips, the critter was nearly translucent with six appendages jostling about struggling to be free.

    Now under the wash bucket in Gareen, she did as she learned to do when she was first summoned to Temple as a young woman. For that year she was expected to stand at the steps as a temple prostitute, receiving all of whom the sister goddesses, the S?urarchy, called to sojourn and tithe at the Grand Temple in the holy city of Meizsol.

    The men brought with them vexations from their many lands, but the gift of the silver protected those of whom lived in service to the goddesses.

    Now the silver shimmered its warmth beneath her skin. She could hear the crabs pop and she could smell their burning aroma as rising smoke curled wispy from her platinum pubic bush.

    Her vagina, she lifted in the curve of her palm to examine more closely, with the lips of her labia red and crinkled, appeared nearly mangled from the morning exertion. She concentrated upon the silver, pushing it deep into her vulva flesh.

    The flesh wrenched against her palm. What was spent was now revitalized. Leresai appraised her pussy. Her lips were always on the thick and long side even as a young woman. Given the gape of her hole was wider as her hips and cervix grew to full adulthood shortly after her year at the Temple, she now welded her pussy more expertly when engaged in coitus.

    Gripping a cock as tightly or loosely, as dry or ejaculate drenched as she pleased given the sublime control she had of her body and mind.

    She pumped more water into the bucket and pushed it into the sieve. Feeling horny again, and having not reached release herself, she forced the bar up her pussy, relishing the harsh tinge of the lye in her vaginal cavity.

    The silver was not through with her just yet, and it came on her, of the sudden, wild, extending her senses as if to guide her.

    Now into the mind of another, even seeing through his eyes the tall, muscular but lean woman like an ivory figurine, her back a plexed symmetry of beveled ribs that graced the long curved risen snake of counter arching vertebrae.

    A bar of soap clutched between her thighs, slowly pleasuring herself.

    She had an ass shaped like the double wedges of a primitive flint rock arrowhead. Long, nearly flat but sleekly rounded at the hips her derriere well pressed into thighs that curved up along the crease between which folds of a long scarlet vagina covered in platinum curls with lips bunched-up forward swallowing the bar of soap.

    Having his full attention, she leaned over slightly to expose her anus. The ring of a starfish-shaped sphincter, puckered forward on the albino, displayed cutely in the color of a peach''s skin.

    Leresai displayed one of her talents and winked its grooves in a counterclockwise fashion, slowly flashing for the voyeur the anal gape inside in a rhythmic dance of taut muscles.

    She could feel the mind of the man now weak with arousal. She turned around and smiled while clenching her thighs to cum. He was the one. From his trim beard, and formal jacket and clean slacks she surmised he was an administrator for the port authority.

    Two days she spent in his bungalow servicing him. In the last several hours of that time, she waited while tied to a hemp rope that held her fastened in an intricate set of knots, dangling upside down from the ceiling boards.

    A choker on her neck protected it from rub burns, but the rest of her body spun slowly. In the midst of twisting knots the control rope unwound from a spool on the wall. Leresai''s body throbbed from the soreness.

    Finally, he rushed through the door, his face slackened to a low grin. He threw a package on a dining table. Leresai maneuvered her head and twisted around to study it.

    A royal seal in the signet of the Sunwelder. Unbroken. She could read the name to whom it was addressed.

    "Perfect," she said.

    He pushed on a set of ropes that brought her thighs down to his groin. Her head, feet, and arms left dangling above. His fingers tried to dig into her anus. His other hand pulled his cock out.

    He frowned for a moment.

    ''You said I could fuck you in there. I even told you of the obsidian coin." He pleaded, nearly in tears.

    Leresai smiled down derisively at him. She loosened her sphincter and gripped and released his fingers teasingly with a massage.

    "You may proceed," she commanded.

    She found herself nodding and sighing along to a story Captain Bierd¨¦ elaborated upon once she shook herself out of the revelry of her escapades in Gareen.

    "I brought Mer''Kendretta to the House Lyoneid on that occasion. While we waited in a tea room she practiced finger exercises on her cithara, preparing for her recital. She asked me to read the lines she wrote for Archduke Lyoneid; I did so, and I utterly lost my breath, gasping in horror.

    "''My dearest, Mer''Kendretta,'' I tried to explain to her, ''you can''t say these things to an Archduke of the Midvries.'' You know the unassuming nature of your people, T''nonnon''Be, that we so often mistake for innocence and na?vit¨¦. She simply shrugged, bemused that I would find anything objectionable.

    ''What do you mean,'' she protested. ''This is what I am most renown for; surely Lyoneid would be so honored that I wrote a soi''mordreleid just for him.''

    "I can tell you, friend. I feared for my very head as I talked her out of reciting those words, replacing them with a traditional Elven pastoral. There is no tradition of poems suggesting a lord kill himself in the Midvries."

    Leresai asked, "isn''t she the poet who wrote a poem adapted for a play that began, "I am enveloped by memory, widower of the woman I was?"

    "Yes, that does sound familiar to me," Bierd¨¦ answered, his tone of voice nearly frosty.

    Leresai realized he may just wonder why a fey maiden would be memorizing a funeral elegy and she recovered quickly.

    "I recall the lines from a play I once saw in the Su¨¹dlands. I can''t recall the name of the play, but the lines were strikingly pretty."

    Bierd¨¦ snorted with laughter. "How did they make a sex romp out of that?"

    With the gate of the cemetery on their left, her head turned up to gaze at the Moon as the Archstone above the iron tongs lined up with the steeple of the center mausoleum behind it. Her eyes then drifted low on him to chide.

    "It isn''t all sex romps and blood vendettas in the Su¨¹dlands, Captain."

 The White Hawk - Part IV

    Bierd¨¦ bit back an urge to call her ''sky gazer'' in quipping jest.

    "You would surely know better than I," he answered, with a diplomatic chortle. "I''ve been as far as your own homeland in my travels, but never have I ventured into the Su¨¹d, and it is just a day''s march into the mountains of the Co?nagetes with many navigable valleys between us and them."

    He understood the importance of time to both her trade in the dark arts and the Royal Veiled Winter Couriers to which she was a pretender.

    More of a mystery to him was the occasional gaze she would give the cemetery behind the gates when she thought Bierd¨¦ to be too distracted by his own vainglorious meandering to notice her drifting attention.

    Did she fear to tread so close to where many of her victims presumably lie dead? Still, she was not what he expected from her reputation.

    He expected to be met with a cold-blooded reptile in human guise. Some wilder rumors claimed her to be a shape-shifter, but meeting her in the flesh made that preposterous.

    Having mingled amongst the gods and those that directly served them at the court of the Sunwelder, he was also aware of Leresai''s uniqueness amongst the handmaidens who served Roethella, Lady Intrigue. She could not take on a glamour. Illusion being utterly and innately lost on her.

    She instead relied for her guises on mere professional-grade stagecraft, and nothing more. They said she routinely acted in plays, and so effective were her guises no one but her intimates knew which actress was her pseudonymous cover.

    No, this woman was all too human. It was a mistake for him to have met her in person. He wanted to appraise her mettle, but now he regretted having to send her to her likely death.

    He noticed her lips quivered in agitation. He knew she was about to speak as she tended to avoid lulls in conversation.

    "You were an emissary in the court of the Sunwelder''s own brother, did you ever meet the God, himself?"

    "But of course. The time that Mer''Kendretta accompanied me to Nevespora we were in his party to attend his performance where he played himself in the play A Peace Reconsidered."

    Then Bierd¨¦ purposely delivered Sunwelder''s infamous lines in a ham-fisted manner.

    "Curs¨¦d rivals! Bless¨¦d Peers! I purge the contagion from the air that is fraught between us. Make what you will of this climate. Not a single ere will I admit, but please do bid your stay."

    T''nonnon''B''s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. They passed several merchant carts carrying goods back to the warehouse district for the evening. The teamsters turned to watch her giggle with fey abandon. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    With her composure returned, she said, "in defense of my Lord, the two nations to that treaty he overseen did insist as a term of condition that he perform that very part on stage. He had no prior experience."

    "They added the term in jest! Almost completely he did mangle those lines, rendering them senseless."

    "Be that so, sir, it was still a matter of good faith. A god he may be, but he is still an elf of his clan."

    Bierd¨¦ found laughter surprisingly easy in her presence. "I''m not going to win this one, am I?"

    "I adore it that you even try."

    The bridge to the palace was now just a block before them. The road, a long flat street through a small but affluent market, leveled straight into the narrow brick floor bed leading onto the bridge.

    It had to go as planned as formulated by the Alliance of Necessity. They could not afford another failed attempt. Lord Carro kept silent afterward to cover his own duplicitous actions. To back out now, and give the assassin warning, as he was now tempted to do, would imperil everything.

    He gazed askew towards the Sgo?the rider with his eyes hidden under his visor. She would not be here this night by his side if she had not accumulated much blood on her hands.

    Still, who was he to impugn? In all the lands of the Imperium a second-born royal daughter, the demoiselle, was sent to the Temple upon achieving womanhood.

    For one born into Northern Isles nobility of Sgo?the blood pure, as Princess Leresai Fervarryn had been, to serve the gods was especially humiliating. Only she knew why she continued to do so, and what motivated her likely had purpose beyond his knowledge to render judgment.

    The bridge expanded in his view, and she finally allowed silence to come between them, likely to concentrate her attention on what lay ahead. His voice had grown too coarse to accommodate her with another story.

    Leresai''s eyes fixed willfully ahead. The slightest of smiles creased her face. That was her only tell. The creases around her eyes and lips when she spoke or reacted expressively.

    Though her guise was professional, her Haute Elven fluent, most likely taught to her by Roethella herself, she aged as a human aged. A thirty-seven year-old woman even with the gift of the silver would appear older than an elven woman of one hundred and fifty.

    He pulled his reins before they came to the bridge.

    "Halt for a moment," he requested. His voice but a soft whisper.

    Her smile twisted, appearing confused, but she complied.

    "Wherever our paths lead us after this, I want you to know, T''nonnon''B, this has been for me the most enjoyable evening I have had in many years. Your company has been most pleasant."

    Her neck strained tightly. She nodded slowly with long platinum lashes blinking.

    "I thank you, Captain. After many nights on the road, not a civilized tongue, but rogues cant and sailor swear oaths for all those days, I''ve been most fortunate to spend this evening in the company of a warrior bearing... a higher purpose. Your company has been one of renewal for me."

    She sounded sincere. If an act on her part, it undoubtedly possessed some truth behind it. A lump thickened in his throat. Bierd¨¦ relieved it with a cough.

    "Is there anything else you wish to tell me," she did pry.

    "No, T''nonnon''B. We have our mutual duties to fulfill."

    With that said, he clenched his reins and they continued onward to the red bricks of the bridge leading into the palace.

 The Nightjar - Part I

    Nightjar

    To Surus Fei?ois, the banks of the Kayili never in his travels seemed at all inviting. They were thick in gnarled vegetation and dense with sounds echoing with the warn and threat of prey and predator even this close to the harbor boroughs of Gareen.

    The cold mist drifting low on the river gave all things captured within a silvery presence. Even a mundane appearing raptor flying above, in and out of the envelope of vapor, glistened iridescent as it soared.

    The raptor shrieked in a pitched staccato that seemed to Fei?ois'' ears to be mocking laughter. A wounded groundhog plopped down hard on the deck behind him. In a limping scurry the badly scuffed creature dived into the waters. Surus stood with his arms folded hunched along a rail on the top deck of a riverboat named the Midnight Tryst.

    He turned back to the sky once his amusement waned.

    He could on occasion make out the crescent moon but with the stars veiled and the river twisting, shifting Surus''s position in relation to firm terra, time had become as hazy as everything else.

    His only certainty being the hour was in the early evening. From the angle of the foremast, he best reckoned, he could catch a glimpse of the harbor lights when they came into sight.

    The riverboat would follow the concourse where the Kayili poured from the sound that served as the town''s bay, meander along the eastern bank and she would circle around until the river carried her to port on the northeast end of Gareen.

    If everything went well, he could get the task completed in the early morning and catch another boat back to Nevespora by noon. Otherwise, the random chance to encounter someone from his past grew exponentially more likely if he had to walk her streets in the daylight hours.

    Surus took a pipe out of his wool jacket. His thumb settled between the ivory breast of an engraved nymph figurine. The other fingers of his hand fidgeted with the pipe as he began to pack it with tobacco.

    The steady sound of the oars below him waned slightly.

    He glanced down the length of his right shoulder to find himself looking into a pair of white eyes set in a stone-like gray face. Like a gargoyle''s conticent stillness, the giant oarsmen appeared inanimate until he spoke.

    "You. Where hail you, stranger," the oarsman asked.

    The big, gray-skinned man scrunched, sitting in an outboard galley the size of a Sgo?the dragon ship, on the end of a row of other giants. There were two of these ships attached on each side of the riverboat.

    The brand on the side of the galley slave''s face displayed prominent in the light of the lantern fixed above the giant''s head. Stone giants captured in the Bloody Seven were marked with an insignia consisting of a pair of red-painted hands sifting through black gravel representing their betrayal of humanity and the very granulate of the earth when they took the side of the beasts of the Abyss.

    ''I''m from Gareen, but this is my first time back in twenty-odd years," he answered.

    "That explains your fidgeting and the fear that marks your gaze. Why do you act so curious?"

    His arms, as well as those of his fellow giants in a row of four behind him, were enormous. How the red metal collars and chains were durable enough to restrain the barbaric giant tribesmen of the western plateaus of lands bordering the Imperium, Fei?ois could not fathom.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    "I wonder if they remember me."

    "Your tone of voice and quivering jawline tells me you''re hoping that they do not."

    That was an uncanny trait of the western stone giants, to read the body language of people and gauge from it knowledge imperceptible to most others. Surus smiled, though unnerved.

    Both man and giant jerked their heads up to the clasping sound of wings beating in a volatile change of direction. A small bird arched around the riverboat, dodging another bird out of their line of sight.

    Before it had the chance to shift its path of flight once more, the raptor swooped down and caught the bird by the scruff of its neck and ripped its vertebrae in two before dropping its prey into the water.

    Surus could see the birds corpse floating as it bumped into the river boat''s hull, becoming stuck on a barnacle cluster. The broken bird was a carrier pigeon with a message pouch sewn into its breast.

    "Most curious," Surus commented.

    "The red-tailed hawk up there is not mundane as you seem to have assumed as I gathered by the complacent slope of your brow. Men tend to be unnerved by fell beasts, and this one is quite fell", the giant answered. "The familiar of a witch, perhaps. It has been killing all of the carrier pigeons and not bothering to eat them. So I assume it has some purpose in doing so."

    "You can''t discern which passenger it belongs to?"

    "I''ve heard the light-footed patter of a lithe-bodied woman on the steps above. A petite creature she has to be with soft quiet feet. She avoids us, I suspect."

    When the bird''s corpse wrenched away from the barnacle it loosened ajar, it jetted flotsam between the outboard where the oarsmen sat and the main hull. The last giant on the row team reached out and grabbed it. He passed the dead bird down the line to the giant with whom Surus conversed.

    The giant opened the pouch with his thumb, displaying more finesse than Surus expected him to be capable. To his surprise, the bird''s rib cage did not collapse in on themselves as the giant held it.

    The giant studied the message and he casts a purposeful frown towards Fei?ois.

    "It is like the last one I tried to read. Made of a metal as limber as papyrus. I read Imperial well, but I know not what to make of this. Perhaps you''ll have greater success."

    The giant offered the note to Surus by steadying it on his oar and passing it up to him. Surus pocketed his unlit pipe as he took the message in his hands. He realized what it was as soon as he felt its metallic surface. It had an ink marking that only became visible when its phosphors were held to a white-hot fire.

    "I have the means to decipher this back in my cabin."

    "If you do figure it out, come back, and tell me what you learn. I would like to know what is going on on our boat."

    Surus gazed back into the giant''s unreadable face. Did the giant know as he did who commonly used the phosphorus markings in their ciphers?

    Obisvyrre, the Fiery Abyss, in Old Nin. A society dedicated to decadence and forbidden prophecy. A society of which Fei?ois attempted to locate and join in his own misspent youth.

    "I''ll do that," he said with a nod as he turned to leave.

    "One more matter", the giant asked. "If you could abide by my curiosity."

    "Yes," Surus said in a hesitant tone that granted permission with reluctance.

    "You have been in my place before, haven''t you, man of Gareen?"

    "How could you possibly know that," Surus asked, exasperated.

    "I see it on you. There is memory never grown placated just beneath your skin."

    Surus tapped on the rail and cleared his throat.

    "I served a sentence of nine months on a war galley for a crime of trespass."

    "It was a trespass of a certain sort, correct?"

    "Yes," Surus''s tone cold. He specialized in common property trespass, but that wasn''t the trespass to which the giant alluded. How could the giant discern the more flagrant kind?

    Surus cleared his voice.

    "What else do you see?"

    The other giants along the row team looked around and grunted at their companion''s response of laughter to Surus''s question.

    "Are you of want for me to say amongst all creation in the upper sphere?"

    "No," Surus confirmed with a shake of his head. "I suppose not."

 The Nightjar - Part II

    "That wasn''t very long. Night air not agreeing with you," Jacetani greeted Surus as he opened the chamber door to enter. His companion did not look up from the portfolio of plays, written in Su¨¹d cursive, to even notice the curious foiled metal Surus held in his hand for Jacetani to inspect.

    "Cold, dry, and heavy with the gloom of giant galley-slaves. Not agreeable in the least," Surus said in answer. "However, I did by chance happen upon something of note."

    Jacetani cleared his lap of the leather-bound manuscripts. He took a clean sheet of papyrus and a twice fine piece of charcoal and wrote down while he murmured his words for Surus to hear, "cold, dry and crisp, the evening air swaddled my clothes, bound me."

    "What are you doing," Surus asked, voice gruff with annoyance. He waved the metal script to get Jacetani''s attention, still not succeeding.

    "We''re on an adventure, are we not?"

    Surus gave up and settled by a work table beside which he kept a bag. He carefully laid the script down with the foil spread out so there were no seems to confuse the underlying syntax inscribed upon it. Surus reached into his bag, grabbed a pair of tweezers, a coiled flint wire, and a decanter filled with kerosene with the opening rigged to a torch taper. It was designed to burn hotter than a common oil lamp.

    Surus tried to ignore the questions, but Jacetani prodded him further.

    "You''re going to come across all manner of unpredictable intrigue, correct?"

    "Why assume anything will come of this? Leresai was told of this coin and where it could be found, but it may no longer be in Gareen."

    Surus lit the oil-soaked taper end. He pressed the side lever of the torch rig to tighten the flame.

    "Still, I''m not looking for adventure. I''ll simply scout the warehouse, take the coin if it is still there, and then we return home. Hardly worth basing a play upon. As you seem oddly desirous to do."

    "Don''t you see," Jacetani protested. "All of your adventures began here when you caught a riverboat to Nevespora and chanced upon the Majeur of that said city''s Ko Laga syndicate who held in his possession the treasure box of the goddess, Pestilence. Twenty years later, the Majeur being exiled here, you are once more taking from him his prize. Do you not appreciate the symmetry of this story?

    "It''s balanced, like a classical era play, and you are its protagonist. Even if nothing comes of this, perhaps, especially if nothing comes of this, the return in your winter adds poignancy to all that came before."

    "My winter? I''m only forty!"

    Surus waited for the heat to rise from the torch lamp flame. Only when it reached a full blue in its spectrum would the phosphor applied to it while holding it still for several patient minutes reveal the written message.

    Eyeing the print galley that so preoccupied his friend, Sulus asked, "a gift from Rohandas?"

    "Some plays collected together from the Su¨¹d. I''m deciding whether or not they are worth editing into a printed edition. The market for homoerotica is limited in Nevespora, though -" with a spry wink, "- certainly not nonexistent.

    "I''m not likely to make much money off of these. In Barronne after the rein of Kyusiga, homosexual shows were limited to off the mainline strip, though even still some are highly profitable.

    "Sometimes more so than mainline ones, depending, of course, if they get the right, best and prettiest endowed actors, or ones known for their sexual prowess."

    When Jacetani''s hands went to trace with his fingers thrusts up to describe the cocks he had in mind, Surus started a coughing fit and protested, "that won''t be necessary."

    "I''m just in the mood for reminiscence upon my formative years spent in Barronne. I began as an actor long before I ever put pen to paper."

    Surus placed the foil in the flame. It would take a good steady moment for the phosphors to release their secrets, and his longtime cohort and friend was well aware he had before him a captive audience for his mischief. His aloof manner was entirely caprice.

    Before Jacetani had a chance to elaborate on the well-trod story of his retirement from the stage after a messy on-stage accident that required surgery, Surus cut him off with a question.

    "I thought Rohandas spurned your advances because he doesn''t share your predilection."

    "He''s kept all of the scripts from plays he has previously acted in. They are even penned in his own hand," Jacetani answered with a sigh. "The problem with the plays though, they are not very good.

    "No depth of character, the plots are basic and only serve to set up the romps. Nothing like the plays I acted in twenty years ago in terms of quality."

    "Ah" Surus muttered, trying to figure out how to explain to his friend what he was getting at. "You said, he doesn''t share your predilection, but he acts in these plays... In by acting, he¡­"

    "Yes?"

    "I see a contradiction."

    Jacetani blinked as was his habit to hide the roll of his eyes.

    "Surus. Rohandas is an actor of the old school even if he is yet to reach thirty. Everything he does on stage is in character for the part, the person, he plays with all of his own personal considerations of enjoyment not a factor.

    "To be a true actor you have to lose yourself in the part. I played in mainline Su¨¹d theater with the same ethos when making love to women to whom I possessed no interest in on or off stage. There is a word for this that you should appreciate being the guildsman you are, professionalism."

    Surus glanced at the foil. The letters were still too light to make out. Curiously, there appeared to be hieroglyphs set in columns above the letters.

    "But still, there are limits that define who you are as a person," Surus countered.

    "The limits are the challenge!"Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "What possible challenge could it be to be expected to make love to a beautiful woman? Like them or not, you still have the perfect place to stick your dick. Almost like it was made for just that. Rohandas predicament on the other hand ..."

    "Don''t you understand," Jacetani protested clenching his stylus tight in one hand, and nearly breaking the charcoal he held under the bend of his other thumb. "If you are not willing to stretch the envelope for your art, how can you consider yourself a true artist?"

    Surus shook his head and scrunched his eyes.

    "What''s with the face," Jacetani asked.

    "Nevermind. I didn''t say anything." He could barely contain his laughter as he denied a response.

    "Oh, Surus Fei?ois, rude boy. The crudeness of your mind defies categorization."

    Surus pointed to a decanter of cherry brandy sitting on a corner table surrounded by a set of crystal shot glasses.

    "My friend," he said. "You''re much too serious for a riverboat adventure. Have yourself a drink. Enjoy yourself."

    Jacetani shrugged and put the folio galley down.

    "If you insist. Say, do you plan to have fun later on? Are you going gambling?"

    "That was my original plan to kill a few hours. Then I came across this."

    Jacetani gulped a shot of brandy as he became interested in Surus'' activity. He walked over and stood behind the guildsman and leaned over his shoulder.

    "What are you doing," Jacetani asked. "You''ve been keeping this from me?"

    "Don''t pretend you didn''t see me with this when I came in, and ignored it because you wanted to vetch about that folio of plays, I know you too well. In a minute, I''m going to need your stylus and a clean sheet of papyrus."

    In the split of an instance, Jacetani''s tone changed from curiosity and into admonishment.

    "Leresai sent me along to ensure you did not get sidetracked with your own vainglorious adventure spinning off in an entirely different direction than she needs of you. Acquire the coin, meet her back at the Sparrow. Simple and simple."

    Surus shook his head in disbelief.

    "A minute ago, you were ready to write up a picaresque of my evening''s intrigue. I truly chanced upon this above deck, but for me, I have to confess, what I hold here has been a part of my lifetime pursuit."

    When the first symbol came to light, Jacetani whispered in a hoarse gasp, "Obisvyrre. These queries of yours, you are very fortunate they haven''t brought you notice."

    "In your plays would the Nightjar let his curiosity go unsatiated due to cowardice?" Surus said with a smirk while revealing beneath his wool jacket the padding of studded black lustre, the gift of his Sgo?the acquaintance.

    "In truth, they should be as curious about me as I am of them, given -," he cut himself off.

    Jacetani was not so obtuse that he failed to notice Surus'' blunt self-correction.

    "Just what do you mean by that," he asked.

    Surus leaned into his friend. "Listen to me well, my old colleague, and my dear friend. I didn''t tell you everything or share all of my journals when we put those plays together. So, expect our time in Gareen to go not quite as planned

    "When we are walking the streets of Gareen if we do happen to have to stay so long, and if you happen to spy curious glances or even hateful stares casts my way, I wasn''t exactly forthright about the controversy that caused me to take up residence in Nevespora where a man of my ilk can find some tolerance and be of use.

    "Besides, what I, shall we say, edited out would not have been conducive to your narrative purposes."

    Jacetani breathing suspired, emphatic and slow.

    "I did not expect you to be entirely truthful. Just interesting enough in your life pursuit to base a series of plays on." He shook his head. "What kind of fool do you take me for?"

    Surus considered this question, and with a raised brow, "one of whom with the dramatic flair in his writing that would get me legitimately rich so I can hide the ill-gotten gains of my stolen riches and my luxurious living not appear conspicuous."

    Jacetani shrugged.

    "Well, then, that is exactly the fool I be."

    Surus turned back to his work to see the rest of the message illuminated upon the metal foil. He spread the foil out once more and drew its surface to an exacting likeness before it cooled and it''s protruded script contracted back to normal.

    The first glyph Jacetani recognized represented Obisvyrre, itself. An eye with a burning gyre for a pupil. It was followed by seven more glyphs with two hundred and thirty letters divided between them in ordered columns written beneath.

    "I''ve seen this cryptographic system before," Surus explained as Jacetani gawked at the sketch.

    "Each hieroglyph keys a different encoding. When all parts are decoded, the Obisvyrre glyph is used to decode the entire message as a whole into Imperial, or perhaps, the mother tongue of Old Nin."

    "Three degrees of encoding to keep this a secret," Jacetani stated. "Just how did you manage by chance to come across it?"

    "Someone trained a raptor, an oversized red tail hawk it appeared to be, to attack carrier pigeons leaving the riverboat."

    Jacetani sat down, his hands a flurry of motion, gripping for a stylus that was not there.

    "My, that is intriguing. So, what should we deduce from all this? There are members of the Obisvyrre on board this vessel, and they are being pursued by an unknown third party."

    "The giants made mention to me the raptor was fell. Under the spell of a witch, a shaman, or some other practitioner of the Art."

    "The giants told you this? The galley slaves, you mean?"

    "Yes," Surus affirmed.

    "They don''t just have conversations with anyone who happens to go wandering about the open-air decks. They must have found you... copacetic."

    Surus bobbed his head, slightly.

    "I suppose so."

    While giving Surus a suspicious gaze, Jacetani reached into a drawer stuffed with his travel bag and pulled a coin that gleamed electrum.

    "I can see why this bit of subterfuge may tempt you, but don''t forget Leresai''s matter here is paramount."

    "I''m stumped on this -," Surus answered as he tapped the paper he had written the code down on, "-until I get back to my library at the Sparrow, at least. So, do us a favor and put that becurs¨¦d coin away."

    "It''s quite beautiful, don''t you think," Jacetani teased with a challenge in his brown eyes. A smile beneath a mustache curled and greased in Su¨¹d fashion from a quarter of a century previous.

    "It''s an abomination," Surus nearly growled.

    Jacetani approached him with wolfish eyes.

    "It claims for itself to be from the future. Twenty and Seven years hence. Are you not fascinated by what that may mean?"

    "That it commits both the fallacy of prophecy, and suggests the abhorrent existence of Fate? As I said, an abomination."

    Jacetani rubbed the electrum piece against his thumb. While looking at the visage printed on its surface, he smiled.

    "Quite a likeness to our lady. Remember that day she came to our door all those years ago, so young, na?ve and tender-footed."

    Surus shook his head. In spite of the frayed feelings Jacetani evoked, he managed a chuckle.

    "That doesn''t sound like any Leresai of whom I have any memory."

    "Do you see this," Jacetani continued, ''She Who Awakened The World'' it says here, under a very queenly presentation of her. From the brothels of sacrament to an empress of the Imperium. Do you not want to see our dear Leresai succeed, and go on to accomplish great things?"

    "You are a prick, Jacetani. These coins suggesting she is some kind of usurper-to-be have caused our dearest friend nothing but grief."

    Surus buttoned up his jacket, and while pocketing three rows of silver ducats, he continued, "if you''ll excuse me, I would rather enjoy the company of vipers who are only after my coin and not the corruption of my immortal soul for my present company."

    Surus avoided Jacetani''s gaze as he turned towards the door. The playwright had succeeded in getting under his skin. Turning the table on Surus like that would make the playwright''s smile all the more smug.

    Surus obliged him with a heartfelt slamming of the cabin door.

    "Enjoy yourself," Jacetani called after him.

 The Nightjar - Part III

    Back up the top deck, hands clenched in the pockets of his jacket, Surus tried not so successfully to put his companions taunts out of his mind.

    They had a most profitable partnership over the previous two decades with the playhouse they owned together being a perfect front for the tradecraft Surus most enjoyed. His friend knew best how to needle him, what a Su¨¹dlander like Jacetani and a man of the Midvries like himself considered scandalous were at great variance.

    However, most importantly, in spite of Jacetani''s obtuseness in everything else, he knew better than anyone else what to overlook in Surus'' eccentric indulgences to make it all work to their mutual benefit.

    Still, the careless manner in which Jacetani would typically express his disapproval. It was more than Surus could stomach. The ignorance he often displayed on the nature of subterfuge, the blithe treatment he gave for the skulduggery that propped up the Imperium, he was a man from Barronne, of all places!

    A king of the Su¨¹dlands once moved his palace from there to the college and naval fort of Castle Barso to survive the backbiting courtiers of the old city.

    An adventure he called it!

    When Surus reached the gambling hall front door, Surus shook off his concerns.

    Hold your head up, smile and smirk with unabashed confidence.

    When he entered, Surus was greeted with the aroma of sweet musk and majoon that pervaded the carpet joints in any given city or backwater den on either side of the Mooring Sea.

    Twenty-three passengers sat arranged around five tables. Each table ran by a dealer with a single attendant who made her rounds between the tables. She most definitely made an impression on Surus.

    Her kindred were a rare sight in the western provinces of the Imperium outside the Nin where they migrated from the D''jestre lands generations ago.

    A diminutive Eastern cousin to the Haute Elves called the Jezde. A few inches under five feet tall, this one actually stood tall for her race.

    Her skin tone a rich purple that melded smoothly from light on her cheeks and hands to a near marron shade on her arms and neck. She dressed modest but proper for her hostess duties in a black velvet jacket and matching pants sleeved in boots that appeared to be fashioned from copperhead skins.

    Her wolf gray hair was pulled back in a samite patterned scarf. Jezde''s were known for their love of intricate design and bright colors.

    She made Surus'' heart skip a few beats when she looked up while she patted the ugly, stubby fingers of a rotund but bewhiskered with mutton chops gentleman. She tossed her head and smiled approvingly at the sight of Surus who she had heard entering due to the chimes at the door.

    He pointed to the decanter in her hand after she poured a burgundy colored liquor into the gambler''s glass and he made a tipping motion.

    The Jezde woman sauntered her way to him only pausing long enough to retrieve a clean glass from an overhanging rack at the center bar.

    The smell of majoon grew stronger as she neared him. On quick inspection, her eyes appeared focused and animated, seemingly clear of the narcotic''s influence.

    "Hello, sieur," she said as she poured the liquor; itself aromatic,

    "I''m Puc¨¨. I''ll be your hostess for the evening. Will you be joining us for sport?"

    Surus'' eyes swept the tables. At the far end, the gamblers bent and stooped around a low table in a very animated fashion throwing three dice against the cuff board in a game of Chance Bones.

    He cared not for games of pure luck. "Puc¨¨," he said as if tasting the word on the rim of his lips. "A fine and lovely name of the Midvries."

    "My family has lived here a free people for three generations, sieur," Puc¨¨ responded, formal but prideful.

    His eyes scanned other tables in a search for a game to his liking. The images from a dealt hand of cards held by a man in a gaudy lavender dinner jacket startled Surus.

    A game of Noreu Null, or most commonly known as Blackwater. Named after a Ninci city on the Midvries border most well known for hosting the vagabond Jezde.

    Puc¨¨ placed a reassuring grip on the back of his elbow. She had read his reaction correctly.

    "Sieur, I assure you the Jezde tarot this game is based upon is neutered of all symbolic meaning beyond harmless sentiments. It has been approved for games of both skill and chance by the Imperium Komatte."

    With a side cross glance and raised brow, she added, "otherwise, it would not be allowed in our establishment."The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Surus nodded and he relaxed his shoulders, not wanting to appear too frosty for this young appearing elven beauty. His suspicions told him that it wasn''t just his ruse of being a well-mannered, upstanding gentleman that held her attention. No, there was something else at play with this one.

    He pushed his lips tight and scratched the dimple in his chin to hide his lips from the curiosity of others while carefully annunciating in a blown whisper the words, "kindness finds you" in a thieve''s cant derived from an old Su¨¹d patois. Puc¨¨ responded without missing a beat by leaning her head to her left; her lips in the same active ventriloquism, saying, "for this day we are in accordance¡­"

    Then together they said, "made agreeable." To this the two guild members shared a pleasant laugh.

    Surus sipped the liqueur. It tasted sweet of sorghum candies but with a bitter finish from the zest of a fruit he could not identify.

    It came as no surprise that overseeing the operation of a riverboat gambling hall would be a sister member of the Kostlevidda, ''thing most vital'', as the guild founders felt their role in Imperial society to be.

    "If I truly don''t risk subjection to blasphemy, then Moiselle Puc¨¨, please lead me to a seat. I''ll watch the game and learn before committing myself to any chips." She took his arm in her own.

    "I''m certain this Eastern damnation will prove to be a mere temporary affection to your greater constitution, sieur. Right this way."

    The Jezde woman did as he requested and she was rewarded with three silver ducats.

    Settled down, Surus watched as the dealer flipped the pair of cards on the table. The first card had been engraved with the image of a yellow primrose being held by a strawberry blonde Elven lady with an emerald stud in her ear set in relief against a cascade of hair spun high.

    He recognized her as Rozzenblunde; a goddess who had turned her back on her sister goddesses to become the consort of a D''jestre warlord thought immortal until proven otherwise.

    The card was in black trim. The second card flipped by the dealer matched the first. The players went a round of bidding with none of the four players folding.

    Once the final bids were placed, with forty-eight chips in the queue, the players began to show their hands. Surus'' eyes followed the various cards while he ignored the actual players.

    One aspect of the game at a time. No sense getting a feel for the human element of the game until he understood the ruleset.

    His one advantage was his familiarity with the standard tarot deck he acquired while traveling the East for the guild.

    A complete deck consisted of twelve cards representing the Zodiac, twelve corresponding cards to each of the constellations called the Incarnations.

    The Primrose Lady was one of these cards.

    Six cards that name the Fates, and a final six called the Realms. The set of cards being used for Noreau Null was incomplete, and at first glance, seem to be a haphazard choice to Surus.

    One card, three balls being juggled by a skeletal hand, Death''s Jest, indicative of bad luck and of life bound in ironies was not balanced by a card with the image of three nude hermaphrodites dancing in a field of clover to represent good luck.

    There appeared in one hand he observed a grinning skull enveloped in darkness Oblivion Awaits, but no twisting orgy of dragons in any of the hands to represent the Call of the Abyss.

    None of the other Realm cards appeared either. The cards were not haphazard, nor random, but purposely lacked the scale of balance that comprised the standard tarot set.

    The full set contained lavish and intricate geometry corresponding to the astronomical layout of the sky in her four cardinal poses of equinox and solstice.

    Only the Obelisk with the Midday Star, Settetoile, above it kept the original lattice design.

    Long, feminine hands held the last set of cards in the bid. Her first card was the Disemboweled Albatross, in gold trim, a Fate card.

    Surus had seen the practice himself in his travels. Beneath the palace walls, spiral towers and minarets in eastern cities, squalor festered on the streets.

    Emaciated, impoverished hags for augers, squatted around a spread of entrails from the birds they captured coming in from the sea. Why such a desperate people excluded from a prosperous future would want to know their fate eluded Surus'' thief-honed comprehension.

    The last two cards she flipped over were a pair of Primrose Ladies trimmed in black and matching the pair on the table. Her four-in-accord beat anything else that had been played before.

    With a predatorial laugh, she raked in the coins.

    He was just looking up to see the face of the winner when that laughter evoked a ghost of a memory; a near hoarse chuckle that echoed the giggle of a familiar girl.

    She was a forty-ish woman with faded red hair pinned back in a black netted billiment with roses adorned in the crown of her head. Pearls studded along the length of her ears.

    Her eyes were as lavender green as he remembered. She had not grown dowdy in the intervening years but remained quite elegant.

    Surus remembered this woman most vividly. Large nipples on an ample ivory bosom stood erect for his squeezing fingers. The delicate pink that turned blood red with a twist of his thumb.

    The all-pervading scent of her succulent cunt, lactose sweet and salty urine to the taste when he brought a finger up to his lips. He had stroked her curls, running his hand through the downy pubes that were even lighter in color than her head of hair.

    Curls of a tangerine blonde, and so, so many of them. He remembered it all, rubbing the sides of her pussy, pushing the red fleshy mound beneath up into his grip.

    Her folds pressed so firmly together, revealed the peach red cavity beneath peeking out of the slightest of crevices, and fittingly shut with the massaging press of his hand.

    Then beneath his delicate touch, with her thighs pressed against her cunt, the delicate, warm juice shot up into his palm and between his fingers.

    Dripping of her oily cum, he licked his hand once more while staring into her green eyes.

    She could not move. A glass needle with a thin line of a mercurial appearing backwash of blood in its hollow cylinder pricked the side of her neck.

    Those eyes revealed nothing that evening but an intense curiosity. What did she feel? What was she thinking? She did cum, after all.

    Now on a riverboat going upriver to Gareen, she stared back into Surus'' eyes with the same intense curiosity, and she knew precisely who stared back in turn.

    I''ll be thrice damned. That random chance of encounter needed not even the exponential of my feet stepping off this boat.

 The Nightjar - Part IV

    Surus Fei?ois lived a pampered life before he was cast out of his father''s house. His family kept an estate above the flood zone in the upper terraced hills of Gareen.

    His father was a landowner with significant holdings. He rented parcels to two dozen sharecroppers in the outer county. On the outskirts of Gareen proper he licensed a vineyard to an ambitious company of young men, Ninci immigrants, after he retired from maintaining it himself.

    Adolescence and early adulthood appeared to be idle time for young Surus to those concerned with his well-being. He spent his time pushing figurines around tactical maps that represented the great battles of the known world.

    He even corresponded with other enthusiasts across the Imperium. His maester responsible for his education, IiIlrondas, disapproved of this idleness on the part of his ward.

    While Surus'' contemporaries were going to university and achieving appointments in the foreign services, improving their lot away from provincial life in Gareen, Surus only seemed concerned with games.

    The maester investigated the matter and he attempted to read his ward''s correspondence. To his surprise, the letters were not even written in Imperial. They seemed to be a game puzzle in themselves.

    "What is this," the maester asked his charge. "It looks like an Haute Elven variant created by lotus-eaters!"

    "Cryptograms," came the young man''s answer. "It is a game I play with others who share a passion for stratagems."

    "Games. All you do is play games!" IiIlrondas admonished. "You are found of recasting all the great battles, studying in excruciating detail the actions taken by our generals, and their generals.

    "It isn''t too late for you, young Fei?ois. Get to University. Get an entry into the Imperium administration. You could be of actual use to someone in the right circumstances."

    Surus did not take the maester''s advice. A few months afterward, one occurrence caused his entire world to be thrown in discord and his life''s trajectory to be radically altered.

    He had traveled crosstown one evening with the excuse he needed to retrieve packages from the post master''s office when the truth about Surus Fei?ois was stumbled upon.

    The young brunette housekeeper''s name was Jejenua. Her work duties for the Fei?ois estate included the master''s manor, the maester''s study cabin, and a smaller manor on the other end of a vineyard and grove where Surus lived alone.

    That early evening, Jejenua put on a pair of work trousers, and lumbered buckets and a mop on her back across the yard to give the floor it''s weekly scrubbing. After exchanging pleasantries with the two gardeners who relaxed by a large brew pot she let herself in.

    Within minutes, her long skinny arms set to working the mop back and forth with the clincher pole in hand while she hummed a country diddy she had danced to on the fiddler''s green the night before.

    She thought of handsome Reijin, the strapping Ninci longshoreman whom she sought out that evening to escape the menacing leers of two thuggish foreign men; a pair of inscrutable D''jestre who watched her as she waited for her friends to show up.

    One stranger, an elder easterner, stood insolent and prim in a gabardine robe; he wore lavender silk beneath it more befitting an opium den than a country dance.

    His companion was a younger man dressed in urbane corduroy. He wore a cap with a red wing raven''s quill inset askew on the band.

    When she told the big Nincian her fret, Reijin took her into his big arms and wrapped them tight against her rump. He lifted her up, carrying her as he walked over to the D''jestre thugs.

    With Jejenua''s arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug, Reijin spat at the ground by the feet of the two men.

    "The two of you, take the piss before I whoop the shit out of both you creeping jackals."

    The look on their strangely ornamented faces as they shuffled off, throwing menacing glances in impotent challenge to Reijin, made the Nincian the boldest man in all the Imperium in her eyes.

    But all was well once he took her out to the fiddler''s green where they swooned to the old payson lilt for an entire suite of songs. Jejenua got caught up in her dance while thinking of how she was going to get that boy to marry her when she lost her grip on the clincher pole.

    It banged a path on the floor and smacked against a floorboard that indented oddly upon contact. She heard a swishing noise in the parlor one room over.

    "That''s not right. That''s not right, at all," Jejenua muttered to herself, nervously.

    She bent down and placed her hand against the board. It pushed back in place as she applied pressure. The swishing noise occurred again, this time followed by a click.

    Her curiosity far from satiated, Jejenua pushed down on the panel once more and she heard the swishing motion repeat again.

    "I''ll be a mumbling to myself, skinny little fool," Jejenua said as she rose up. She steeled her resolve as she turned the corner, "but I do have to know what in the blazes of Shoal is going on."

    A small corridor on the wall in front of her was now revealed. She could see the ascent of a stairwell. How did she never notice the displacement of space?

    It must be part of the old design when a whole clan of the Fei?ois family lived here in several houses and they worked a large vineyard estate a generation ago, she reasoned. It must have been walled off when the property was refurbished a few decades ago.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Jejenua peered through the nearby windows to see if there was any outside activity. Only the two gardeners, now joined by a friend, pitched a fire under a cauldron, brewing mulberry and malted grains. At the maester''s residence, IiIlrondas had only one light on in his study.

    If Surus returned early this evening, he would certainly stop by the small gathering to talk, as nothing distracted menfolk like a good fire set beneath a brew.

    After grabbing an oil lamp, she climbed the stairs into a long room walled off from the second floor. The secret stairway was located in the back of the manse against the far wall that faced the woods where the beautiful snake dancer crone Ursa lived.

    Though Jejenua love conversing with the exotic woman in the market and buying from her the enchanted leather goods she sold, Jejenua certainly would never hazard to venture across the woods to visit.

    Wizened women attracted wildlings, and wildlings ravished and devoured pretty skinny girls. That is just the way of nature.

    That explained how she never noticed the secret area as she had good reason to go out of her way to avoid it, but how she had never bumped into the panel that opened the sliding door built into the wall was the greater mystery.

    Given it a moment''s consideration, it was all but impossible. Someone must have deliberately broken the clamp that kept the floorboard in place.

    Her mouth tasted sour as she thought about it. Jejenua already had two culprits in mind. Those damn D''jestre thugs searching for hidden wealth in the manors of Gareen''s good people.

    At the top of the stairs, Jejenua lifted the oil lamp in front of her steadily. The light flickered, casting dense shadows on a clutter of many things that lined the walls of the long room.

    First of which, to her left, a collection of butterflies pinned on frame boards placed nearest her on the wall. Many of the butterflies were exotic to her.

    Sharp, dangerous-looking wings in a spew of monochromatic, and nearly metallic-looking colors with long, pincer needles for mouths. Her heartbeat quicken a few paces when she recognized the malefic insects from a long-ago memory.

    In her childhood, the schoolmarm spent her early evenings entertaining and teaching the children of servants. Jejenua recalled a time when the children crowded around the woman''s chair as she showed them a monstrous picture.

    "The butterflies of the Tatatrez archipelago can be taught to attack in a swarm," the schoolmarm informed them; her voice a dramatic whisper.

    "Can they kill a man," one fat dumpling of a boy asked.

    "Yes, with vicious cuts that drip with the acid of venom that''ll boil your blood and stop your heart."

    "I don''na wanna die," the same boy cried as the children let out a collective gasp.

    The schoolmarm shook her head. Her hair bun sweeping back and forth.

    "Not to worry your lovely little heads, my children. The climate of the Midvries is too cold for the butterflies to survive for very long. So long as you never run away to become South Sea pirates, you have nothing to worry about.

    "Any of you plan to grow up to go forth venturing in the South Seas?"

    "No," they all shouted.

    "I don''na wanna die," screeched the boy once more. Jejenua skirted away from his side when Dumpling pissed himself.

    The schoolmarm took note of him with a kind smile, ignoring the growing yellow puddle that had the girls screeching and the boys jeering.

    "You stay put," she said, scratching his head, "learn to love your plow and your hoe and you''ll never need to fret. You''ll live to such a ripe old age only the stags will consider your flesh worth tearing into."

    More screams as the children mulled over being eaten by deer.

    "Hush now, you get your minds settled to the way of nature and stop that foolish screaming. Now, children. One last devilish delight for you. Let me tell you about¡­-," The schoolmarm flipped to another picture, "... The Foeren yeti that stalks the elves and the Sgo?the!"

    "Crazy old bitch," Jejenua chuckled to herself, mesmerized by the deep blues of the terrifyingly beautiful butterfly.

    Then the fear of being caught spying crept back to the fore of her thoughts. She needed to move on.

    Besides the butterfly collection was a writing table with a full set of scribner''s tools including a red-winged raven quill that could have been the twin of the one in the D''jestre''s hat. This one was laid out on a desk with the other tools and several notebooks.

    An unlit oil lamp sat in a holding above.

    Letters were stuck in a cubby hole and a book lay open. It appeared to be a personal journal written in a language not the Imperium Vulgate she had been taught to read. Many individual letterforms went beyond even those she recognized as Court Imperium.

    She turned to take in a workbench beside the writing desk, covered in flasks and chemical apparatus. A long sabertooth with an extracting tube sieve attached caught her eye.

    It ended in a slow drip of a green liquid.

    "That is most curious, sieur Fei?ois," she muttered.

    Jejenua raised the lamp so she could better see the accoutrements that lined the back wall. It was then that she knew the truth about her employer''s son.

    "The Night Visitor," she gasped.

    Jejenua ran down the stairs, lungs too stiff to scream. She fled the house. The older gardener, a long thin man named F?tor caught her as she tried to run by him.

    "Let me go," she pleaded as she tried to catch her breath.

    "Li''l Bug, wha''s the matter," F?tor asked in a thick provincial accent, as he gave her a reassuring squeeze of her rump.

    "The Fei?ois sire is a, may the Abysmal Mothers eat his soul, freak of human malady. There is a secret room, full of collectibles. I saw masks of faces on the wall. Made up to appear in the likeness of several girls from Gareen.

    "Beneath the masks were tables with their stolen personal possessions. Combs, brushes, nail clippings, dirty undergarments, menses rags, clippings of hair. So, so horrible, sieur."

    F?tor held her by her shoulders in the crook of one arm. The other arm still curved around to her backside.

    "It all makes sense now why a lovely girl like you has not been stalked and not had her very own visitation," he continued in a soothing voice.

    "Why, you live too close to home for him to creep around you. You don''t shite where you eat they say in the thieving trades.

    "I wondered why you were so glum of late, Li''l Bug. Why, you just as pretty as the best of those girls he violated."

    "F?tor, I think you may be a tad touched."

    She swept his hands from her rump with gentle smacks. Like any sensible girl, Jejenua loved to have her bum tickled, but F?tor talked his way into being on punishment.

    "It''s not about that," she continued. "I wasn''t even thinking about myself. But those poor girls."

    "Horg," he continued. "Take our Li''l Bug to the cabin and get her some tea''n''fortify to calm her nerves. I''ll see to this."

    She turned to see who F?tor was watching as his voice turned from a jest to keep her in her good senses to a more somber tone. Maester IiIlrondas stood on his front porch. The rail clenched in his hands to steady himself. He stared at the manse of Surus Fei?ois with a look of despair.

 The Nightjar - Part V

    "You appear lost, my dear Fei?ois," Anyetta called to him from across the card table. "You have never played Blackwater? I find that hard to believe."

    Heat rose from beneath the skin of Surus'' face. Her voice seemed eerily nonchalant given their history.

    His eyes tilted down towards the card spread out beneath her hands, Surus shook his head and he attempted to smile; his facial muscles, however, could not relax.

    "No. Never have I made sport of it," he answered.

    "One moment, Levert," she asked pardon of the dealer with an outstretched hand. The dealer gave her the cards.

    "There are two sets of cards in Noreau Null. Levert shuffles his own deck only once until his deck is depleted. He shuffles the players'' cards every turn.

    "Forty-eight cards divided into two suits, black and gold. For each suit, there are twelve pairs of cards, from lowest rank card to the highest"

    She flipped a card for Surus to see, "Elven Slave," and she continued to flip a succession of cards, "Disemboweled Albatross, Lady of the Clouds, Blood-drenched Goblet, Midday Star, Primrose Lady, Stricken Tower, the Great Divorce, -" hardly a matter of harmless sentiment, Surus thought as gazed at the image of the bridegroom in a top hat with his hand held out empty.

    Izdun killed millions in his quest for monotheistic supremacy.

    He listened as Anyetta continued, "Pestilence, Death''s Jest, Oblivion Awaits, and the Vagabond Jezde is a law unto himself.

    "If you have only one in your hand, all of your other cards are null. if you have both, then you have in your possession the highest-ranked pair.

    "There are no gold nor black-suited vagabonds and there are none in the dealer''s cards. It is the only card you can build a three or four-in-accord without an assist from the dealer''s cards."

    Anyetta flipped four cards, a gold Pestilence a black Death''s Jest, a gold Death''s Jest, and a gold Blood-drenched Goblet. She tapped the two Death''s Jest cards and pushed them aside.

    "Gold and black cancel one another out. Hence the null in Noreau Null. Your Pestilence is your card of highest value."

    She flipped two more cards.

    "Say, these are Levert''s. After the first round of betting, he flips two cards. A black-suited Stricken Tower, and a black Midday Star. They do nothing for your hand.

    "You''ll enter the second round of betting with no matching pair. You can either fold or bluff. Or, perhaps, it best them all. Often in Blackwater, no one has even a diddling''s squirt", she said with cheek raised in a growled flourish, "so, did you get all of that, Fei?ois?"

    "I have the gist of it," he claimed with mocked surety. His thumbs pressed into his brass jacket buttons.

    "Can you repeat the ranking back to me," she asked with a smile perked between her cheeks.

    "As a matter of strategy, I shall remain aloof on that score. Perhaps I do. Perhaps, you are correct."

    "We shall see. Call the girl over to exchange for some chips," Anyetta challenged.

    Surus obliged her and as he held out a roll of fifty ducats for Puc¨¨ to collect.

    The Jezde damsel leaned into him and in ventriloquized thieves'' cant asked, "are you certain you are up to the game, sieur Fei?ois? Those two across the table are a pair of riverboat grifters."

    "I have a feeling even the loss of my coin may be instructive this eve, my moiselle" Surus answered.

    He peered across Puc¨¨''s shoulder. The man to Anyetta''s left had not even caught Surus notice.

    Anyetta''s companion leaned towards the gentleman to his own left and he mimicked that man''s body language with hunched shoulders, crooked twitching pinky finger and a bored hound dog expression that added years to his face. He appeared much older than Anyetta.

    In the same cant, while he appeared to be flirting with the hostess, Sulus asked, "so, that''s her husband?"

    Puc¨¨ laughed before answering as if Surus had said something terribly na?ve.

    "They are married. Just not to one another."

    Surus glanced back at Anyetta with a smile of his own.

    "I thank you for the lesson, Moiselle Anyetta Maris-Galee. I should note, you appear to have done well for yourself."

    "Mrs. Veering, now. I''m getting another night in these clothes."

    She smoothed the satin embroidery that draped her arms. "Made for a soir¨¦e in Nevespora, but a tad too lavish for even a ball in Gareen."

    "Too lavish, you say. I wouldn''t know," Francois answered. "I haven''t been back to Gareen in twenty-one years. The streets may be paved in gold for all I know."

    Surus glanced at the man at her side. He expected the man to show some curiosity towards someone who spoke to his companion. The grifter merely studied the table giving away no sign of interest in Surus.

    The man wore an old troubadour''s leather cap with many folds and brass bands attached.

    Anyetta pushed her cards in to fold and handed over the two chip buyout.

    "What was it your father said after he marched you to a riverboat not so luxurious as this one that time he bought you passage to Nevespora?"

    "That was a long time ago," Surus answered.

    He wondered what motivated her prodding tone. Merely to keep him unsettled and off-balance while he played? Or a well-understated vengeance she was exacting?

    For that matter, how did she know about the dilapidated state of the vessel unless she was at the docs hidden amongst the small crowd that had gathered when his father unceremoniously forced him out of town.

    "Never is a long time," she teased.

    "My old man can hardly protest now. I may even visit the old homestead."

    "You do that, dear," she giggled. Her voice now smooth and ageless.

    As the man to Anna''s left raked in the chips, Surus decided to goad as well.

    "Splendid win, Mr. Veering," he complimented.

    After a pause where the man finally acknowledged him with studious eyes, the old troubadour threw Surus a reptilian smile, but he did not correct the misnomer. He was at least a decade older than Anyetta.

    He leaned back, and sized up the thief with a chuckle as puffs of smoke raised from his pipe.

    Surus tapped the table with a two-chip ante. On the following hand, he was dealt into the game.

    He peered at his cards. Gold Disemboweled Albatross. Gold Stricken Tower. The curious Blood-drenched Goblet with a pair of horse heads for holders in Black. Elven Slave in black.

    The last card was an image from the days of the cruel elder gods. The elf depicted possessed a ridgeline on his brow, sharp canines, and long jaws. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    He appeared as feral as a wildlands cave-dweller.

    It was an elf as he supposedly appeared before a ruthless genealogical culling transformed the mer into their current divergent forms of Haute, Sylvan, Jezde and Gray.

    It was a weak hand, and Surus did not know what the dealer had played out of his deck on the nine previous turns since the last shuffle. He thought of folding, but the current bid when it came around to him was only fifteen chips.

    His fifty ducats converted into two hundred chips made of polished ebony. Surus checked his bid on his turn as he pushed fifteen chips in.

    Anyetta pressed her companion''s shoulder and spoke amusedly in his ear, but she made certain loud enough for Surus to hear.

    "Tereth," she began, "tonight is going to be fun, after all. I''m certain he has nothing. Look at the way he works his tongue at that dry little scab at the center of his upper lip."

    "Ba," the man she called Tereth answered. "It''ll take all night to bleed him dry. Look at the pitch of his brow as he studies his cards. So methodical and cautious. He has tells inside of tells."

    Tereth winced his eyes as if he strained to see. He pointed a thin wooden stem of his pipe at Surus, and he asked her, "was he one of your lovers? Before you settled on Veering?"

    "That cad?"

    "Yes, that cad."

    "Why, of course, my darling."

    The dealer flipped over a gold Pestilence, and a gold Oblivion Awaits. Surus'' hand was nearly worthless. Anyetta''s companion slid in twenty chips for his bid.

    The two gentlemen to his left followed through as well, but did not raise their own bids. When Surus, the last player on the table folded, Tareth grinned to his lover.

    "Please do take the time to thank Mr. Fei?ois for doing me the favor of breaking you in as I recall you were well-schooled that evening I met you going on twenty years ago now. It certainly wasn''t Veering''s doing, so is it safe to assume it was this cad''s?"

    The two gentlemen playing with them raised their heads to this remark. One gasped and he took a sip of blushbort before hissing an old Nincian insult, "obisbesz¨¦ltogu", ''you speak the abysmal tongue.''

    "You are correct in as par the usual certain limited sense that you are ever accurate in your assessments" Anyetta scolded, "but I''ve warned you before about speaking ill of my dear Manny. Though lovers we may be, you and I, Salugarr, we are not saiwala gematas, so don''t you assume for yourself such intimacy."

    "A thousand pardons I beg of you, Lady Veering. Your soul has indeed been well mated with that of the indubitable Manifel Veering."

    Sulus watched her reaction. She threw a side swiping glance but went immediately back to her cards.

    Except for the flush along her neck in reaction to Tereth''s biting sarcasm she was undeterred in keeping composed.

    As for the man, Tereth was a common name in both the Nin and Midvries so Sulus did not catch on right away, but in studying the manners and intimidating presence and matching it with the reputation, Sulus started to feel like he should know this man. It hit him then when Anyetta had said the name, ''Salugarr.''

    Put nearly thirty years on Barathiel Salugarr, leather up his olive skin, dust-up his Nincian bronze hair, put jowls on his round face, deep crow''s feet crested under the advocate''s eyes, and you would have him sitting here at this table.

    He had only met Barathiel on a few social occasions. More importantly, this was Tereth Salugarr, father to Leresai''s dearly departed lover, Brietess, whom Sulus had known quite well.

    When their hands were shown, Tareth won the round with a three-in-accord in gold suited Pestilence. Rapping the image of Pestilence, the goddess enwrapped in the spiraling tail of her green dragon lover, with the back of his knuckles, he boasted, "fell to the Plaguemonger, boys."

    As he collected his winnings. He turned his attention back to Anyetta with a squeeze of her elbow.

    "What of him? Surely you don''t mind if I know the details of that triste?"

    With her chin raised, "you see those tiny hands of his-," she gestured with her brows towards Surus, "-ever so delicate, and delicately gathering his cards. Now, do you really imagine them ''breaking'' me ''in'', as you so eloquently put it?"

    Surus cupped his cards, both studying them and hiding his eyes for a moment''s respite so as not to be distracted. Lady of the Clouds suited gold. Pestilence suited black, Midday Star suited black. A matching Lady of Clouds to finish it off. Not a bad hand.

    Surus was determined to ignore their antics as well as the racing curiosity that predominated his thoughts; a curiosity that wondered why the royal Ninci scion was playing at being a riverboat hustler. He had the wealth to gamble as he pleased, but whoever starts out with wealth and then actually gets good enough at the game to hustle?

    That was suspicious.

    It was Sulus'' turn to start the bidding. He put ten chips in the pot. Anyetta raised another ten more. No one folded.

    Tereth turned to his companion, placed his lips up against her ear and asked, "Let me ensure I get the gist of what you are telling me, lovely Anyetta. Are you saying he merely diddled you?"

    To this question a gentleman to Tereth''s right coughed in disapproval. Tareth Salugarr continued unabashed.

    "However, you count him amongst your lovers? That must have been quite the fingering he gave you."

    He looked appraisingly at Surus'' hands.

    "Oh it was. How could you doubt it," she answered. "Again, I say, look to the exquisitely formed and masterfully sloped instruments he has for fingers. Such supple and fluid movement as he merely holds those cards. If you were a woman, you would dream for such a man to come through the window one late evening and fondle your pussy."

    "Dear gods," The gambler nearest the Ninci scion protested.

    "''Fraid, alas, my kitty has never been declawed," she answered him in a mockingly sheepish tone.

    Tareth Salugarr gazed at Surus; appraising him this time with his eyes drawn scornfully low.

    "Is that what happened," Tareth asked. His tone hardened.

    "Let''s get back to the game," Anyetta insisted. "Before we become entirely insufferable to the other players."

    Even Levert, the dealer, who likely had seen much bilge worthy behavior in his many years of shuffling cards, had stopped to listen as Anyetta reminisce on the memory of her visitation.

    He shook his head bemused then threw down two cards from the top of the deck. One of which, a black Midday Star canceled out Surus'' own card. The second card was a gold Elven Slave. At least he retained a pair of the Lady of Clouds, Surus considered.

    His bid should match his previous one. No, double it as a show of confidence. He stacked twenty chips on to the queue. No one offered to raise the bid and all but Anyetta folded.

    She showed her hand. Three-in-accord in gold suited Elven Slave. He folded his own hand.

    With a content smile, her head tilted happily on her neck, Anyetta collected her chips. Salugarr cleared his throat.

    "You never explained," he started. "Is that what happened? Fei?ois came through your window one evening to commit a sexual transgression?"

    There was enough venom in Tereth''s voice to put Surus on notice. He rolled his elbow counterclockwise twice to ready a spring-loaded pen knife that hid in his sleeve.

    Anyetta turned her left eye on her lover, arched her right brow towards Surus to let them both know who was in control, she, not him, nor her lover.

    "Oh, Tareth," she said. "Are you going to veer this pleasant evening off into the spite of melodrama?"

    "You are evading my question. So, I assume the description you give of him being a cad is from your own personal experience," Tareth answered her.

    His knuckles scraped the table with a double rap. All of the other men were rapt in attention as Tereth''s antics grew louder. Other players from other tables began to take note.

    Puc¨¨, however, casually strolled from table to table refilling glasses. When she finally reached Surus, her mouth lifted against a stiff cheek in an awkward smile, she shook her head and winked.

    As she leaned over, she whispered, "they are still playing you, you do know that, correct?"

    "It couldn''t be more obvious if they wrote it down on a placard and set it down behind them."

    "Just in case the old sod is drunk enough to invest his good sense elsewhere, look to my hip."

    A stiletto strapped in a leather sheath hung from her belt.

    "Thank you, moiselle Puc¨¨, but I won''t be needing it. A literal trick I have up my sleeve."

    She put the decanter out of his reach with a playful, "no more drink for you, sieur Fei?ois."

    It was then, Anyetta let out a loud chortle over all other noise in the den.

    "He needs to be taught a lesson or three," Tereth muttered as he glowered at Sulus.

    "Tereth, righteous indignation is unbecoming of you. You make of yourself a white knight standing up to defend the honor of a befallen lady, please remember, knighthood was banned from our world for a reason.

    "It is a woman''s prerogative, not a man''s, as the Empress herself would tell you, to decide whether or not she was transgressed during the course of a dalliance. Perhaps, she was just pleasantly surprised when someone she had been flirting with for months finally showed some bravado and ingenuity."

    "So, my opinion matters not, then?"

    After a moment of silence where Anyetta''s eyes told him how little it mattered to her, he said, "no, I have not even a claim of marriage to that first-rate derriere of yours, so why would it?"

    He took a deep hefted breath from his pipe, and laughed as he watched Surus'' reaction to his change in mood.

    "Well, tell me this," Tareth asked, "at least, did you enjoy it?"

    For a split instance she stole a longing glance at Surus. She made certain he saw it.

    "It awoke something inside of me. I would never have sought you out, nor Manny, nor would I ever have come to know of my own kindred brood, if not for the Night Visitor."

    Surus heard the name, ''Night Visitor,'' whispered at the other tables. His own cohort of players appeared anxious to proceed onward with the game.

    He thought to stand up and excuse himself and let them have their peace, but the two other gentlemen and Levert merely waited patiently for him to ante up. They must have played with the two on many occasions before and been keenly aware of their antics.

    Regardless, the grift was still an effective one, no matter how boldly obvious it''s execution. Over the next hour, as Surus puzzled over the phrase, ''my own kindred brood'', he was stripped of two rolls of silver ducats.

 House Salugarr - Part I

    House Solugarr

    Hauling three bottles of Deadsift brandy, wrapped in a towel and placed in a wicker luncheon basket, Barathiel walked out of the palace through a little-used exit into a paved pathway leading up a hill where the Lyoneid family mausoleum stood.

    He sipped the brandy under a green marble column with his back propped against the entrance way steps.

    His eyes set on the southernmost bridge leading from the city of Nevespora onto the palace grounds. The moon arced above the archway support on his right. By the time of its wane behind a capstone figurine, Barathiel had gulped down the contents of the first bottle.

    Although his stomach felt tight with an ache that never settled, he opened up his second bottle. The brandy smelled hideous beyond what the laws of nature allowed the human nose to sense without the assistance of sorcery.

    A burning sensation flared in his nose followed by a wave of nausea Barathiel could barely keep in check. He held the bottle at arm''s length for a good minute. The potency of the Deadsift brandy in that moment when first exposed to air often proved deadly for anyone who dared to take a gulp.

    He jerked his head to see what stirred along the wall behind him. The sound of a robe flapped in the wind and rustled along the floor tile but faded as Barathiel could make nothing discernible out of the shadows behind him. He shook his head with considerable agitation.

    "You play games with me, Renua."

    "I recognize that name," came an unexpected reply from his left.

    It was Lieutenant Graes. The palace guard continued speaking in a helpful tone, "in fact, Renua Lyoneid''s crypt is in there, in that building right behind you."

    From the direction of the palace, following Barathiel''s previous course, the palace guard Ettias Graes walked up to the mausoleum making very little noise in boots that should have given a hard pound to his steps.

    Barathiel turned his goblet downward and he returned the cork to the bottle.

    "Making your rounds, lieutenant?"

    "As such I am," the guard replied.

    "I haven''t seen your captain this evening, Graes."

    Graes'' eyes lowered cooly on the liquor bottles. His lips puckered into a smirk.

    "An Elven courrier was in need of an escort to the palace."

    Barathiel nodded.

    "I figured as much. Bierd¨¦ would take the task for his own amusement."

    "My captain is entirely enthralled to the race of them."

    Barathiel raised his chin askance at the man''s gossipy tone.

    "Would have been me taking on that assignment by the right of it. Likely a fetching good maiden," Graes recovered.

    "Elven maiden," Barathiel shrugged his shoulders, "is there any other kind but fetching? Still, not like you can marry one of the warriors. They are all sworn to serve Sunwelder."Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Barathiel wanted to continue that line of thought, but a belch more forceful than he intended crept up his throat.

    Graes'' eyes gazed back at the bottles by Barathiel''s side.

    "You should at least be eating something with that to help hold it down," he suggested.

    Barathiel raised his hand up flat asking for pardon.

    "Excuse me, Graes."

    With a moan, he stood up in a rush, lunging towards the green of the hill slope. Bent forward, held up by his stiff arms, Barathiel vomited the contents of his stomach down the gentle slope.

    Graes turned his head.

    "How can you stand the smell of that shit, advocate? Your constitution must be more stout than one would gather just by the size of you. I''ll never challenge you to a wager of ducats and shots, that is certain."

    Barathiel''s eyes quickly read the guard. His thoughts grew suspicious. Graes did not appear to recognize the scent of the contraband liquor, but as Captain Bierde''s right hand, he would know how to keep his concerns well guarded.

    If Graes guessed the brandy was the notorious necromantic concoction Deadsift and if he recalled it in connection with Barathiels mumbled rant calling on Renua Lyoneid, the guard could deduce the purpose of the drinking session he witnessed by the mausoleum on the hill.

    The crime of high necromancy, calling on the dead for castings concerning Fortune, Fate and Destiny, the three lies the S?urarchy declared them, one could hang for that.

    Barathiel took a chance. He offered lieutenant Graes his goblet.

    "Have you ever tried absinthe, Graes," he asked.

    The lieutenant balled up his face in a sour pucker.

    "Oh no, not me. I''m not drinking that shit."

    "Are you certain," Barathiel offered once more.

    "If that is what absinthe smells like," pointing to the contents on the ground, "I''ll take the piss."

    Barathiel looked up and smiled.

    "I like my drink bitter and I like my drinks sour," he answered. "It gets me in the righteous state of mind to hate all of creation forthrightly."

    "Prettiest wife in all the Midvries, and you think you have a reason to hate anything. Such a pity."

    Graes thumbs twitched at the cusp of his belt. He continued on when Barathiel did not respond.

    The Ninci man merely stared up at Graes dumbfoundedly.

    "Ignore that if you choose. I did not come up this hill to preach at you. I know very little about it, the narcotics, so I can only imagine.

    "I''ll stick to ale, thank you very much. Advocate, I bid you to the good graces of the deities. Oh, and please, when I come back later on my rounds, try your best not to be dead.

    "I don''t want to be in the position of having to explain to the Duke why I let his most favored nephew poison himself to death."

    With a curt nod, Graes turned to his left and continued walking along the path that circled the southern perimeter of the palace grounds.

    Most favored. Barathiel spat out when Graes disappeared from his view. Nincians such as himself, expats from the traditional seat of the Imperium, were barely tolerated in the court of Lyoneid, where D''jestre came and went as they pleased.

    Barathiel turned back to face the bridge. Now certain he was alone, he could relieve the social graces that kept his drunkenness in check.

    All the while, loathing himself for the necessary distraction of an intoxicated state of mind contravening his otherwise well-planned subterfuge.

    "Where are you, you old, spiteful wizard? You dictated the terms of our meeting here, this very eve. Are you not anxious to see your designs to their completion?"

    Across the palace grounds of parks and forest and groves, Barathiel kept his eyes on the southernmost bridge where couriers and minor dignitaries were allowed to enter.

    Under the chromatic pendragon signet flag of the House Lyoneid, smaller swallowtail bungee flags along the bridge concourse honored the maiden house of Duchess Taudra Lyoneid.

    Emblazoned on them, a single cinnamon rose in a field of honey gold. House Solugarr, Barathiel''s own.

    He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and clutched at a small brass ring wrapped with interlaced platinum and raven ribbons of hair. His thoughts dissolved to a time, now remote, when this very day became inevitable.

 House Salugarr - Part II

    He had been living away from his father''s castle, the Old Meander, for four years, only visiting between semesters, studying for his law exams while attending university in Nevespora.

    With Barathiel''s classwork complete, his final exam for his licensure scheduled in four months, his father sent a letter through Milborne. The raven they shared for nearly daily communication.

    So glad to hear you passed your class work with honors - bring your books along and join your old homestead for the short time you''ll have with us before you get kicked into the hard-ass world of seneschals and couriers I so ill prepared you for, boy.

    Your sister is recently back from Temple, and she has been asking about you. Assumes inexplicably you have been living a rogue''s life in that big city. I assured her your near every hour has been spent in study.

    What have they done to my brother, she wants to know!

    Before you pass this way, steer towards your university''s musicology library and look something up for me. I''ve picked the four string rote back up and need the music for a song whose chorus goes like this.

    I''ll be your left hand, intriguing lady

    I''ll be your right hand, insatiable lady

    I''ll be your very lips, my dear Muse

    I''ll be your right hand, fearsome lady

    I''ll be your left hand,

    Oh, insolent one.

    But only Rozzenblunde

    Can have my heart true.

    The syllables work so much better together in old Nin but it''s still a fine, fine ditty. I believe the name of it to be, To the One My Heart Stays True.

    Does it not seem to you, dear son, those old songs of the Nin were written by spies in the guise of roaming bards? When I see the lines, I often feel as if I stumbled upon an old conspiracy to undermine the S?urarchy.

    I have long been fascinated by the history of the intelligencers in service to various causes, but this one feels like it is hiding in plain sight, does it not?

    Perhaps, we''ll hash out some old, hidden meaning from this, discover Its long hidden subterfuge against The Graces, and get our good standing back when we pass it along to the Empress'' court.

    Signed, the old man.

    Barathiel chuckled at the brazenness of his father''s last several remarks. The message was wrapped in metal foil whose bumps and grooves formed the key pattern to translate the syllables in the song that formed the code.

    He wrote them down then realigned them according to the date the message was signed off in relation to the number of days between equinox and solstice of the current season. Once he hunted down the full verse stanzas in the original Nin, he would be able to translate.

    For the inner circle of the Obisvyrre it was the extra method they used to conduct their cryptology. The phosphorus ciphers without tertiary reference to old song books (as Obisvyrre was born of a society of bards of another era) and cardinal seasonal alignment used by only low-ranking agents.

    Yet another misdirection to keep the Imperial intelligencers, Inquisitor ardants and legal houses busy. Misdirection, the same was true as to Obisvyrre''s reputation for debauchery.

    Agents for that purpose were selected from those possessing scurrilous reputations from every kingdom of the empire and even D''jestre lands to give the impression Obisvyrre was a social club of hellions and libertines, decadents of the upper crust and not much more than that.

    The song had been planted by an agent whose identity to which even Barathiel was not privy.

    Barathiel retrieved the book and returned to his private quarters. Sorted syllables for the first line read: disregard what I said of your sister asking about you, unfortunately, just part of the ruse. Your sister returned to us, a week ago. The next set read: the damage inflicted by those foul bitches may be irreparable.

    The remainder of the contents was a plea for Barathiel to return home and to do what he could to adjust her back to the normalcy of their homestead. Tareth, their father, laid out a plan to accomplish just that.

    When he was finished with the full cipher, Barathiel made himself sit down for a smoke to clear his head. No second daughter was ever allowed to know their clans membership in Obisvyrre until after Temple, and their loyalty to their families proven beyond doubt.

    His father gave Barathiel an assignment. Come home, court your sister, as she needed to be eased back into her proper station since being perverted by the Temple.

    It would be a necessary societal adjustment before she could be married off to another house. He assumed it would be an easy task as his sister worshipped him back in the days they grew up as twin playmates exploring the Old Meander, the long grounds and outlying lochs touching upon the countryside together.

    She also possessed a natural grace that had been refined even more still by formal education and etiquette that he doubted the old, wretched goddesses could subvert.

    He would escort her to a series of formal dinners, lectures, and a season of balls, and then hand her off to the most prospective bachelor. However, Tereth felt otherwise.

    According to him, It would not be so easy. Brietess had changed. His father refused to spell it out. Insisting Barathiel would have to see the malformation of his sister''s spirit for himself.

    Tareth felt she may even be a spy for the S?urarchy under the cover of a newly freed woman whose first mission was to turn against her own family.

    Barathiel was the closest to her in the family. It would be up to him to draw her out and find the truth to whom she was really loyal.

    Once accomplished, what did Tereth have in mind if she was indeed enthralled to the Lady Wolves? Marry her to a family so remote from the Midvries and the lower Ninci as to make visitation a rare and impractical occurrence?

    Barathiel pondered this on the stagecoach journey back home with a low ebb in the side of his gut. To have her back again, only to lose her if Tareth''s fears proved true.

    He clasped his hands together and blew smoke into them. His mind never drifted from full sobriety as he thought it all through. An unbearable burden his father placed upon him to spy on the one person he loved the most.

    He waved the smoke away, as the manor crept in view. when the stagecoach crawled a little closer, he could see Tareth sitting on a bench by the front porch.

    His hand clutching his knees. His jowls made ragged by a knowing smile. A thin rimmed cap with ribboned copper bandings etched with musical instruments and nude muses along its many stacked folds sat on his head, like a troubadour of a long gone year.

    Tareth''s hands clasped a bass rote.

    Your smile is so disarming for such a dangerous man. Barathiel once heard a flirtatious lady dignitary tell his father at a social club.

    He was too young to understand why a foreign noble would say something like that. Was he allowed to smack them on the head with the back of his ring finger like Tareth did Barathiel on occasion?

    That same smile was writ large on Tareth''s face like a signature now as he nodded to his son.

    A breeze caressed the cab door window to his right. Barathiel grew suspicious. He smelled the distinctly pleasant aroma of a ham being roasted.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    He peered to the entrance door, but no one stood there. On his right, facing south, were hedges that obstructed his view.

    The stagecoach stopped and Barathiel jumped out. He looked around. What is old Tareth up to? Not sensing anything amiss, except for what was now evident, the smell of meat roasting and oil pots blazing,

    Barathiel turned back to the stagecoach and grabbed the two bags he brought with him from the top of the coach supports.

    Hard stricken bass notes started in the rhythmic support of a sweet sounding voice that approached from the other side of the hedgerow. Barathiel shivered and his stomach grew light.

    When did Brietess learn to sing?

    He turned to his father who now stood with the rote hoisted against his waist. His foot tapping in brown boots of soft elk leather.

    A song on Tareth''s lips in a harsh baritone now joined by the honey voiced singer who turned out to be Barathiel''s cousin Ellie:

    Even my vices are necessities in service to you.

    I''ll fetch a thousand pearls from The Sea of Wight.

    And crush the bright orbs

    To sheen your blackened spells

    I''ll bind the devils

    With the hearts of Jezde maids

    And feed to the wild boars

    Their succulent bones.

    Not missing a syllable, Ellie ran up to hug Barathiel. She nearly brought him down. The song continued as she took him by the hand and led him to the other side of the hedgerow.

    I''ll gamble away

    All the orphans of Nin

    To the dark hearted dwarves

    From under the sod

    Of the deep ravine

    Where their little fingers

    Wear callused and bone thin

    Picking away at adamantine

    And if the chance bones

    Sway my way,

    They whisper the blood-drenched

    Secrets of our long-delayed Father

    We''ll gather their treasures

    To subdue the entire world

    Then offer it all to you

    To dispense with as you please.

    As they sung, Ellie''s brothers Emotche and Eretche toted his bags. Barathiel called to both of them in greeting. Repeating their names made him smile with a chuckle.

    The Nin custom of naming all siblings with the same letter was especially aesthetically egregious with the two brothers.

    At least their parents did right by Eliavonne, Ellie''s full name. Giving a girl a name unbecoming of her beauty was a beheading offense in the Midvries. Just to be safe, Aunt Harene chose one traditional of the Middle Kingdoms.

    Emotche was only twelve and Eretche would be turning twenty in a month. Winsome Ellie just turned her majority. He would need to take time to apologise for missing her ball.

    Tareth followed behind them, strumming as he did so. A crowd of his neighbors had lined up at three long sets of tables. It seemed to Barathiel the entire community of expat Nincians crowded to welcome him home, or at least to participate in a feast provided by Tereth Solugarr.

    Ellie joined the band now striking up an accompanying racket on a platform held up by hay bales. His father''s feet started to shuffle that way as well.

    His head nodded to the manor. Barathiel turned to look to see his mother waving at him. He waved back.

    "You''re right, sir. This is the best she has looked in years."

    She turned around and walked back into the house.

    "Now, make your rounds, son," Tereth commanded. "We can talk later. Right now, I have a band engagement."

    "Taking the troupe on the road, sir?"

    Tareth laughed at his chide and smacked him on the back.

    "Without any doubt, my boy."

    Tareth eased up on the platform heading the makeshift band completed the song with its chorale:

    I''ll be your left hand,

    intriguing lady

    I''ll be your right hand,

    insatiable lady

    I''ll be your very lips,

    my dear Muse

    I''ll be your right hand,

    fearsome lady

    I''ll be your left hand,

    Oh insolent one.

    But only Rozzenblunde,

    Can have my heart true.

    Barathiel now eyed the crowd. Which one of these sweet, young things was his old man trying to impress with the faded glory of a troubadour? He peered around from bench to bench, until a niggling feeling again itched at him. Where was Brietess? Why had it not been she who greeted him instead of Ellie?

    He had missed it until now, that being when he noticed where the Nincian men''s appreciative gazes tended to turn. At a far table, casually slumped on a bench with her back leaning against a table edge, set Brietess enwrapped in conversation with an albino woman with long, platinum hair splayed out on the bench where the two huddled.

    The albino wore the smooth black otter leather common to the Sgo?the under a fine green cendal robe embroidered with severely mannered runes and dragon motifs draped off her shoulders.

    The two women casually touched hands together with a flitter of jabs at one another as their conversation grew animated. Their eyes engaged the space between them like invisible kissing tongues.

    Barathiel glanced over to Ellie who as she sang watched it all as well. She raised her eyebrows apologetically. He nodded back with an embarrassed grimace on his face.

    So that is why it was pretty little Ellie sent over to greet him. To soften the blow. His sister had taken on a woman lover and brought her home to meet the family.

    Tereth, you are quite correct, old man. Indeed she has changed.

    Barathiell reached in his pocket to find the pouch he kept there that held cured tobacco for mixed social occasions when the somniferum was likely to be frowned upon.

    He walked slowly towards the couple as he packed his pipe to give Brietess plenty of time to make note of his approach. However, even as he lit the pipe, drawing smoke and exhaling it, and even as he stopped three feet in front of the pair, she did not so much as throw a glance his way.

    The albino was a decade older than his sister, by Barathiel''s estimation, so she could not have been a recent initiate like his sister. Where did she find this Sgo?the woman?

    The voice was that of Northern Isles nobility. Very fluid, but rhythmically hard, with stresses stilted and nasal. She gave him an appraising glance and smiled without breaking stride in her conversation with Brietess.

    Finally, the albino lifted her chin and cast her lips firm and narrow.

    "Brietess, I believe your brother has waited patiently long enough for you to make an acknowledgement."

    It was as if Sgo?the woman had broken a spell. Brietess'' shoulders jutted up, and she blinked rapidly before turning away from her companion.

    "Barathiel?"

    "I haven''t changed that much in eighteen months, have I?"

    But she had. Her composure as relaxed and slackened as a roadhouse strumpet. Years of formal etiquette shorn like a calf by the Lady Wolves.

    Her lips drew up under her right cheek while her brows made a scrutinising furrow. It was not a good look for Brietess.

    "That little mustache," she finally answered. "Do you plan to keep it? You kind of resemble an actual man with it on you."

    Thrown by the response that seemed so out of character for her, he hesitated too long.

    She continued. "Well. All right, then."

    "It''s good to see you, Brietess," he finally said. His arms opened to welcome her.

    "So, how was university these last three semesters," she asked.

    "Brietess?"

    Now his fingers dangled in the air.

    The albino nudged Brietess in the nub of her back. She jolted and then her face softened. Brietess stood up and grabbed her brother by the shoulders. He let her in for a full hug.

    "Barathiel, it is so good to see you," she said in a rushed whisper.

    "Aye, Brietess. The last several months have not been so easy without you to lean on."

    In the intervening silence, the Sgo?the spoke, her accent now harsh.

    "There now, -" she sipped from a delicate flute filled with pearlescent whitmead, "- we return your daughters back to you after the ordeal of Temple just as you remember them. Their person entirely intact."

    She slunk her head down swinging her hair to the side. In a softer tone, "give Brietess a few months, she''ll readjust to her rightful world. We always do, in some semblance or another to the person we were."

    "Who might you be," Barathiel asked as he hugged his sister.

    "Leresai Fervarryn, sieur. The roads of old Ninci are sketchy these days. I accompanied Brietess to assure her safe passage. I caught a few bruises in a scuffle with bandits."

    Brietess unsuccessfully stifled a giggle. Leresai did not react, but merely continued.

    "Your father was kind enough to furnish me a bed to repair before I move on."

    The Fervarryn name was attached to both to the ruling lord of the second-largest of the Northern Isles, and to a prosperous port city, Tos- Fervarryn.

    Yet, the woman in front of him, possessed infamy in certain circles. He didn''t know much about her beyond that.

    "I thank you," he said. "It isn''t everyday the Old Meander receives a Sgo?the princess. If the accommodations are less than just right, be sure to let me know."

    "Ha," Leresai snorted, letting her regal bearing relax for the moment, at least, likely to make Barathiel feel more at ease. "I''ve long past from being a princess and into the dowager crone you see before you. The staff of the manor will gladly see the door swing at my backside soon."

    "Your demand for hot water would embarrass the Empress," Brietess chided. "Poor Erotche having to haul a cauldron''s worth of hot water just so you can have your warm bath, Leresai."

    "If he insists on spying on me, I insist on the man''s labors in return. I''m far from through with him, by the way. There may be other skills I''ll require of that nasty little beast of burden."

    "You''re a dirty, old girl, Leresai."

    Brietess turned to Barathiel. In a voice made lyrical if only to persuade, she said, "Barathiel, when we have a little privacy we''ll talk more later, all right? Make your rounds. Tereth will worry over his precocious ones, otherwise."

    He walked awkwardly away until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Uncle Thiel smiled warmly and led him away.

    "Barathiel, you could use a drink."

    A more well-spoken statement he could not imagine.

 House Salugarr - Part III

    Hours later, the warmth of the day was pushed out by the late Spring night chill. Barathiel had already sent away the last of the guests.

    For the remaining few hours, only Ellie, her brothers and he were left to perform hosting duties.

    With a hug and a kiss he bid her goodnight and cajoled Erotche and Emotche to escort her home. Erotche gave excuses to stay longer, but Barathiel shook off his pleas.

    "No cards tonight, cousin. Your sister is tired. See to it she gets home safely."

    Erotche gave Emotche a knowing look. The younger brother looked down to his feet and shuffled.

    "Well... What''s so funny," Barathiel asked.

    "After that thing that happened in Nevespora," Erotche answered, almost tactfully.

    "What thing." Barathiel looked in the faces of the three siblings.

    Ellie looked away. Her shoulders erect, jaw rigid and her elbows stiff. Except for her Nincian bronze curls and softer jawline, she looked to be more the twin of his sister than he did.

    "The girl Uncle Tereth arranged for you to marry," Erotche continued.

    Emotche interrupted. His voice cracking with sputtered impatience.

    "The thing being, she fled back to old Ninci in a riverboat all the way up river from Nevespora telling her father you are some kind of pervert. Then she demanded to have the marriage annulled. That thing."

    Erotche smacked his brother upside his head.

    "Have some couth about you, Emotche. Solugarr''s are nobility, not hillbilly.

    Emotche rubbed his head.

    "Uncle Tereth plays the damn bass rote. Sounds like a sow grunting while being fucked. Speaking of which, being fucked, I mean."

    Barathiel eyed Ellie. She held her hands tightly together in front of her dress with elbows now pressed hard into her overlayed shawl.

    By her reaction, he knew his affairs in Nevespora were matters of much speculation back home in the Ninci community.

    In deference to his cousin, the proper lady she was, he would answer Emotche''s implied question as tactfully as he possibly could.

    "I was in my freshman year in school. I had no business being married. As for perversion, there are certain sexual activities that are common practice here to say nothing of Nevespora, and the gods help us all, Su¨¹dlands, that are frowned upon in our Ninci homeland."

    Emotche interrupted with imbecilic laughter and he pointed at Barathiel.

    "She wouldn''t give you a blowjob!"

    "Well¡­"

    "I knew it!"

    "Chianne, the woman I was formally betrothed, wanted a child right off, and she was reluctant to engage in any activity that distracted from that task.

    "I thought it foolish to try raising a child on a student''s stipend. We had different prerogatives concerning our mutual matrimonial obligations, well, in this matter, her obligations."The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Ellie could only stare down at her feet as Barathiel confirmed the rumors.

    "Everybody knows," Emotche continued, highly animated. "Girls from the old country won''t blow you, but they''ll make you give ''em dick up the butt before they will agree to cook your breakfast."

    "Emotche," Barathiel, said with patience trying to calm his little cousin down.

    "She wanted his butt baby," the boy continued.

    Erotche''s voice suspired, "I keep telling you, Emotche, there really is no such thing as a butt baby."

    "Is too. That is where changelings come from. That is why our Ninci bloodlines are so corrupted the Empress won''t recognize our land claims to the Old Nin. She says we need enemaic ablution."

    "She said no such thing," his brother pleaded. "You''ve got it backwards."

    "That is what she called it!"

    The older brother laughed to this derisively, "Those words don''t mean anything put together like that. She was saying -"

    "Emotche," Barathiel yelled, interrupting the brothers. He had the lad''s full attention, now. He cleared his throat and regained his composure.

    "You besmirch your own people. Are you so fully Midvries in your sentiments now that you mock us as they do? If so, you are no longer truly a part of us. Understand, your own people, boy.

    "The ladies of the Nin like your very own sister who stands here are the most dignified in the Imperium. The Ritual of Vedgballi-Endurat is a bond she makes to husband, country, and the Sacred Spirit that she does not give up so lightly in exchange for kitchen duties. So, Emotche, to your greater point¡­."

    Erotche cleared his throat.

    "Pardon, cousin, truly a necessary lecture you give, but my brother is rattling your chains for another reason."

    "Yes?"

    "After the failure of your first marriage, I''ve heard our father talking to Tareth. Ellie has just turned her majority, and according to the genealogy there hasn''t been a first cousin arrangement in either the maternal or fraternal lines in three and five generations, respectively. They agreed that it would serve the greater good of our clan if the bloodline were to recourse through Ellie and yourself."

    Barathiel made sure to keep his eyes fixed on Ellie as he realized where Erotche''s words were heading. His heart jumped at the thought.

    He had never before considered it, but as soon as he heard the plan he realized that she would make for the perfect wife for an ambitious advocate.

    "If this be true, I would be honored and delighted. I have to wonder though, when were they going to tell us?"

    Ellie, however, looked as if the stars had rained down like javelins and stricken her. He couldn''t tell if it went over very well given the shock on her face.

    Apparently, it was news to her as it was to him and the brothers conspired to make sure Ellie and he learned of it at the same moment.

    Finally, her eyes lit up as her lips let out a tense giggle.

    Erotche took her by the cusp of her elbow.

    "Come on, Ellie. Let''s get you home before you faint dead here."

    They started down the cobblestone walk leading back to their father Thiel''s Manor. Emotche followed, stomping his feet in a long skip, his hands in his pockets. He turned back to Barathiel shaking his head.

    "Delighted, you say. Liar! We all know you only have eyes for Brietess."

    "Emotche, you little shit. That''s my sister!"

    "So she''s no good now she''s been with a thousand men."

    This time, Erotche jerked his brother back by the collar of his jacket and slapped him across the cheek.

    "That''s your cousin, Jackhorn. Alone up in that decrepit, old city of Meizsol that nobody but a fool would believe sacred. Saving us all, all noblemen, from the Empress'' dungeons. You should be thanking her for performing such a horrific duty. Should it be a surprise to anyone she doesn''t want to have anything to do with men now?"

    They were a few hundred feet away now, Barathiel could hear Emotche repeating over and over.

    "I was just kidding around. Why are you being such a dick about it? You got something for Bri."

    And Eroch repeating, "shut up. Shut up. Who doesn''t have a thing for Brie? She''s Brie. Take a look at her next time you clear your snotty eyes."

    Emotche was only twelve. Barathiel shrugged the derision he suffered through from the lad off. He couldn''t really be angry at the boy, at least for very long.

    At that age, if you have even half the sense of a hill giant, all social conventions, no matter how necessary to the survival of your clan, seem moronic. So you test the diligence of adults to see if they really are committed to what they profess to believe.

    Still, he would have liked to have looked both the brothers in the eyes and told them. She needs us for our bloodlines, if not for that the Empress would have murdered all of us royals long ago.

    However, the boys are not Obisvyrre. Even Erotche was not an initiate for reasons to which Barathiel wasn''t privy. Without that fellowship, they were not meant to know.

 House Salugarr - Part IV

    Barathiel entered the old manor. Empty but for the servants feeding the grand fire pit in the center of the foyer. Three chimney flutes above the pit distributed heat throughout the central halls.

    It had the secondary effect of piping his mother''s music as she played at the spiderwheel harpsichord. It''s muffled but tinkling sound like crystal chimes cracking lovely with every hammer strike.

    The tone resulting coalesced into a chilling fugue as the spiderwheel comprised of four programmed zithers repeating chord lines accompanied his mother''s lead.

    His mother''s methodical grace once accompanied the wild and course playing style Tereth had derived from the hillfolk, Jezde and provincial fairies. Barathiel remembered the uniqueness of his parents in instrumental and vocal duet, before the incident that left his mother curs¨¦d.

    So long time ago that was, and now Tereth likely had fled to one of the outer towers with his latest fling to avoid the music being played by his wife.

    Perhaps, that is why she played now, her skill at the instrument still sharp, much more finely kept than Tareth''s on. Barathiel doubted it though. Something so lovely and perfect as her fugues could not be born of pettiness. She played to be in the moment with all of them.

    If he were to climb the steps up to the parlor where the spiderwheel harpsichord was maintained and approached his mother, her physical body would fade away. The music would pause, and she would disappear. As soon as he walked away, the music would start up again precisely where it previously stopped.

    Sometimes he would find a written note she would leave for him on the music stand. Writing notes back and forth was the only means they could communicate. The fading left her mute; the sound from her lips imperceptible.

    At thirteen, he had a knock-down, drag-out with Tereth when Barathiel thought himself grown tall, broad-shouldered and man enough to confront him about his numerous infidelities.

    After the fight, Tareth took him to the local watering hole. A pub distinctly Nincian in its purpose and clientele.

    "A pint of your nastiest single malt for my son. That shite only the friar touches for the purpose of self debasement on Rozzenblunde''s Day. My boy''s on punishment for giving me this little mar on my cheek here."

    Tareth went up to every man in the bar, showing off the black eye Barathiel had landed. Jostling and backslapping along the way, prideful.

    Until you could take on your own old man you are not considered a man in your own right by the way of the Ninci.

    Tareth was giving him more credit than he deserved. Though Barathiel got a few licks in, Tareth whooped him good.

    One of his father''s tenant farmers and closest friends, Kaelsot clasped Barathiel on the nape of his neck with huge, ruddy fingers.

    "Did he finally kick your ass, Tar, for fucking around on his mother? Good on him."

    Barathiel clenched his fists, massaging his fingers into his palms until the skin was near bloody from the nail indentations. The glibness they treated his attempt to honor his mother''s good name infuriated him.

    "Look at him now, Tar" quipped Kaelsot. "Ready to whoop my ass too for putting his business out there."

    The big farmer pulled a chair up to a table and helped Barathiel into it.

    "If my oldest boy," Kaelsot continued, "gave even half a damn about anything that fiercely, he would have made something of himself."

    With that remark, Kaelsot''s eldest son, Mul poked his head up from the bar.

    "Your arse be fartin'' in the wind too, pops," Mul muttered.

    Tareth fetched the two mugs and sat down in front of Barathiel. Tareth''s mouth set friendly, but his gaze bore into him with a heated stare meant for Barathiel''s eyes only.

    He handed over to his son a mug of something absolutely putrid in sent that also smelled liquored-up strong. Tareth sipped from what Barathiel recognized to be the premium reserve stock of a local monastery''s dark ale.

    Tareth nodded with his forehead.

    "Put a quaff to it. You''re a man now. Put it down your gullet in one go. Don''t make me have to slap your lips bloody. Your mother would not like that. Do it now, in one go."

    "You mad at me?"

    "Angers got nothing to do with it, my son. I have a responsibility to you. I''m doing my best not to put the piss to it."

    Barathiel stared back at his father, nose wrinkled and head leveled askanced. Tareth took in a long breath before continuing.

    "You don''t get much of this yet ''cause you still have squeamish little boy emotions and sentiments coursing through your blood.

    "I assure you son, that is all about to change. That shit there," Tareth rapped the table with his index knuckle in front of Barathiel''s mug. "Is only the first arrow necessary in killing what remains of the little boy inside of you. Got to be done. Now, drink it."The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    With one long gulp, Barathiel threw it back as he stared down his father, contemptuously. A heat swelled in his throat.

    He let down the mug and gasped. The whiskey and rot gut mixture stung throughout his nasal cavities and ran out of his nose.

    It felt as if his eyes and nasal cavities were bleeding.

    "Oh, dear Sisters, it is like liquid fire. Oh, shit, father!"

    "It won''t kill you quick enough to overly concern anyone who isn''t your mother, boy." Tareth said.

    He turned his head towards the bar. Kaelsot was busy tending it as the proprietor snored by a corner barrel, passed out drunk.

    "Kaelsot," Tareth called out. "Have the girl bring another pint of that shite. While you''re over there, bring some of that ditch weed and vermin poison blend your mother is so fond of. Bring a pipe with you, too."

    Tareth dugout his own pipe. He stuffed it with aromatic poppy curings and a mild tobacco. The scent of which suggested it had been soaked in a batch of brandy made from apricots and currants.

    "Take you a good look at this shit, boy. This is the stuff they ship to Gareen or Nevespora from the D''jestre lands. It will set you back plenty. You have a long haul ahead of you son before you work your way up to ever enjoying something this exquisite.

    "It''s all part of becoming a man. In the meantime you''ll smoke that ditch weed there. That shit is so nasty I would not give it to my worst enemy."

    "But you''ll gladly give your own son," Barathiel snorted. He could taste the blood in his nose from the fight.

    "Quite gladly I do it, too. I have no interest in building the character of my enemies."

    Tareth gave his ale a good gulp.

    "It gets even better as it warms up," he murmured with his eyes shut and his lips puckered drawing in breath.

    He set it down, then continued. "Do you know when it was I, myself, grew up?"

    Barathiel shrugged.

    "I''ve never given it a moment''s worth of thought."

    "Certainly not. Why would you?" Tereth''s eyes shifted off into the distance. "Do you remember what life was like when you were young? When we traveled? Think about it, for a moment."

    Tareth stopped speaking. Gestured his hands to pause as he heard Kaelsot approach to hand him a pipe.

    "Kaelsot, that little matter we talked about the other night."

    Kaelsot eyed him with a grin. The farmer''s brows raised up knowingly, setting off the striking of belfry bells of alarm in Barathiel''s head telling him to run. He was a man now, he wasn''t running.

    Kaelsot snorted. "Yes, I recall."

    "See that it is taken care of," Tareth said.

    Kaelsot snorted once more and walked towards the back exit door.

    "What was that about?" Barathiel asked.

    Tareth ignored the question.

    "As I was saying. Do you remember what life was like for all of us when you were young? We traveled from town to town throughout the Midvries and Nin from hoedown to hoedown.

    "Your mother and I, and yourself and your big sister, Bae, before your grandfather had her sent away to school. Then your twin sister joined in with us."

    Tareth shook his head.

    "Such a sickly child." He sipped from his dark ale. "How happy were you then, son? Very, correct? So was I. So were we all. We were all kids back then.

    "Your grandfather deemed I could live the wonderlust given I wasn''t much fit for the responsibilities of our family station. He had a son perfectly suited for those duties in Thiel, so I was the biggest kid of us all. A royal scion living like a vagabond Jezde."

    He sipped once more from his fine ale to gather his thoughts. Sat it back down.

    "I was a kid too, son," Tareth continued, "till that day off the banks of the Kiyili. We set up tents between towns one night when I checked in on your mother to see if she was sleeping safe and sound only to catch sight of that fell moth sitting on her lips as my sweet baby doll slept.

    "I kept calm and I tried to approach quietly. I was determined not to alarm her as I approached to kill that hideous thing. Two steps away, not a sound I made, ready with gloved hands to smack it dead.

    "Two steps from it, I was, two steps more and everything would remain right in the world. Then she has to open her eyes and she lets out a scream. My name on her lips. ''Tareth''.

    "The only ugly sound of a cracking note ever to be muttered from those sweet pretty lips. It bit her and floated out of my reach. She has been faded ever since.

    "That''s the day that kicked my ass into becoming a man, son. You want to make something out of my whoremongering then tell me this, how am I supposed to continue to fuck your mother, the woman I love, when she fades out of existence the moment I enter the room?

    "What do you expect of us? Find a long hall with me on one in with my pants down, her on the other end with her skirt up, watching each other ejaculate?"

    Barathiel''s eyes locked up and his jaw refused to clamp shut.

    "Don''t look at me like that. La?dra was a woman with needs long before she became your mother. To be frank, we''ve done just that, and it ain''t a very satisfactory means of maintaining intimacy between two highly sensual individuals.

    "So, if you have an answer for me to solve this damn fairy tale parable to which the gods chose to upend our lives, I''ll gladly hear it. Otherwise, drink your swill and keep your mouth shut."

    They sat quietly together for a few moments as Barathiel was determined to drink the fortified ale slow and smooth so even perhaps Tereth would deem him manly.

    The back exit opened once more. Kaelsot entered, smiling as he sauntered up to lean against the stoop at the end of the bar. He folded his arms together but never took his eyes off of Barathiel.

    Tareth nodded to his friend.

    "I have a surprise for you, son. To be a man, there is a burden you need to be rid of."

    Barathiel gulped hard.

    "Sir?"

    "Don''t thank me just yet. You see the lovely thing busking tables and opening taps? I know you do ''cause I''ve caught you stealing glances. Legs, long and slender curved so beckoning where her loins meet her thighs, breast raised up firm with such rounded symmetry.

    "Her pussy still unburdened by child. Son, that one is not for you, just yet. Like everything else, you''ve got to earn your way to something that good. That girl will be coming along with me. Trust me, her pussy gets so wet, and her skin so flushed and hot you just ain''t there as a man yet where you could handle it.

    "Now, relax, you. Unfurl those claws. Unclench those teeth. Take a drag on that pipe. You''re going to need to be mightily fucked for what I''ve got in store for you."

    ''What are you talking about, sir?"

    "Take you a drag on that pipe, and settle back down. What am I talking about, you ask. Figure it out for yourself. She lives back there in the bungalow behind this pub with her five little brats."

    "No," Barathiel gasped. "She''ll squash me like a bug."

 House Salugarr - Part V

    Barathiel shook his head. The memory need not go any farther as far as he was concerned. He took his two bags in hand and climbed up the stairs up to the western dongon where his personal quarters were maintained on the second story of the branching wing.

    A walkway with a picaresque view of the hunting yards joined the central manor to the far tower. He was near the entrance door when he heard two female voices cackling.

    One breathless and high-pitched, Brietess, the other low, nasal and dusk, the albino Sgo?the princess.

    He darted quietly through the entrance, shuffled up the ring of stairs leading to the bed chamber''s floor and he hid in an unlit water closet.

    The tone of their conversation turned more somber while he found a hiding place.

    "I so need it, Leresai."

    He heard his sister plead.

    "Even here," Brietess continued, "in my own damn home, all I can feel is this emptiness inside of me. It is like an arid field abandoned of all life. I need a communion so I can feel whole again.

    "This all feels so strange to me now. Even the smell of the wild strawberries by the clover grove doesn''t draw me back to a sense of familiarity with this place. Or, Rhoethella, forgive me for saying this, even these people."

    Barathiel''s gut clinched to these words. These people.

    Barathiel could see the albino as he glimpsed into his sister''s chamber. Her mouth twisted and folded against her chin and the lines sprinkled on her forehead gave years to her appearance as she spoke.

    "Oh, Brietess. That is really sad."

    "I''m only being honest with you."

    "I know you are. I wasn''t a model daughter on my return home to our castle above Tos-Fervarrynn. Yet, I did settle in for several months and I became part and partial to my family again."

    "Why did you leave the second time?"

    Leresai folded her arms and shrugged. She leaned her head with her hair falling down and looked up towards the ceiling. She smiled.

    "Rhoethella came looking for me. She paid a visit to our castle while I was out hunting giants on the glaciers. She asked my father to intercede in my training."

    "Training?"

    Leresai''s laugh more than hinted at an archaic gallantry. She seemed of another century to Barathiel''s sensibilities.

    She cleared her throat.

    "In the Midvries, and Ninci, and even the Su¨¹dlands, a father can still get high prospectus for his daughter after Temple. They''re even places where Demoiselles are preferred as our experience is valued, but I digress."

    Brietess touched her arm. Her hand olive against the utter whiteness of the albino.

    "They can''t marry you off where you are from," Brietess asked her tone near righteous.

    "Whenever have I said I''ve ever wanted to be married off? But, you are correct, in the Northern Isles, we who have been committed to the ordeal of Temple or known as Broken Sisters."

    "That''s terrible," Brietess gasped.

    "Perhaps, but my people are still horrified by the demands of the S?urarchy. We have never come to accept it. The demand of the allegiance to any god. Still, it isn''t like I can''t rise in an honored profession."

    "This training?"

    "That''s right, a huntress. You would call me a jaeger, monster slayer, here in the Midvries. I was living on the glacier rifts attempting to score an isolated kill all on my own, so I could claim the head and hands of a giant to bring back to my father as trophies for his Great Hall. I was stalking a brood, hoping to isolate one in a snow drift in the late day when Rhoethella appeared on a ridgeline and approached me.

    "That was eleven years ago, and here I am, still in her service. Nonetheless to say, she was quite persuasive. Brietess, I am still my father''s daughter. I still venture to the Northern Isles to see him and the rest of my family nearly every year. I still sing, drink and pummel with my cousins.

    "No retreat into sacred communion has ever changed that. Has never even threatened that. But, in you, it has. I don''t feel comfortable leading you down this path."

    "Let me decide that for myself, Leresai."

    "You''re not the only one with a decision to make in this matter, Brie." Leresai''s fingers clenched against a drawer top she leaned against.

    "I''m not a natural-born adventurous like yourself. It is plainly obvious, why are you laughing?"

    The Sgo?the''s fingers flexed freely now the tension between the two women broke.

    "Those kobolds¡­"

    "Bandit bastards," Brietess sputtered. "Little menses whiffing freaks."

    "You pursue Temple further, Brie, you''ll experience much, much worse than a troupe of three foot tall lizardmen grabbing at your cooch while you are riding uncomfortably along a road on the way out of the old Nin."

    "Neither it seems," Brietess nearly yelled, her pitch high, her voice flustered, "that it is Rhoethella''s will for me to ever bond with my family again. Perhaps, you can because it wasn''t necessary for her to cut that line off. Your family wasn''t holding you back."

    Leresai held her head down as she stood erect. She looked to Barathiel to be a defeated woman.

    "Until Rhoethella says otherwise, at least try."

    His sister backed Leresai up against the wall, giving him a better view of both women for Barathiel to observe. Brietess stood on her toes and forced the Sgo?the to accept her kiss.

    Their lips pressed tight, Leresai spread her long fingers against Brietess'' derriere to rub against her closer.

    When their lips parted after a long minute, Leresai pushed her back gently. With a cherub''s smile wicked on her face, Brietess'' eyes attentive and dark, she gazed in Leresai''s own

    "I need this, now. With Barathiel here, I have to have this. You do not understand the pressure this puts upon me, I''ll be better tomorrow, but right now, I am numb to the whole damn world. You cannot deny me this."

    "What has your brother to do with it? Last night, we were with your father, uncle and cousins laughing it up at that water hole. You didn''t seem all that uncomfortable, then. But today, you''re so reserved, aloof to everything and everyone but me."

    "I''m afraid... I''ll be tempted to retreat to our childhood when Barathiel and I were inseparable. I''ll grow comfortable with this place, all over again.

    "Before I even know it, I''ll find myself bethroft to a random hedgelord shoved off to some Nin backwater to be a stranger''s broodward for the rest of my days wondering what it is like to be by Leresai''s side riding about city to city, venture to venture, a free woman."

    "But Brietess, with my obligations, I''m anything but a free woman," Leresai answered.

    Her head bowed down as Brietess approached her. Barathiel''s sister came back into his view. She now stood nude in front of the Sgo?the.

    She grabbed Leresai''s breast, pushing them out of the corset from beneath the black otter leathers. Brietess kissed, sucked and bit on the albino''s nipples.

    Each time she pulled them back with her teeth, the nipples jerked in place with a little more definition than before. Within a minute they were as scarlet red as those of a Su¨¹dlands nude danseur from the bruising.

    All the while, Leresai leaned her head back against the wall with her eyes blinking in long arched strides. Platinum lashes flowing along.

    Brietess dug her hand in the front side of Leresai''s pants; her other hand reached into her own midnight bush. Barathiel could hear the tiny rhythmic sound of wet flesh caressed as she masturbated herself. His sister''s stomach firm and supple twitched with her every motion.

    He averted his eyes up to her face when his curiosity turned to arousal. With her eyes closed, she seemed ¡­ happy. Content in a way Barathiel never seen, nor had known his twin to be capable.

    "I can''t deny you anything," Leresai whispered. "Communion, you shall have" she let out with a short intake of breath.

    Leresai''s words were soon followed by a reedy moan exhaled from her arched throat. Brietess looked around her brow furrowed in concern.

    "We can''t do this here, Barathiel will be setting up his quarters after he stops by to pay La?dra a visit."

    "La?dra, your mother?"

    "That''s right. I can still hear her play. She hasn''t stopped at all this eve. I have a secret place set up for ritual magic. Grab that oil lamp, Leresai, and those blankets. I have a few tubes of blood hidden under the closet mat."Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    Leresai shook her head.

    "The things you get that cousin of yours to do for you."

    Leresai pushed her breasts back down into the corset and buttoned up the cendal robe.

    Brietess pulled the night gown over her nude form. Her thighs squirmed from side to side as she covered her small hard breasts and lush midnight black bush with the clinging material.

    The Sgo?the placed an overcoat over Brietess'' shoulders. Leresai''s figure was quite womanly, Barathiel carefully observed.

    If his sister wasn''t involved he would thoroughly enjoy the sight of an exotic Sgo?the princess nude in his home. His fingers chaffed at the surface of the castle stones as he leaned against the wall.

    His nerves flared hot in the dark closet.

    He knew the secret place, Brietess mentioned. Growing up in the Old Meander, it was once her astrologer''s laboratory, it was once her alchemist''s chamber, it was once her witch''s lair.

    Whatever fancy filled her wild and dark imagination, as a girl, she transformed the room in kind. Knowing this, none of her recent actions should have come to him as much of a surprise.

    The two women made their way down the opposite end of the hall, as Barathiel expected of them. They would climb a stairway to the donjon that over looked the northern end of the hunting yard below.

    As an agent of Obisvyrre he felt duty-bound to follow the two and observe the communion, but he wasn''t just a disinterested party merely reporting intelligence on a subject under their scrutiny.

    It was his sister and her female lover involved in what little Obisvyrre knew of S?urarchal communion. Blood magic, sex magic was all of which they could be certain.

    The loyal soldier of the Obisvyrre had to recuse himself. He had seen enough of his sister in the throes of passion to be discombobulated for an entire evening.

    The slushing noise of her fingers smacking her own loins he could hear clearly at an otherwise quiet moment. He shook his head, almost ill. His own sister''s thighs glistened wet. Or did he just imagine that detail?

    Infernal Mothers be damned. I can''t stop thinking about it!

    Barathiel rushed to his chamber. He needed a drink. For this evening, only one concoction would do.

    After throwing his bags on his bed, Barathiel brought out a bottle of Deadsift brandy. He drew out one small goblet worth of it, impatiently swallowed it down hard.

    It hit instantly. The colors of the room seeped into one another until they were overly saturated where everything became indistinguishable to him.

    For a moment the terracotta walls thumped in a pulse forward and back slowly like a human''s heart. He nearly staggered, and had to hold onto a table.

    Evocation was easy in those days. The small man appeared in robes, grey wool over blue cotton in a matching azure-blue cap.

    "Evening, young Salugarr."

    "The afterlife faring well this day, Maester Lyoneid?

    Renua Lyoneid chuckled.

    "As I have explained to you before, I''m not dead. Only aslant in my vitaechemical dimensionality. This body is no more ethereal than yours. Horseshit sticks to my shoes as it does your very own."

    The wizard sat on a chest with his left hand firmly holding his staff in front of him. He worked his jowls beneath his beard as he closed his eyes to meditate for a moment.

    He typically did this when coming back into being to survey the aether around for what it could tell him.

    Finally he opened his eyes to ask Barathiel the necessary question.

    "I suppose there''s nothing I can say to get you to spy on your sister while she is engaged in that unholy practice they call communion."

    Barathiel paced the chamber.

    "Are not all things sanctioned by the gods holy," he deflected.

    Renua slackened his posture as he squinted at Barathiel with his dominant eye.

    "One day you will understand our imperative in full. It''s embedded in even the name of our society. And when you do come to understand our purpose a minor diversion such as sexual longings for that lovely sister you have won''t set you back."

    Barathiel shrugged, not letting the accusation up end his demeanor.

    "Embedded in the name? The name refers to the Grand Diversion, as you call it. Obisvyrre, the Fiery Abyss. That to which we are doomed for seizing this very day as our own and caring nothing for the ultimate ends of the gods.

    "We lose our soul''s loci through our meandering ways until we are no longer even worthy of the peace awaiting us in Oblivion."

    Renua smiled and he chuckled. Barathiel doubted the sincerity with which the wizard presented in his relaxed demeanor. He was merely changing his tact.

    "No, my friend, young Salugarr. It has a meaning well beyond diversion."

    He stopped for a moment. Barathiel noticed Renua''s pale green eyes staring intently at him.

    "You look so much like your paternal grandfather. Shame you never got to know him very well. Would have saved us a lot of trouble. Such is Life," The wizard emphasized the last phrase with a toss of his head.

    He gestured towards the painting. The landscape within blurred gray, slowly turned black with streaks of midnight blue reaching eerily forward like cold lightning slowed down to the speed of relaxed breathing as it unfolded and retraced back.

    "Obisvyrre," Renua continued. "Is what the Su¨¹d playwrights call tedjosz ynchnt, a double intention. For us, those of the clique, operatives as opposed to agents, it refers to our purpose, to push the S?urarchy back into the Abyss from whence they came. For they are not gods, merely extraordinary powerful demons."

    "God''s, demons, what''s the difference."

    "Everything!" Renua now spoke with sudden animation. "Gods have souls, like humans have souls. As you mentioned, loci. Part and parcel to the hidden map underlying the mundane world, they have a connection, ultimately responsibility, to this world. When they do it harm, they do themselves harm.

    "Demons are transitory spirits. The world will always be a plaything only to serve their own amusement. All living souls native to Mundi are cheapened for it.

    "The only reason these demons haven''t burned us all to a crisp with the power they have obtained through the temples that sustain them is that at one point, Rhoethella convinced the others it would be highly amusing to overthrow the Patriarch, Izdun, and mimic the gods of vanquished days. It is merely a romance for them. A fancy which they will someday grow bored."

    "How do you know all of this? It sounds merely speculative. After all, they do need the blood ritual to sustain their existence, whereas, demons feed directly from human souls. Also, Rhoethella was born of an elf and a human parent, how could she be a demon, and not merely possessed by one?"

    "Death''s Embrace, the ritual to obtain godhood, corrupts them to the base element of their souls. I can prove everything I said to you but those are questions for another day, Young Salugarr. There is no time at the moment. How about this, then, I, as you are aware, can''t walk very far out of your purview and maintain existence in this material world."

    "Ironic, for such a powerful mage to be so bound, isn''t it?

    "Very much so. But, as I was saying, would you be willing to get close enough to where the communion is supposed to take place so I can witness it in your stead?"

    "No. I would still hear the sexual intercourse."

    "Stuff your ears!"

    "I can still smell the sex. I could smell it on them from the little they did in there. He pointed to the chamber across the hall. No. Let''s forget about it. I need to get a hold of myself."

    Renua''s arms flared out. "It''s a missed opportunity."

    "With so many disaffected Temple sisters throughout our many lands how can Obisvyrre possibly not know the ritual in its practice, intention, and purpose?"

    "We don''t know how it is we don''t know." Renua''s voice grew exasperated. "We only know their memory of what occurs is directly proportional to their commitment to the S?urarchy."

    "I''m sorry. I can''t do it. Not this evening. I gather myself better over the course of this week, we''ll arrange something. Brietess will certainly demand it again. But, not tonight."

    "Fine. Understandable even." Renua stood up. "Why did you summon me? There are better ways of getting well and truly fucked -," the wizard pointed to a pocket in Barathiel''s coat with the bag of opium curings and dried marijuana leaves intended for smoking occasions of a more dedicated nature. "- if you have a need to forget the sight of one''s naked sister in her joyful throes of sexual stimulation."

    Barathiel motioned for the wizard to follow.

    "Glad you got around to asking. I want to go hunting."

    After a hesitant second, Renua breathed out a long, "ah...," his voice went up in a high pitch and his tone lightened. Barathiel turned to face Renua''s mischievous smile.

    "A huntress of giants. You have a commonality with this Leresai the Enigmatic that you wish to expand upon. Why wouldn''t a young man long for his sister''s mistress and teacher. Perfectly natural."

    The Enigmatic. That''s what skipped his memory earlier. It was said she was an extraordinary agencier. Greatly feared in certain quarters.

    "Perhaps, you are right. I would like to ask her to go-a-hunting, and not embarrass myself given the years it has been since I''ve hunted anything more sporting than fawns in the forests of your family estates."

    "Next time you''re at the palace, take a little walk into the marshland to the southern end. There is a wyvern there I would like you to take care of for me."

    "You jest."

    Renua began to follow. "If those really were my giblets they found and put in a box in our family mausoleum, I wouldn''t be here now in any physical capacity."

    They transversed along one of the exterior walls that gave the Old Meander its distinctive appearance. Before they entered one connecting rotunda, Renua whispered to Barathiel.

    "Keep to the shadows and remain quiet as we pass the next set of double doors."

    Barathiel thought it a curious request given they traveled on the opposite side of the hunting grounds to avoid the two women, but he did as instructed. Renua placed a hand on his shoulder.

    When he felt a jolt of electricity, Barathiel looked at his own hands. They were spectral blue, camouflaged to the walls of the counter levered walkway above the ground floor. They walked forward. Why all the mystery?

    Then he understood. He could see into the chambers below from slits cut for the purpose of air circulation in the walkway floor.

    Gathered in the corner of a small out-of-the-way office, Tereth and Thiel set with a pair of guests. The two other men, one ancient and the other appeared perhaps a decade older than Barathiel.

    Both of the men exuded a thuggish air in their demeanor; sutured twist of rings in their ears and studded sapphires flanked on their noses like eastern Mooring raiders of another long gone era.

    They wore long black coats over cobalt blue chainmail. Tattoos along the length of their necks. A pair of dangerous men. The elder assuredly a Ko Laga Majeur.

    On the low-lying glass table in front of the quartet of schemers a map set, along with a ceremonial dagger used in common contracts, a stack of coins and a scroll on which Thiel was intently scribing. His father was speaking, his eyes cast directly at his guests.

    After they passed by and left the donjon tower through the double doors on the opposite side, Renua turned to him. His eyes were ramose.

    "Obisvyrre business. Ugly, ugly Obisvyrre business," Renua continued. "It is the reason your father and Uncle did not include you."

    Barathiel nodded, "I understand."

    As he turned to continue, Renua gently tugged at his arm.

    "One day, young Solugarr, it''s going to be necessary for you to wrest control of Obisvyrre from your father and uncle. The direction they are setting for us will eventually, inevitably prove disastrous."

    "I''m juggling too much, Renua."

    "I know, but what you just witnessed will have consequences for you no matter if you do not understand it. Could you promise me one thing? Never mention it, either to Thiel or Tareth. Spare yourself that much grief, at least."

    They came to the terrace steps leading down to the hunting grounds. Barathiel stopped.

    "What grief?"

    "You don''t want to find out how ruthless your father can be in keeping secrets secret.

    "Ruthlessness serves him as Thiel''s right hand very well. In that regard, your father is very effective. Recklessness, though, that accompanies his disposition all too well, will eventually overwhelm everything else."

    "Come along," Barathiel nodded towards the steps. He realized Rena was studying him to gauge his reaction.

    "Come along. All in due time. We have sport ahead of us."

    Renua nodded with loosened jowls above a craned neck.

    "All in due time, but make good use of your summer here. Keep your ears open for matters just like those. It will prove instructive."

 House Salugarr - Part VI

    They made their way to the open yard near the groves of cloverfields. On the far end was a bow range with gauged targets. By the range was an equipment shack. Inside he found that his personal case was left undisturbed.

    In it was his suit of leather armor vestments. Not quite as tough as the hides made from geilli dragons but stiff enough to resist a low-impact arrow or the bite of a medium sized mammal.

    Well suited for an off-manor hunt.

    Beside the armor lay a belt with a sheath for a broad curved machete and a composite longbow with a quarrel of arrows. All of which, he strapped to his body.

    "Ready to fight off an ogre are we," Renua teased.

    Barathiel laughed at the quip as he led them to the fields of clover, drawing close to the outlining woods.

    "Let''s leave the heroics for the heroes. We''ll make it easy this round. How about a quail to start off the hunt?"

    "Well, then¡­" Renua stretched his hands out, then his hands glowed. "There is one barely a mile to the east."

    Barathiel heard the bird shriek. A common reaction to displacement from both men and beasts.

    "To your right," Renua called.

    The bird was gliding to the ground. One arrow he managed to get off in front of the quail''s descent. He shot too soon. The bird was forced to scurry up as the arrow passed beneath it.

    He got off his second shot before the bird was fully recovered. It flew by the bird''s left flank.

    He missappraised the bird''s position. Off on time and off on sighting. Doing little but studying for the bar for the last four years, he was out of practice. The bird flew back east, out of Barathiel''s range.

    He cursed, "I''m growing soft as moist horseshit. It''s all too apparent I no longer have a clue what I''m doing with this bow."

    "Would you like me to grab the bird again," Renua asked.

    "No. I''ve terrorized it enough for one evening. My neighbors have to live with it."

    "There is no risk of turning the creature fell. Displacement is not the same thing as teleportation. I''m grabbing him from where he is and pushing him between space closer to me.

    "His location is affected, not his loci. Teleportation, however, is one of those magics that batters a creature''s soul, turns them fiendish or fell, or even demonic or undead when diabolism is involved."

    Barathiel shook his head.

    "I''m not one of your students, and the grounds of your school have been long reclaimed by the marshlands."

    "Pity you have so little patience. I was going to elaborate on why the conditions of dire and rabid occur only naturally and not by magic. What kind of creature do you want me to attempt to displace next?"

    Barathiel tested the poundage of his bow, one he had been using since he was twelve. He had definitely lost muscle mass while at university.

    "Likely you shouldn''t try anything too dangerous," he asked the wizard. "At least, not until I get my bearings back."

    "Honey badger. There is one, a large one, oh, is it ever so dire near enough you could track it yourself without any assistance from me."

    Barathiel''s free hand went for his machete.

    "Good gods, man. Nothing that can kill me out right."

    "I had nothing to do with it," Renua protested. "It showed up on your grounds of its own accord. Shut your yapping, child, it hears you."

    Barathiel refastened his machete as he crouched low. Raising his bow, he felt along the inner arches and twisted the screws and clamped the shunt on a pair of yew bindings that increased the composite bow''s pound resistance.

    He could draw the bow at the highest weighted setting a half-dozen times in quick succession without overly straining his muscles before leaving for college. If he could do it even twice now he was uncertain.

    "Do you see it now? Three hundred and ten odd yards towards the east side of the yard. Careful, you are downwind from it."

    Barathiel could hear a hissing noise, but couldn''t spot the creature.

    Renua continued speaking.

    "Many creatures are preternaturally hostile to my presence. Even if they can''t see, hear, or smell me. He may just go into a frenzy from the confusion I evoke."

    Barathiel notched his arrow.

    "I still can''t see him. Where in the infernal blazes is he?"

    He felt the ends of Renua''s fingers on the back of his neck. A tinge of static electricity shot through, into his skull.

    "There," said Renua. "Now, reach into its mind."

    Thick clover parted in a jig jagged fashion. Grass shifted leftward and rightward as the beast crawled forward as an all too intense sharpness burned in the creature''s eyes. The grass whipped his fur like razorcuts. The clover smelled of decay. There were shouts, human shouts in the distance.

    It stopped, peaked it''s head up, looking to the Northwest. It moaned a sound guttural like a pissed-off cat.

    "Oh shit, oh shit. Shit, shit, shit," a man yelled as he rushed across the clover in a dead sprint. It was cousin Erotche running from the glow of silver eyes approaching from the western donjon. It was the Sg?ethe albino. She was nude and gaining on Erotche.

    "I told you what I would do to you if I ever caught you spying on me, you little fucker," Leresai yelled.

    The honey badger crouched and it kept quiet. It now circled away from Barathiel and Renua. At first, he assumed it was simply scared off by the sudden activity.

    Then he realized as he peeked into its mind, it had anticipated where Leresai would catch up to Erotche. It was planning to pounce them.

    Barathiel began to move to the creature''s previous location.

    "Please don''t piss on my face," Erotche pleaded in a high-pitched screech. "Oh, please don''t piss in my face!"

    When she caught up to him, she threw Erotche down on his back. Leresai straddled on top of him with taunt, muscular thighs crushing against his ribs. His face red with tears, his cheeks and jowls blubbering.

    In spite of his cousin''s dire circumstances, Barathiel admired her body with abandon. Muscular and powerful. Tendons in her arms and shoulders tight and mightily ribbed in the moonlight yet set within the graceful curves and ethereal paleness of her womanly flesh.

    Her arms lunged for Erotche''s trousers. Clutching the loose, cotton material she pulled with her thumb and fingers until it was shredded in several ribbons.

    His hardened penis writhed around, as he tried to twist his hips, as it dodged a vengeful and merciless hand in pursuit of it.

    Finally, she caught the cock in her palm. Grasped it and started pulling on the shaft.

    "What''s this," Leresai said in a teasing voice.

    "Are you excited? Of course you are. You''re never actually been with a woman have you? Else you wouldn''t be lurking around with your hand on your dick. I should -," she held his penis up stiff with her fingernails, "- shred this like I did those trousers. You will then never truly know the pleasure a woman can give you."

    "Please, no, Princess Leresai. Dear, dear, most beautiful princess. I''m not like that. I would never spy but you are so, damn it to those Wretched Sisters, beautiful. That is no fault of mine."

    Though he felt no changes in the condition of its mind, Barathiel stole a glance towards the honey badger just to be sure the connection was still there. The dire creature was entirely focused on the spat.

    Barathiel needed to get a clear line of sight on the beast.

    "All right, you flattering little shit. You get to your keep your dick."

    "Oh, what a merciful goddess you are. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you."

    She did not let up her grip on his shoulders that held him down. She leaned down into his face with her hair practically pummeling him.

    Then in a tone darkly given, "I''m exacting exactly the price I promised you, and trust me, you will swallow. That is, if you care to ever breathe again."

    Barathiel glanced to see Leresai grab his cousin by his throat as she slipped her haunches down above his face. Her ass faced Barathiel now.

    A smoothly arched ivory white rump with taut muscles curved away from a heat engorged vulva mound whose scarlet flesh contrasted distinctly with the paleness of her thighs.

    He couldn''t make himself pry his eyes back to the honey badger, but neither did he feel any changes in the tempo of it''s feral mind.

    From under the Sgo?the''s knees, Erotche grasped for air and he choked. Barathiel could hear a strong stream of piss hit the back of his cousin''s throat as a raw gurgling noise uttered from deep within him.

    Reverberation pulsed through the firmament of the badger''s mind at this action. Barathiel finally tore his eyes away from Leresai''s nude form.

    The badger was twitching its nose curiously, and gave the Sgo?the a side glance. It felt what still lingered of the silver magic, and was growing more disturbed by it.

    Barathiel closed in on the beast, but still unsure if the range of the shot was within sound accuracy for his current ability.

    He heard the stream of piss stop. She unclasped Erotche''s throat, and let him spit her urine out. Leresai stood up, half prone, allowing Erotche to turn on his side. He coughed violently before puking up the piss.

    She was not finished with Erotche just yet. She forced him back down on his back.

    "Now. You are going to lick my cunt clean. So tasty she is now with the drench of my piss."

    "Oh, gods. That''s disgusting," Erotche yelled.

    Leresai pressed her thumbs against the side of Erotche''s neck. He started to cough once more.

    "What good will you ever be for a woman if you can''t keep her clean down there? Time for you to learn."

    Erotche complied to the Sg?ethe''s demands. She ground her vagina in his face. Deliberately smacking her cervical into his chin and laughing as she did so.

    He humphed with a uncomfortable whine at the caustic, rhythmic torture of her thighs squeezed against his neck and ears.

    With a moaned giggle, she pulled her head back and she squeezed out an orgasm.

    Leresai stood up. Erotche gasped and spat at the ground. He grunted and spat again.

    "What was that? What was that you shot in my mouth," he asked, horrified. He jerked his head up, giving her vagina a careful study as if he suspected she sported something else.Stolen story; please report.

    "Women do that?"

    This caused her to burst out in laughter.

    Her cum oozed on the sides of Erotche''s mouth and his chin. He dangled his fingers helplessly.

    Still laughing, Leresai, "oh, mercy. I haven''t had so much fun in so long. Get up Erotche, and prop yourself in stance beneath that tree. I have one last lesson for you.

    "This one is most fundamental for you to learn going forth if you do so deign to court women."

    She tightened her lips to moisten them, the gaze she gave him most wicked.

    "It is called reciprocity," she growled low.

    As Erotche moved away from her, the badger''s mind became unraveled with alarm. It had come to a decision. It hissed and its paws pointed to the Sgo?the.

    Barathiel read its intentions.

    It feared Leresai and now believed she was finished with one victim and was seeking another. When it pounced, Barathiel''s rushed forward between Leresai and the honey badger.

    He placed his first shot in the center of its forehead. It tumbled back and writhed, trying to shake the arrow out. Barathiel rushed up closer and placed another arrow into its body through the gut, planting it down. It still struggled, clawing wildly. A third and fourth arrow secured it to the ground.

    Barathiel turned back to Leresai. She stood there stunned. Eyes wide and focused on the honey badger. Erotche ran back towards the donjon as fast as his feet would allow.

    Barathiel walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

    "Are you all right," he asked.

    She wiped a tear from her cheek. With a jolt to the heart Barathiel realized he could read her thoughts just as clearly as he did the badger''s when he patted her shoulder to comfort her.

    Was father right about this Solugarr?

    "You saved my life, Barathiel. No one has ever done that before. I have never been so ill-prepared to defend myself than just now."

    He wanted to know more of what she thought. What did she mean? What was the context? This Solugarr. She meant him. He held her arm, and now there was no mystery in her eyes.

    Many years faded away as her memory became clear. A man of the highest regal bearing stood in his Great Hall.

    He bore blond hair down to his shoulders, parted at the middle of his forehead. A trim beard and deep-set eyes like a hawk graced his visage.

    He was her father, Draida? Fervarryn. He was telling her about Barathiel, a boy who would not reach his majority until nearly a decade.

    Yet the three blind crones who lived in a mound formed from the skull hollow of a weirding giant nearby Tos-Fervarrynn told Draida? this when he visited them for consultation on the matter of Rhoethela''s request, ''they should be wed.''

    "I asked them, ''why'' and they would not go any farther," the Lord of Tos-Fervarrynn told his daughter.

    The Sgo?the, the Godless of old, no more believed in inevitable Fate than any of the other peoples of the Imperium. They were, however, less prone to burn soothsayers at the stake to appease the Empress.

    It is up to you, my daughter. Even a goddess cannot force my hand when my daughter''s ultimate freedom is at stake. I will feel like half a man, and I suppose that is the point, to my dying day for letting them take you to Temple. It is up to you, my dearest, Leresai, and it will always be up to you, from henceforth. Go speak to this Rhoethella, or shun her entirely. Either way, you have and always will have my blessing.

    It came to Barathiel in an instant and then her mind drifted away from him like an echo. He wiped his own eyes from the ache of salt.

    "Damn," he whispered as he offered Leresai his hand. She took it, but half collapsed, leaning into his arms. She once more stared at the honey badger''s many times impaled corpse.

    "It''s all right," he consoled. His face pressed against hers. He smelled a bitter herb on her breath.

    "It will never be all right, Barathiel. That is not the trajectory either of us is set upon."

    He began to walk her through the cloverfields back to the manor.

    "Do you mind," she began. "I hope it wasn''t too extreme of me what I did to your cousin."

    Barathiel gave it a moment''s thought. He glanced back at Renua who followed by his side. The wizard frowned as if the same conclusion came to him as it did Barathiel. Erotche wasn''t temperamentally a pervert as far as could be discerned from knowing the young man his entire life.

    Tareth must have put him up to it. Reckless Tareth. Leresai caught Erotche because he is untrained. An untrained man used for Obisvyrre business. It made Barathiel furious. What in the infernal reaches was Tareth thinking?

    Barathiel stroked the hair off of Leresai''s neck. She offered no resistance, nor made any effort to cover up her body.

    "I suppose I don''t mind what you did, giving it never occurred to me to be offended. It even appeared you were ready to make amends with him right then and there."

    This prompted a chortle from the Sgo?the princess. He continued, "my only concern was with that dire beast. The territories of the upper Midvries is no place to be running around outside naked. Though I would be lying if I told you I minded you doing that in the least."

    Another sweetly aired chortle came from her throat.

    "You''re going to turn this pale girl pink, Barathiel, but honestly, I never want to be out of your good graces. I''ve been daydreaming about giving him that lesson for a few days now, ever since I caught him in the closet of the guest room I now reside."

    "Given Erotche''''s voyeuristic inclination, such a violent introduction to the wiles of women will do him some good."

    "I was thinking the same. Barathiel, but there is a question I have for you, if it''s not too presumptuous of me to ask. Who is that man tagging along with us. You both seem familiar with one another, from what I have gathered."

    Barathiel stopped, and realized the origins of that bitter herb on her breath. She had been in his Deadsift Brandy stash. He turned his head back to Renua who appeared as perplexed as himself.

    "You see me," the wizard asked.

    "Yes, I gather you believe yourself invisible by that casual demeanor of yours. Staring at my rump like you want to bury your face in it, and picking at your nose as if you had the entire world to yourself.

    "Now, why is it you believe yourself invisible to me, and Barathiel, you just as casually accepted his incognito as partial to the natural order of things. So, who are you, little man?"

    Renua rubbed his hands against his gray and azure robes and clinched the folds.

    "I live aslant from the material plane."

    "Dead," she asked.

    "No. I once fought a wyvern that turned back to ferel due to my inattention to it. I threw up a magic defense when the beast turned on me. The magic went wild and out of my control due to the bloodheat coursing through my veins.

    "One of the side effects of that torrent of mana going rampant being trapped as I am. Young Solugarr summons me as he deems I''m needed. I can only exist in his proximity."

    Leresai turned her head back around, and she asked,

    "Barathiel?"

    "My friend, until you confirmed to me just now you saw him with your own eyes I considered it most likely I was manifesting some form of insanity that also had the useful benefit of unleashing in me extraordinary magical talents."

    "Magic," Leresai repeated, suspiciously. "I ask once more, who are you, little fellow?"

    "Renua Lyoneid."

    Leresai''s eyes lit up.

    "I remember the legend of you. Your college at the old castle disbanded shortly after you''re suppos¨¦d demise."

    "That''s correct."

    Barathiel was eager to explain.

    "I discovered Renua when I was seeking consultation at the university to find a cure for my mother''s condition."

    With an accusatory tone, Leresai asked the wizard, "did you create that honey badger, Renua, with your sorcery? It was a beast most fell."

    "No and no, dear princess," Renua clucked as if he was addressing an ill-prepared student. "The badger was a dire creature, not fell. The dire affliction is a natural condition that occurs when the sylvan glades are starved of nutrient and they wither into primal woodlands as we see occurring in much of the Nin these days. I''m afraid that effect is bleeding into the Midvries now as well. No, I merely spotted it for young Salugarr''s hunt.

    They reached the entrance to the donjon that exited closest to the cloverfield of the hunting yards. Leresai put a hand up to motion Barathiel to stop. She ducked inside and peaked up at the stairwell.

    "Renua, could you give Barathiel and myself a little privacy?"

    He shrugged and he began to walk away.

    "Merely a matter of getting out of young Solugarr''s range of perception," he called back to them.

    When Renua disappeared, Leresai continued.

    "I left Brietess soundly in an entranced slumber as soon as I heard the shuffle of your cousin''s feet by the drain pipes. I had to run up a corridor, pass the hall and out the other end of the donjon over there to catch up with him.

    "Your cousin witnessed something he should not have. He will be a jabbering idiot for the next several days once he stops to rest and his bloodheat runs thin. It will last until the memory of what he witnessed is erased from his being in hole.

    "The more rest he gets the sooner he''ll be back to his normal self. I thought you should know at least that much, but please do not ask anything further concerning it as It is a most delicate matter."

    "I understand."

    Leresai''s lashes fluttered. She let out a sigh with a forbearing twitch in her brows. She leaned against the entrance post.

    "You really shouldn''t be so understanding. You''re going to break my heart one day with that sweet nature of yours. I''m sorry, Barathiel, you are a beautiful man in your own right, but you''re also one quite forbidden to me."

    She grabbed his hand to her left breast. Lunar radiance flowed off her skin. It was a warmth that gathered in the bones of his hand, and it felt as if it flowed even deeper within his being.

    "Do you feel that? That risidual heat? Most days I feel like I''m trading my blood essense, my humanity, for what little good the silver does me. But then, do you feel that the longing of my heartbeat?"

    Renua''s magic was still with him, however feint now with the wizard gone. Her heart''s motive was clear to him.

    "Yes, I do."

    "That granule of essense left in me is retained in that merest of beats. Yet, it gives me great comfort just knowing it''s there, and I am not so lost that I cannot return to it. So I would like to believe."

    "Barathiel, could you just hold me for a few minutes and let me do something I haven''t done in ages. Can I break like a proper lass in your arms right now?"

    He welcomed Leresai in his arms under the doorway in the donjon. He leaned with his face into her hair. Her thoughts gently stroked up against his mind.

    Wild strawberries.

    She thought as a breeze billowed up from the clover. He felt the light of her eyes retreating and the totality of her thoughts concentrated once again in distant memory.

    Snow drifted down whipping across her face. She was on the glacier again. The last prints she had spotted were a few dozen feet away. The giants were nowhere near. Their movements were brazen until now, as if they feared nothing. Now, however, they scattered to their hiding places.

    Where did they go?

    Leresai moved forward with her bow drawn. What spooked them? She glanced at the sun and followed the course of the current shadows cast to see if anything was out of place.

    A flurry of snow rose up in figure-eights in her eyes and then scattered away. Along the ridge line westward someone was walking towards her.

    A long tall elven creature. Easily seven foot tall. Rhoethella

    "You chose to ignore my request to meet. Quite arrogant of you, but you come from a very arrogant people, Sgo?the."

    Rhoethella was at least one hundred and twenty yards away. Leresai took quick aim and fired an arc well above the goddess. It fell from the sky in a graceful descent and struck Rhoethella in the heart.

    The goddess fell, but laughed as she did so. She got up, pulled the shaft out of her chest. She snapped the arrow like a twig. Her robe seemed to mend as if it crawled with near invisible silkworms. She continued to walk forward. Rhoethella spoke.

    "What could this bitch goddess who now approaches you possibly say to change your mind? All you want now is to return to the life you had and forget the dreadful year the S?urarchy stole from you, but how can you possibly forget?"

    Leresai drew her bow skyward, springing her step forward with weight planted on the front knee. Four arrows in breathtakingly rapid succession shot true into Rhoethella''s naval cavity.

    The goddess wore a set of leathers that exposed too much of her flesh to be effective in her defense. In the corner clubs in many cities it was a popular affectation for women who were more rogue than warrior.

    Rhoethella stopped. As she stared down at her navel, long silver blue strands of hair slid down the length of her. She pulled her hair to the side revealing a smile on her angular face a wolf would do well to copy.

    The goddess pulled the four arrows out. Entrails jetted along the length of the shaft wrapped tight. As she twirled the shafts, she broke off an arrowhead and used it to cut loose intestines that refused to slide off easily. She threw the arrows aside and stuck the remainder of her innards back in place.

    Where skin ripped Rhoethella folded the dermis back down and new bonds formed. Satisfied, she continued forward with her smile all the more widened.

    "But how can you possibly forget, Leresai? We made you, a proud godless Sg?ethe, fuck any man who paid the tithe. When you were impregnated and how many times was that? Yes, seven, we unceremoniously strapped you into a gurney.

    "We dript the blood of a troll over your stomach and pubis to find out if it was the ''one''. When the results were unsatisfactory, we forced you to drink bitter abortificants to miscarriage and did so so many times they rendered you sterile.

    "So, I ask of you, Leresai, how can you possibly forgive or forget what we did to you? Is it well and good for you to return to your life here in the Northern Isles, or will you not be satisfied until the Great Temple in Meizsol is shorn brick by brick? Don''t answer; it isn''t necessary. I know the answer. Madame Luna herself whispers to me the secrets that lie in our souls at night, and I know what is in yours."

    Rhoethella stood over Leresai now. The Sgo?the frowned and eventually stopped staring back into the goddess'' own silver eyes. She cast her gaze downward.

    "I know it will take more than words for me to convince you to return and serve as my Handmaiden, I so euphemistically call those who do my bidding in the skulduggery art. Look at me, Leresai Fervarryn."

    The goddess smiled. She held a coin of platinum in her hand. She leaned down offering it to Leresai. For a moment, Leresai was offended. I don''t want even a partial of your filthy wealth, she had thought before she understood what the goddess was offering.

    She quickly realized there was something special about the coin. She took it from Rhoethella''s hand. It was dated fifty-two years into the future. On the front side was a picture of a handsome young man.

    She flipped it over.

    On the other was a picture of an older Leresai clothed as an empress. In her arms she held an infant.

    "Who is that beautiful child?"

    "Your son, so it claims, the first emperor of our lands in over one thousand years."

    "This can''t be real, Leresai protested.

    "None of the sisters thought so either as frauds of this sort have been perpetrated since the Mandate banning augurs of Fortune, Fate and Destiny was first decreed. But then, you show up at the Temple in the flesh so very much real. They wanted to slaughter you.

    "I stayed their hands. You''re the first interesting thing, a catalyst in our social alchemy, in several generations. So, I couldn''t let that happen. Come with me, Leresai. It isn''t a threat if you refuse.

    "I won''t let them harm you no matter your choice. But look to that infant. Look at him as a promise from me. I never give promises lightly"

 House Salugarr - Part VII

    The night before in their private quarters, Barathiel handed Ellie a redwood case. She opened it, and with a quizzical look on her face, she held up a brass ring with a twisting design.

    "There are two long strands of hair in here as well. One black, one platinum. You have such tiny nimble hands I want you to twist them along the ridge of that brass ring and bind them. After the deed is done, I''ll clamp it to Milborne''s claw and send it to Tareth."

    Ellie frowned at the mention of his father. He rubbed his wife''s very much pregnant stomach.

    "He is the one for whom Rozzenblunde gave an audience. My hands are tied in this."

    When Rozzenblunde asked his father what favor she could give in return for the services he had as a ranked member of Obisvyrre in good standing rendered in her name, his old man pleaded for the return of his sister''s body.

    The goddess, Tereth told him, smiled, and said, "Oh, but sieur, I can give you that and so much more."

    "I suppose, what is right is what is right, and the Primrose Lady will never settle for anything less. Just so long as it is soon over," Ellie concurred, "and we can get on with our lives."

    "And everything is made right?"

    Her nose rankled and her chin tightened as if there was something Ellie wanted to say but decided against vocalizing.

    "Yes."

    There was too much he had to hold back from even his own wife, the woman he grew to love and revere even more with each passing year together.

    As her fingers did artistic justice to the twines of hair, he kissed her and held her tight.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    On the Neverspora side of the bridge, two riders approached. After a moment of appraisal, Barathiel was certain it was the captain of the palace guard, Bierd¨¦ and Leresai in the guise of an elven spearmaiden. His pulse quickened, and his focus returned. He felt damn near sober.

    "Get up," Renua commanded as he now stood behind the Ninci man. "It is time for us to leave."

    "Leave?" Barathiel protested throwing up his hands in defiant flabbergast. "They have just arrived!"

    "You do not want to be anywhere near here when these events unfold."

    Barathiel continued his protest.

    "I''m supposed to meet with the captain right here after he escorts her to the entrance door."

    "Don''t concern yourself with the captain. He''ll do his part, and if caught and tortured, he won''t reveal yours."

    "We''ve been planning this course of events -,"

    "- for nearly a hundred years in my case," interrupted Renua. Who then prodded Barathiel with his staff. "Let events unfold as they may. They will anyway. In the meantime, we have a wyvern to kill and a castle in the swampland to restore."

    Barathiel stood, gathered the brandy bottles, perplexed, but he began to follow as Renua made his way past the mausoleum and down the other side of the hill. Away from the palace and onto a glade path.

    "There is a ranger station nearby with equipment you''ll need."

    "You really want me to kill that wyvern?"

    "Yes," Renua affirmed. "You''re now on a hero''s quest, young Salugarr. One much more fitting to your station in life and your social disposition than this sordid cloak and dagger nastiness your father got you up to the deep end in."

    "You, sieur Lyoneid, play a large part as to why I am in that society."

    "Not really. I am merely guiding your path along a more rational course of action.

    "To what purpose," Barathiel challenged.

    Rena stopped and snapped a wild raspberry from a vine and ate it. He plucked another. His eyes were lively when he turned to answer.

    "For tomorrow morning when you return to this palace, you will be greeted as a hero."

    With a mischievous chuckle, Renua continued along the path.

 Interlude

    She floated in a gray mist. She drifted along a grounded surface her toes could barely feel. Mostly, she just dreamed. The Whispered World this was and that she was certain. It was more peaceful than she expected it to be.

    One dreadful thing would interrupt the peace. A voice would briefly enter her thoughts.

    "Brietess, why do you merely dream? You were never so passive when you lived."

    Yet, in spite of the discordance in her thoughts the interruption caused, Brietess would feel in those brief moments temporal again when the voice interceded her peace.

    Is this what she most desired, to be again? Most of all, to be with Leresai again? Yes, she wanted to be if only to fulfill what she so desired.

    Leresai would come again to her on a fetching night. They would hold each other and dance beneath the panorama of a moonless sky, for a respite of time that seemed enough to satiate Brietess'' longing soul.

    Her faded self content for the fortnightly rapt of their hearts when Leresai would come to her to the cemetery gardens in accord to Rhoethella''s promise.

    Then the voice began to intercede in all that was rightful. Cruelly intelligent, but honeyed in feminine charm.

    "Brietess, what do you see over there?"

    Brietess ignored the voice at first. There was nothing to see in the Whispered World but the faint impressions of other shades manifesting their own longings.

    "If you have the will to imagine it, you can see it."

    "Go away. Only Leresai matters," she answered the voice.

    "Who do you think I want you to see, insolent girl? Lovely, lovely girl who died well before her time."

    Timelessness, it felt as if a hundred years perhaps passed by or not even a flicker of an eyelid. She could not be certain. No. Time was divided by two interventions. The fortnightly visit by her beloved and that voice.

    "Do you feel the passage of time?"

    The voice intruded once more.

    "Only as measured by your disturbance of my peace of mind," Brietess answered back.

    "Every moment is an infinity, an unbroken cycle, until something interrupts it.

    "Leave me in peace," Brietess insisted.

    "Do you not even imagine the Moon, Brietess, in your longings to know when she''ll be back to call on you?"

    It never occurred to Brietess to imagine the Moon. If she did so, would she see it as it truly was? She fretted as much as it was possible for a shade to fret. Finally, the circuitous patterns of her thought borne out a suggestion: what would it cost her to make the attempt? Why not try?

    Brietess focused her intention upon seeing the moon as it would appear above the cemetery gate. The moon was in a westward crescent marking four nights before Leresai would be returning to her.

    "Did you see the Moon?"

    "Yes," Brietess answered, "but how do I know what I imagine is real?"

    "Ah, Brietess, now you are truly thinking once more and you are not just drifting about the Whispered World. In four days your answer will be confirmed. Then you will know and with that germ of knowledge you actually have a chance."

    Now that she longed for certitude, Brietess focused on the Moon. It disappeared into the daylight sky becoming a barely discernible whisk. It once more became well defined by night. A thinner crescent like the shimmer of a d''jestre''s scimitar in torch light.

    "Brietess, your focus grows. Go see where Leresai is presently."

    It had not occurred to her that she could. She focused her attention on finding her belov¨¦d Sgo?the.

    Earth terrain reeled by and slowed to a stop. Resting on a trail above a mountain village, Leresai was curiously dressed as an elven spearmaiden. She fed a beautiful horse who possessed a caramel colored mane in contrast to its dark haired body. Leresai teased the beast with admonishing words. Emotion wailed through Brietess'' shade. Her Leresai ventured forth through the world without her.

    "Do not despair, Brietess. There''s a sickness in your mutual souls, that of yourself and Leresai. We must do something about it."Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    "Who are you?"

    "Focus your intention on me with all the sincerity with which you imagined the moon before, and I will help you find where I make my residence in a lovely old chateau where we can chat about your future over a cup of tea. I can make this happen but you must do your part."

    Brietess hesitated.

    "What do you need of me? This sickness in my soul? Do you mean my love for Leresai? If that is indeed what you mean I have no use for you."

    "Oh dear, trust the wisdom of one who has lived eleven hundred years. Both of your beautiful souls have use of what I can give you. Brietess, ask yourself, what do you really want - this demi-existence you have no control over or real being?"

    She thought of the winter violets Leresai made a wreath of and fastened into her hair on her last visit. It felt as real as anything she could ever care to want. Did this visitor want to end that? She wanted to see Leresai again.

    Brietess imagined the moon once more. It was late in the day, the silver lady glimmered above. Brietess searched for Leresai below on the far side of a field above another town where Leresai watched in the distance the comings and goings of a life not hers. She sat against a tree drinking from a yard.

    "What is to come of this," Leresai spoke with her chin tilted to the Moon. "Rhoethella, what is this but the holding pattern of an eagle over desert emptiness? You allow me my ghoul girl until I am willing to accept an ultimate purpose to which I have little understanding. Rhoethella, I am no sweet young thing anymore. My womb is barren and of want to flower any seed planted as it ever has been. How long will you indulge me before you nudge me onward, and forward to what?"

    Leresai grew silent for a moment before she began to hum a tune.

    Florets of quarter leaves

    Oil ''nointed crest of wreaths

    Rose petals drape her thighs

    Ruby in her navel lies.

    Her breast tipped in honey dew

    Lips glazed in a dusted tone

    Her eyes covered in opals blue

    Her hair set in herringbone.

    On a slate of grey she takes her leave,

    Adorned forsoth so prettily.

    Lady May takes her leave,

    Adorned forsoth so prettily.

    Leresai grew quiet. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

    For Brietess the world reeled once more and faded away.

    "Are you all right, young Solugarr?" Her confident asked.

    "Ghoul girl that is what I am. I see so clearly now my utter futility."

    "I am so sorry Brietess, I brought this to you. Knowledge like the gift of a serpent, but without your attention being focused, you cannot know much of anything beyond the most simplistic of personal sentiments."

    "I''m not angry with you, visitor. You showed me a glimpse of the truth. Now I need to know much more. What do you see when you gaze into the Whispered World and focus on me?"

    There was a pause Brietess could detect in the innate nature of passing time before her confident spoke once more.

    "In ancient days, there was another word for shade. Tortedenyi, a broken vessel. I see a shattered mind like a thousand thousand spikes obscuring the light at its center.

    "I see a fractured heart like dozens of ruby marbles pummelled by a cruel hammer and gathered in a pile. Your sex and guts if you do not mind, I shall not describe, but all of you, your viscerial parts, have been gathered in a thin, brittle sheen like rock candy sugar. It cannot be sustained."

    To this Brietess asked, "cannot be sustained? Can a shade know of decay and entropy? How is that possible?"

    "The cruel truth, Brietess?"

    "Yes, visitor, tell me."

    "You are a sacrifice. Tortedenyis were the food of the gods of the elder world lost to us long before scribed memory just as the communion of blood and sex sustains the gods of our times. The Elder Gods are not so active as they once were. It may be a hundred years and maybe a thousand, oh, but they will at some point in time come to devour your soul.

    "It was the only way Rhoethella could carry out the bargain she made Leresai to bring you back every fortnight in the body of a near senseless ghoul."

    "Perhaps, I should just ¡­ fade off into eventual nothingness."

    "There is another way, Brietess. I have no interest in deceiving you. Hence, why I''ve pushed you to see this. Come to me."

    "You should at least tell me who you are, visitor."

    She sensed another pause in time.

    "They say mine is the saddest story ever told. To even repeat it grays the very sky above."

    "Alright, then, I believe I know who you are. I will come to you."

    "Brietess, the path to me is not without its perils. You have a great deal of wit and good sense even if in life you hid it so well. I know you can overcome what lies ahead. I will be waiting."

    Brietess concentrated her intent until she felt air enter her lungs for the first time since plague driven pneumonia claimed them. The absence of breath she had not noticed until now.

    There was no longer a gray mist surrounding her. No sign of other shades. She could see a dark blue late dusk sky. She could make out a few stars in the outline of a slate gray mountain to her right. She recognized the iconic shape of Mount Despumate from the many paintings of the Usu¨¹l Craig''s unreachable peak.

    No expedition of man had ever discovered the entrance way to the gorge beneath. It was said that in the times before the Negation, shades expelled from Oblivion were delivered to her path to have the shit accumulated over the course of their lives cleansed from their souls as they ascended towards the peak.

    Brietess looked down at her immediate surroundings. Leafless thorn shrubs and tangled vines followed the concourse of a mud brown path. The soil was cold beneath her naked feet. The breeze on her face made her smile.

 Talons - Part I

    The bridge to the palace mirrored the modernity of the much larger Donneamor at the city''s entrance with girded and ribbed support given through counter levering trusses and squared up towers; otherwise, in surface decor it was a lovely archaic structure built in brickwork made to resemble cross-patched tresses.

    Braziers flickered from the top of the bridge towers with the shadows of guards mingling on the crosswalk cast down on Leresai and Captain Bierd¨¦ as they rode their steeds beneath. She glanced up. Formidable men had been assigned the duty. Their eyes were not deterred from inspection by her own casual gaze.

    As they crossed on to the palace grounds, she still remained unsettled by the brief respite of Captain Bierd¨¦''s halt before the bridge. What did she see in the far cast of his eyes? What did she hear in the hesitancy of his voice? She knew what she heard, regret.

    It confirmed that his escort was no mere happenstance in this evening''s intrigue. She had allowed sentiments grown over the course of the evening dictate her feelings for the man and cloud her judgment of the part in this matter he played. Here, beside a deft warrior of the highest caliber, one of whom could possibly best her, she had let her guard down.

    Still, what was his purpose? Bierd¨¦ possessed no sympathy for the D''jestre who were at the heart of the troubles in the palace.

    He wasn''t merely here to lead her away from the crowded view of the city dwellers to dispense with her on the more isolated palace grounds. The warehouse district he avoided for the more circuitous route he insisted upon provided a more flexible course of opportunity to be rid of her without spilling blood on House Lyoneid soil.

    Most curious, instead of preventing her intrusion, he assisted her entrance. These contradictions between Captain Bierde''s actions in his official role resolved into clarity. He was at her side this evening to appraise her.

    Leresai could feel his eyes on her. She remanded the scrutiny of his gaze with a question.

    "Do you plan to return to the goddom, Captain?"

    She glanced his way when silence stretched long. In Bierd¨¦''s eyes, now focused steadforth ahead, she could see the smoldering smoke and whipping flames curl. Even without evoking the silver, with her mere intuition, she knew dead certain Bierd¨¦ burnt all correspondence betweenst the two Mer''Kendretta ever wrote.

    "No. A good stretch of time passed before I recognized this place, but this is home."

    His focus broken, Bierd¨¦ turned towards her with a wide smile. The anger she had seen in his eyes merely a moment before, he now kept under the control of a shrewd, willful mind. Still, Bierd¨¦ did give her a glimpse of his thoughts as he continued to speak.

    "With all the troubles in the rest of the Imperium and elsewhere in the world -," his eyes returned to the severely manicured terrain ahead of them, and with a grimace displayed along his jowl so pressed as to appear buttressed by his neck, Bierd¨¦ continued, "this, I no longer have any doubt is the best place for me to be as a man of the Midvries. It is the best position of authority I could request in countering the troubles that find their way here."

    She nodded, satisfied with the outcome of this line of inquiry. It was time to play up the charm of T''nonnon''B. With a barely audible gasp, she gazed up at the palace.

    Her brow arched with an expressive elven pitch. Her smile, for emphasis, Leresai made lackadaisical before drawing her upper lip taut then flared into her left nostril for an accentuated sneering effect.

    "I see you have never laid eyes upon a more grandeur palace, have you," Bierde'' responded dryly. "Sunwelder''s abode being merely a carved mountain of semimat granite and precious stones, how could it possibly compare favorably with the ethereal and unworldly beauty of House Lyoneid?"

    She smirked ever-so-slightly, "this¡­ is a capable structure. Your Lord''s palace serves its function well enough I''m sure." Leresai answered, her tone dripping in the casual condescension renown of the elven people.

    Rising in the near distance before them, felsite columns interced between slates of sandstone. This formed the imposing outer walls for the diamond shaped four storied towers capped with needle point spires that grace each double cardinal wing of the two-storied palace proper and served to support the central dome cast over the atrium with jutting granite slabs in diagonal incline towards the asymmetrical front atrium. Smaller domes rose on the adjoining halls connecting the doubled wings.

    The edifice of House Lyoneid in its entirety rose from behind the garden but it did not overshadow the riders as the grounds were well lit so even in the early evening it''s subtle contours were still well displayed.

    The pathway from the southernmost bridge led to the west wing. A black iron gate cut off access to a twin wing to its immediate north.

    Leresai surveyed the yard. Above the palace grounds, further west, she could make out a colonnade from the Lyoneid family mausoleum on a hill above the garden. The garden itself comprised most of the accessible grounds.

    Beyond the hill, sloping to the South were dense forest and marshlands leading to the old castle ruin. Leresai recalled her encounter with Renua Lyoneid seven years previously and wondered if Barathiel Solugarr still evoked the wizard.

    She had grown curious after the death of Brietess over the means the advocate obtained the wizard''s companionship. Every manner of supernatural contact that she was aware would be prohibitively expensive or worse, costly beyond mere material wealth.

    She finally figured out the means. It was the ghastly liquor she discovered while rummaging through the locked chest in his closet. She had since that day made query and uncovered disturbing intelligence concerning the Deadsift. It disturbed her to know kind and gentle Barathiel was involved in its distribution.

    It wasn''t possible to ask Barathiel now about his involvement. Once the best of friends, Leresai could only regard their falling out with remorse. Barathiel stared so very sternly into her eyes the last time they met.

    All we ask of you is to return the body of my sister.

    "It would be easier to rip the beating heart from my chest and hand it to you now." She answered. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Tears flowed so readily in his presence.

    Bierd¨¦ pointed her attention back towards the palace with the wave of his hand. He was in his element and seemingly at ease.

    "I''ve circled these grounds for many years now. Still the lines of the palace elude me as they smooth to a round and then when I turn my steed by even the breadth of a hoof my lady is all jagged angles and blocks of impossible stonework that do not confit to any sensible eye."

    "How can you navigate this in its entirety," she inquired. "It is sectioned off quite severely, Captain?"

    His shoulders shrugged with a jerk when he nodded as if his body was reluctant to follow along with what he was about to say.

    "The path is altered for me as I traverse the grounds. In the watchtowers on the riverbanks and in the stone buildings just on the other side of the garden are gear-men and just under those braziers are spotters wearing field glasses to guide them."

    What was his motivation in telling her this? Was he giving her a hint on egress?

    "The palace is secure to quite a lengthy degree," she remarked.

    "It''s necessary given the military arm of the Midvries and the administrative are kept under separate powers and have been since the palace was first built nearly ninety years ago.

    "We have to be prepared for the ambitions of generals who may get notions on limiting oversight of their fiefdoms if unrest were to occur.

    "Not to alarm you, White Hawk, for our relations with the martial corps is amiable and healthy at present but if the troubles of the D''jestre cities were to come here I would expect that to change."

    Leresai smiled and nodded along but could not help but think of the junta coups that displaced royal families and their loyalist in the Ninci provinces stricken by the Gloom past fifty years ago. It was tactful of him given the Imperium sided with the coup leaders and not the royal houses.

    It served notice to the royal houses of all the administrative provinces their rule was only tolerated to the extent their leadership was effective.

    Bierd¨¦ continued, "if any general wished to challenge House Lyoneid, he would have his nose cut off. There is a concentration of force at the bridge gates and internal city garrisons that would halt the march of a well-equipped legion on its own.

    "In the northwest, where the blue fir forests sit on hills above marshland glades, rangers with wolfhound packs sweep through constantly. On the southern end, where the river spreads into the tributaries she runs shallow through shoals of thick shrub bearing skerries.

    "You have to transverse through both to get to an old fort ruin where House Lyoneid''s original homestead stood."

    "Is that the wizard''s college," she asked.

    "That is correct, White Hawk, the brother of the duke at the time was a practitioner of the Art who instead of allowing the castle to become fallow grounds turned it into a wizard''s college. So, you have heard the tale of Renua Lyoneid and the wyvern in the Elven Goddom of Vo?l¨¦t¨¦l even?"

    "Certainly," Leresai answered with a quick nod of confirmation. "There is even a Su¨¹d sex romp based upon the event."

    "No," Bierd¨¦''s breath drew out the syllable long as he chuckled and he shook his head.

    "It took some liberties with the truth as the sex of the wyvern was changed for the sake of the narrative."

    "There is nothing sexual in the story of Renua and the wyvern. If anything it is a story perfect for illustrated children''s books to highlight man''s hubris." Bierd¨¦ cleared his throat before continuing, "the wyvern lives there still.

    ''If an intruder were to evade naval schooners that keep the coast line relatively free of pirate coves and smuggler dens, he would still have to contend with a flying leopard thrice the speed of a natural-born one. A beast possessing a barbed and poisonous tail, a spit of acid that can melt your leathers and hides, and skin nearly impenetrable to the edges of ordinary blades."

    "Have you seen this wyvern, Captain?"

    "Oh, indeed," he confirmed.

    "What did you do?"

    "I watched it dance in silhouette in fore to the Moon. I remained still as stationary until it grew bored with dance and it flew away."

    "You once fought frost giants, did you not feel¡­," with her chin arisen aslant, "compelled to the challenge, sir?"

    Bierd¨¦ feigned a wounded heart and clasped his chest, smacking the chain chinks of his wrist holds against his breastplate. "You chide an old soldier roughly, White Hawk.

    "But, no. The wyvern for all its monstrosity serves his purpose well. It is one I have no desire to disturb."

    Their destination came into view. Steps led to a terrace entrance where two guards stood with flaucherd-glaives set rigid in their arms.

    Before the riders a path meandered through a garden that now transformed from well shorn bushes in the whipping shadows of long limbed dogwoods made to rise in attenuated cascades on the edge of the yard embellished in the dictate of long-established Midvries fashion that, as they rode further down the path, changed into a scaped terrain with an assembly of many colored pebbles arranged in orient symmetry under low lying bowed trees with limbs pruned into severely drooping archways along the concourse.

    An aesthetic that originated from Eastern civilization made extinct long before Izdun''s grazeland armies swept the western nations millennia ago.

    Leresai gathered from the clean spread of smooth pebbles not broken down by rake into jagged gravel the practice was brought to the palace only recently.

    She glanced at Bierd¨¦. His free hand tossed the brown mane of his steed. One he must have ridden for years for the beast''s stride not be perturbed by its master''s moods.

    He was once more gauging Leresai''s reaction to an aesthetic that would have been blasphemous to have appeared on the palace grounds of the Imperium even in recent decades.

    Bierd¨¦ caught her glimpse and grinned, tilting his own gaze to the statue of a luxuriously adorned mountain goat for Leresai to assess with her own wit and good sense.

    Coifed, its hair braided with ornamentation; it was a beast being primed for venerated sacrifice in an age-old motif common to D''jestre gardens.

    Whatever Bierd¨¦ expected of her, Leresai chose to make light of it.

    "I don''t mean to intrude in the matters of men," She began, "but when I enter the palace am I to be greeted with the hanging canvas sigils you would find lining the walls of a Ko Laga Majeur''s den, or perhaps the animal skins and horn entanglement of a steppes warlord''s gert?"

    He coughed before responding. "To the heart of the matter, then. Nothing so severe, White Hawk. The garden was Duchess Lyoneid''s conceit. The statesmen of the palace call our grand diplomatic mission Overtures to the D''jestre in naked semblance to our forefather''s Overtures to the Elves.

    "Perhaps the day will come when we will send soldiers to fight the bestiary of their lands as well."

    She smiled curiously askant with her lips spread thin to the remark; given her disguise as an elf, she guaged she should be at least slighted by it.

    It prompted a correction on the captain''s part.

    "Our goals are no doubt noble in their intended purpose. It may even prove to be the case their mortal struggle like our common cause will be one of great honor, so long as the criminals, the accurs¨¦d, and the plague ridden masses are kept far across the sea and on the other side of the craggy steps, the D''jestre are welcomed at our doors."

    To this she once more nodded and slowed her mount as they were near their destination. She turned torso to face Bierd¨¦, but lamp posts lining the path illuminated Bierd¨¦''s outline in an intense halo while the whole of him remained enveloped in a monotone slate gray.

    For a moment, she could not read the intentions on his face at all. Yet, she knew why and she knew what it meant. It was deliberate.

    He was veiling himself from her inspection. He made his decision then to steel himself from their previous display of affection towards one another.

    Leresai made haste and bid him goodbye.

    "I thank you Captain for a most pleasant evening, but it does appear we have arrived."

    He galloped ahead of her and he turned his horse around as he opened the gate to a sheltered water trough inviting her to make use of it.

    He started to turn away slowly and then turned to face her. His smile was facile and did not sit right with his eyes.

    "I have rounds to tend to, White Hawk," he said with a slow easy wave. "This eve has indeed been enchanted."

 Talons - Part II

    Leresai stepped down from the saddle a mere dozen yards away from the steps where the guards stood.

    She could have chosen to close the gate for some privacy as she tended to the horse''s needs but that would arouse their curiosity even more than the display she gave them as she twisted her shoulders from side to side with her arms raised up and her breasts extended out.

    She then gripped the back of her lower torso with both hands to pop her spine.

    Leresai sashayed her haunches with exaggerated footfalls for the guards as she inspected the horse. Satisfied the beast sustained no wounds to body or hoof on the journey, she led it to a trough of water where it began to gulp eagerly.

    Once done with his drink, she led the beast to a stall where she backed it in. She wrapped the lead rope to a hooked standing pole and tied the end into a false knot.

    From a saddlebag she retrieved a small sack. Though an excellent rider Leresai was entirely apathetic towards the equine species. An elven spearmaiden of fey song and fairy tale was expected to possess a sentimental attachment towards animals.

    Expectation being the basis of disguise, Leresai played the part. From the bag she produced a radish. As she fed the horse, her hands rubbed against the mane while singing a provincial elven tune as prettily as she was capable of affecting.

    After the horse finished off the radish, there came a few carrots, and also an apple for it to munch on. Leresai noticed the horse''s eyes resting half covered under lids and the beast''s jowls slacking. The horse appeared too content.

    "You better do as we practiced, she whispered in a husky growl, "or else I am feasting off of your rump for a week."

    The horse lowered its head and sniffed at an empty bucket. She took a brush from the saddlebag and proceeded to comb out muss in it''s caramel-colored mane. The beast responded with perked ears and swayed tail.

    Leresai put her lips to its ears, singing a honey phrased melody for the benefit of the guards. She leaned against the horse''s neck with her arse tilted into the air.

    A memory made her smile as she held onto the horse.

    "When I was a mere lass," she whispered to it once more, "there was nothing I enjoyed more than hunting wild ponies at high tide on the barrier islands along the Reiver''s Coast.

    "The water would rush up on us to rive the sand narrow, causing chaotic stampede. If the beasts turn on you, your mettle for the hunt better prove true, else backed up into the waters, an undertow would tumble you down to Domdaniel for all eternity."

    She placed the brush back in her saddle bag.

    "Lovely story, no," she asked with a kiss on the side of its head. "You weren''t expecting a kiss now were you? Play along. Give those men a show. Pretend you enjoyed it. There, there, good boy."

    The horse''s name she did not bother to retain when she was told it by the trainer weeks earlier. It responded well enough to ''you'' for it not to matter.

    "You do not wander off. You don''t move until you see the light. Stay."

    With her obligation to the beast complete, she reached into the side bag where she hid the D''jestre cutlass along with her other weapons which had to stay sheathed and bagged on the palace grounds.

    Beside it lay a package addressed to Lord Carro, Treasurer to House Lyoneid, city of Nevespora, Vistaraille Providence, Midvries.

    With package in hand, Leresai strode up to the bottom of the steps.The guards appraised her with their eyelids drawn low and the hint of smirks on their faces suggested they had grown familiar with her already.

    Spending so much time on horseback did wonders to shape her derierre, so she gathered.

    "I have a package for the coinsman of the House Lyoneid," she announced.

    The guard toher left leaned slightly forward.

    "In the Midvries we refer to the coinsman as ''the treasurer''," he corrected, in a gentle helpful tone.

    "Ah," she bowed her lips apart in an accentuated droop. "Thank you, sieur. I shan''t forget."

    "Quite all right." He turned to his companion. "Pikesman Genoa."

    Following ages-old protocol, Leresai removed her helm; she held it in her left hand cusp and she held the package clasped against her right forearm.

    Pikesman Genoa opened the doors of the palace west wing in the stead of her entrance. Leresai walked into a foray that could fit a well-stocked meadhall even in prosperous Tos-Fervarrynn.

    Another set of guards stood at the end of the red carpet. Double brass doors secured behind them. Her earlier jest proved to be without merit as nothing in the hall appeared out of place for a tasteful interior of Midvries design.

    She was expected to march the length of the carpet and stand between the guards. There would be a minute where she would be studied by an unseen observer, possibly the seneschal himself, before the next set of double doors would open.

    Leresai stood with feigned indifference in line to the dictate of protocol. Many a spy had been betrayed by their own impatience brought about by conflicting agendas pressed upon them. She was well aware they may already know her true purpose. If so, there would be no reason to end the stalemate until she was brought to Lord Carro.

    After the doors opened into the main hall of the wing an attendant marched up toward her. The woman was diminutive of body, as small as a Jezde, and wrapped in white silk with gold trim. She wore a matching head scarf.

    The attendant carried a light blue ceramic pitcher and a large crystalline glass on a platter. Jagged emblems embedded in its side made the glass easy to grasp as she readied it for pouring.

    The glass now held milk. Leresai smiled, her cheeks skewed severely to avoid a full smirk.

    If I came here in the guise of an old dwarven crone they would have served me a pilge water stout poured into a dirty, wooden mug.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    A trifle of a rite, but having her drink milk held an ulterior purpose. She was still being assessed. Leresai took that to be indicative that she was still an unknown quantity to the House Lyoneid.

    They would likely have dispensed with this test altogether as not to put her on edge until the trap was sprung to their advantage if they had foreknowledge of her purpose.

    Leresai bowed her head towards the woman in thanks. She proceeded to drink the glass of milk with her neck arched to suggest the constitutional delicateness of elvenkind with an exaggerated wrenching of her throat with every gulp.

    It tasted of earthy grass, sweet wild winter chives and buttery cream. As a provincial born elf, as all elven spearmaidens were, she was expected to know from what animal the milk originated. She swallowed hard, then stopped. She needed to taste it slowly.

    Do I need to evoke the silver? For something so facile?

    The composition of the milk eluded her senses. With the final dram swishing in her mouth she simply did not know. The petite woman came to her aid with a knowing arch to her brow.

    "The road must have been long and arduous, dear elf. Care for another fill?"

    "Thank you," Leresai conceded, gratefully.

    The attendant was evidently well-trained in the etiquette of diplomacy. She would naturally err on the side of avoiding embarrassment, so she poured another glass full.

    Leresai accepted the glass. This time she gave the traditional toast of elven festival, "aie¡­ ¨¤ m?¨¹vis ayyi?z!" With rolling syllabication that only an elf would dare express.

    Raising the glass to her lips, she closed her eyes to evoke the silver while sipping slowly. She felt a sudden rush of heat clear out her nostrils. When the heat lapsed, her sense of smell became more rarefied with no false analogs to muss her intuition.

    She now knew.

    With the giggle of a much youthful girl, Leresai blurted out, "a one corn billy!"

    The silver dissipated rapidly. She now opened up her eyes, and looked directly into the attendant''s own.

    "It took me a moment as the beast is being housed nearby in an environ alien to her species. I detect a hint of the nettles from firs that came from the very grounds of this palace in its diet."

    The attendant glanced over to a wall obscured by green tinted glass and grilled metal lattice work. She appeared pleased with herself. She bowed her head.

    "When I was a mere lasmer," Leresai explained, "I had a corned billy of my own to love on and play catch. Thank you, ever so much."

    She returned the glass to the serving tray. The attendant walked away.

    From behind her back, Leresai heard, "come along, White Hawk."

    A man in a long black gabardine robe strode past her. He held his hands clipped together behind his back. His fingers waved her forward. The stiff plaid collar of the shirt beneath his robe marked him as the seneschal of this palace wing.

    Leresai followed him down a hall whose interior design was spare of intricacy with solid one tone panels in a shade lighter monochrome trim butted against the inlay of other solid panels.

    Nothing busy, nor extravagant. Subtle equated to tasteful in the Midvries. Set in geometric dislocation, in a slight irregular pace along the walls, were oil medium portraits of royals composed of characteristic shadowed volumes.

    The portrait paintings were made to contrast with the bright hewed pastel cityscapes set adjacent to them. One such showed the old temple''s red plaster and rough oak walls aligned against distinctive parabolic buttresses arched up high, like the bones of a crown roast.

    The words Rhoethella spoke as she carved the geas into Leresai''s heart when they last met reverberated taut and strained now as she stared at the cityscape depiction of the temple.

    The words returned to Leresai through the pulse resounding in her blood.

    Yet, the sky still raves and the temple is no more.

    The seneschal did not disturb her study. His arms rested loose behind his back, and with his shoulders aslant he seemed to have all the time in the world to humor her enthralled state of mind.

    Once she caught up to him, with a nod of his head, he asked, "any one of those dictate to your heart''s fancy, White Hawk?"

    "Most definitely, good sieur,"she said with an appreciative nod, but without elaborating.

    All that lie before her was laid out as expected of a palace of the Midvries. Until it wasn''t.

    As they approached the T-intersection connecting the wing with its twin a large figure dominated a niche in the wall they faced. The seneschal slowed as they approached the statue.

    "I see your imagination is once again captive, White Hawk."

    She knew that statue well. She even witnessed its excavation when she lay low in the Su¨¹dlands march guarding Hosparr''s excavation.

    It was discovered beneath the hill near the fort ruins. Wyrjackels gathered there every night to howl. Once Leresai slayed the beast, it became evident their congress was ceremonial and something important lay beneath the grounds.

    "It must be a thing of ancient days. What is she?" Leresai feigned ignorance.

    "History only knows this goddess as the Bride. You see those rounded lips curved down revealing small but sabered canines? There is a bust whose top half is split in two that has survived of her as well. It is believed to have been broken apart by a mallet swung by Izdun, himself."

    Leresai, of course, knew all of this from her close association with Hosparr. What was proper, however, for her to say, and reveal, and what T''nonnon''B would be expected to know were mutually irreconcilable.

    "This," the seneschal continued with a sweep of his hand, "is the only fully formed visage mankind has of her in extent.

    "We have it on loan from the College of Archeology at the University of Nevespora. It is here so we can keep it secure for them. The cost to do so at the university would cost a prohibitive fortune."

    "She is strangely beautiful in her own fashion," Leresai commented. "Not at all in the way of lass or lassmer kind."

    The seneschal grew animated in their discussion. He would make for an excellent curator, she thought, if it came to be that he was relieved of his duties for her upcoming actions.

    "Note how she is posed in a curtsied bow. Right foot set forward, the other one with toes spread out. Her knees bent straight down, back arched and her modest bosom in lifted repose.

    "An elegant, danseuse pose. A hint that she may have come from a nation of the Old Su¨¹d.

    "It is their honeymoon and she is in the midst of delighting the one who held her hand. The dance that preceded a million deaths is how it went down in legend."

    "He forgave her the first time."

    The seneschal raised his chin with a quick nod.

    "Yes. For whatever her transgression may have been, Izdun still sent a fleet of chariots across the grazelands of the East to return her to his side."

    Leresai paused for a moment to ask herself what would be the most evident notion to cross T''nonnon''B''s mind.

    "Her skin, is it naturally so green?"

    "That is melted jade that glistens beneath a thin sheen of diamond to emulate what is reputed to be the natural luster of her skin. It is also the reason the statue cannot be kept at the University."

    Leresai was taller than the seneschal by half a head. She stared down at him with wrinkled forehead and furled brows.

    "There is no race of man nor mer whose skin is naturally green. What is she?"

    The seneschal shrugged.

    "My own speculation, the sirens come closest in dermal hew with their variance of light aquamarine and dark azure. Perhaps a mating of one with a man of the deep Su¨¹d.

    "A question for another day perhaps if you ever do grace these quarters again. Right this way, White Hawk. Let''s not keep the treasurer waiting. Lord Carro hasn''t received a single visit from the Elven Goddom since being appointed Treasurer. I''m sure he will find you to be the utmost good company."

    "His first? I''m not diplomatic corps material. Just a simple lasmer rem?sefully missing my maidenspear."

    They approached a set of double doors with the placard marked Treasurer in Imperial.

    "I''m certain you will do fine," the senechal said with casual laughter and reassuring smile.

 Talons - Part III

    The watchers followed his movement as a matter of course. Bierd¨¦ could signal them to stand down to an at ease state, but without evident purpose to his actions, he did not care to perk their curiosity this night of all evenings.

    They were all practiced at reading lips, and for that reason the lieutenant informed him of the early evening''s turn of events.

    "Where is he now?"

    "Trotted off to the marsh woodlands merely minutes before you arrived at the bridge."

    Bierd¨¦ shrugged, then he let out a sigh. "Just as well. Perhaps he will be eaten by something."

    The advocate had pressed himself into their conspiracy without being invited by its participants. When the first attempt on Lord Carro''s life failed, the advocate came to Bierd¨¦ with proof of his involvement and instead of reporting him offered valuable assistance through his own connections.

    However, the advocate''s motives were not transparent to Bierd¨¦. There were rumors from Nincians close to the Solugarr family, but little of substance could be verified.

    Of late, the brooding advocate was proving to be a liability.

    "Anything else to report," Bierd¨¦ asked.

    The lieutenant looked down to the clipboard holding his notes with an awkward grin lining his cheek.

    "The Scion of House Salugarr was reported to be drinking an unknown substance; he treated it with such care as to arouse suspicion of its purpose.

    "Soon after, he began to mutter drunkenly to himself. Fortunately, his words were so garbled the watchers only caught a few phrases, mostly non-incendiary in nature."

    "Mostly," Captain Bierd¨¦ repeated with a doubt strained voice.

    "To that¡­ let me quote, ''was this wise, to meet here, Bierd¨¦?'', ''Renua, I''ll drown in drink first."

    Bierd¨¦ stood with his hand grazing the neck of his mount. He gave a careful look around.

    The two men stood together in a cobblestone street that formed between the barricade wall buffering the canal and levy on one side and an off site administration building on the other.

    It allowed the two a measure of discretion.

    "If that is the extent of it," Captain Bierd¨¦ began his assessment, "then I do not believe there is anything to worry about. I warned him about the watchers -," he turned to the side and let out a cough into his riding gloves, "- and their uncanny ability to read lips."

    "Most are veteran scouts of the campaign," Lieutenant Graves reminded him. "You pick up a skill or two in times of war."This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    "So I gather, lieutenant; you took matters in your own hands?"

    "When I was informed of his activities, I asked the watcher to give me a moment alone to speak with the advocate. I gave a spiel, with his wife on the verge of having their second child, his responsibilities in the legal counsel''s office weighing on the young man, the advocate is a bit out of sorts, to paraphrase what I said."

    "And then?"

    "It was old Fekunde. He stared at me with those wolf eyes of his set like he was warning off a lesser dog. He says to me, ''you understand, it is not the spirits of revelry we suspect he is conjuring up there on the mausoleum hill.''"

    Captain Bierd¨¦ bit his lip. "Damn. It could have repercussions."

    The lieutenant shook his head, grinning broadly.

    "I think I may have put it to rest. I answered Fekunde as nonchalantly as I plausibly could, and still make light of it. I said to him, ''you said nothing about the advocate chanting in a diabolist tongue, or throwing pinches of dried mandrake in the air. You said he is up there mummering drunkenly.

    "Fekunde humphed, then I commanded him to leave it to me. I went up there, conversed with the advocate. I steered the conversation to make the advocate appear as innocuous as possible.

    "He claimed he was drinking absinthe. Good cover that turned out to be for it gave me an idea. Care to speculate what I did next, Captain?"

    It only took a second for him to realize where this was going, Captain Bierd¨¦ snorted as he chuckled. "Double damn. No, you did not!"

    "Yes. The only absinthe on the palace grounds I am aware of is in your liquor cabinet. So I hit your stash after talking to the advocate. That truly vile smelling Vertifey."

    "Of course, the most expensive bottle in my collection," Bierd¨¦ protested.

    "So I brought it back to Fekunde, opened it in his face. I watched him gag as he couldn''t avoid taking a whiff. I told that fool I snatched it from the advocate''s bag as he was puking his guts out.

    "I waved the bottle again in the watcher''s face and asked if he would care to try it. ''The vintage is quite decent, nay it is magnificent,'' I told him. That is when he slipped up."

    "Fekunde?"

    "Yes. He answered me, ''I thought you said you knew nothing of the substance.'' I looked right back into those gray eyes of his and told him, ''you disobeyed my order to stand down. Disobeying a commanding officer is a hanging offense."

    "Oh yes, we have got him at last," Captain Bierd¨¦ exclaimed with his voice rattling coarsely.

    "So I teased him further still. ''You might as well drink up,'' I told him, ''it just might be your last.'' The watcher''s eyes just started twitching, the calculations going on in his head we''re naked, so I let him off before he had cause to pry in our affairs any further as a matter of self-preservation on his part.

    "I slapped him on the back, and laughed it off. Told him I was pleased with his work but as for now the suspicions did not rise to the proper concern of the palace guard. We are not the Inquisition, after all."

    Bierd¨¦ nodded before he spoke.

    "A bit of an insult to compare a proud Midvries man to the Su¨¹dlands ardants."

    The lieutenant shrugged. "All the more reason for him to back off as it puts the matter in the broader perspective of his duties."

    Captain Bryan cleared his throat. "You did a superb job. Now that it is open, where is that bottle? After that escort I could use a swig or three."

    The lieutenant produced it from his greatcoat. The green bottle shown in the moonlight only a few shots shy of full.

    "Good man," the captain commended. He cleared his throat once more then he took a swig and gargled it before he swallowed.

    "I spent the entire evening," he continued, "trying to impress a doomed but beguiling lady with grandiloquent words. Now I can barely speak."

    The lieutenant accepted the bottle and raised it to his mouth with his other hand tapping the Lyre Assembly emblem beneath his left shoulder before giving the traditional toast.

    "To whom we owe our greater glory, Death!"

 Talons - Part IV

    The seneschal opened the twin brass doors with a curtsy and bow of his head. Leresai gave him a playful wink as she crossed the divider. She sat her feet against the carpet with her toes in line against a pair of lion shaped sigils.

    Long-standing protocol, it meant, ''you''re in the presence of authority. Intrude not without invitation.'' The door closed quietly behind her.

    She studied the entire interior as it was laid out in a moment''s instance. Lord Carros desk stood six strides ahead of her. He was nowhere on the ground floor of his expansive study. To her left, three comfortable chairs aligned around a coffee table.

    A samovar sat ensconced in a cubby beside a fireplace with coiled copper tubes running the length of the tripod legs. Beside the desk, to her right, a flight of stairs led to the second floor.

    Further to the right, books lined both sets of walls beneath the walkway holding a second floor also crammed with shelves of books.

    This ran for a dozen yards until the carpeted floor met with the floor of a brown and white marble rotonda where an engraved pentagram encircled with gelded runes related to Settetoile, the Midday Star.

    It called to the glitter of fire nebula opal inscribed in Rhoethella''s pen upon her beating heart. Necessary to fire the magic that was her next planned move.

    A dome of cobalt arches holding tinted glass curved above and then indented into the focus of a lens at the center aligned to the arcane device beneath.

    At midday of the true meridian, an islet in the Mooring Sea, Sarszal, said to be the place of perfect alignment to the Celestial Order, possessed an astrological observatory that received a beam of light from Settetoile.

    This light diffused to all of the receiver pentagrams called the Ana-Penumbras. Whomever stood in the pentagram in that minute of any given day shared thoughts with anyone else in an Ana-penumbra chamber if the mutual star lines were properly set.

    This evening, Leresai would be making good use of it.

    As was expected, Carro would be observing her before making his entrance. But where was he? She scanned for false mirrors and other possible fa?ades that could be used to obscure his presence.

    Leresai spotted a niche by a hidden door on the second floor. The doorway set to his own personal apartment was several yards over between the shelves of one wall.

    She smiled to herself as she unfastened one of her unassuming appearing earrings. She licked her thumb and index finger and rubbed the surface of the suppos¨¦d pearl.

    Rapidly it dissolved and became smoke of a hellish and lively orange glow. It moved of its own accord once it took on substance and floated towards the niche where Lord Carro hid.

    Now for her second surprise. She tore open the royal courier package and removed from it a twin set of ebon bladed daggers. Two more fire nebulae opals protruded from the back of the handles of the dagger pommels.

    She pressed the opals into her wrist guards where they locked into the blades'' pommels.

    The blades turn scarlet with a whining, ascendant pitch like a steaming kettle if it were to boil demon''s blood. She swiveled on her toes and faced the doors.

    She placed the thin blades in the crack between the dividers above the doors proper. The metals welded together behind the paths the blade laid.

    She heard a whimper from above her, and boots kicking against a wall. This response elicited a snorted chuckle from Leresai. The hallucigen must have found its mark, and Lord Cairo was succumbing to it.

    She bent low in a squat to weld the floor liner and brass doors together. Satisfied with her work she rose up, held the twin blades forward and Leresai twisted the pommels and once more the opals protruded decoratively curved on the pommel ends.

    The daggers now crackled with a chill. Their ebon glint shone once more. She sheathed them inside her waistband.

    Leresai sauntered to the desk. She unfastened her gauntlets and dropped them on the desktop. As she proceeded to remove her pauldrons something caught her eye.

    From behind the desk two ¨¦tag¨¨re stands laid out with jasper figurines of mythical beast from D''jestre legends stood flush beside a large map spread against the wall.

    It well illustrated the Eastern lands. Mountains covered the North in a variety of ranges. The most southwestern in this quadrant of geography on the map, the Usu¨¹l Craigs divided Imperial kingdoms from D''jestre territories.

    To the South, peninsulas, isles, archipelagos, bays and city-states filled the D''jestre half of the Mooring Sea. Low lying grazelands pushed to a far East where the beasts were so fearsome it was said man and mer were nearly wiped out.

    Those were the years when the D''jestre submitted to Izdun for their protection as the menace spread.

    What gave Leresai a moment of pause was a further detail from the map.

    Seven inland cities that formed a vital trading crescent along the edge of the graze lands, from North to South - Kielshei, Gyorra, Ajitka, Badjabah¨¦, Szegedda, Karek?lk, and Noryn, the last straddling the border with the Nin - were all marked with a symbol of a red dragon curled into itself and bearing a skeletal head. Mass demonic possession.

    It was no surprise the troubles of the East concerned the Treasurer of the House Lyoneid, but her stomach grew ill at ease as her eyes queried the map to tell her more.

    It took a moment to discern the cause of her discomfort. On the map in a difficult to reach area of the Usu¨¹l Craigs known for its goatherds, monasteries, and isolation from the world the most infamous tower in all the many lands stood.

    Istenveya?r.

    Beside the carte-glyph was a question mark and another symbol meaning, ''opened portcullis.'' that is where the Patriarch remained ensorcelled to this very day. Where the Sisters kept him bound throughout the entire millennium.

    Her gut understood what her head refused to accept. The heat of reprehension flared beneath her skin and flowed into goosebumps throughout her body.

    She quickly regained control of her biological function before vitaechemical bloodheat was released. If she were to use the silver while it coarsed her veins, the bloodheat would throw the magic in uncontrollable disarray.

    After a calming deep breath, Laura dismissed her fears. She had no time for mere speculation no matter how dire the threat. She removed the grieves from her legs, and the hard riding boots. A haunch sack rolled out from beneath the chain shirt.

    Everything that she removed she dropped on the desk. She now stood in nothing more than her riding breeches, two sheathed daggers, and a banded towel wrapped to support her breast.

    She removed her cendal robe from the haunch sack along with a pair of soft leather slip shoes.

    As she put them on she fixed her eyes in the silver and scanned the broader room. Once complete in this task, she spoke teasingly.

    "I see into the darkness. You have been watching me this entire time, D''jestre, from your little niche over there. Come down and sit with me, Seiben Carro. We have so much to talk about."

    "You mean to kill me, Sg?ethe witch."

    She laughed dismissively as she removed her faux elven ears.

    "If I merely meant to kill you, I would have done so weeks ago when you still went about the streets of Nevespora as you pleased. There is something you have here that I need. And you are of value to me. I don''t just dispose of necessary things."

    She put her two thumbs into her mouth and removed the stents that gave an Elven slant to her cheeks. She removed a pair of skin colored pinch sutures above her brow line that along with the stents, gave more definition to her skull to better resemble elven morphology.

    From her haunch sack, she removed a comb. She proceeded to brush her hair out long and straight. Patiently pulling out her tangles.

    "If I have to come up there to retrieve you, Seiben, it will not be pleasant."

    His tone changed in a manner meant to mollify when he answered.

    "I am coming down, Handmaiden. I can''t imagine how I may serve your interest."

    She took a chair beside the samovar curious whether or not the mossy scented tea would be to her liking.

    Carro entered the office. Crossing behind the desk facing her direction with a large crossbow butted tight against his shoulder. He stood off well out of her reach.

    He was, as she had been told, a man of the mercantile D''jestre. Dressed in similar fashion - a shirt of silk embroidery, with similar design work knitted and pleated down the length of thick corduroy pants - to the man she had taunted on the pathways leading to Nevespora.

    "Can your diabolist arcana stop a piercing silverbolt, witch?"

    To this question, Leresai at first merely smirked. His hands shook with a jitter that alarmed her more than any threat Carro intended.

    She shrugged and answered, "more expensive and less stout than steel, you are a strange coinsman to make such a waste of resource on silverbolts."

    "I heard about your escapades in Gareen so I was ready for you. What better than silver to counter a silverwelder? And look at you, so ill-prepared.

    "Did you really think I was going to come down here unarmed? So intrigued I would be with your fetching display, I would come down meekly to my death? Get up, bitch."

    Her dominant brow arched in protest of his rude words. Leresai crossed her leg up on her left knee.

    "You are in no position to make demands, Carro."

    "You try me," he spat angrily. "The only thing keeping you alive is, unfortunately, I need an answer from you before I split your head into two halves."If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    He squinted contemptuously at her. "You side with nihilist," He spat a quid formed from a mint leaf at her feet.

    "Those romantic fools of the Lyre. I know it was them behind that attempt on my life. I would have thought better of the Sisters. After all, we have common purpose to preserve our mutual civilizations."

    His hands gestured to the map.

    "The sisters have never interfered in these matters before. They have always left us alone to tend to these matters as we see fit."

    He started to say more but suddenly appeared distracted, and stared up at the temple glass of the dome.

    "They''re back. They are pecking their way in. Dra?kenrooks. You brought damn dra?kenrooks from your damn godless Sgo?the isles? What kind of fiendmonger are you, witch?"

    The hallucinogen was working its way inside his mind, and as it was cast with sympathetic magic bending his will to her favor.

    "You are not helping your cause, Seiben."

    He gripped the crossbow tight against his shoulder to counter the shaking in his hands. His gaze jerked back and forth from the dome and Leresai.

    With his shoulders stooped, Carro started to pace between the desk and the smelted door. A quiver ran down his leg. The bloodheat took control of his body.

    His hands jerked in a fit causing a bolt to fly up into the ceiling and fall to the floor in three shattered pieces.

    "You are no warrior, Seiben. You are not even a rateable thug. Have that seat. The more calm you are the less startled they are. Have that seat. And they will bother you no more."

    Carro let out a guttural, profane shout. A derisive grin lit up Leresai''s face when the realization came.

    "You only brought one bolt with you?"

    He glared silently in return. His jaw clenched tight to keep his chin from quivering.

    "One should have been all that I needed."

    "Indeed. Against a better man, I would be dead. Would you like to run upstairs and grab another one? Give it another go?"

    Carro slammed the crossbow to the floor. Kicked it into the fireplace where its oiled metals soon sizzled before the wooden stock was engulfed and burst into flame. He turned to her and stomped his right foot as he spoke for emphasis.

    "You feign indifference. You sit there with your hands folded in your lap, pretending to be more interested in the tea in that kettle than anything else.

    "Yet, you know there is a garrison of men circling these grounds. You''ll never make it out alive; it is very likely even the Lyre wants you dead. You bore me, witch. I grow tired of your tedious Sg?ethe manner."

    He turned his back on her.

    "You speak of troops," she began. "You don''t have even a single ally in this House. Else, you could have stopped me before I entered those doors. You are isolated. You know what my queries informed me?

    "The palace does not even know of that attempt on your life that forced my hand to act this evening. I only took that contract to prevent another assassin from doing so.

    "Regardless of why I am here,  why would you hide from the palace that you are a hunted man unless you had something that you feared would be exposed?"

    Carro sat down, his hands smoothing out his pleats repeatedly.

    "You are not here for the Sisters. You are here for your own purposes. I am a coinsman. Like every other coinsman, I have acquired my own set of Usuper''s Ducats.

    "I imagine there is one in my collection you have never seen before. That is why you are here, and why you are trying to leverage blackmail against me."

    Leresai leaned forward in her seat. "Perhaps you should bring it to me."

    Carro shrugged; stood back up and returned to his desk. He attempted to sound more at ease.

    "Do you plan to keep your contract with the Lyre? I am furious with the damage you have done, with the histrionics with which you arrived.

    "It is of the highest degree of rudeness, but I am not so obstinate that I can''t satisfy your inquiry if it is a mere ruse to buy you some of my valuable time."

    She turned to the somavor and once more turned her eyes silver as she opened the kit cabinet beneath to retrieve a porcelain cup.

    As her back was turned to Carro, she probed his actions, and caught the sleight of hand when his palm slid along the desk slab. Once the silver cooled, she turned back around and smiled.

    "The Sisters give not a damn for the silver tounged brutes of the Lyre," she answered.

    Leresai caught the coin he tossed her way as he walked back to the chair. It was the one she sought. It commemorated the tenth anniversary of the Emperor''s Mother''s Death.

    "Again with the Sisters," he sneered. "It is interesting that you are their intelligencer. Here you are, an harbinger of Fate, one of the three blasphemies that the Sisters will not abide. The three things that deny the Sisters true eternal life."

    Leresai held the cup with both of her hands to her lips as she responded. "To quote the Sunwelder, ''Heaven is a mind free of all fallacy.''"

    Carro grunted.

    "You are not here to match words in argument. I want to know the source of this effrontery. I may tell you what you want to know, but I will still report your actions to the Supreme Mother of the Midvries, and let it be known what you claim is done in Rhoethella''s name."

    "You ignorant man. I don''t answer to mere clergy," she said coldly.

    Leresai pulled the front of her robe to the side and pulled the banded towel down enough to reveal what appeared to be a fresh scar along the inside of her left breast.

    "That is the mark of geas inscribed upon my heart by Rhoethella. It will not heal in full until our business is complete. I can still possibly die from this wound if my path veers so far from the goal that it becomes impossible to complete.

    Turn that around for a toss in your mulling skull, the trouble a goddess went to just to correct the trouble you have caused."

    Leresai took out one of the ebon blades. Carro jerked his head at the sight of it. She casually shrugged and drew blood with a nick on her own thumb.

    "What are you doing, witch?"

    Leresai smeared the head side of the coin with her blood. She removed a necklace with a tiny glass vial from her neck. Inside the vial was a silvery blue liquid. She poured two drops on the coin head. A fragrant smoke rose up from its surface.

    "It''s a fraud," she declared.

    "What?"

    It was evidently the last thing he expected her to say.

    "As are all the coins. Oh, the platinum this is made of is quite real.

    "However, this one though is a fraud of a different sort. I had it printed so I should know. I had to be certain you have not had it counterfeited before I offer it to the Aethyrwarden for safe passage."

    "Preposterous!"

    Leresai held up the coin for him to see. The visage print of her own ag¨¦d face had been wiped clean, replaced by an engraving of Settetoile within a pentagram.

    "All the coins regardless of their issuance and who had them printed serve as a misdirection. When your Majeur brought the jeweled box of Pestilence to Nevespora, he also brought with him a set of Usuper''s Ducats did he not?"

    She noted even in his body language he did not even try to deny being associated with the Ko Laga. With his palms facing her, and neck outstretched, he began.

    "I was at his right hand when he made that visit. We did not release the plague. We were guarding that box. The Imperium Kommotte release it by accident."

    "Not what I asked."

    "Yes, we have our own set. They are very valuable coins."

    She guffawed ruthlessly at his expense. After she cleared her throat, Leresai spoke.

    "This coin was not in your original set. You are fascinated by it because it made you wonder who else may have purpose to perpetuate this fraud."

    "Forget that coin. I purchased it from the owner of a theater house a month ago."

    She held up the coin. The surface now gleamed more than before with an aura that appeared to pulsate.

    "Do you know what makes this coin unique? This coin buys us passage. The purity of the metal and the rare earths that glaze the inlays make it two hundred times more valuable than any of the other ducats. Only a coin of this purity can do what we are about to do with it."

    "This is a game for you," he snarled.

    Leresai shook her head. "You did not merely come across the ducats, coinsman. Except for my own personal issuance here, you created these coins. For what purpose, to stoke the Sisters into some action? Well, I am here to tell you that in that foolish gambit you have succeeded."

    Carro''s hands gripped the sides of the chair he sat.

    "You keep saying fraud. You were merely a lass learning to string a bow when these coins began to appear. How could we know what you would become if we are the ones who conspired against you?"

    "I was still a Demoiselle, a Second Daughter, no matter my age. It was more important to your purpose the time frame I would come of age.

    "Only a dozen or so Demoiselles are sent to the temple in any given year. You used me to bait the Sisters.

    "It wasn''t difficult for a visiting dignitary from D''jestre lands to notice I strongly resembled my great grandmother whose portrait as a young lass graces our castle walls.

    "Unfortunately for your cause, the artist used an exact rendition of that portrait in one of the coins issued.

    "Everything that followed in my life was steered in that direction. It was not a matter of the fallacy of Fate. It does not exist.

    "Unfortunately for your cause more still, you also steered me here this evening, Seiben Carro, when you had my portrait etched into those coins."

    "You know nothing, witch. Your story is ridiculous, and you''re fishing for a desperate bite from me which I am not going to give you."

    "That your final answer? Seiben, I did not come here out of haste. I know, Seiben. I know. You are from the city of Tarsz.

    "I have had coins examined by metallurgists who find the patterns beneath the inscriptions to be a unique attribute of your printing presses from the time you were still a citizen."

    He scowled. "Our presses are sold far and wide."

    "The metals have sympathy only to mines from the hill lands outside of Tarsz. Do I need to go on? There are other factors I can draw upon."

    Carro slouched in a posture out of odds with his arrogance, she realized. It was almost time to reveal what else she knew that would unravel him. She steered him further.

    "Then, there is the matter of the Temple."

    "The sisters know why the ziggurat was built. It contains the jewelled box of Pestilence, and thus contains the plague. It will never strike our dear Nevespora again so long as we keep it safe and secured.

    "My hand in correcting this matter is the proudest achievement I have ever accomplished in my life. It earned me my position and title in the House Lyoneid."

    "Do you truly think that the S?urarchy gives not a care for the destruction of their Temple?"

    "The plague rioters burned down the Temple! Your people felt abandoned. We had nothing to do with that!"

    She shook her head, ruefully. His voice grew desperate.

    "They never until now voiced any opposition to the ziggurat. What has changed?"

    "Seiben, I am a master chameleon even without the gift of Glamour and in spite of being a six foot tall albino who doesn''t blend well even in a crowd of her own people."

    She grinned as she moved her neck, shoulders, arms, and upper torso in the zagging rhythm of a Natya dancer. "Where is it? I have been inside the ziggurat. I have been into the heart chamber. It is empty. The jeweled box is not there, and likely never was. Where is it, Seiben?"

    Leresai snapped from her relaxed posture instantly and rolled across the floor. Three thumps hit the padded surface where small silver darts pierced through the leather upholstery where she had sat.

    She raised up in front of Carro. She grabbed him by the back of his neck with her left hand, and pulling with her right hand clutching his front collar she tossed him across the table. A dirk fell out of his hands and clanged against the floor.

    Before he could stand, she held his head back by his hair and with the serrated tip of her ebon blade she hooked his jugular vein and gently nicked it.

    "No more insolence from you, fool," she whispered into his ear. "If you wish not to bleed to death, walk over to that pentagram."

    Carro''s eyes blinked slowly in disbelief. He peered down his shirt and saw that it now streamed with blood pouring down its length.

    "Oh, gods," he pleaded.

    "They abandoned your louse ridden soul for good reason. You have only myself to rely on now. I''m your savior, or I am your killer. Which is it going to be is of your choosing. I suggest you choose quickly."

    Carro stumbled forward, turning more pale with every step. Leresai held him up with his arms bent behind his back. She had to push him further. He breathed forcefully as they reached the pentagram. Leresai leaned down and placed the Settetoile coin in at a centered groove to which it fit perfectly. The ground began to hum.

    "We have an appointment with Lady Intrigue to keep, Seiben."

    The dome lit up in a golden hue. The pentagram followed suit with its colors glowing vibrant. She felt the opal etched on her heart in an elaborate filigree warm in sympathy.

    The encirclement began to fill with smoke. Both of them coughed, fitfully.

    "Hold your breath," she suggested. "The smoke is poisonous. Don''t panic your mumbling little head. It will only be another minute."

    Beneath their feet the coin smoldered and flared red hot as it was consumed slowly over a long minute as she watched. When the coin finally melted away in a final puff of smoke, they disappeared to the Aethyr world.

 Talons - Part V

    Across the Mooring Sea set Niaggotte, an island nation bearing eight feudal kingdoms, united under one emperor in a reign lasting for sixty-one years. Peace, prosperity, and rational governance had been the norm for three generations. That was about to change.

    Tani Sisffora had woken at the call of the rooster. He walked across the pebbled path of his garden to his tea house where in the early dawn he enjoyed organizing his work before entering the palace.

    He put logs in the center pit. He filled three lamps with kerosene before he lit them. He gathered his charts, his guide tome, a slide rule for a particular sticky problem in the Luscan district, a fresh ink well, and several plumed pens.

    He laid out seven papyrus sheets scratched from top to bottom by the Emperor''s advisors with the concerns of generals, princes and administrators throughout Niaggotte. By noon, he would have a report for his emperor.

    Tani Sisffora was the court astrologer for Emperor Ran Tullus. He had held the position for twenty-seven years since he succeeded the man who trained him as a young boy onward how to perceive the threads that aligned Heaven and Earth, the Cosmos and the Granulate. The science taught to him by very own father. Just as Tani had taught his own son.

    With his pens and equipment in place, Sisffora was ready to prepare his kava tea and a simple breakfast of pastrami, boiled eggs and sweet bread. In the quiet of the early morning there stirred a commotion. Tani went to a window to see what was happening. Flanking Galla Mons, the captain of the Imperial guard, as he crossed through the path garden, were six soldiers. Mons'' face was unreadable.

    Tani opened the door.

    "Captain Mons, I was not expecting to see you so early. What could be so urgent?"

    Mons signaled his men with a jerk of his head. Their formation spread out to allow Sisffora room to walk in between them.

    "Follow me," the captain commanded.

    Sisffora followed behind the captain. When they reach the entrance courtyard they made a sharp leftward turn and marched beneath the cinque-foil ornamentation that girded a tunnel where the emperor held an official court, but it was not the one that contained courtiers, foreign dignitaries, stenographers, and their ilk.

    Anyone who reported the business of the court to the kingdoms and beyond was excluded. Whisperers called it the Court of Subterfuge.

    The open-air court was walled with espalier trellises framing a sprawl of cherry bearing shrubs. They allowed little light to stream though during day or night. Even as four pitted fires were lit, the throne still set in mid-evening darkness.

    Sisffora could only see a feint outline of the Emperor as he sat quiet and still in his throne. Tchellez Tche, the Emperor''s advisor and Tani''s oldest friend, stood at the throne''s side where fire light gleamed along the left side of his face. In the stained contrition of Tche''s eyes, he could see only fear. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    There were also people standing quietly in a grove beneath the trellises, but Sisffora kept his eyes only forward as expected of an attentive servant of the Emperor''s will.

    The Emperor spoke, his tone slow and measured.

    "I was awakened a short time ago, and told of an horrendous event, an outrageous happening, of which you gave me no warning, Tani. Say you?"

    "I know not of what you speak, Your Majesty."

    "No? I have just now poured through your most recent reports. There is no mention of it. Why would you hide something so dire, something of such importance from me?"

    "Your Majesty, I am at an utter loss at what has you so concerned."

    "I''ll humor your claim of ignorance, Tani, for this is going nowhere. An hour ago, the Midday Star lit up the night sky like a hot ember from the blazes of Shoal for an entire minute. Before the end of this day there will be nothing but tumult in all of Niaggotte."

    "That cannot be, Your Majesty. Settetoile is the rock upon which the Celestial Clock sits."

    "Tani, you failed to keep vigil even if you did not outright betray me. Now the very sky is set against us. The gods reject my mandate and so shall the eight kingdoms."

    Sisffora''s lips quivered as he spoke.

    "No, Your Majesty. Let me study this. There must be a rational explanation."

    "Protest no more, Tani. My empire is now in ruin, as is everything we built to perfect our society. It will be shaken to the core.

    "I see I''ve let my love for you cloud my greater judgment. You should have been given an honorable retirement years ago, but I grew complacent. Everything seemed to be in perfect symmetry, Heaven and Earth, Cosmos and Granulate."

    Emperor Ran Tullus bowed his head with a sad grimace.

    "Captain Mons, this ugly business must commence. Tani, your death will at least be quick. My death and those of the men you see before you likely will be torturous. They will sacrifice me, as is custom for a failed emperor, likely in a balefire to appease the gods.

    "Given the magnanimity required of my station, I''ll grant at least that grace to you, that of a quick death. Though you have doomed me, I am not a sadistic man in return."

    With no more word, the emperor stood and walked out of the Court.

    Captain Mons led Sisffora to a small grove where the other men gathered. Two soldiers flanked Tani and they forced him to his knees. He heard heavy breathing to his left.

    He turned to see his eldest son Hyatt and then Brissle, Sisffora''s mathematician, on bent knees beside him.

    "Father¡­ what is happening?"

    "All that we have known was of nothing," he answered, "there is only chaos, my son."

    "I want to tell you father what I learned about the star."

    At that moment Captain Mons stepped behind his son. With the greatsword in hand, the Emperor''s guard lopped-off Hyatt''s head. His body fell forward. His head rolled up against Tani''s knees.

    Hyatt''s eyes fluttered, staring at the sky, before his eyes suddenly widened. There, to remain open. Transfixed utterly, as if to point out something miraculous in the sky.

    Tani Sisffora did not want to see his own dismemberment so he shut his eyes tight. However, when he soon felt sharp steel shear through his neck, it jolted his eyes open.

    For that moment, he could see the dark sky. Where the Midday Star shown above he could make out what appeared to be a red ember with a gold gleaming arc shaped like a set of multifarious diamond rings entangled together.

    His last thought arose with crystal clarity.

    We know nothing. And our ignorance is our eternal damnation.

 The Damselfly - Part I

    With his left arm draped leisurely, Surus sat on a bench beside a stairway leading up to the navigator''s cabin. Out of the way, unobtrusive, he smoked his pipe as not to arouse suspicion.

    On the deck above the cabin, two sailors handled both the rigging and the signals hoist necessary for course corrections in the shallows near the sand bars that routed up the bay.

    Already, Surus smelled the briny where the ocean waters flowed from the open bay coming up the river into the fresh waters of the Kayili.

    He observed the pattern of their activities. The sailors moved in kind, clockwise, along the railing; together they cranked the gears of one set of cables, soon moving along to the next.

    The navigator''s cabin was unshuttered on three sides. The front opened up to a terrace deck. Surus caught sight of the sexton as it was held in place on a swivel, inset on rollers mounted to the ceiling.

    The navigator moved it from the aft position Surus had spied it to the open deck terrace where it could be used unhindered.

    After a short time, the navigator returned to the cabin, causing tumult amongst the shadows inside. Bent over a table at what was likely a contour map of the river''s shallows with his arms stretched the navigator cursed.

    He barked orders up to the sailors. They rushed to the signals hoist. Gears in need of oil squeaked as the sailors cranked away.

    Opportunity was slow to present itself. In preparation, Surus removed a false heal from the bottom of each boot. These attachments made the boots appear as fashionable and limited in function as any other ordinary footwear.

    A compartment inside one contained a small folding blade, barely thicker than a razor. Surus moved it into the lining of his jacket cuff. It held a special purpose for him, and he most definitely planned to use it this evening.

    The hard soles, he placed in a space between the bench and stairway. The tobacco pipe, he carefully laid on top of them.

    Opportunity came then when the two sailors worked on the coils of rope fastened to a cleat just above the sexton roller. With the device hanging loose on the open deck, it needed support. A hard break in the water would have been enough to knock it loose from the mount.

    With the sailors preoccupied, Surus scurried up the mast that fastened the signals hoist. He listened a moment before climbing level with the deck.

    The sailor''s voices were muffled. Their backs were towards him. He climbed the length of pole that jutted above the deck rail. Surus looked around to determine where the fell hawk nested.

    The navigator''s cabin and hoist was the highest point easily accessible on the riverboat. Several other areas on the massive surface were nearly as storied.

    He dismissed the officer quarters and captain''s suite. They would not tolerate the nesting of a fell creature near them. The same could be said of the stewards and service crew members quarters.

    Most likely, it nested in the aftcastle where an above galley set of storage cabins sprawled out beneath the hoist supports that held it up.

    Set at the far end of the riverboat, it would provide the privacy necessary for a craft practitioner to indulge in her art of animal or beastial sympathy.

    Satisfied that he knew the layout well enough to stage the next set of plans Surus climbed back down and retrieved his effects from where he previously sat.

    He retrieved his boot soles and his pipe, and made his way up along the back support of the bench to squeeze into the thick of shadows.

    With a wrist curled grip on his pipe, Surus inhaled a long draw of smoke, finishing off the tobacco packed within. Flipping it over, arm outstretched, he shook out the ash onto the deck boards before stashing the pipe away in an ivory tube inscribed in indigo.

    Eager to return the tube back into his inner pocket his fingers fumbled with the brass buttons sewn on a herringbone patterned liner. He needed to sit still as he waited in well-positioned eyeview thirty yards to the fore of the gambling den entrance for his quarry to appear.

    Within seconds, the door opened with Tareth Salugarr holding it as Anyetta eased through with her hands holding down the billowing black folds of her dress. Tareth''s weight bore down on a stoutly knobbed cane in his left hand.

    He offered up his other elbow for Anyetta to clasp.

    Surus studied the lovers. They did not lean into one another for more seclusive intimacy during conversation. Their gait lined side to side as if in formal ceremony.

    She seemed to ignore him as Anyetta wore her smile with characteristic serenity. Her neck craned long and stretched as her head bowed and nodded a slow allemande to Tareth''s rapid cascade of words.

    Surus did not follow the two. There was another query that riled his curiosity even more.

    Other gamblers left the den going a myriad of ways. Several more minutes, after everyone cleared out, Lavert held the door for Puc¨¨.

    She flipped a sign on the door over. Closed for Dinner Hour. Lavert grabbed at his lapels and he loosened up conscripting buttons of his shirt. Puc¨¨ stood close as they spoke; squeezing her elbows in tight together and laughing, she sputtered her words at Lavert.

    Surus caught his own surname in the mist of her deep chortle, but otherwise he could not make out what was being said. The two of them hugged with Lavert reaching his arms low and giving her a manly smack on her bottom.

    Puc¨¨ returned the favor with a girly grope using her forearms pressed into his haunches.

    They parted ways, with Levert rushing up the boards towards Surus'' bench. He sat still as the dealer passed him by.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    "Jaeques, how goes it," a shout came from above them.

    Levert stopped. His head stooped as he shook it.

    "That Solugarr and the Veering woman found a perfect mark and ate up his coins like biscuits. But for the fret they made. Damn. I will tell you later, but for now, I''m sitting in a dark corner with a glass of blushbort and winding down until we open up again."

    "Very well then. I won''t keep you."

    Puc¨¨ had taken off in the other direction. Surus studied the paths that would give him the best concealment. Once Levert passed by, he was on the move under the cover of an overhanging decorative mermaid welded to side rail supports.

    Puc¨¨ stopped two yards from a door. She leaned against the wall and wiped her face with a handkerchief. She sweated with deep trickles under the lanterns.

    The Jezde woman approached the door and the raps she knocked against it were obviously a signal. Surus moved in closer, as the spacing of the lanterns gave him a vantage point.

    A tall woman in a dark blue cowl opened it. Her body bulked with what was likely armor underneath. The woman leaned against the door with her arms folded.

    Her long face cast a smirking gaze as if she was evaluating Puc¨¨''s worth to her. Curls from a dark bronze coif leaked out of the cowl.

    "Abysmal Mothers," Surus whispered to himself. He knew the Ninci woman.

    "Ereste, as always, you are dressed for a fight," Puc¨¨ berated. "Ever is your hair let down?"

    "Do you have the coin to be here, little lasmer," Ereste asked of her.

    Puc¨¨ held up a green velveteen purse, and she smiled.

    "Do I ever waste your time, Capin¨¦?"

    "Get inside," Ereste said with a satisfied growl.

    As Puc¨¨ passed her, the guild Capin¨¦ leaned her head out surveilling the open-air. Convinced of no surveille or not, her face was too expert for Surus to read, Ereste shut the door.

    Whatever occurred inside it was at least guild business. Ereste ran the diamond district in Nevespora''s southernmost ward. What common cause, or service rendered mutual, the Jezde and the Nincian Capin¨¦ had, Surus could not fathom.

    He braced himself in a wall niche to rest his back. After a few minutes, Puc¨¨ crept back out unaccompanied. She continued to the boat''s aft.

    She crossed a set of loose planks that had been used as a makeshift ramp. A quick inspection revealed new boards added to a second storied wall with the lumber below never cleared out. As Puc¨¨ crossed them, up sprung a racket from beneath her feet.

    He would not be able to follow her path directly. Surus was forced to crawl towards the opposite side railing and grab the sides of a long container where he hung by his grip and trawled along the rail.

    Jumping back down to the deck he rolled to keep as quiet as possible into the shadows beneath a row of stacked barrels by the side of a storage shed.

    His knee bumped into a long metal pole he had not spotted. He suppressed a squeal.

    Puc¨¨ walked cautiously, nervously, nearby him. She was also listening for someone. Her hand impulsively felt along the back of her neck. There was the knob of a bruise there.

    "You there? Stop with your tricks, you fiend."

    After several seconds, she relaxed her stance and briskly walked towards the barrels on the opposite side that Surus hid. She pulled out the pole of which he had just collided.

    Puc¨¨ took it over to a trap door into the aftcastle where the cabins that formed it over hung on set pole masts above her.

    She placed a key into a head clamp built into the pole. She worked the hatch deftly until the fasteners slid aside. With the pole in place, she eased the trap door open.

    A ladder built into the trapdoor slid down.

    She hooked the pole into the top most rail and set it there. After climbing the ladder, she shoved the pole through the hatchway and closed the trapdoor.

    You there? Stop with your tricks, you fiend.

    Who was she accusing of following her? A sailor who liked a little rough and tumble, perhaps? It occurred to Surus she could have meant himself. She could have been referring to the scurrilous Gareen legend of the Night Visitor.

    The bruise on her neck made him doubt this line of query. Along with the tension in her body and the expectant tone, they referred to a common occurrence in her own life. If this person did not show up, then why?

    Surus jerked his head around. Then he studied the path behind him. That person could have been waiting for Puc¨¨, spotted Surus and decided to lay low to surveil him instead.

    Did this person see Surus slip in between the barrels? The spy would be now waiting for him to make his next move. He looked back once more, searching for a means to double back without being seen.

    As he did so, the boards above Surus buckled without making a sound. From the footfalls, Surus determined the person was attempting to position himself to jump Surus as he crossed over to the hatch.

    Surus was certain it was a man who weighed just over fifteen stone. He considered Ereste, but even armored she still would not weigh the boards down so much.

    Surus found a foothold between two barrels where one stood on top of the other. He twisted around as he pulled up, grabbed a hold of two under laying joist on the shed and lifted himself just enough to peek over the side.

    A man was hunched over by the ledge, patiently ready to pounce the moment Surus came out into the open. The man wore a thin jacket, but from the manor the man crouched Surus could see peeking out at the waist the gleam of a cobalt blue tinted chain link armor.

    An armor distinctly worn by Ko Laga operatives.

    Surus pulled himself up on the roof. He could now see the man held in his hand a nasty weapon used by D''jestre thugs for torture. A scorpio-ballast, a device with barbed wire coiled and tethered to a wind-up handle.

    Wound up tight enough it could dig deep into a man''s sternum and prove instantly lethal. Typically, it was set fairly loose for the purpose of flailing during an interrogation.

    Surus crouched behind the D''jestre on silent soles. He circled to the man''s left until he was within two feet of him. Surus kicked off with his right foot to spring forward.

    Grabbing the man, he wrapped his arms around the man''s shoulders to prevent him from using the weapon. The D''jestre hit the board hard, the wind knocked out of him. A growl discharged from his throat.

    Pushing him down at this point proved easy enough as the man was poorly positioned for a side sprung attack.

    The thug tried to wiggle the weapon from beneath him to use against Surus, but with a tight hug Sueus rolled back around, on top of him.

    The man thrust the weapon up, but Surus twisted away. The ballast whine sharply as the coil sprung out into the air. The weapon jumped out of the thug''s hand.

    He tried to wiggle up close into Surus to avoid being flayed by his own weapon. It shredded the thin coat. Smacking against the chain armor caused the ballast to tumble a few more yards and drop into the river.

    As the thug hugged Surus he returned the favor. He took the opportunity to hold the D''jestre tightly and rolled him over.

    The man tried to twist away, but Surus head-butted him in the nose. Then he rolled a second time and flipped the thug over the side and into the drink.

    Surus grabbed hold of a chock to keep his hold as his own leg skirted over. Pulling himself back up, he brushed up against something soft.

    A cloth pouch.

    Surus gathered it fell out of the thug''s jacket as the two struggled. Sulus could smell the contents before he opened the pouch. Inside was a powder with a reddish tint that appeared more like paprika than opium.

    He knew what it was for. In D''jestre lands it was standard practice for falconaires and beastmasters to consume the somniferum sympathique to better align their souls with their beasts. Given the corvus hawk was fell he could only imagine the kinked soul of its master.

 The Damselfly - Part II

    Surus eyed the aftcastle up and down. There was an open window in the upper loft. A cable attached to a boat hold looped to the roof. Given that set up, getting to the roof, he realized, might prove feasible.

    From the shelter he stood on, he jumped to another one beside the aftcastle. On the aftcastle wall he found a toe hold that allowed him a means to climb to a support panel.

    On the panel he had to grip the plank boards and find make do juts and knots as he crossed tippy-toe until he reached an empty container.

    After crawling through it, he squeezed into a space between it and the aftcastle. With his back pressed against the latter he made it to the top side of the container.

    there, he made a running leap, grabbed an overhanging truss in mid-jump and pulled himself up on the roof.

    Surus found the cable attached to a triset of cleat hooks holding another twin set of cables fastened to the back side of the boat. It was clearly there for hauling another vessel. At times excess luggage was carried upstream on small barges.

    He surveilled for anyone who could catch his next set of motions. A couple walked the concourse of the second deck below. They were caught up in conversation and they would soon pass.

    Surus caught sight of the stone giants, all standing in unison. The Oar Captain stood with his head bent over a book as the other Giants bowed their own heads. It was a liturgy in Imperial written in verse.

    No shielding our souls,

    Our skalds enthralled us

    To an Abysmal succubus

    triste most bless¨¦d.

    Our judgment, no mir¨¦d

    jest of gods unmoor¨¦d.

    The wretch¨¦d we are so named,

    on sorrowed soil claimed

    By no Lord, but lost forever to all

    and afflicted in curs¨¦d woe,

    We cross¨¦d purposed men of stone.

    Those of us deposed

    by a weird world turned All-Gloom.

    We of the Granulate, we the Ground,

    We theSoil.

    What of us, the dispossessed,

    by those of blood and flesh,

    Those that be swept away, by air,

    water and fire, drowned forever

    in the accumulate mire.

    Once, alas, we fall in maelstrom,

    pulled down, made Coral

    in the sand shoals of Domdaniel

    As immortal statuary ''til Day Final.

    He halted his actions out of respect for the stone giants in case a misstep occurred on his part. Once their prayer was complete, the Oar Captain gave a short sermon on a god obscure to Surus'' reference called the Lord of Days.

    After the service was complete the last man on the team began to hand out dinner in little individual pots.

    Surus flipped over into the window using the taut cable as his hold. He twisted his body around, lowered himself in while hanging from his fingertips.

    The only light he had to help him see bled through the loose boards two feet beneath his boots. It emitted from a room below. He dropped quietly.

    A gentle draft fluttered at the back of his neck. He caught sight of the flutter of red tipped wings and he heard feathers ruffle. Surus peeked back.

    He could see a perch set above the window. Another perch just behind him where the corvus hawk just had floated down to greet him. The bird calmly stared back into his eyes.

    They must have found you¡­ Copacetic.

    A cherry wood box sat on a table below the corvus hawk''s stoop. The odor of it made its purpose known. Surus opened it. Inside were strips of cured meat.

    He took three of the strips out. The fell hawk tore into the meat, hungrily and it devoured the three strips within seconds. Appetite satiated it gave Surus a low squawk; it flew back to the high stoop.

    Surus regarded the beast for a moment.

    Fell creatures were never calm.

    Surus''s eyes adjusted well enough for him to make out a hatch down to the floor beneath. He looked around him, the top floor was spacious but far from bare. Puc¨¨ kept it well stocked with Jezde accoutrements.

    Floral silkened scarves lined the walls decoratively. Engraved beads of bone, wood and ivory hung down from the rafters.

    The skulls of large, Condor sized birds graced the four cardinal points. Between the west and North walls, glyphs of incandescent green marked their surfaces.

    This area was set up for ritualistic auger.

    He smelled the somniferum sympathique rising up from the floorboards. It was replete with a heavy floral spice similar in odor to sandalwood. This explained why the fell bird behaved calmly. Surus realized, as he glanced up into the flickering gold of its eyes, Puc¨¨ was staring back at him.

    He crept down the ladder. The bottom floor of the loft within the aftcastle was also very much within the highly clustered and colorful style long associated with Jezde culture.

    A kitchen and dining room set where aromatics - garlic, onions, shallots drooped down from netted baskets.

    A sprawling bedroom spread with linens in bright scarlett''s and light pinks hanging on dyed ropes.

    A living space and a library consisting of four standing shelves with lamps of twisted glass held in grid latticed brass sat on top.

    Her back towards him, she set nude with a hookah between her legs. Her prim hostess suit laid out neatly on a table nearby.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    "My sieur, Fei?ois, do you know the magic necessary to create the hybrid species, corvus hawk? Two proud aviarian families of ancient lineage.

    "The Raider and the Hunter, purposed in nature''s scheme most unmutual, but for the manipulations of vitaechemist, a matching of bride and groom quite impossible.

    "Yet, there they are, on grac¨¦d wings they glide in the air above as if bless¨¦d by Mother Nature, herself."

    Surus quietly crept up beside her and sat. Her eyes appeared vacant and she smiled slightly. Her lips creased at the ends most lovely.

    Surus took the fold-out blade from his jacket cuff. With careful but deft attention, he selected a tangled strand of her wolf mane like hair from above her ear and snipped it.

    He placed the blade back and placed the strands of hair in a handkerchief and tied the cloth in a twine.

    "A fetish," she asked, her voice raised tight and curious.

    "I will take great care that it does not land in the hands of any other practitioner of the Art. It will only be used to fulfill my own purposes."

    She arched up with shoulders raised as she slowly exhaled smoke and blew it out through the thin arch of her lips.

    "Is that payment for your silence, sieur Fei?ois?"

    He glanced down giving her a once over appraisal. Her body was hard and well-toned. Arms and legs built from limber, knotted muscles, likely she was used to a lot of climbing.

    An upper-story cat burglar''s body. She likely spent her early years in the guild as part of an entry crew.

    His eyes settled on the bruise on her neck.

    "Augers are an abomination, but I care not. That is the concern of ardants and beneath a man of the Guild. Your secrets will never part my lips."

    "Perhaps then, it is a pity the price you exact could not have been higher."

    Surus touched the bruise with his thumb with delicate care. She winced even at that.

    "I certainly have no objection to the alternative payment you proffer. It is an exceptional bid you display. However, until there is a proper accounting, I am forced to decline."

    She peered up into his eyes. His hand caressed her shoulders not without affection. She looked back down with a grimace.

    "You believe I have other secrets very much not to your liking?"

    He reached into his vest pocket producing the bag he had found.

    "I am sure of it. The person who left that bruise is the same person I extracted this from."

    "You must believe I am compromised?"

    Surus did not answer.

    "I assure you, sieur, all I do is entertain the thug for that somniferum in exchange. Nothing of guild business is ever discussed. He believes me to be nothing more than a gambling hall hostess and a lotus-eater."

    Surus leaned back on his elbow trying to convince himself she was telling the truth. She reached over with a nimble hand and handed him a jade studded comb.

    Her back arched divinely in the smooth purple hue flowing along her flesh. Her head turned to the side.

    Surus was reminded that it was said the Jezde strongly resembled the humans of the far East who were rarely seen west of the D''jestre lands.

    From her scalp down to the mid of her arched back he brushed out the tangles in her hair.

    "Did you grow up with any sisters," she asked him. "Can you do a proper Midvries braid? No, start over then under, else you''ll have me looking like a Ninci matron."

    He did as she requested while trying to steer the conversation back to their profession.

    "I once told a certain Sgo?the acquaintance of mine," he began, "that the guild is the most incorruptible institution in the Imperium for a lord''s coin was worthless to us unless it was taken from him by force.

    "It matters to me a great deal that integrity is kept. So you say that all is happening between yourself and this thug of the Ko Laga is an exchange of rough and tumble for the somniferum?"

    Puc¨¨ bit her lip. "When the majeur was forced to move his operation out of Nevespora and into Gareen, he overran the local smugglers. I have to get it from them now as it comes through the Nin before it ever reaches the markets of Nevespora where it costs twice as much."

    Surus looked around the suite, trying to see it as the thug would have seen it. He looked around for ties to the guild. No counterfeit lenses, inks and tools, lock picks, poisons, stealth garments, frog tongue footwear, cryptographic equipment. Nothing stood out that would give away guild purpose.

    She leaned into him to follow his gaze, hard nipples caressed just underneath his shoulder. Her bosom had been well hidden in the gambling den. Made to appear modest under jacket, vest, skirt and banded towel. Bare, they stood out ample and high.

    Her eyelids arched evenly and hopefully as she followed his gaze.

    "What are you thinking," she asked, her voice a broken tremolo.

    "I''m looking for anything that would tie you to the guild. I honestly don''t see anything." Surus pointed to the trapdoor. "Has he ever been up there?"

    She held her breast between her elbows squeezing tightly. A nervous habit he had noticed before.

    "No," she said, shaking her head.

    He asked her a question to test her.

    "Are there any other members of the guild aboard?"

    Puc¨¨ hesitated and she looked away. Her eyes distant with desperate cruel thought.

    "You are wondering if there is anyone on board with the means to have me truthsworn."

    It had not occurred to him, but it was a reasonable deduction on her part.

    "I said your secrets will never part my lips, Puc¨¨. I''ve been truthsworn before, and I don''t care much for the practice as it erodes trust. But, please answer my question."

    "I''m involved in a guild matter at the moment. The matron in this regard -"

    "Ereste?"

    "-yes."

    "You are pursuing members of the Obisvyrre? May I ask what is that about?"

    Puc¨¨ was caught off guard by the questions.

    "I can''t say."

    In a disappointed whisper, Surus shrugged.

    "I have thought I met this eve a sister I could trust, one for whom secrets will not be necessary. I''ll even share with her one more at no expense to her. You must wonder how I obtained that bag of somniferum sympathique.

    "The thug was waiting for you, but I surprised him instead, and dropped him into the drink of the Kayili. So you need not worry about him any longer, and I have just trusted you with that admittance of murder. So you see, I am still hopeful I have met a sister this eve."

    She gave him a wane smile.

    "All right, then, sieur Fei?ois. I could use friends in the guild from the other spheres as well." She chuckled and shook her head before continuing.

    "To think I had paid Ereste a little fortune to take care of that thug for me. You are correct about our operation. That man you had lost your coin to in the gambling hall earlier this eve in spite of his manner and the look of him is a Ninci noble."

    "So, that was Tereth Solugarr? Even as I heard his name, I only faintly made the connection."

    "You know him?"

    "Never met him until this evening. His daughter though was close in my orbit of friends before she died so very untimely. So, what is so intriguing about him?"

    "He heads the Obisvyrre."

    "That man?"

    She nodded. "I am supposed to follow him when we make land in Gareen. Perhaps, you can help me, by distracting that companion of his. I believe even under all the grifter games she plays she just may very well be in love with you."

    I would have never sought you out. Nor never come to know my own kindred brood ¡­

    "Puc¨¨, I believe we can come to an arrangement, but I have to be back in Nevespora for a prior engagement."

    "To meet with a certain Sgo?the of your acquaintance?"

    Surus tensed up. "How could you possibly know?"

    Puc¨¨ laughed with glee. The manner in which she squinted made her face rounded in whole. It was a fetching sight unique of Jezde women.

    "Relax, my friend, Fei?ois. The certain Sgo?the of your acquaintance, she was in Gareen a few weeks ago, stirring up a fret of talk. Did she send you here to retrieve something for her?"

    His back stood up straight.

    "You are looking quite stern at the moment. Care to draw on my hookah?"

    He shook his head. Puc¨¨ continued.

    "Look in that desk drawer by the cupboard and you will have your answer. Go on."

    As he stood up, she kept speaking. "Mind you, the premium the Ko Laga thugs charge for the somniferum sympathique has me quite miffed, so the last time I made purchase of it in Gareen I looked around the warehouse for a price to extract in return. Guess what I found?"

    "An obsidian Usuper''s Ducat," he whispered as he lifted it out of the drawer.

    "Is that what a certain Sgo?the of your acquaintance sent you here to retrieve?"

    He nodded. He turned the coin over and over. On one side was the image of Izdun. The other side bore the familiar tarot icon of The Groom, but with the addition of a bride who curtsied at his side. It was a Sgo?the of his acquaintance.

    "I''ll make you a deal, sieur Fei?ois. We''ll send that by wing¨¦d courrier to the Sgo?the of your acquaintance. My Jacinta can find anyone, and you stay with me for the next few weeks and help me sort a few matters out."

    She leaned into him and kissed him upon the neck as he nodded along still speechless.

    "Help me get dressed. We''ll need to meet later this evening. You''ll likely be needing a place to stay this evening anyhow. But for now, I need to get back to the gambling hall."

    "Back up a moment, I would like very much to redeem your offer, but . . . Need?"

    She tapped the back of her collar with her fingers; he straightened the indented cloth to align with a decorative clip with a broach of a damselfly fastened to it.

    He chortled as he examined it.

    "I am brother to a Damselfly."

    "That you are. There is a matter concerning Manny Veering that it surprises me that you don''t know."

    "I''ve only heard of that name this very night."

    The Jezde tilted her head as she studied him. She then lifted her pants up over her haunches, and motioned for Sulus to button the back folds.

    "Yes, and that is what surprises me. Perhaps he goes by another name in your circles, but there is something you need to know that will put a few things in perspective . . ."

 Saiwala Gematas - Part I

    In the Aethyr, metals smelted into a disipation that gave off a most pleasant odor. One that smelled of deep spice. Copper, iron, nickel and gold diffused, for a wayfarer born of the mundi world, into pure aromatic perception, much like the kitchen of a long established royal house.

    Leresai scratched at the itch this caused her nose with the back side of her wrist when she caught sight of the morbidly pale body at her feet. She bent down to her knees and then she felt for a pulse on Lord Carro''s temple. The slightest of ripples coursed beneath his flesh. She lifted his head to the side to better study the wound on his neck. Crusted blood coagulated along the nick she had left there. He wasn''t going to bleed out much more.

    A shimmer in the air a few yards away jolted her to spring back up with her blade at ready. The disturbance grew into a sparks besotted static discharge from wence an irregular, jagged bolt of lightning flayed about. Something was testing the envelope of protection the pentagram provided.

    The Aethyr wasn''t safe for mortals to transverse. Beasts of the Abyss, the elder gods, strange aliens from the dynastic courts of Oblivion, all beings possessing the power to travel between the settled planes that marred existence, leaked into the Aethyr. It was an unsettled tween between those places; it was to be transversed, not inhabited.

    Leresai peered beyond the shimmer, only to spy a ferment formed of rocky, much rutted ground, uncannily like the fjelds of the Northern Isles. Scholars of her acquaintance even described it as such a cragg¨¦d terrain. It was one not made of soil or rock, at least as such substance''s base elements formed in the mundane world.

    When ionized metals in the air cooled down, they reformed densely and unevenly along a singular plane. Over the edge of one side of her protective pentagram the formation dipped low and a river of mercury snaked along.

    No place for a man or mer of flesh and blood or even for a being of great power. She heard of elder dragons, demon lords, greater djinn that attempted exile in the Aethyr but none could exist comfortably for long as it was always in a state of transition.

    Grand palaces would be attempted only to be shattered as the magnetic poles of the singular plane rippled and inverted such colossal energy that gaseous metals swept like a cascade of rain into solid being and solid metals puffed instantly into gaseous matter.

    It should be over soon, Leresai told herself as she grew more alarmed. The fjeld lands of Aethyr were forming faint red lines along the length of a metallic sheen beneath, as if some disease corrupted it''s subdermal foundation.

    The pentagram formed at the high end of a plateau along a river bend. At the bottom of the ramped hill that formed the plateau something scurried at the edge of the mercury river. Many more creatures joined with the first one. They appear to be large, pink hounds with impossibly large heads.

    A mort horn wailed in a long arching tone. The hounds charged up the plateau pathway. Leresai swooped her dagger''s twin up into her free hand. With a jerk of both hands she butted the crossguard heads together to ensconce the fire nebulae opals. The blades shrieked as the ebon metal turned to a fiery red.

    Seven hounds lead the pack. The hounds threw themselves at the pentagram shimmer only to be rebuffed. The hounds were knocked back and slammed into the pack behind them. The pack leaders were chewed up and utterly destroyed by their sisters.

    The hounds had no eyes. The remainder of the pack, some two dozen, approached slowly. They snarled and bit, sniffing at the shimmer. One braver than the others, thrust its head at it. Grabbing a piece of it in a bite, it''s face blistered as if hit by lightning.

    The beast squirmed and whimpered as it held on. Clawing at the ground as it tried to pull at the energy field.

    Its mouth sizzled with foam. Its skin began to molt like a snake''s. Sheaths of skin shimmered down its leg. Steam rose from out of its pores and smoke flowed out of every orifice. The beast''s skeleton burned to embers and shattered to the ground.

    The shimmer snapped back in place.

    The mort horn sounded out again. Its tone like a high wind through cavernous sized bones. It''s high bellow rose followed by a cacophonic descent spoke to the hounds differently than before. Leresai peaked down the plateau once more, searching for whomever it was who sounded the horn.

    Along the winding course of the mercury river, a sorrel nightmare in ivory armor preened. It''s rider, a creature in a matching set of armor bearing red metal engravings that burned continuously into the foundation plate of ivory, stared up at Leresai.

    He wore a helm whose antlers were as tangled and profuse as the limbs of a maidenhair fir. The antlers were of no creature Leresai could identify, but she knew who this was. Roqu¨ªn. Once a Minion King in the empire of Izdun, ruling over the Midvries a millennium ago, he was ensorcelled for six hundred years of penance which drove him mad. Set loose by the Wild Sister, he became Roqu¨ªn the Hunter.

    The hounds backed away slowly and spread out. Positioning themselves in a semicircle around the pentagram.

    Leresai called out to him.

    "Roqu¨ªn the Hunter, can you hear me?"

    "I indeed hear you, my fellow Hunter, Leresai the Enigmatic One."

    Leresai raised her proud torso, folded her elbows under her bosom, and tilted her head to the side. Her lips perked into a hauter puss.

    "Why do you hunt me if you and I are so copacetic?"

    "I happen to adore you. Of all the heroes of your time you would be one of the few who would not wilt if subjected to the tumult of my own. However, you are a conduit. A means to enter mundi and not be ravaged by the insatiable curse. So it is not that I object to you, but I have need of you."

    "I doubt if I have ever been called a hero before this very day." She pointed at the unconscious form of Lord Carro. "He certainly would not call me a hero."

    "Due to yours being an age ruled by fools possessing the meagerest of hearts."

    Roqu¨ªn crossed his legs over the saddle and jumped down. The sorrel nightmare backed up trotting in an elegant cross legged stance. For a woman who did not appreciate horses, this was one to whom she could fall In love.

    The air dappled around its form in a futile measure to capture it''s beauty; a beauty unsettling in its delicacy as nightmares tended to reft from their very surroundings. The movement of its neck, four legs and tail we''re like watching a troupe of well-choreographed Su¨¹d danseuse.

    Long-limbed, limber, and wispy. Leresai could not see how such a thing survived in the Aethyr. The hounds appeared pure hellion in their course and calloused skins, but not this sorrel nightmare with her fine, shimmering mane.

    As soon as Leresai began to form a plan to take the beast from Roqu¨ªn, the geas scar began to sting. She glanced down at the unconscious Lord Carro. Any possible execution of such a plan would forfeit his life. The scar bled through the banded towel wrapped around her chest. She abandoned the plan immediately. All she could do was stall Roqu¨ªn until the crossover occurred. With furrowed brow she addressed the Hunter.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Is it true, Izdun is free?"

    "That it is," Roqu¨ªn confirmed. "Being that you are one whose mentality is shaped in the ways of the S?urarchy, would you believe me if I told you Izdun''s intentions are noble?"

    Leresai considered his words, thought it was not in her interest to contradict him. She shifted her stance. Chin deeply indented beneath her lip.

    "I have heard his many tales. He seemed nothing if not the most errant of knights whose ventures were taken to grevious extremes. Humor me if you will, Roqu¨ªn. What does Izdun intend?"

    The question bade a bow of the hunter''s head. His words came out as near rhapsody, as if speaking of a much hoped for promise.

    "He intends death to me, and the other Realm Kings. To give us a merciful end. What the sisters did to us in our penance made us the most loathsome of souls. Insane and undead. Most of our fellowship is much worse than I. I at least still live in the tether of mundi.

    "The others though are far less cogent, far less forgiving of mortal men. Forever flesh hungry, immortal blood lusting wights. It is no way a knight should obtain immortality. It mocks righteousness.

    "Immortality through song, yes. Immortality through story and spoken legend, yes and yes. Through the invitation of true gods requiring your presence in their meadhalls, hallelujah, yes! But this?

    "This existence created by the cruel sisters where I am forced to endure this unlife of perverse need? Are you aware of the final curse Lady Insatiable placed upon me? I am to only be sustained in my vitaechimique capacity by the menses of a doe? No other food will feed the conduit of my need. Hence, why I am now the Hunter.

    "When the Wild Sister mercifully opened my gate, Lady Insatiable appeared at the entrance way. Rozzenblunde insisted upon and argued for my release as I had served the sentence and seven decades more.

    "Lady Insatiable countered that I needed to be tethered to a bond that would prevent me from fermenting rebellion. Being the creature of dark eros that she is she deigned to such an indelible penance."

    Roqu¨ªn straightened and became calm. The very timber of his voice changed. "Listen, North Princess and you will hear it too."

    His head twisted and his chin pointed down the length of a tall cavernous craig.

    "Calm your ears, now. What do you hear? Point your ears in that direction. Do you hear a chant? It is coming from that direction in the periphy of our perception. With intention you can make it manifest. But it is not really of this Aethyr.

    "Can you be made to understand? It is from the world you wish to re-enter. Twelve men in deep catacombs dedicated in secret for many generations to Izdun''s return. The chant is an invitation for the both of us. Can you hear it? What do they say?"

    She listened as the Hunter insisted. The roar of the Aethyr world turned to nought to her ears. There it was, the chant. In old Su¨¹d.

    "Bring to us the silver haired witch. Bring to us the unholy Hunter. Their souls are to be one this evening. One to cancel out the other."

    The chant repeated, the second time the voices sang in a blaring unison that made Leresai feel overwhelmed.

    "Bring to us the silver haired witch. . .," To which her gut clinched. Worse than the feeling she was about to shit herself, she sensed her vagina was rotting from the inside out. "Bring to us the Unholy Hunter. Their souls are to be one this evening. One to cancel out the other.

    "As is prophesized, so shall it be."

    When they got to the end of their unholy chant, she was down on her knees. She smelled the scent of her womanhood in necrotic decay as venereal vexation fed upon her womb

    "That is enough," she whispered.

    "Indeed," Roqu¨ªn agreed.

    The roar of the Aethyr world once more rushed into her awareness, thankfully crowding out the ardants'' chant. The scent of her sex no longer smelled diseased but instead as strongly musk and as womanly as ever, as it was meant to be, for that she was most relieved.

    Leresai stood up, her hands pressed long against her knees. She arched her head up as she leaned and she looked to Roqu¨ªn.

    "Their hatred for me, I''ve never felt something so visceral."

    Roqu¨ªns hands pointed to the Craig.

    "Care to behest those desolate men their prophecy? To quell their doubts that their lives have been spent on nought but words of no satiation? It would be a shame if it was all frivolous waste. A worthless id¨¦e fixe. Given their carnaticum, their slaughterhouse bill, as it were, is paid in full, and then some, to not attend their invitation would be most rude."

    Leresai winced to this last remark. Whom or what did these evil bastards damned to the blue blazes of Shoal sacrifice in order to curse her with such power?

    "It was no mere chance this evening''s events have come about as they have," Leresai stated. "I asked myself, how could it be that we came to meet here, as my intention to execute the plan this evening was decided by myself and myself alone.

    "There is no Fate, merely conspiracy against the natural order. They somehow subverted my plans, likely through necromancy, as there is no Destiny except for that which we make for ourselves. As for prophecy, it mocks our choices, and the responsibilities our choices place upon us, and I cannot abide by that."

    With both of his gauntlets outstretched towards her, Roqu¨ªn pleaded.

    "I do not ask you to tempt the abominations of Fate, Destiny, and Fortune. In return for your help in circumventing the insatiable curse, I do have it within my grasp to render those men impotent against you"

    Roqu¨ªn touched his gauntlet to his breastplate and bowed his head. He placed his other gauntlet over his first and opened them up together revealing within his palms a tri-foil of tangled orchids. One flower, faint blush pink, one bright scarlet, and the last shell purple, arranged to suggest vaginal grace. The sacr¨¦.

    "You ask yourself, dear Leresai, how can it be such a fragile thing can survive the Aethyr and retain it''s full materiality? I have some power vested in me to subvert this twisted void land. I can do the same for you as I did for this sacr¨¦.

    "We will ride Sellanna over to a grotto I''ve prepared for you. We will join our souls in the way men and women have done so since the dawn of time. I''ll finally taste something much more divine than the menses flow of a doe in heat."

    The scar began to bleed; while her curiosity was aroused by the sexual challenge of intimate deed with a creature of legend it also occurred to her she could use the moment to subdue the Hunter. Again such an expenditure of time in executing the plan would have cost Lord Carro his life.

    She pulled down the banded towel and displayed her wounded breast.

    "This is the geas inscribed upon my heart. If I indulge in such a well proffered tryst, it would kill me. Even you I doubt could prevent that. It is with great reluctance that I decline."

    She needed to leave the Aethyr soon. Her eyes warmed in the silver as she concentrated on a sub group of lines and runes on the pentagram that formed a triagoniste ward. It would be easier to make it sing at a higher oscillation than what a full pentagram was capable.

    The form in her mind began to echo a chorus from the ring of lines that surrounded the runes. It took shape over the etched marks and lifted from the ground. They appeared as smooth dark red saphires with a sparking cascade of flames captured within. The chanson sigil surrounded her, waving in a seesaw pattern, switching back and forth around her as it sung.

    "I am sorry that I cannot accommodate you and what you proffer, Roqu¨ªn, I have to be elsewhere."

    Roqu¨ªn shook his head slowly, he sighed sorrowfully. The triagoniste ward she had formed collapsed with a staccato thunk.

    "It is I who should apologize. The last thing a huntress would want to hear is for a hunter to tell her the correct track to follow as if she had not the good sense to read the signs for herself. However, I have some inkling of what lies ahead, and I have been planning for it for sometime. So, I''m afraid I cannot permit you to leave until this intract is fully attested."

    When Roqu¨ªn sounded the mort, the hounds sprung forward, chomping down on a piece of the shimmer and pulling with their teeth. An ugly sulfurous smoke hissed from their nostrils.

    It overwhelmed the pleasant spice of ionized metals. The hounds growled, and pushed, and thrusts back. Leresai''s daggers screamed red, her eyes fully engaged in the silver, as well. She arced the twin daggers in adjacent swings. She made contact.

    Black bowel spilt out of the four hounds in front. They whelped as they died, only to be replaced by four more hounds. A hound at the far end burst in flames and shattered. A fifth hound grabbed at the shimmer where the previous one dug in.

    Leresai readied her attack once more but stopped in midthrust and pulled back when she noticed the marks she had made slashing the hounds rivened through the shimmer, leaving slits gaping open. The gases of the Aethyr started to pierce through. Soon it would kill her if left unmended.

    Leresai held her breath to steady her pulse and she lit the shimmer up with her silver in overlay. As she hoped, the gaps began to mend.

    The reprieve lasted merely seconds as the hounds gnawed and pulled in unison. The shimmer stretched away from its tether to the pentagram until it burst. The hounds were annihilated in an instance. Engulfed, the pentagram imploded.

 Saiwala Gematas - Part II

    Leresai thought herself dead. As the world around her went gold, not the black she was expecting, her head curled into a downward position. Her last action was an attempt to shield herself. The shimmer was gone but the pentagram remained lit up in a gold light. Lord Carro lay unmoved at her feet.

    This is a split instance before you are to die, North Princess.

    In Leresai''s head, she heard Roqu¨ªns voice. He continued.

    Time has stopped for you. Only your conscious mind remains mobile. You should see around you, filtered only by your imagination. To which, you must be careful. Look with your mind can you see me?

    She could. The gold tinged world of the employing rush of Aethyr dissolved into normal sight. He stood beside the sorrel nightmare. Running along the river''s edge were a clan of strange undead beasts. Grayish skin, contorted skulls, hunched vertebrae that jutted out through mummified skin. Dead white eyes. They were undead kobolds. Short, foul, ghastly creatures. Ghasts, actually.

    The tri-foil orchid sacr¨¦ dropped from Roqu¨ªns gauntlets, and burned away in the blink of an eye.

    Understand what is happening, Leresai, this is a manifestation of your greatest fears. It would have been so much more pleasant the other way for the both of us.

    The ghasts marched forward to her. Roqu¨ªn took off his helm, and dropped it. He removed his gauntlets, his pauldrons, his gorget neck guard. His plate mail fell from his bare chest.

    Shadows crowded her. Cold, dead reptilian claws stroked her thighs. Several of the claws hooked under the waistband of her riding breeches, pulling them down to her ankles. Another dead, reptilian claw grabbed her crotch roughly, clenching her undergarment and ripping it off. Long dry scaly fingers explored inside her mound. Four digits squeezed in her gape, buried nearly to a fist uncomfortably.

    She realized, those hands were more purposeful than the other ghasts. A pack leader, she surmised. He held onto her thighs licked up into the crack of her derriere. She felt chilled as there was no warmth to his tongue.

    The alpha squealed at the others to hold her down. His cold tongue lapped at her anus, grunting like a wild boar in pleasure as if it were enjoying the taste of the last shit she took.

    Roqu¨ªn pulled off the rest of his suit. He stood nude. He walked towards her and his cock slung like a pendulum hitting against his knees in stride with his gait. Though of scarlet red flesh, and glistening wet, his penis appeared sharp as a pitchfork. Any entrance of it in her would cut her jagged.

    Roqu¨ªn! She screamed in her mind. the noble soul of Roqu¨ªn could not possibly be contemplating something so grotesque!

    The ghasts started biting on her thighs and the bevels of her ribs, gnawing with gums and rotted teeth. They smelled of bile and dead flesh. Mummified penises sheathed like dogs revealed beneath the cracking and flaking of their calcified foreskins dark bruising with an oozing sheen beneath.

    She felt as if she had seen this somewhere before.

    Something is not right.

    She was no longer being held by ghasts. Something continued still to lick at her anus and thrust its fingers into her vagina. She turned her mind to see the contorted undead creature with a strange moon face stretched along a gaunt skull with one eye that blinked slowly. The other orb crushed in a ruin.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    "I have taught them to hate your stench, and the stench of all of womankind," the creature said. "It is a sacrifice I make now as I make fetish of the shit from your very rectum. Necessary to diminish your strength, and make you into nothing."

    Calm your mind, Leresai. Came the voice of Roqu¨ªn. Calm your mind. Before you permanently damage yourself. What you see are manifestations of your deepest fears. It is a metaphor made flesh through your imagination. Your fear is entwined with the eros of others. It is entwined as well with my own desire. But the fear creates something in between that sickens both of us.

    Ask yourself this, Leresai, is it even plausible that I, Roqu¨ªn Solpest, born of woman, have hanging from my loins a three-foot-long demon schlong swinging like a pendulum between my legs? It is absurd on the face of it.

    It is mere fear, you can surpass fear.

    She stared at the demon schlong, realizing it was comical and it could not be real. The final creature disappeared as it hissed bitterly. Her clothes were still intact. Roqu¨ªn stood by the nightmare, Sellanna. His hand rubbing her mane. The other held the sacr¨¦. They were frozen in place.

    I can no more move in this moment than you can. The same for the ghasts who are leering at you nearby. We are all caught up in this moment. We retreat in our fears. Project our desires. Without understanding, they become unbalanced and most unholy.

    "Then, what is to be done," she asked.

    I could let the stream of time continue, and eventually it will have to no matter what I do, but that would kill you. There is another way however.

    "Accept your penetration, Roqu¨ªn?"

    Only of your mind.

    "So I can avoid death if I allow you to take possession of me when we return to the Mundi?"

    Given the current circumstances, it is best that I do so. Leresai, do you know what makes a fiend fiendish? Exposure to the disruption caused by teleportation. It contorts every cell in the body. Your transition back without my presence, with the pentagram destroyed, you will be subjected to that destruction like any creature of the wild would be if it were caught up in a mad vortex out of the unraveled threads of nature.

    "What of Carro?"

    I know nothing of the man''s worth, but chances are, he''ll return a gibbering idiot. Nonetheless, Rhoethella should still be able to extract what she needs. So your geas will be completed regardless.

    I will not remain long, Leresai. I swear on my phylactery. Get me down to the catacombs. I have a friend to whom I need you to rendezvous. Do this for me, and we will deal with those insolent men, if you so choose to waste time with them.

    "They will come for me regardless of what I do, won''t they?"

    Correct.

    "If I say yes?"

    Then our desire becomes mutual. We seal it with a kiss.

    She saw no other way forward. She resigned herself to placing her fate in Roqu¨ªn''s hands. All anger left her then and her body relaxed. The air around her turned gaseous gold once more. She imagined her mouth open, lips wide; a handsome man with a soft beard and course red hair touched her face with delicate, loving fingers and then embraced her.

    He locked his lips to hers and their tongues made merry. She pulled the banded towel down and placed his hands on her breast.

    For me to be properly aroused for this seal of agreement you must squeeze them roughly, as roughly as your conscience will allow.

    He obeyed her demand as they kissed. Leresai enjoyed the warmth of his touch with lips and hands.

    Perhaps if I had a lady of your caliber, I would not desire my own end so highly. Could I be a knight once more? In Mundi again without Lady Insatiable''s Jest rattling my will to live at every moment? It makes me wonder.

    Roqu¨ªn pushed her banded towel back in place, and fastened the buttons of her cendal robe. He then helped with lifting her up and placed her in the saddle.

    She was swept up in a funnel of gold reaching out beyond the horizon of Aethyr. She leaned in a crouch, riding and holding on to Sellanna. The cool breeze and shimmering mane in her smiling face as she rode back down into the Mundi.

 Saiwala Gematas - Part III

    In a winter garden on the large, sprawling estate of the Cemetery of the Commons, Rhoethella and six acolytes stood facing her where Leresai appeared appearing resplendent in cendal robe and riding britches sitting in the saddle of a sorrel nightmare. The assembly stared, stunned at the sight.

    Rhoethella broke the silence. Her eyes cast down to the limp form of Lord Carro beneath the horse and rider.

    "There is little time," the goddess commanded. "The D''jestre imbecile requires healing solvents, needle, and gauze."

    Four of the acolytes lifted Lord Carro and brought him to a marble stone slab where the other two spread the requested instruments.

    Leresai paid little heed to what was occurring around her; she was lost in thoughts of a remarkably perfect kiss that shattered through the horror that she felt only moments earlier. She also thought of the sorrel nightmare she rode as she stroked Sellanna''s head.

    "So long as I ride a nightmare I shall never get another settled night of fretless sleep again, but I will cherish this mare to my dying day."

    Rhoethella surveyed her Handmaiden with a skeptical eye.

    She needs not to know of our pact, Leresai, Roqu¨ªn''s voice brushed gently to the fore of her thought. It does not hinder her own designs in the least.

    "That is the mount of Roqu¨ªn the Hunter," Rhoethella whispered with some awe in her tone.

    Rhoethella stroked the horse behind her ears. "Hello, Sellanna, we are graced by your presence. It has been a long time coming for us to meet again. I remember riding you in the up country hill lands when I paid a visit to your master''s court a millennia ago."

    Sellanna winnied for the first time since Leresai made her acquaintance. The notes she spoke echoed the musty calm of deep forest.

    Rhoethella cast a wane smile and nodded, "so you remember as well, dear girl."

    Then the goddess'' eyes squared up again with Leresai.

    "How does one acquire the mount of Roqu¨ªn the Hunter?"

    "I was in dire need of a ride out of the Aethyr and he was so kind as to oblige."

    "Leresai, dear, your breasts, please."

    Leresai pulled the banded towel down to her navel. Rhoethella''s long hands spread across the geas wound.

    Leresai felt a warmness spread out from the touch. A pleasant scented vapor eased through her pours and what little was left of the fire nebulae opal that had not burned away during the teleport now formed glitter on Rhoethella''s fingers.

    Leresai''s flesh felt as if a deep itch had been relieved. Her heart felt satiated of a longing of which it had not been previously aware.

    "You have fulfilled your geas, Leresai," Rhoethella declared. "Now, that saga is complete, we can commence with other matters. Tell me, Leresai, is he here?"

    Our pact, Leresai.

    An outcry swelled from the marble slate where Lord Carro had been carried. One of the healers had been knocked down to the floor. Lord Carro dashed off at an incredible speed.

    "Roqu¨ªn, I need to speak to you," Rhoethella yelled to the fleeing figure.

    "Give him chase," Leresai responded. "He is going to the catacombs."

    Rhoethella''s long limbs gave her an advantage. Under normal circumstances, she would have overtaken the short man, but whatever spirit drove Lord Carro to sprint through the winter garden and cross a long field invested him with inhuman capability.

    Once he reached the catacombs, he would have many paths to choose as it formed an elaborate labyrinth for many miles underneath the city.

    Whomever that spirit was, Leresai knew it wasn''t Roqu¨ªn. Then she recalled the ghasts and realized what she assumed to be a pack leader was not. He grabbed her with the fist of human fingers, not claws as the ghast had.

    She imagined the moment once more and set her mind to unveil the illusions. On a summit of a craig nearby stood a necromancer whose dark magics long ago contorted his form into that of a lich. Five ghasts hunched low by his boots. Together, they leered at the entrapped Sgo?the.

    She stood at the catacomb entrance by the side of Rhoethella. The goddess raised her head gazing into the corridor. She began to trimmer. Her regal bearing suddenly contorted with, for her, a very rare swear on her lips.

    "Oh, fuck me," she gasped.

    Rhoethella bent down on her knees wretched up vomit to the side of the door landing. After she wiped her mouth clean, she grasped the door frame and stood back up.

    "I have engaged the Scent but he obscures with his own counterspell that turns my senses all too keen and turns the Sent against me."

    Leresai followed the goddess down a flight of stairs, and they listened into the interior. It became evident the necromancer possessed Lord Carro masked the sounds of the catacombs as well as his scent.

    Active listening made the catacombs swell with the echo of noise until the tension in Leresai''s ears became unbearable.

    "Izdun is free," she announced.

    Rhoethella''s silver white bangs flipped up as she just caught the gist of the words the Sg?ethe said.

    She gazed back, silently for a moment before speaking.

    "I be damned. He gave up on his immortality, but why? Did Roqu¨ªn tell you this?"

    Leresai nodded.

    "It sounds as if the two of you became fast friends along those transit grounds of the Aethyr."

    They walked forward pass a series of caryatids in front of a raised dias where seven sarcophagi dedicated to the lady paladins of the Cowled Brigade sat. Famed in legend for ridding the Su¨¹dlands of daimon djinn over a millennia ago.

    Rhoethella stopped in front of the central statue. A diminutive figure bearing stern eyes. Rhoethella kissed the statue on the forehead.

    The goddess was growing sentimental, thought Leresai. The catacombs were not chambers of the entombed for her. It was a memory palace.

    After giving Rhoethella her moment of prayer, Leresai answered.

    "Indeed. He revealed an assortment of matters to me in our confrontation. We were at cross-purposes, so he had to be persuasive.

    "There exists a society of Su¨¹d ardents dedicated to Izdun''s cause. They have beguiled Roqu¨ªn with their chants to serve their ends, and they wait for him below.

    "I don''t believe he would have attempted to use me as he did if they did not force his step. His errant nature seems too noble to rely on such base action.

    "They must have taken possession of his phylactory. When he is here, on Mundi, in need to partake of the hunt, he is forced to indulge Lady Insatiable''s mad jest of a penance."

    "The Roqu¨ªn I know," Rhoethella began. "From a millennia ago, I would fully vouch for your words. I will tell you this in confidence, my Handmaiden, Roqu¨ªn was a good ruler of his kingdom. He was a good man, even. The brother to one who was once very dear to me. If not for his key role in Izdun''s empire, and his refusal to switch alliances, there would be no justifying the S?urarchy''s decisions of exile and penance.

    "With Izdun deposed, the people wanted Roqu¨ªn to be their King. Not some society of elven witches who claimed to be gods. They rejected us utterly, Leresai, even myself with my prior experience which is why after nearly a century of misrule on our part we restored a royal house and its vessels, then declared the eldest female heir would sit on the Azure Throne in Meizsol as the Empress of the Western lands of the Northern Isles, the Nin, the Midvries, and the vast region of the Su¨¹d.

    "I digress to a degree. The exile we imposed upon Roqu¨ªn was certainly cruel. He inhabited a tiny chateau on Mount Despumate in isolation. Each day one of his senses would be lost to him, and only be reacquired that evening through sincere meditation on his frailties as a man.

    "If he neglected to do so, another sense would be lost as well on the next following day. It was meant to teach him humility, as some within our S?urarchy desire to impose on all men.

    "He would be sentenced for five hundred years, but none of us bothered to unlock a portal so he could leave. Until the five hundred and eighty-seventh year with that irrepressible sense of justice and fairness in her stubborn bones, Rozzenblunde took it upon herself to do so.

    "However, the man, now, from what I heard through the spider webs and moonbeams of my netting works, is insane."

    To those last words, Leresai felt an unnatural hunger in her gut. The taste of very rare cooked and spoiled venison, a memory of which now thick on her tongue. Something else was there, another memory. A much more pleasant one.

    In a dark theater, when she had taken Brietess to the Su¨¹dlands, she insisted the olive skinned Ninci experience an authentic off mainline Su¨¹d sex romp for herself. They sat in the dark, as they watched Renua and the Wyvern. Brietess had the look of utter disdain on her face.

    "Glorified donkey show," she uttered.

    "I find the jackasses adornment quite convincing," Leresai responded.

    "Oh, gods," Brietess gasped. "Did she just put all of that up her cooch? It must be some kind of stage trickery. Oh, gods no!"If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The Ninci girl''s hands went to her mouth. Her dark eyes now appeared nearly all white.

    At that moment, Leresai slid a hand down into Brietess'' evening wear. In spite of all her protestation, her loins were drenched wet.

    After the climatic event on stage, Leresai tugged Brietess'' sleeve to follow her to a shadowed niche. Once there, she propped the Ninci girl up, pulled her evening wear to the side, plucked the menses rag out, and feasted hungrily on her pretty blood glistened mound.

    How she loved the sight of Brie''s earthy brown pussy lips. Nuzzled up to her face as she pinched on them. Pulled on them. Folded Brie''s lips against her vulva mound to form a pretty pink butterfly. However, what invaded her tongue and appetite now was nothing to be desired.

    It won''t be long, my dear Northern Princess, before you are free of me. The appetite for doe menses won''t persist. Roqu¨ªn spoke gently.

    It is most vile and unnatural. Leresai protested. She quelled a feeling of nausea.

    One hour in my boots would destroy the minds of most men, but I have faith in your strength, Leresai.

    Her thoughts were still on her Ninci lover. Brietess was nearby, and ready to enjoy another Winter Garden Eve, but Leresai had to indulge yet another escapade even after this matter of catching Lord Carro was complete.

    Through the next corridor, they came upon an atrium with four exit way passages ahead of them.

    "How do we find those Su¨¹dland ardents," Rhoethella spoke, clearly frustrated by the limitations the necromancer imposed upon her senses.

    "In the Aethyr, Roqu¨ªn told me to listen for them, and with my mind I was able to sense through the space between spaces past soil and stone and the ritual concealment they used to conceal their existence and I could see and hear them as clearly as I now observe this room."

    "Stand in the middle here, Leresai," Rhoethella requested. "Now expand your senses."

    For several flickered instances, she saw the hunched form of Lord Carro walking through the halls of the catacombs. His hands clenched and unclenched like claws as they held low by his knees. It wasn''t his natural physical disposition which tended to be upright and stiff in posture, but that of the necromancer who possessed him.

    To Leresai''s surprise, he slowed down to study a set of frescoes that told the story of the Battle of Veld''s Rest. Leresai overwhelmed with nausea collapsed and wretched out her guts.

    Her fingers clutched the druse sediment along the rock surface. She heaved until nothing else could come up.

    "Oh my, you Lady Wolves," Leresai cursed at her sovereign. "This creature. He has somehow made it all too sharp in focus, too overwhelming in all its details. A damn clever trick. He spoils the clarity of our visions."

    Leresai''s head throbbed intensely. She needed to breathe fresh air. She wanted to rush out of the catacombs. An irrational fear engulfed her that if she did not do precisely this she would die. Rhoethella grabbed her shoulders.

    "Easy girl. Breathe easy and relax. It will come to pass soon."

    "Rhoethella, you shit. You knew that was going to happen at that extreme."

    The goddess smirked. With a folded kerchief, she wiped at Leresai''s brow, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

    "Forgive me, darling. Did you see anything?"

    Leresai suddenly realized she knew exactly where the necromancer was going. That caused her to hesitate.

    "Well ¡­," the goddess coaxed.

    "Rhoethella¡­"

    "Spit it out, girl. We need to make up for distance lost."

    "...Veld''s Rest. He is in the Tomb of the Fallen."

    With those words, Rhoethella pinched her lips tight as she muttered an "oh."

    She led the goddess through a storage quarters used to hold coiled ceramic vessels with the reliefs of monstrosities on their faces made to ward off evil spirits. They had gathered dust for centuries without being distributed to the mausoleums.

    "I know of a way there that will shortcut the labyrinth," Leresai told her. "It goes through a rather abhorrent smuggling operation."

    They walked a ledge through a set of curved limestone corridors where tidewater had been coerced beneath. They reached a set of sculptures of ebon aquatic nymphs with trumpets made of sea urchins holding up branching archways made of smoky driftglass in semblance to the entrance Gates of Domdaniel.

    The triforium above was aligned with red wreaths. Su¨¹d motifs of death evidenced in every emblem, carving, and relief. Bodies were laid out on slabs of marble within side wall niches. Barrels were stacked along one wall.

    "Someone is nearby," Rhoethella warned as she drew her scimitar. "Careful with the silver, dear. Roqu¨ªn seems especially adept at counters."

    When Leresai went for her twin daggers, something lept from the shadowed arches. She rolled left and faced him. She saw the man in full. A disorder fell upon thieves who preyed upon the catacombs and made chance of disturbing the dead.

    Called the Band''wa due to their penchant to dress in bands of leather and cloth of green and black to mark their outcasts from the above side world.

    A cancer riddled them that not only shortened their lives but altered their physiology where they came to resemble rats. Even their voices squeaked, screeched and dripped of syllabic dislocation.

    They grew feral over time. Many of them still operated within the guild but those too far relieved of their good sense slipped into a dementia that more resembled animal cunning than human intelligence. They lived on the periphery of the Band''wa pack like guard dogs.

    This was one of them.

    He leapt and tumbled towards Leresai. As he rolled to raise up he attempted to cut her down at the feet with a pole that bore a long sickle. He swiped high on the next stroke.

    She knocked his blade up with the broadsides of her twin daggers crossed. With her right foot kicked out, she caught him in the side of the abdomen.

    He rolled with the kick, lept a way to the side with another role to prevent her from following up with a thrust that would have taken him out of the fight.

    Leresai attempted to corner him as the goddess covered the exit.

    He lept eight feet in the air, twisted around with his enlarged feet, four well-padded fat appendages in the place of normal toes. The small toe on each foot tended to blend into the neighboring one in the advanced stages of their disease.

    The toes clasped the rim of the arcade support. He crouched into it before springing forward. A sweep of the sickle caught Rhoethella in her neck where it stuck.

    Immobile, the sickle threw the Band''wa off of his balance. He fell on his side, smacking the floor with his head and slamming on his right shoulder with a severe crack of dislocation.

    Leresai quickly took advantage of the slip. She slid her right hand dagger up into his belly, disemboweling the man. Letting his screams serve warning to the others to stay away.

    Rhoethella smirked insolent as she removed the sickle. She examined it then she threw it against the wall.

    "I could have smacked it away before the wretch bore down on me, but why rob him of his fleeting moment of glory?"

    She tore cloth wrapped along the Band''wa man''s leg and she used it to wipe blood off.

    Leresai heard a gasping "tweek, tweek" from the arches above where she butchered the Band''wa man.

    "You. Up there. We require safe and quick passage."

    "Deadsift. You want Deadsift."

    "Safe passage," Leresai repeated. "We will move on. We will be out of your way."

    "No Deadsift. All barrels bought. None left for you."

    "We don''t want any damn Deadsift."

    "You won''t get any damn Deadsift. Go away. From where you came."

    Leresai turned towards Rhoethella and muttered a curse. "God''s thrice-damned. Excepting present company, of course. As pleasant as slaughtering these dregs would be, there is no time for this."

    Rhoethella shook her head. Her neck healed already. For the goddess no spells were necessary.

    "We will press ahead," she said.

    Leresai took the lead finding a stairway. The creature above yelled a, "chht! Chht! ¡­ Chht!," warning cry. Scurrying sounds came from the darkness below on the next level down.

    Rhoethella shook her head.

    "Give them a moment. They''ll lose their nerve."

    Leresai whispered a curse but backed up, realising patience was required given the limits placed upon the silver. She pointed to their surroundings after she did a quick surveil.

    "Care to tour this distillery, my lady?"

    As Rhoethella nodded a curt bow of her head, Leresai continued.

    "Deadsift is a blend of two quantities." She picked up a small five-pound sack. Opened it. "This is a concentrate of argot from the rye."

    She displayed for the goddess the dried-out mold product. Sitting it down she smacked the barrel. Two dozen of which covered the wall.

    "This is sylphwood. It serves as an antitoxin in the aging process, for inside is wine produced from the grossebelladonna berry. Highly lethal if not aged properly in the sylphwood."

    "So far, this is all natural enough. The blend of argot and belladonna is a potent mixture quite capable of sending the mind of man to a higher state surpassing the limits of Mundi without resorting to necromancy. But the Deadsift requires a most evil substance for the aim of the concoction to be true."

    Leresai kneeled and found a box on one side of the shelves beside the alembic tubes. She brought out a square that appeared to be silk the size of her palm.

    "One goes in here on the alembic where it filters the steam. The other goes over here where the condensation drops into the glass container. The process is repeated four times. The substance of this -,"she held up the square patch for Rhoethella to inspect, " -is highly porous."

    Rhoethella pinched it between two fingers, and brought it up to her face to inspect.

    "What is it? Is it what I think it is?"

    "Even worse. An abomination. The skin of the First Dead."

    Rhoethella appeared quite shocked as her brows wrinkled.

    "No wonder I knew nothing of this. The magics that must be involved to keep Pestilence from scrying means there is great wealth involved in this operation.

    "If the Plaguemonger knew what was occurring here, she would be greatly angered, greatly vengeful. The entire city would pay the price for this abhorrent design. What were the fools involved in this thinking?

    "Pestilence is an elder god. We have no way to stay her hand."

    Rhoethella looked back on the other side of the chamber for something they both ignored when they arrived and were too busy searching for danger.

    "You stay back," she said to the Band''wa man who kept to the shadows of the arcade while pointing with her scimitar.

    Leresai followed the goddess to a slab where a body was covered with a canvas sheet. Rhoethella lifted the canvas with her scimitar edge.

    A corpse of a beautiful woman was revealed. Dressed in Su¨¹d fashion of fourteen hundred years previous. Simple terry cloth robes covered in elaborate blends of lacquered and bejewelled leather straps and belts fastened around the waist.

    Another set crossed at the breast with a third smaller set wrapped around just above the abdomen that served as a bustier.

    The plague left the woman perfectly preserved. The lips turned bluish but the flesh otherwise was left undisturbed. Leresai thought of Brietess who was also taken by plague and left in the same condition, unaffected by entropy.

    There was something not quite right about this corpse. Rhoethella raised an arm. On the back of the arm, the skin had been flailed off carefully.

    From a second slab, Leresai lifted another canvas. The corpse beneath had been entirely stripped of its skin.

    "When I have time, Leresai," she whispered, "I am personally coming back here, and slaughtering the entire lot of them. I will also find out who finances this, and I am murdering them as well.

    "This has to be entirely covered up, and made ridden. Pestilence can never know of this.

    "These women were chosen by Pestilence for their great beauty to be resurrected for the Grande Ball Eternal. If she were to see them so mangled and flayed, I pity the world for the plague she would bring to compensate for such loss.

    "Come along, my moiselle."

    She motioned for the Sgo?the to help her lift up a barrel. Together they lifted one to the edge of the stairsteps where below the Band''wa men waited to fight. They threw it down the steps where it burst below, causing much scampering amongst the rat men.

    "Safe passage or we will destroy all of the barrels," Rhoethella yelled in command.

    "No waste Deadsift," the Band''wa man yelled from behind them. He dropped down from where he hid, swinging a cudgel over his head that had blades twisted along the weapon''s fist.

    "Safe passage," Rhoethella demanded once more.

    "No Deadsift for you!"

    Ruthella nodded. They proceeded to grab another barrel.

    "No more waste of Deadsift," the rat man screamed. His anger providing another preposition to his words in emphasis.

    "Safe passage."

    "All right, then. Safe passage," the Band''wa man conceded. He yelled a command in Old Su¨¹d, "fall in line. Don''t interfere with the strangers," down the stairway.

 Saiwala Gematas - IV

    Rhoethella approached cautiously. Leresai could see the dread on her face. Her contours long, her nose classical Su¨¹d, now held down turned grievous. Her eyes set like a hawk. She was as much a part of her Su¨¹dlands father, as she was her elven mother.

    They reached the location where Leresai had sighted Lord Carro. Three high vaulted octagonal atriums lined up to create one continuous and glorious memorial Hall. In the center of which stood a statue of a Su¨¹d king who died in battle more than twelve hundred years previously. Rhoethella walked up to it slowly. Her hands grazed the dusty boot.

    "The matter of the coins behind you, Handmaiden?"

    "Their purpose is now known to me. There is a small matter I am having inquiry done by men I trust. I sent them to Gareen to retrieve it."

    "Do tell."

    "In your many days, my lady, have you ever seen usurper''s ducats made of obsidian?"

    Rhoethella''s eyes raised. "Oh¡­" she turned to Leresai, archly.

    "Perhaps. But I would have to search my memory for its significance."

    "I doubt it changes anything," Leresai dismissed it.

    Rhoethella frowned. "The memory I speak is older than even the majeur who brought them to the Midvries. Understand, I know not its connection to you, as this coin gave prediction of the return of Izdun. Understand as well, my friend, games with coin and prophecy have been common practice by subversives and rogues since the Mandate."

    Leresai smirked, "then I say, its authenticity is likely no higher than that of the coins I have been chasing."

    "Leresai, with this matter closed, is there something else you may ask of me?"

    "The promise, with the coins being fraudulent, I don''t see how it could remain true as well."

    "I didn''t promise you that you would be the mother of an emperor one day, Leresai. I promised you a child, do you still care to hold me to that promise?"

    Leresai stared towards the mezzanine supported by the West Wall of the atrium.

    "Leresai ... are you happy, dear? As matters stand for you now, is your heart contented? Is that what you still want?"

    Leresai held her hair back tightly wound in her hands.

    "How do I even begin to answer. I feel my words are for the wind, born of the Aethyr. I ask of Hope itself as if it were one of your fellow goddess incarnations to explain myself to myself.

    "The only enigma I am is to myself with everyone else seeing right clear through me. When I scratch beneath that skin of inscrutability, I don''t like what I see. Forgive me, my lady, for I go in circles, but that is truly how I feel."

    Rhoethella stood at the great King''s feet and she sat down, patting it. "I understand. To make a decision now is to close off something very precious to you. To strive for one hoped for promise that appears ephemeral means letting go of another that is at least a tangible quantity, but you will no longer have time to indulge.

    "Leresai, if you do so pursue my promise to you, you will need to find an elixir. I know how you need to obtain it, and only if you imbibe that elixir can my silver reverse the vexation that curses your womb. Lady Fertility guards her charge jealousy. It takes much to invade her domain and come through the ordeal whole."

    "Where is this elixir?"

    Rhoethella smiled as she stared back at the Sgo?the princess.

    With a nod, she answered.

    "I am not the one who has been given that knowledge. However, I''ll now give you something those who can uncover that secret for you will certainly desire in return. Let me have your lavalliere, my dear. And one of your blades."

    Leresai took the pendant from her neck, cleaned out it''s remaining content and along with the serrated blade she passed them over to the goddess. Rhoethella slit her middle finger and before it could heal she squeezed several drops of blood to fill the vessel. Rhoethella handed the two instruments back to her Handmaiden.

    "Leresai, you already know this place well. I''m sending you home. Give the three crones, the V?rselles, my blood and in return asks for where the fentifeledes can be found. Even Madame Luna won''t reveal it to me. Remember that word, fentifeledes, it is both ancient and evil."

    Leresai touched her ribcage, stroking it downward with her thumb where the geas had been etched.

    "Is there anything else, my lady?"

    Rhoethella shrugged. "I''m certain there will be, but the V?rselles will have to tell you that as well."

    She reached her graceful arm up to the Sgo?the. "Help me up, dear. We have sordid business to attend."

    They walked another hundred yards. Along the back wall, past the statuary, a globe glowed black light as it stood on a tripod.

    "Draugrs," Leresai said, speaking of undead beings that inhabited the Northern Isles, "move around in dusk and dawn, but a backlight like that from the darkstar diamonds strengthen them and can make them appear as whole in their humanity as you and I."

    "I have had my fill of the dead this eve," Rhoethella declared. "When you told me where we were headed, the sanctified ground for the Fallen of Veld''s Rest, I feared whom we would meet and the condition that they would be in."

    "Fear no more, My Queen," came a voice that sounded husk, but darkly elegant.

    "Izsolt!" Rhoethella screamed with a singing pitch.

    "Rhoethella," the revenant knight was just a half a foot shorter than herself. He bowed and kneeled on one knee. "I have long prayed, My Lady, for whom I give my life so lightly, would return. This day is most glorious!"

    He stood back up. Tears ran down her cheeks. She rushed the revenant knight and clasped him in a hug, and spoke to him in a subset of Su¨¹d - Su¨¹d Intimate - the language of lovers. Leresai could recognize it from its modern form from her many nights enjoying the theater. What she now heard sounded much more refined than any she had ever encountered.

    "Oh gods," Rhoethella gasped, after a long minute of conversation that took all of her breath with it. Su¨¹d Intimate took stamina to speak properly. It was used to emphasize commitment, and to make rigorous love making even more strenuous. "I feel as if my heart is melting," she continued.

    Izsolt bellowed a deep chuckle. Once their embrace was complete he extended his arm in invitation, his palm stretched out to a wooden door towards his right, facing East.

    "My lady, that is not a tomb inside of that room. It is my mead hall filled with jesters, troubadours, danseuse, acrobats, and the finest fellows and most stout warriors to ever be felled by a grazeland horde. My lady, you will recognize all the faces you see inside as your very own subjects.

    "Their good cheer will be more than double this eve for their Queen has returned. Your seat has always been set aside for this very day."

    Roethella gasped and whimpered with a laced linen in her hands. She held it to her mouth.

    Izsolt once more bellowed in laughter. "My have you grown. No less than seven feet tall you are! Your hair is now silver, not raven, and your skin is fair and not the deep bronze of the m¨¦tisse girl I married more than a millennium ago. But I love you, dear lady, all the same. There is none like you in all of the world."

    Izsolt looked away for a moment.

    "Before we enter our Hall, I have one pressing matter. I hate to even mention this for I want nothing to spoil a grand eve. My Lady, this one who calls himself Lord Carro, he came to me in great disarray when he stumbled through here. He has requested my protection. I provided it when he told me the truth of your hunt for him, but under a set of conditions. He is to remain in a chamber I have set out for him with bare but respectable comforts and accommodations, and he is to wait for you to question him. He must answer you truthfully, or your wrath shall not be questioned by anyone. Shall that suffice, my Queen?"

    Rhoethella nodded with a smile on her broad face.

    "It so shall. Dear Izsolt, my husband, min saiwala gematas, one moment, I need to speak with my Handmaiden."

    Rhoethella turned around and walked over to Leresai. She gasped the Sgo?the by her shoulders.

    "We have accomplished what we can for now. Return now to your Brietess. As I now return to my husband, long departed." Her fingers now firmly pressed on Leresai. "Leresai, do you know what the saddest aspect of immortality is? No matter how long you live, you will get only one, perhaps two soulmates, who will know you true. That time between, when that person is no longer around for you to hold, trust me, you will know then how forever feels. I do not wish that on anyone."

    Rhoethella gave Leresai a kiss, and she returned to her husband. King Izsolt led her into the Mead Hall. Sounds both musical and jarring thronged out. Leresai heard the high wail of hurly burly, the brittle caprice of mandolin, the rugged vibration of rotte, the string chime of citharas, tambourines shaking, timpani pounding, all enrapt to an old lilt that had not been heard by mortal ears in several centuries.

    As the door closed to, the hall grew quiet, Leresai became aware of another''s presence. She drew her twin daggers and swiveled at the same time to face the person.

    "Who''s there." She challenged.

    A man in an archaic suit of armor stepped out of the shadows. He was handsome, her height, sandy blonde hair, and he possessed an easy smile.

    "Forgive me for startling you, Princess Fervarryn. I merely desired to see her one last time."

    "Well, you have." Leresai felt she should know this one. She searched for a standard on his tabard.

    "My lady, we have an arrangement to attend to. I am the one sent to relieve you of our mutual friend."

    He stepped forward, a bastard sheathed at his hip. Leresai had to admit he appeared very formidable. Her eyes returned to the tabard, and she found his emblem. A diamond set in another diamond that eclipsed the sun.

    She gasped in spite of herself, and she bowed her head.

    "Forgive my insolence, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s. You were the least expected of all my eventful happenings this eve."

    He smiled. Light danced in his smoke blue eyes.

    "Come along, maiselle -" an archaic word common for damsels a millennia ago "-Princess Fervarryn, I shouldn''t delay you much further."

    Leresai followed him through the chamber to a greystone corridor on the far side of the Great Hall. It was shadowed behind a pair of arch supports which obscured it from view. The knight walked into the shadow and when he appeared under the light of lanterns instead of the black diamond globe, the change in his appearance was abrupt, and startled her. His face was mummified, his blond locks turned oiled down in fetid smelling strands. The blue eyes that dominated previously could not even be seen within his face.

    "I feel your silence, Princess Fervarryn."

    "Is it true you knew that if you took the vow of knighthood, you would one day be curs¨¦d revenant?"

    His chortle was raspy and dry. "No. But it is a good legend. I assumed I would die in battle in service to my King fighting for our Independence. When that did not occur, I assumed I would die in service to the Golden Reign of Queen Rhoethella. When that bless¨¦d spite from Izdun''s crushing hand came to an end, I assumed I would die in rebellion, once again. The only thing I can say is certain, my assumptions have always proven to be for nought."You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    At the end of the several corridors the pair traveled through they came upon a set of stairs. From down below, came the chant she heard in the Aethyr. The foul hunger struck upon her once more. Her mouth tasted the blood, sediment, and yolk.

    How is your every waking moment not consumed with wanton desire to destroy the s?urarchy?

    She asked of Roqu¨ªn.

    For the longest time it was. When I was trapped inside the chateau on Mount Despumate, as I planned their deaths, I was staring at an emerald embedded in a clock and I meditated on the destruction of the sisters and their heathen empire. I would lose my senses as I refused to contemplate upon my humility. For a century, perhaps, this Insanity on my part would continue until the day came that the emerald spoke to me.

    Spoke to you? Leresai asked. You truly did go insane.

    In the weirdness of their minds melding, she could feel his laughter beneath her skin.

    Indeed, when I heard it''s voice I was finally quite sure of my insanity. Instead of fearing it I reveled in it. I saw into the granulate from wince the emerald was composed. At its heart is speckled lattice of captured light that dances softly within. And in it''s patterns I came to be able to read its thoughts. It told me to hold fast and spoke to me as if I were an emerald myself.

    The S?urarchy would one day end in squalor, and I would still be as the emerald would still be, unchanged. Unlike my fellow realm kings, I cannot even be made undead such is the uniqueness of my time on Mount Despumate.

    I would come through this unchanged.

    I felt the freedom and a peace inside me I had not felt since my own unsworn youth. The next day, the Wild Sister appeared at the gate house of my chateau.

    The revenant Knight turn towards her as she listened to the voice of Roqu¨ªn in her mind. T¨¦lsar¨¤s seemed to understand and waited patiently. He finally spoke when Roqu¨ªn came to a silence.

    "Princess Fervarryn, these men have prepared for this moment their entire lives, in accordance with a plan that unfolded over the course of generations. They feel confident. They feel they have the better of you."

    "Do they believe I am incapable of touching silver? I have a few coins in my pocket to disabuse them of such a silly notion."

    "No. I''m afraid they made science of your wiles. Capturing strands of hair from the beds of your lovers. Discarded clothing from your bins. Menses rags of which you disposed. They are disadvantaged for lack of one expectation."

    He reached for his bastard.

    "That you would have an escort. Follow at twelve paces, maiselle, and I will assure your safety."

    She followed him down the steps. Her ankles became limp with a weakness she had never felt before. It crept up into her knees. It was the chant doing this to her. The words were in an ancient high dialect of the southern courts of Izdun''s Minion Kings.

    She realized it was the same as what they spoke as she surveilled robed ardents in the Aethyr, but now she understood little of the underlying words. The chant was designed to weaken her.

    "Press on true, Princess Fervarryn," T¨¦lsarr¨¤s encouraged her.

    The corridor they transversed enlarged into a hall with six columns to each side. There were insignias sketched upon the walls above the columns, along the floors. It was a recent addition as no dust accumulated upon the surface.

    Leresai could smell the charcoal from the incense they burned fresh in the insignias'' creation.

    Torches approached from a distant corridor.

    "Hold true still, my princess."

    She tensed up. The chant knotted in her stomach. She felt eyes upon her that she could not see beneath the helm the revenant knight wore.

    "I ask you, Princess Fervarryn. Do you know what I am in the distance of constellation?"

    "That is a strange question, my Sieur."

    "In my youth," T¨¦lsarr¨¤s said, voice sprung with mirth, "it was perhaps one of the most common questions of all."

    She could now see the red cowls that shadowed the ardant''s faces. Her shoulders hunched up, archly. The unnatural yearning for doe menses welling up inside. Roquin''s memories becoming concrete in her mind. Riding his nightmare through the transit between worlds, he was on the hunt whisking through a woodland where he blared his mort horn and the hound beasts followed in pursuit lunging through leameadow, scurrying up small elk.

    Leresai twitched. Utterly startled by the vividness of the vision. The revenant knight''s dusk voice ground her back into the Hall.

    "Do you know what I am in the near of planetary rise?" He asked her.

    The ardant in front hesitated at the site of T¨¦lsarr¨¤s standing in the middle of the hall, waiting for them. The lead ardant motioned for his followers to continue. His hands made a gesture as he approached. He repeated the syllables of an ancient exorcism.

    "Death Knight. Villain and most vile aberration, you will not interfere in these matters that do not concern you."

    The other ardants found their places in front of the hall columns. One of the followers stayed behind their leader. In his hands, he held a velveteen inlaid box with a gem inside that bled of blue aura.

    T¨¦lsar¨¤s ignored their threat. He called out to Leresai once more.

    "Princess Fervarryn, you certainly know what I am in the near of Earth, correct?"

    "Those are matters that pertain to Fortune, Fate, and Destiny."

    "You are correct, maiselle."

    Her neck suddenly stiffened. Her body made rigid. Even speaking now strained the muscles in her jaws.

    "When Roethella forsook Fortune, Fate, and Destiny, at the demand of the S?urarchy, she forsaken you as well," Leresai said.

    "Indeed, as Rhoethella just told you, immortal love or immortal life, there is no intersection in the tween."

    She tried not to let impatience and her discomfort show through in her words as she spoke.

    "Why do you ask these words, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s?"

    "If those men knew the answers, that attempt at an exorcism would likely do me harm. If you knew the answers you would be less inclined to fear those men."

    The lead ardant glared from beneath his red cowl.

    "I warned you, revenant. You will now be dispelled."

    A glowing ball of white-hot energy formed in the palm of the ardant''s hand. He coaxed it forward. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s pointed his bastard towards the floor with the edge of the blade against the stone surface. He leaned against the pommel. The ball of energy moved towards him as he chuckled away, voice wispy. The ball touched his breastplate brushing up on his tabard. The energy dissipated.

    The ardants gasped in unison. Their chant stuttered, and unraveled as they panicked.

    "Now, where did that energy disappear to," T¨¦lsarr¨¤s asked them, playfully. "In the equation of existence it must be accounted for, am I correct?"

    Of the sudden, the air became chill. The breath of all the living exposed by the mist strewn out of their mouths became gaseous tendrils that unfoiled and whipped in coils like living tentacles in the space between the ardants. Ice draped their hoods, frost covered their arms, and their eyes widened into the unsettling pearlescent gaze of the blind.

    Their clothes exploded out from their bodies. Every stitch made filament that floated slowly down.

    Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s stepped forward to the nekkid and blind ardant leader and lopped off his head. The blade of his bastard he lay on top of the head of the acolyte who carried the gem.

    "Do not move, or you will suffer the same fate."

    Leresai peered at the men exposed before her. Their faces were malformed and abominable. She examined even closer and winced. They were hermaphrodites. Incestuous impurity went into their creation.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s noticed her curiosity.

    "Your adversaries, the genealogy of these wretched creatures was generations in the making. Only to be undone by the simplest of counter schemes in the span of a few minutes."

    He retrieved the gem from the box and turned to face Leresai with his hand held out.

    "This will at least give our friend a respite from that infernal longing. Place this gem in the cusp of your hand and his soul will migrate from your physical being into it."

    She did as instructed. Roqu¨ªn and the unnatural longing was released from her. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s kneeled at her feet, and kissed the soft leather of her right boot. He stood back up and took the gem.

    "By your leave, my princess. I shall not delay you any further."

    He turned and walked down the hall in the direction the ardants came. As he did so, the ardants coward behind the columns. Their sight restored as the frost no longer glazed their eyes. They hid their faces from her inspection.

    Their mouths that moments before spoke a high noble language in perfect intonation now quivered and stammered in total incoherence. An uncomfortable feeling of which she knew little now coursed through her, pity.

    Leresai made haste up the steps.

    The Reverend Mother Irrianne sat on the bottom steps of the catacomb entrance way, waiting for Leresai to return. Her face was set with a gray, knotted expression. Her hands in a fret.

    She stood up when she saw the Sgo?the approach. Eighty-three years of age, but long and lithe. As did her twin sister Ursa, Irrianne studied the divine ritual of snake dancing for the S?urarchy temples of the Midvries. In middle age, they went their separate ways.

    "Most Belov¨¦d", Irrianne called out to Leresai who cleaned off a twin set of daggers as she strode down the long length of the corridor.

    Leresai nodded curtly, not wanting to be any further delayed.

    "Reverend Mother," she addressed.

    "I bear ill tidings for you," Irrianne said as Leresai passed.

    "I''ve just come back through a host of Band''wa men much deserving the slaughter I inflicted on a few. I need a tall yard of ale or wine before we discuss anything, dear Irrianne."

    Leresai climbed the steps with the Reverend Mother in tow. As she reached the top step leading to the long yard between the catacombs entrance and the winter garden, Leresai peered to see a cheerful commotion. When she heard the tap of Irrianne''s boots behind her, she turned, and in a strident voice, she asked, "what are they doing, taking turns riding my nightmare?"

    "Please don''t be harsh with the girls. They rarely have time for amusement given their duties and studies."

    "Get away from Sellanna, you vicious little cunts," Leresai yelled, catching sight of one acolyte doing an aerobatic tumble off of the nightmare''s back before helping another girl somersault spin around in position then sinking into the saddle."

    "What has broached the sanity of your minds? She is not a trick pony for your amusement. I hope your sleep is fretful and ridden with groping incubi."

    Irrianne cleared her throat. "Dear, far be it for me to speak for the youth, but it is highly likely that is the point of their foray."

    Leresai strode into the yard. "I''m going to give some bitches a thwack on their tender little behinds."

    Irrianne followed, she caught her breath, and yelled,"Most Belov¨¦d of Rhoethella! Brietess'' body is missing!"

    Leresai stepped in an abrupt lean against her boots, almost losing balance. Sellanna pranced in a side swivel and bowed before her new master. The acolytes had scattered when they saw Leresai making a path in their direction.

    She turned her head to the Reverend Mother. Leresai''s mouth contorted ugly.

    In the retondu of a small mausoleum a shadow fell over a marble slab covered in dust and dried winter violets where Leresai last laid Brietess'' head a mere month ago.

    "Whatever did we know, my darling? My bless¨¦d Bliss. My fleeting retreat into sweet ignorance. We were never meant to be but a moment''s reproach to this world. And my, min saiwala gemata, how glorious was our hour. It is no wonder Pestilence chose you for her Grande Ball Eternal. You were always the most girlish girl I have ever known.

    "I thought it myself, with you in my arms, grazing upward at me, staring with your beautiful brown eyes in to my own eyes, in Pestilence place, I would have gladly taken you by the hand and lifted you up into eternity to represent all the beautiful girls of the world.

    "However, holding you these past five years, it has been difficult. Every time we meet here, I searched for my happiness and what remains of you.

    "Your reanimated body would remind me of the beat of your heart, the heat beneath your flesh, the warmth of your wetness - all that is a part of your physical presence that could not be returned to me by Rhoethella''s promise.

    "Your voice but a faint whisper, a mere echo, of the sharpness of your mind, the resolute passion of your personality, the sincere conviction of your scalding tongue. All of those things that for whatever reason would not pass through the threshold of shadow into your presence in the here and now."

    Leresai''s eyes squinted. She bent over the marble slab where the dry petals of winter violet lay. She scooped them up in her palm. She laid her forehead against the cold slab in their place. She remembered the previous fortnight rituals.

    That first time she arose from the slab, Leresai escorted her to the fountain in the center court of the winter garden. The Ninci admired the dress she wore, and thanked Leresai near a dozen times for providing it.

    "I wish I could see the moon. I would like to dance under the moonlight." Brietess would repeat, longingly. Leresai would explain the moon''s phases dictated when they could meet. She had to explain this over again just after addressing it.

    It saddened Leresai to see her Brietess in such diminished capacity. Where was the anger, and the fiery wrath? Should not the girl bear a grudge? She always returned to Leresai as meek as a lamb.

    There were however bless¨¦d moments of lucidity that shone through on the one subject that remained whole for the girl,: dance. She studied it for a decade so it remained in her fiber.

    "Leresai, did they ever teach you the etiquette of dance up in that Sgo?the castle?"

    "I learned the dance of spear, the dance of sword, the dance of dagger, and the dance of shield."

    The Ninci''s smile threw moonbeams.

    "I will teach the dance of the old payson lilt. It is time you learned. Lift up your arm, and hold my fingers with your index finger and thumb. Necessary for you to hold them as you will need to turn your wrist on the third count of two.

    "Like this, one - one - Two - one, one - one - Two - one, one - one - Now! - one . . ."

    Every fortnight after they would dance for hours out by the fountain.

    Leresai opened her eyes to the empty atrium once more.

    "I do most suspect your brother of doing this. Perhaps the scheme he made of this night was only distraction from his true purpose to return your body to your home. For that I do not blame him. I promised him I would take care of you when he interceded with your father. I failed.

    "He deserves his heart satiated every so much as I deserve to have mine. My dear, I will not seek some futile vengeance against a man I love to return you here just so we can begin our game all over again. It is not fair to anyone.

    "It is for the best, min saiwala gemata. I must move on for in the truth of things, all of this time I have been lingering without the force of decision to guide me, I have been dying inside. I hope you understand, everything I ever held dear to me belongs to the wind, now. I have one last chance of making substance of this life of mine."

    As Leresai strolled through the entrance arch she studied the dry petals and she wiped them from her hands.

 The Winter Knight - Prologue

    Folds of elliptic leaves covered the narrow pathway ahead of Renua and Barathiel as they trodded across foothills surrounded by marsh. Barathiel could see what remained of a road to the castle in the sunken streams beneath them where hibiscus shrubs spread out far, rendering the way unpassible. He studied the crescent of the moon and the light it threw upon their surroundings.

    "What is on your mind, young Solugarr? Your puss pinches ruminate and your heels pelt the ground almost childishly. I had thought I had upped your spirits a mere half an hour ago when I suggested our little venture. But, it appears not a joy bears upon your face."

    "I was thinking of all matters of things that led me here. I was thinking I am not a hero. I have no business being on a hero''s quest. I have a child and a loving wife who will soon burst forth with my second one."

    Renua chuckled; he turned a rueful gaze to Barathiel. He shrugged as he ate a berry.

    "What?"

    "That is not what was on your mind. Your eyes were fixed on the moon. You were wondering if you had taken this matter too far in your vengeance against Fervarryn. Rest assured, you have."

    Palmate leaves switched against Barathiel''s face, sticking against him with dewey flower petals.

    "I''ll admit she was not that far from my thoughts."

    "Never is she that far from your thoughts, Barathiel. I have never known a more befitting mismatch than what occurred between yourself and that Sgo?the princess, except perhaps . . . Have you ever heard the story of how Rhoethella tethered the Moon to her own heart?"

    "I grant you, Renua, that does sound like quite the feat. But first, where are we headed, and second, how does this story pertain to us?''

    "We are headed to a watch station. We are going to acquire supplies and a powerful ally. We''ll need a few of them along the way before we reach the castle. As for the second -"

    Barathiel cut him off as Renua spoke.

    "Does sticking to high ground make us vulnerable?"

    "To what?"

    Berathiel pointed to the Western sky above them. "To that."

    The wyvern climbed higher and higher, moonlit on its left side. Its other side cast in cold shadow just beneath a lead gray cloud that floated low.

    "It doesn''t wonder this far out. So long as we stay clear of the castle until you''re ready to confront it, we will be fine. We have time for Rhoethella''s tale if you care to listen."

    "You seem of want to tell it, Renua."

    "If you understand this aspect of Rhoethella, you will understand better the hold the Sgo?the has on your soul."

    "I seem to recall that you once told me that Rhoethella is a demon, so I would assume that she is tethered to the Abyss. So how can she be tethered to both the Abyss and the Moon?"

    Renua snorted and then cleared his throat. "I didn''t realize you were paying that much attention to what I was saying at the time. This occurred long before she endured the Festival of Death''s Embrace. She was still a mere human and elf at that time, though quite extraordinary on both accounts."

    "Let me understand then, what you are telling me, Renua, it is the ritual of that festival that turns them demonic?"

    The old wizard held upon a branch to steady himself. "Precisely. I began the House Lyoneid project, Overtures to the Elves, near a century ago to find out the truth behind the festival. If you have no more questions for me, I will now proceed with the tale."

    Barathiel became distracted by a glob of mud on his boot. While muttering mild curses he pulled a shrub shoot downward to scrape the heel of his boot. Several seconds passed before he noticed Renua had stopped speaking. He jerked his head up.

    "Oh, by all means, proceed."

    "If you will, set your speculative site to that of a widow in black, with hair drawn back covered in a mattila whose geld threaded embroidery spreads along her broad but supple shoulders. She is a raven-haired beauty. Her father Su¨¹d, her mother Haute Elven.

    "She is a slight over six foot in height. Recall our common history, this is more than thirty years before she would endure the first of one hundred trials that would contort her body to a height of seven and three, turn her bronze skin fair, her lustrous raven hair silvery white, and grant her immortality through that demonic Elven festival.

    "This day however, her husband laid in a casket of glass with mausoleum scaffolding surrounding due to the memorial buildings being built to surround a center casket. All of this is now deeply buried in the catacombs.

    "This is the seventh day since his body was returned from battlefield. The seventh day in Su¨¹d fashion is the day of Red Wreath. Our lady Rhoethella approaches her husband Izsolt''s casket when two D''jestre jump down from where they hid in the scaffolding.

    "One assassin bends down with a pair of hooked throwing knives. The first blade grazes across Rhoethella''s left breast. A bloody slice it was. As he readies a second knife, the First Warden, Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s cloaks Rhoethella with his body.

    "The second knife bounces off his shield. He throws his shield at the approaching second D''jestre who bears a saber and is closing distance fast between himself and Queen Rhoethella. The shield is heavy of iron. Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s is not only limber and quick, but muscular and stout.

    "The shield knocks the swordsman on his backside. With a twist of his torso, Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s unsheathes a bastard of a sword. He springs upon the first assassin, and relieves him of his head. The Queen''s other defenders hold the remaining swordsman down and disarm him.

    "It should be no surprise it was the knight Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s who saved the Queen that day. He was King Izsolt''s shield brother by the test of battle, and cousin by the bond of blood.

    "At the battlefield of Veld''s Rest, two thirds of the Kings host was killed in the successful bid to stop Izdun grazeland horde from retaking the Su¨¹d. On that day, lying on the field, the king pulled Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s to his breastplate, and he made the First Warden swear to protect Queen Rhoethella to his dying breath."

    Barathiel and Renua stared down a ravine in front of them. Silver leaves of wolf willows covered the riverbanks. Renua plucked at high limbed brush berry trees, filling up the pouch pocket in his azure robe.

    On the interior of which Barathiel noticed many woven sigils made up of finally an intricately formed filigree. The design was at great contrast with the starkly mannered runes of Leresai''s cendal robe.

    Runes which originated in wood carvings whose sharp, jagged lines formed the basis of the Sgo?the written language two millennia ago.

    His heart skipped a beat, reminded of Leresai yet again. Tonight, he had seen to events he thought would likely end in her death.

    He needed an elixir of forgetting to deal with how much it troubled him. He shook his head. Squinted his eyes upward to gaze at the berries. Wild raspberries, deep red in the lunar light even still.

    "Again with the Sgo?the?" Renua asked with suspired exasperation.

    A common Nincian expression came to his mind. The heart knows no gulf in time.

    Renua clapped his hands near the advocate''s face to get his attention.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    "Young Salugarr, you will drive yourself mad."

    "No. You have got it wrong. I was listening to you and wondering about an oddity of which I haven''t given much thought but goes at the heart of our people and the time that we live in.

    "Rhoethella was saved by a knight. Not just any knight, but a paragon of chivalrous virtue straight out of legend."

    "Yes, it''s a quandary. Worthy of another tale, I suppose," Renua answered. "But it is a tale that would shed little light on your fascination with the Princess Fervarryn. Still, if you would like to hear that tale instead ¡­"

    "Another day, perhaps."

    "Wait. Over there."

    Renua pointed down a switchback trail. They strolled down it and reached a sturdy footbridge made of thick withe twigs laid out on wooden rods. As they crossed the bridge, Renua continued with his story.

    "When Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s'' men questioned the surviving assassin in the dungeons beneath what was once Castle Barso before Izdun''s fleet destroyed it and where now the light houses stand, it became evident Izdun was not the only one plotting Rhoethella''s downfall.

    "The territories of the Su¨¹d are pregnant with the ambitions of men who question her competence to rule.

    "Understand, she had long been her husband''s confidant. Before she was Izsolt''s bride, she was a hetaera of renown given she had escaped the harem of Izdun, and she had made her way back to the Su¨¹d. There she became indispensable in the most urbane wards of Su¨¹d society.

    "She gives up this life she had created for herself, to become the exclusive consort to a man she had fallen in love with who just happened to also be the King of the Su¨¹d.

    "Rhoethella convinces him to turn against Izdun. It would be the start of a two hundred year struggle to depose the Patriarch.

    "The personalities of Rhoethella and Izsolt, one could surmise, complemented one another well. He was open and gregorius. A knight to a fault.

    "She was, well, how do I put this? There survives a play from the era Rhoethella ruled as the queen of the Su¨¹d where a chef peels a large blooming white onion, inside he discovers a smaller yellow onion.

    "He proceeds to peel that one only to discover a shallot inside of it. He peels the shallot in which is enclosed a spring of garlic. He is of want to peel the garlic but now his blade is too dull to go on. In topical fashion, for Su¨¹d plays have always been polemical when they were not entirely brazenly silly sex romps, Queen Rhoethella is of course, that onion.

    "There were those who blamed Rhoethella for her near recluse personality for this unsettled period of uncertainty after the King''s death. They said, a queen needs to rally people, to inspire them with speech, to give them purpose to go into battle for her, not to be a whisperer, a confident, a manipulator.

    "Others would say this claim was unfair. And it was. A queen needs to be all of these things as events arise to be confronted as unique situations.

    "In truth, Izsolt''s Queen was much beloved of the people in the years following Su¨¹d Independence. It was recognized her first-hand knowledge of the court of Izdun and the players inside his regime gave Izsolt a tremendous advantage.

    "In the years before independence, Izdun''s governor of the Su¨¹d''s largest providence was assassinated in a harlot''s den. It was widely believed, the King''s consort at the time carried out the deed herself.

    "As the governor was a brutal mutilator of women he was allowed to go unchecked for many years, this single act endured Rhoethella to the people of the Su¨¹d much more than any honeyed words spoken in public forum ever could.

    "She decides her best course of action will be to keep to her nature. Note, how early in her years her reputation began. She is barely fourty at this point in her life with an expected lifespan of one of mixed blood of two hundred and eighty; even as the bloom is still very much on the rose - she is developing the reputation of Lady Intrigue.

    "However, I almost digress, in keeping with her nature, she contemplates a means to spy on those men within the Su¨¹d who are planning to depose her. With dukes in near open rebellion she believes she has little choice but to find a means to give herself an overwhelming advantage.

    ''Having an intuition for deep magics, given who her mother happened to be - we all know about her, right? Young Solugarr, I don''t have to stop this in mid story and give you a digression on her life story, do I?"

    Barathiel was admiring how the slight silver crescent of the Moon shone through a fir tree as he casually listened to the lecture on ancient Su¨¹d history. It annoyed him to no end Renua interrupted the natural flow of his story like a trail with far too many switchbacks.

    "No, please continue."

    "Are you certain, sieur? Because the magic Rhoethella will have to handle can only be attributed to a natural talent she acquired from her mother as Rhoethella is not at all schooled in the arcane disciplines."

    "Yes. Yes. It is common knowledge. Her mother was the notorious elven sorceress, V''ia''t''n''alla. Now, please continue!"

    "Very well. She comes up with a plan. In the deep sands of the High I?vvyr, travelers came upon a strange formation of rocks, that glow symbiotic, as if alive, to the Moon on every full. With the financial backing of the crown, the University of Barso sent an expedition which discovered the buried motherload. The alchemists determine that the glowing rocks originated on the moon itself.

    "Rhoethella has the rocks ground into a fine soil, sifted with minerals and dead matter until it is fortified rich and poured into a small box garden. She has thousands of silkworms brought in from Niaggotte spread out in the box to adapt to the weird soil, to consume it, and build their threads in it''s finement.

    "Those threads that develop from that soil are interesting, you see, now enlaced with properties that enhance magical abilities. She still to this day wears clothes made from the lunar silk.

    "That cendal robe Fervarryn is so fond of? It may have been given to her by her father, but the sigils have been restitched in refined lunar silkworm made material."

    The advocate and wizard stood within a grove of trees by a small cliffside whose ledges were even enough to allow an incline down to a stone path through marshlands.

    "Test that incline to see if it is still sound," Renua requested, as he brought a handful of berries up to his mouth while leaning against a solid cypress tree.

    Barathiel studied it with a skeptical frown. "That path that curves around the willow leads to the same route. Not that I mind the incline, but your knees are liable to buckle under the challenge."

    "They do meet up later on down the path, but our destination is quite near. See those trees, just passed them? That is the watchtower."

    "I see¡­"

    Barathiel squatted down. His eyes caught something odd in the marshland ground several feet below. He would have to climb down the rocky cliff to get a better look at it.

    As he rubbed his hands against his knees to prepare for his descent, he felt a breeze cross his neck. It grew rhythmic. How he would love to have such a nice gentle flow of air across his hammock on the terrace porch of the Old Meander.

    A gasping wheezing noise came from Renua. It stirred up as soft as an autumn breeze as well. Then it occurred to Barathiel that this was a bit odd.

    He turned his head around to see Renua cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk. His hands pressed against his own throat, drawing breath rapidly. Berry juice trickling down his jawline, the wizard''s eyes fixed upward.

    "Not a good time to be choking on us," Barathiel said in morbid jest.

    Berries stuck in the wizard''s throat. Fortunately for the wizard, Barathiel was proficient at techniques to clear throats of obstruction. He was about to stand when he noticed the wyvern clutching a high limb on the tree Renua stood against. Its wings flapping slowly, spread out, swaying the nearby trees. Barathiel crawled slowly and softly towards the wizard to help him dislodge the berries from his throat.

    Before he could reach Renua, the wyvern turned his head and stared back at the advocate with its fearsome jaws wide open. Monster hunters, called jaegers, had a word for the effect the wyvern now displayed. It was called the vizdavur, the face of fear. Many supernatural beings possessed this ability.

    A gaze fixed upon a mortal man could show him things that chilled the soul and convoluted his understanding.

    The latter hit Barathiel now, as for a brief instance he made out an entrancing nude silhouette in his mind. He soon realized those gently swaying hips belonged to his sister Brietess.

    He shook the image from his mind. There was a wyvern ready to pounce him, a wizard choking to death, and here he was with visions of his dead sister nude. What was wrong with him?

    Then his every concern in the world came to a stop and a warmth overcame his senses as the vision flooded his thoughts again. Before his sister was the terraced climb of Mount Despumate. Rozzenblunde made good on her promise.

    He shook his head of the vision once more as Renua cried out a bleak plea. "Help" scraped from his rasping throat. The wizard''s eyes bulged ugly. Barathiel rushed to him knowing any stealth was now futile. He grabbed Renua by the shoulder, pushed his chest back to force Renua''s spine to arch.

    "Easy, my friend, I know what I am doing," he soothed the wizard. "I''ll get it out."

    As his father taught him the technique to dislodge choking matter from a throat, Barathiel punched the wizard as hard as he could just below the sternum.

    A single berry popped out of Renua''s mouth. His breath sucked in with a violent squalling heave. The wizard''s face was stricken white. As his jowls shook, blood gushed from his eyeballs. Renua faded out of existence.

    "Oh, ye gods," Barathiel screamed. "I just killed him!"

    He jerked his head back up and he looked around. The wyvern had disappeared.

    Did Renua just die on him? The blood bursting through his eyes. Did that mean his brain hemorrhaged?

    Would he never know how Rhoethella tethered the moon to her own heart?

    Barathiel laughed uncontrollably at the absurd notion that it mattered in the least in the present moment if he ever came to know the answer. He was in mortal danger from a great beast yet he was most concerned how a story ended. He searched the skies once more for the deadly silent wyvern.

    Tether her heart to the Moon?

    What in this bedeviled world did that even mean?

    The sky lit up as if it were suddenly day. A great shadow cast over Barathiel from the southeast. He looked up to see the wyvern beating his wings in what appeared to be slow motion; it stared into the advocate''s eyes but to little effect for Barathiel''s mind had already snapped utterly.

    Laughing, he pointed to the wyvern and shouted, "found you!"

 The Winter Knight - Her Majestys Request

    Twelve hundred and twenty years previously.

    The servant girl approached Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s in the great foyer of Castle Barso.

    "Her Majesty will see you now."

    Two guards, the knights own confidants, opened the double brass doors to the inner chamber. It was Rhoethella''s day chamber where she spent time on an assortment of projects. She was dressed in trousers, brown thonged sandals, and a bandage wrapped around her breast where her wound was still healing. She squatted on terry cloth over a box garden. Six yards by four yards in its size.

    "Come here, my dear T¨¦l."

    Her mood had turned to a rare bright he had not witnessed in a good season. Hope touched her eyes.

    She waved him to join her actions. Inside the box garden were thousands of tiny worms festering under a sheet of silk that appeared to be made of spun platinum.

    "Give me your naked hand, Sieur," Queen Rhoethella commanded.

    He wore gloves of black velvet strewn with gelding colored silk that matched his cape, shirt of white silk, leather vest, pants, and boots of mamba skin. A thin rapier sheathed at his belt. It was his urban uniform. City wear as opposed to battlefield wear. He removed his glove as she had commanded him. Rhoethella stroked his palm with her thumb. The heat of goosebumps rose along his back and shoulders. His heartbeat rose.

    For you, my love, I would give my life ever so lightly. Were the words King Izsolt commanded him to tell the woman who now sat by his side as his last message to his wife. Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s thought the same and he was glad to be sworn to it.

    Rhoethella plucked a silkworm from the garden plot; she placed the squirming critter in Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s'' palm. It was small, the width of a mite but five times the length of one. It looked more like a crawling bracelet made of lapis lazuli than anything living. This specimen was from Niaggotte where settlers who survived the decimations of the far east now made home.

    He watched its little blue jaws curl up then suddenly twist around and bite him.

    The veteran of a dozen campaigns squealed aloud. It''s bite felt strongly venomous.

    "Be sure to pluck it off before it begins to bore," Rhoethella suggested sweetly.

    She swiped her Raven hair to the side. Her elven ears meekly folded inward as they tended to do when she made mischief. Cruel humor was renown of Haute elven womankind. Rhoethella was no different, but she also seemed all the more human for her tells born of those elven traits.

    She noticed the miffed brow on her knight, and she gave his shoulder a gentle clasp. Her voice serious.

    "I need you to feel that for yourself, do you know the gravity of what your Queen has in mind?"

    She stood up and bid Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s to follow her.

    "I don''t understand, your majesty."

    She clasped her hands into his, and her maroon brown eyes stared into his own.

    "To do what I am to do, understand what we face. I would not even contemplate a measure so extreme but for five dukes conspiring for my ouster, an attempt on my life, Izdun''s armies at my borders, his intelligencers spread out the land sewing discord and ready to reclaim the Su¨¹d, and put it back in chains."

    "What are you saying, milady?"

    "I need you to travel to Dre¨ªz, the city of buzzards, and secure an elixir for me. I''ve had it verified a daimon djinn possessed medicine man has acquired it. He will exchange the elixir for a full exorcism of the daimon djinn from his person. You will escort three priests to the city and protect them from any harm."

    Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s protested. "I am sworn to protect you, your majesty. I cannot protect them and yourself."

    Her smile reached both horizons. "You will secure my long-term reign if you do this for me, Sieur. I''ll make a vow to you in turn, dear T¨¦l. I will not leave Castle Barso until your return. I will host a garrison of fifty of your most loyal men to complement the royal guard. Will that suffice to ease your worry?"

    How could he protest?

    "Yes, my lady, yes."This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s spent most of the first day dressed urbane, leaning against the schooner''s foremast with arms folded as he studied the waves in front of them. Sun and wind spray bothered him none, neither did the rise and fall of the ship against the ruddy waves burden him. High Priest Abicore, however, praying shrilly for his God to cure him of the dry heaves and vomit fits and dysentery bothered the knight quite a bit.

    We set this man against a daimon djinn?

    Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s brought a set of chance bones to idle away time with his men and the sailors but the waves made it impossible to make sport of it. The first evening, the captain invited him to play a game of strategy on the aft-deck perch.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s humored the man for an eve beneath torch and starshine, but as the captain compared maneuvers on the board with the actions of admirals of renown, the knight thought the analogies insipid. Battles never went according to plan. Too many factors determine success for one man to claim his actions dictated the outcome. It was like rolling a thousand chance bones and claiming the outcome was yours to command.

    Yet, T¨¦lsarr¨¤s gave no fret. The captain was good enough company for an evening''s grog companion, so he never voiced his skeptical disposition.

    The next day he stood his post, eyes scanning the distance, hoping to catch sight of a black flag bearing mast hoisted in a course set upon the schooner to challenge them. A good bloody fight was what his men needed. He had picked five stalwart sons of curs too course and boot shit dredged to walk the fine halls of his sworn Lady''s castle to accompany him as his platoon of dragoon-meers.

    He promised them adventure and he strongly preferred they take their aggression out on pirates, bandits, highwaymen, and monstrosities of the wild and weird then the abiding subjects of his Queen. Without an occurrence such as a bloodied fight, they would prove to be a chore to keep in line.

    Without warning, High Priest Abicore shrill screech contested the calm gray silence of the mid-morning air, interrupting the flow of the knight''s stark thought.

    "Oh, ye, Lord of Days," the ardant muttered. "How those creatures cavort!"

    Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s cast his eyes narrow at the soft fellow with the pearlescent nails fluttering in the air as the ardent wrung the front of his smock. Then he followed the priest''s gaze, across the water, as the knight heard the siren''s sweet, beckoning melody.

    Several grayish blue ladies accompanied by a trio of dolphins rode a sweep of waves that curved in supernatural folds into one another, forming a vortex and counter-vortex designed to stabilize any ship that came near.

    For the sirens with their lovely finned ankles and the dancing dolphins the waves formed a carousel where the sirens could show off their wares. The nude forms danced with one another, rode the backs of dolphins, raised their breasts playfully and spread their thighs for the sailors to see how their loins gleamed azure wet in the sunlight and scarlet in the dark of hollow.

    One sailor who stood beside T¨¦lsar¨¤s gawked at the display with a dumbfounded smile.

    "Have you ever seen a prettier shade of pink?" The sailor asked him.

    "Certainly not recently," Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s responded.

    Abicore who stood to the Knight''s other side wringed his hands and stammered in his jaw. He looked as if he may vomit yet again.

    "Dear Lord of Days, we are to be beguiled down to Dom Daniel to our eternal doom," the priests cried.

    "Padre," Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s asked. "I am not familiar with matters of clergy. Do you belong to a sect that requires abstinence?"

    The ardant''s shoulders stirred up, defensively. Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s gathered his tone must have been more harsh then he intended. Behind them, a commotion broke out. Excited voices of young sailors and dragoon-meers floated around them. Their feet scurrying and pounding about the deck''s board work.

    "Get the baiter''s chest," one sailor called out to those below deck.

    "What is that," the priest turned to Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s and asked.

    Has the man ever in his life straid from the cloister?

    "On near every ship that travels the great Mooring and her sister seas, a baiter''s chest is kept for just this chance encounter. The sirens prostitute themselves for trinkets, gemstones, candied pork, dried fruit, and soured sherry."

    High Priest Abicore watched the sailor''s dive in and swim out to the wave carousel with a forearm draped across his forehead.

    "Oh, mercy, Lord of Days ¡­ this is all becoming so livacious!"

    "Quite so," Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s answered. He pressed the priest on his elbow sympathetically. "Come down galley to my quarters. I have a rare brandy if you have grown as tired of grog as I have. You are not required to obstain from strong drink, are you?"

    Abicore smiled sheepishly. "Thankfully, no. I do believe I could use that drink, Sieur."

    Down in his quarters, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s pushed the chest with his personals out from beneath his bunk so the priest could sit comfortably. He leaned up against his bunk and he filled his pipe with variedel leaves to share as well.

    "In truth, Padre, I''m elated the sirens showed up when they did. You may have noticed that my consort on this venture is of a rougher sort.

    "I love all the men under my command, but some men need near strident oversight. The sirens are good for morale. Almost as good as a bloodied fight with loot to be sorted."

    He handed the priests the lit pipe. The Knight could tell from how Abicore sipped and sniffed at the rare brandy, he was a connoisseur. Likely a distiller, himself.

    "If you will pardon the intrusion on your personal affairs, good sir Warden T¨¦lsarr¨¤s. Why do you not indulge in the¡­ festivities?"

    "I am sworn to the Queen."

    "How is that different than my oath in regard to abstinence?"

    The Knight shrugged as he sipped.

    "For her year of mourning, I suppose, not at all. Afterwards, I am expected to be her consort either for the entirety of my life, or until she chooses another and releases me from my duty."

    The priest smiled. "I suppose there are worse fates for a man."

    They clinked mugs, and chuckled together.

    "I suppose there are," Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s agreed.

 The Winter Knight - The Gros Skerd

    The Gros Skerd

    They reached the small bay town of Quorne from whence they bought fresh supplies and rented teamsters. Off they headed into the hinterlands. A single day''s crossing of valley trails in the Sierra Morne. Once cleared, they set off through the scrublands of Gros Skerd, the Great Squander.

    Along with Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s, three priests, five dragoon-meers, two calvary escorts on horseback, two oxen driven carts with a pair of crossbow armed drivers in each, they journeyed forth.

    As per his usual course, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s slept no more than four hours in a single day, and he spent most of the remainder of his time keeping vigil, watching the scrubland range with skeptical eyes.

    He saw much in the way of activity. Bandits scurried low through the brush and hid in the surrounding stoney rock formations. Miniature mesas that never rose more than thirty foot in height jutted out of the landscape.

    Bows peeped out from the smaller formations. Arched out above the spies'' shoulders, the longbows would often give them away.

    As much as Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s would have enjoyed slaughtering every gods thrice-damned one of them, he did not give chase, and he left them alone.

    He wasn''t here to dispense chivalric justice on the wicked of this backwater.

    They in turn were merely scouts who upon seeing the well-armed rough men as they stood on top of the oxen carts goading them to m¨ºl¨¦e would instead stay their hands for easier prey.

    On the second day through the Gros Skerd, the Knight took a minor change in bandit demeanor to be curiously ominous.

    The bandits he witnessed up country had worn tattered leathers, jerkins, and wrappings covered in simple cowls.

    Some bore wooden shields, mannered lovingly with grain cut and decoratively beveled thorn and thicket.

    What caught his eye this morning was the color of the bandit''s cowls. Earlier bandits wore cowls of light tan that matched the shrubbery, in a very practical manner of camouflage.

    The bandits they faced today wore cowls colored bright orange. A color that made it too easy on the eye to spot their skulking attempts at raid.

    Abicore sat at the side where Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s stood. They had become friends since the day they shared drinks in the Knight''s quarters.

    "I see that frown, Sieur," said the priest. "And I believe I know the cause."

    "It appears we are entering another bandit lord''s kingdom. he most likely has a greater degree of control over his men than those in the more littoral clime we faced earlier."

    "I doubt if they are bandits, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s. Those cowls have no practical value. There must be purpose behind that sacrifice of their better advantage.

    "Likely these are men of some obscure and malevolent faith. They won''t be easily deterred from attacking us due to any rational consideration such as their own personal mortality."

    Another arbinger of what they possibly faced occurred shortly after the conversation. From behind a small craggy hill smoke signals puffed up into the sky.

    A quarter of a mile to the West, the Knight commanded one of two cavalry officers to exchange places with him. He rode into the shrubland to where the signals originated.

    For the hinterlands, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s wore armor consisting of loose tan colored chain over light dyed leathers. He bore his wide edged bastard as he strode up.

    Three bandits crouched by the fire. One of them threw stink berries into the fire to give the smoke a dark-hued tar like consistency. The other two bandits caught the smoke under a blanket and released blooms into the sky.

    The three cowled bandits heard the galloping destier rushing up upon them. The first to react was the bandit holding up a tin pan full of stink berries.

    She threw the pan down and reached for a weapon. The Knight could see she was a scrawny girl not even five feet in height. She grabbed a long dart from a makeshift bandolier as the Knight jumped off the horse.

    She sized him up as she slid the dart into the sling shaft of an atlatl. The dart was expertly aimed at his face.

    Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s brought the broadside of his bastard up and deflected the dart to the ground at his feet.

    She scampered around staying low as she readied another dart. Her eyes grew wild with determined desperation.

    Another bandit rushed him holding a pair of axes, his arms flailing wildly. The knight sidestepped, pivoted on his left boot, and then in a squatted stance, brought the bastard up in a tight swoop that cut the bandit''s arm off just below the armpit.

    Unfortunately, the bandit girl got a good hit on him. The dart pierced into his shoulder through chain link and leather binding.

    Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s realized she aimed for the vulnerability in his arm to force him to drop his bastard, so he switched the weight of his hands to weld it so as to bear more weight on his left arm as he felt the sting course through his flesh.

    In spite of himself, he smiled. However, this was no time to admire her handiwork that just so happened to pierce into his flesh.

    The axe welder fell to the Knight''s feet. He took the man''s head with another cleave. The girl closed in to get a better shot; her eyes fixed upon his jugular.

    The decapitated head skirted down against his knee. He forced it to bounce up and kicked it into the girls knuckles. She dropped the atlatl.

    Beneath the shadow of a figure towering over him, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s executed his next move. He slipped low on bended knee beneath an obsidian spearhead. The knight pushed it upward with his mailed hand while thrusting the bastard with the other. It ripped through the flesh and disemboweled the third bandit.

    He kept his eyes on the remaining girl who was now reaching for a dagger she sheethed on her thigh.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    "Stay your hands, girl," he commanded with his bastard inches away from her. "I don''t kill women folk unless it''s absolutely beyond even necessary."

    She raised her hands up. The knight could only guess her age. He was uncertain if it was age or malnutrition that contributed to her diminutive size.

    Her hair was a mouse''s brown with uncontrolled curls pulled back beneath a scarf to keep out of her face. Her eyes green and wide with the whites of fear.

    The cowl she wore bore some sort of emblem whose coloration could barely be distinguished from the light orange of the cloak.

    It was a very old variation of the oef''a''sekt sigil of four dragons set between three swords. In this design before him, the sigil was set within a pentagram.

    She stared back at his own house emblem engraved in the sternum plate of his chain mail. A diamond inside of a diamond causing an eclipse of the sun.

    "You are, Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s, the Winter Knight," she said, her eyes now more curious than afraid.

    "True enough, maiselle. Who might you be?"

    "Brenduanne. They call me Brendi."

    "They tell of knights in the Gros Skerd?"

    "We are still folk of the Su¨¹d, Sieur. No matter how forsaken."

    He glanced towards the two bodies, and the desert terrain from which they reaped a meager existence. and an uncomfortable feeling stirred in the Knight''s throat.

    He returned his attention to the marksman.

    "Maiselle Brenduanne, how is it you are the expert armsman of your troupe?"

    She stared down at the dirty brown boots she wore. He noticed their unusual for desert terrain buckles. School girl shoes.

    Emblems on the exterior seam that fastened the buckles were of a small compass and a needle, only given to members of the College of Geometers pass their sophomore year.

    "My papa taught me before he died. Now, I mostly hunt prairie rats for the rebels."

    "That takes a good eye what you did," he complimented.

    "I have one good eye and one great eye."

    He laughed as his eyes turned to the dart pinned in his shoulder.

    "Indeed, you do, maiselle."

    With his blood heat lessening its course through his veins, he now felt the pain wedge into him sharply.

    "Poisoned?" He asked as he plucked out the dart.

    "Poison is evil. I would never use it, Sieur."

    He studied the dart''s needle. Lowered his head and peered back at her green eyes.

    "So is banditry."

    "You have. We have not." Her chin proffered in challenge.

    From his periphery, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s saw the oxen carts approach. The other horseman had arrived sooner, but he kept at a distance as the Knight spoke to the girl.

    "What you lack as a people in the Gros Skerd is virtue. People have endured and bested worse places without allowing themselves to become base."

    Brendi''s brows furrowed and the slits of her eyes tightened where creeses formed. Her neck tensed at his pronouncement. He pointed at the emblem on her cloak.

    "What manner of god does that belong to?"

    "One who watches over desert rats," she responded too quickly for the Knight to believe her response to be anything but a glib deflection.

    But for what reason?

    The dragoon-meers and the priests were approaching. Perhaps, she was taking the piss because she felt insulted by his characterization of her people.

    He gave her an easy smile that often worked like a gris-gris charm on the fair sex. They could use whatever bit of knowledge she possessed.

    "With that great eye of yours, you could make a good living as an armsman in service to the Queen. I am always needing new recruits."

    She shook her head and she shrugged.

    "Brendi, make not a move," Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s commanded. "Peor, search her."

    The dragoon-meer was thorough, but aware Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s was scrutinizing his every move, he wasn''t abusive.

    He discovered two sets of six small throwing knives, and a pair of spiked brass knuckles hidden on her body.

    To the dagger by her feet T¨¦lsarr¨¤s pointed; she handed over to the Knight. He flipped it around in his hand. The handle was made of brass.

    Four snakes coiled with their mouths holding an ivory dodecahedron with red inscriptions. It belonged to an elite unit of dragoons, the Fire Eaters.

    "Maiselle, this your father''s?"

    Brendi nodded. He handed her the blade back.

    "High Ardant Abicore, this is maiselle Brenduanne. I charge you with her protection.

    "Please assist in cleaning her up and see that her effects are returned to her. If she has no objections she is returning with us to Barso Castle where you will assist in her recruitment in our archery school."

    She voiced no objection. Her eyes gazed slowly across the shrublands.

    The Knight turned to his dragoon-meers.

    "Everything not belonging to the maiselle, belongs to you to be divvied up by custom. With one exception, that shield by the spear welder.

    "I want it for my own collection. If you see anything unusual bring it to me for examination before your divvy."

    Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s started to walk away to tend to his own wound when he recalled something that caught his ear earlier in their conversation.

    "Maiselle Brenduanne", he called out.

    The priest and his charge turned back towards him.

    "Winter Knight? Is that what they call me in the Gros Skerd?"

    Brendi appeared puzzled and searched his eyes. "It is part and partial to your very name, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s."

    "Indeed it is. Names though don''t really stand out on their own without some assistance. Is there any other reason for it?"

    "Perhaps, Sieur. But I don''t speak of such things. Prophecy is born of evil minds, they say."

    He glanced down to her boots.

    "You are an educated woman. What say you?"

    "If not evil then assuredly crazed minds that spend too much time chasing ethereal things and not keeping boots planted steady to the Earth. I hear things, but please ask of someone who believes in absurd notions in my stead."

    The ardant and the bandit girl were about to turn around again when the Knight called out once more.

    "Padre," he called. "Perhaps you would know. Maiselle Brenduanne is reluctant to be truthful. What manner of god does that emblem belong?"

    His naturally rounded shoulders squared up beneath his linen folds. Abicore studied his charge a moment before answering.

    "To be honest, Sieur. I doubt the girl understands what that emblem truly represents. It is not one that comes from a religious order, at least as it pertains to their own insignia.

    "It is a seal, a bind you may call it, for the very daimon djinn we seek."

    "I''m not so stupid I don''t know what it is for," Bremdi protested. "In the Gros Skerd, the closer you get to Dre¨ªz, the very air is fraught. You catch a Daimon in you the way other people catch colds."

    The Knight pondered upon her original answer to the same question.

    "Maiselle Brenduanne, why did you give me a spiel about some protector of desert rats?"

    "Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s, before I answer, can you answer me? Is it true? You are here to clear the Gros Skerd of daimon djinn?"

    He pondered upon her question before he answered.

    "I''m here for one that wracks the soul of a medicine man, but this plague of daimons is a blight upon my Queen''s Nation.

    "It is an injustice to allow the land to grow fallow with daimon kind. I can swear to you that I will be back."

    Brendi bowed her head and curtsied before the knight with more class than she pretended to be born.

    "Then I can swear to you, Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s, my undying loyalty in return. Now for the truth.

    "For the previous three eves, raiders, all stout men, big-hearted men even, not the crass bandits for whom we make common cause, but men loyal to the rebellion against Oblivion''s pretenders, they have had the tendency to get that far away gaze in their eyes and wonder away from camp, climb the nearest hill and shout:

    ''''''Winter Knight! Winter Knight! Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s, I wait for thee!'' Then the stricken souls rend their garments and fall face forward, flat dead."

 The Winter Knight - Abattre Dezeer

    Abattre Dezeer

    As the dusk air spread over the scattered craigs and flat lands of low shrub, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s felt it was time to become more involved in the purpose of the expedition. He had believed he was merely an escort, an expert man-at-arms in the service of men far more knowledgeable in the demonology.

    He had not bothered to learn the name of the daimon djinn they hunted. Never in his life had he ever concerned himself with the differences between the demons of the Abyss and the daimons of Oblivion.

    After he helped Abicore set up the lamps whose oils were infused with basil, T¨¦lsarr¨¤s took a break from watch. He recognized the young dragoon-meer Totara had a better set of night eyes than he did.

    The knight sat beside Abicore in the covered portion of the oxen cart reading a grimoire under an oil lamp. The ardant''s lips wrinkled tightly as he bit at them unselfconsciously.

    "What ails you, Padre?"

    "This. It is a book of explicit lewdness. Very base and corrupting. The Lord of Days would likely prefer that I set it to torch, but it is also necessary in understanding what we face."

    Brendi now set beside the ardant. She brought him a bowl of porridge. He accepted it with a thanks and a ruffle of her brown curls which were now held back in a proper coif.

    Her smile now revealed deep creases at the sides of her lips and eyes.

    "Abattre," she answered for the priest who sipped at his dinner. "It means ''the slaughter.''"

    "More precisely," the ardant added, "and to the point of its misbegotten existence, Abattre Dezeer, ''the slaughter of Hope.''"

    Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s nodded as if it confirmed a suspicion. "Is that why in the three days that we have left the Sierra Morne, I have observed no flower blooms on the shrubs that cover the ground from horizon to horizon?"

    "Correct," Abicore confirmed with a nod.

    The knight squenched his eyes as he leaned forward to ask his next question.

    "How is it the lack of bloom does not disrupt the cycle of life? Bloom is necessary for seeding."

    "The corruption interferes with and replaces sustenance, be it men, beast, flower, or tree. This Abattre Dezeer, he is not a fully realized being as you, I, or maiselle Brendi are.

    "He is a function. When the Olviddha, the spirit that permeates all of Oblivion, seeps into our world of Mundi it becomes manifest here in the form of a sustained, recursive pattern. When it infuses with the very air, a daimon djinn results.

    "Not all djinn are daimones. Hence, the reason we make that distinction in our word usage.

    "Most djinn are born entirely of the elements of our natural world and do not contribute to its destruction."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s'' leaned back as he sat on the sideboard bench, pondering these words.

    "I think I understand why the daimon djinn called me out. When I was a child, I had a dream where I walked in a field shadowed by dismal forest.

    "I felt wolfish eyes on me. I heard howls in the distance. I saw the skitter of screeching bats. Blood dripped from their wings onto the leaves. I was so afraid I woke up.

    "Not in this world, but inside the dream. So, I knew I was peering into something real, and not just a mere fancy of a sleeping mind.

    "A whisper came from those woods, and I saw green lights coming from a hut on stilts close by inside those woods. The hostess of that hut was a beguiler. I could feel her beauty as my eye peered into those woods even though I could not see her.

    "She asked me to approach. I knew not what else to do, or what else I could do, so I made a foolish decision to go to her.

    "As I stepped forward, a big wind rebuffed through the trees. Sending the bats streaming away, and branches to break. The beguiling voice lost in the whoosh of air.

    "The wind lifted me up above the trees. That path is not for you. A voice as old as Earth itself spoke to me in that wind. Be not afraid, it said. You are belov¨¦d.

    "Years after, as a young man, searching my way to find purpose in life, I consulted a soothsayer. She told me, I am of the wind in the far distance of constellation; I am of war in the near of planetary rise, and I am of the winter in the here of the Earth.

    "She said in the confluence of the three, I will either find my noble purpose or contribute greatly to my undoing.

    "Padre, before now, I believed I was merely here to keep you alive so you could play your part in this exalted deed, but now I am certain I am supposed to be here. Yet, I know not how. I have mere weapons that can fell a man or game. A bastard and a bow, and perhaps some good sense.

    "Not my bastard, nor my bow, nor my good sense are in anyway enchanted to strike at daimon djinn."

    Abicore pondered upon these words as he held Brendi against his breast. The young woman had fallen asleep.

    "In your time of need, call to the spirit of the wind who proclaimed you belov¨¦d. If your purpose is true, that should suffice."

    "Over the course of my years, I have never learned of its name."

    Abicore smiled as if this confirmed a notion he held.

    "If you are belov¨¦d of the spirit, it would not waste lies on you with a false analogy of its name as all names in human words can only be an approximation in naming beings forged from the elemental demiurge."

    The knight shrugged. "That makes a certain sense, but it is a sense not of my kith and beyond my kin."

    Abicore gently released Brendi whose hands clasped his dalmatic vest and laid her down on the bench they shared. He kneeled down on the bed boards of the oxcart.

    "I will now pray to the Lord of Days for guidance," he said. "You are welcome to join me."

    From the front of the cart Totara and a teamster were speaking rapidly.

    "Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s," the dragoon-meer called out.

    "One moment, Padre."

    The teamster pointed to the distance. Dre¨ªz was in sight. A lamp-lit set of streets, buildings hid in shadows and an ominous aquamarine aura above as if the very filament of the heavens spilt through and gyred.

    He gathered from the spread of buildings far from the lamp-lit streets, Dre¨ªz was once a sizable city in population.

    "We will make camp by that set of boulders. It is best we enter the town by the clear of the morn."

    He stepped back under the canopy. The priest looked up, hopefully. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s had not prayed since he was a child when his grandmother brought him to Temple with her.

    He was not even sure that the Lord of Days was the same deity or not. However, he joined Abicore on the floorboard, knee pressed to knee. Hand clasped to hand.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s called for Abicore to be at his side as all the members of the expedition stirred up from their sleep. Rattled as they were by the commotion that approached.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s and two other men had been standing watch for near four hours when a giant of a man, seven and a half feet tall, approached the camp.

    He stopped two dozen yards away. He wore a simple red smock with feather gris-gris running down the length, and a belt held two falchions five feet in length, each sheathed.

    He was followed by a red-faced grig of a mere four feet in height beating a drum strapped to his little fat belly.

    "Winter Knight! Winter Knight! Abattre Dezeer awaits thee. Before you are worthy of an audience with the Lord of Gros Skerd, you must face me in a mortal challenge."

    The grig accompanied the pronouncement with a slow pounded drumming.

    The man smiled broadly with pierced lips lined with opals and pearls. He was a very dark man. Dre¨ªz was north of the Su¨¹d nations his race would be commonly found.

    The merchants of Sa?droze, however from whom his Queen''s paternal grandmother descended, could be found anywhere in the Western and Eastern cities and states. They set up shop everywhere.

    What should I call you," the Knight asked the giant of a man.

    "My name. That does not matter."

    "How am I to defeat you? You have the advantage in arm and blade half the length of a full-sized man."

    "If you are worthy of audience, you will find a means."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s studied the man but he felt a confusion sheer through his thoughts as he tried to get a read. When T¨¦lsar¨¤s regained his senses, he focused again on the man.

    The Knight was certain of the man''s nation. The pose of relaxed gaiety was almost universal of the Sa?droze culture.

    He was a shopkeep. Most likely, in his offices late at night, he gets struck dumb by possession in the midst of his routine.

    The Knight turned to Abicore.

    "Padr¨¦. Is the man possessed?"

    With a nod, Abicore pointed.

    "Do you see the flame a-glitter in his eyes distorting the very light of our lamps? There is devilry there in those eyes, Sieur. He is no rogue ally of the Olviddha in willing betrayal of mankind. Just a poor victim of deviltry himself."

    A tattoo of a rose inside of a triangle graced the man''s brow. The Knight did not know to which sect the emblem belonged, but surely a diabolist would not bare imagery of the peaceable world.

    He turned his pointing finger to the grig who settled into a battle march beat.

    "What of that one?''

    "Drunk ... Just a drunken little fellow."

    "Aye... Padr¨¦. Are you well practiced in the exorcist crafts?"

    Abicore hesitated with a habitual biting of his lips.

    The Knight cleared his throat.

    "Now would be an excellent time to answer in the affirmative, Padr¨¦."

    "Yes. Very much so. I only hesitate to answer because every possession is a unique coming together of the personalities and temperaments of two beings.

    "We have a set of common practices that are intended to lead to a correct diagnosis and set our ritual in accordance with what we uncover."

    "Very well. It appears this being has minions."

    "So he says, but it could be a purposeful deception," Abicore interjected.

    Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s pressed on. "Does it ever sleep? Does it ever become distracted?"You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    "Not sleep as we understand it. It will dwell between Mundi and Oblivion pulling in sustenance which does tend to distract it.

    "That is how the medicine man came into contact with us. He entered a chapel which the daimon djinn had not the strength gathered in him to challenge until hours of rest later.

    "A daimon djinn draws a cord of energy from the Olviddha and it is limited in its actions by that capacity. Say, it sets a dust bedeviled twister upon you. It would be weak as a sow bearing a litter for days to come afterward.

    "It cannot draw substance from a human soul as demons of the Abyss are capable, but they tend to be much more intelligent than demon kind and use what they have available to them more effectively."

    The giant waited patiently with his massive arms folded.

    The dragoon-meers squatted behind T¨¦lsarr¨¤s; the teamsters, calvary men and Brendi gathered by the oxen carts.

    Only the two other priests were in action. They carried censers with elaborate glyphs written upon them swinging from rope. Incense smoke bellowed forth.

    The giant seemed untroubled by their presence even as they chanted. He smiled and bobbed his head to the grig''s beating rhythm. He made a circular motion with his right hand.

    The incense reacted as if it were a living thing under an enchantment. It grew into a full-fledged ring of smoke, and the giant stood just inside it.

    The grig seemed to get lost in it and he stopped playing as he suffered a coughing fit.

    "What say you, Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s?"

    The giant called out.

    "What is there to say?"

    The giant grinned as he crossed and uncrossed the falchions in acrobatic fashion with a display of tight finesse.

    "How do you believe I am supposed to counter that," the Knight asked. "I am a simple swordsmen of the battlefield, not a high-class duelist. What if we instead take up the challenge of a game of ducats''n''shots?"

    The laughter of the giant filled the yards between them. There was a crash. The drum hurled down an incline. The grig lay under the smoke ring. He let out a belch, a fart and a snort in that proper order, before falling into a loud snore.

    The giant shook his head at his slumbering companion. He turned his head back to the Knight.

    "I''m still game for challenge even without my grig at my back. Say you? If you can''t best me, then turn tail. I''m eager for battle, but I will not stop you if you so choose to turn around and go back across that bay.

    "Be sure to inform your Queen her reign does not extend here in the Gros Skerd."

    The mockery was designed to shame him into the fight.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s had hoped to find a means to spare the innocent giant, but now called out to defend the Queen, T¨¦lsarr¨¤s had no other choice. Or else, forfeit his title, knighthood and freedom, if he abided a challenge to her due sovereignty.

    "Very well, Nameless One, we will fight."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s picked up his shield. It bore the sigil of the desert raiders, but the knight doubted its efficacy. He turned to Abicore.

    "Padre, when I disarm him, you and your brothers do what is expected of you."

    He entered the ring of crimson smoke. The giant charged like a jaguar with a running lunge jump.

    "Winter Knight,'' Brendi yelled to warn.

    The giant landed square flat a yard from T¨¦lsarr¨¤s. Both falchions followed in an arching sideswipe.

    The Knight rolled with the strike as it caught against his shield and shattered it. The impact pushed him back a few yards. He caught his feet from tripping.

    The Knight smelled cinnamon, myyr, talcum and something else that defied his senses. There was a puff of dust from whence they clashed sword and shield.

    His forearm felt numb on the skin. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s frowned as he noticed the pouch on the giant''s belt. Was this some means to cheat an honest duel?

    "Oh, Tess''o''Shoal," the Knight cursed the Demon Empress of legend. "I''ve grown fond of that shield, and I hoped the sigil would weaken you, Nameless One."

    "I felt it best and only fair to disabuse you of that notion. The rebels you acquired it from got very little correct in that design. It would take a full day to properly sketch, carve and enlay to have even a meager effect on us."

    "Still, an excellent shield, Nameless One. Imagine if I had an alchemist fossilize it. If I was to reinforce it with steel inlaid. That sigil replaced with my house emblem. It would be a shield to which I would take much pride."

    The giant leaned to the side with his falchions down and studied the remains of the shield on the ground.

    "Would not the fossilization necessarily disturb it''s balance as treated wood would reset in a different gravity?"

    As he asked the question, he shifted back around, and the giant charged forth once more. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s slid his boot forward, and leaned all of his weight on the back leg.

    This time he thrust up with his sword blocking, clanging brightly with the falchions. He rolled away and once more faced off with the Sa?droze man.

    "Not necessarily. The alchemist mix a batch of chemicals with more than a dozen degrees of potency. With the strongest mixture applied to the center, and the rest applied in kind.

    "Once that is done the shield is treated a second time with the strongest chemical applied to the edges, working this time towards the center. Once complete it is evenly fortified and solved like an algebraic equation."

    The giant nodded, but his voice was slightly off when he spoke. Like a ventriloquist trick.

    "I have never worked with the alchemist. I don''t even use them to stock my tanning agents."

    He came forward. The two fighters blocked and countered in a frontal m¨ºl¨¦e. Neither found an exploitable entrance. After several attempts, the giant backed up.

    "Ha! You say... ," He took two hard drafts of air before continuing. "You are a mere battlefield limb chopper."

    "Not too late for that game of ducats''n''shots."

    The Sa?droze man shook his head.

    "The daimon djinn riding me would not allow it. Could use a drink to quench the thirst though. The more the fiend pushes on me, the more dehydrated I become."

    They stood at opposite ends of the smoke ring. The giant seemed to control it without the smoke even intruding upon his awareness. When he walked near it, it cleared space for him.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s nodded his head.

    "Aie. Let us take a moment to quench our thirst."

    From beneath his jerkin, T¨¦lsarr¨¤s produced a flask. He took the cap off with his teeth and he took a swig. The knight recapped the flask, and he threw it to the giant who caught it between his twin falchions.

    "What is it," he asked.

    "Soured sherry from a baiter''s chest. I was curious to what the sea maidens could find so appealing. But then I tried it, and I acquired a taste for it."

    The giant hoisted the flask up in the air. Stuck a falchion in the ground, and grabbed the flask on its tumbledown. He took a sip, cocked an eye, before taking a good sized gulp.

    "It is decent enough. Surprisingly so."

    The giant took another drink, capped the flask and threw it back.

    "You are a most curious one, Winter Knight. You regularly engage in bright and idle chatter while in battle?"

    They began to circle one another. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s was at a loss to how he was supposed to penetrate through his opponent''s defenses.

    "How am I supposed to conduct myself? Taunt you? Vex you? Point to a presumed moral deficiency on your part? Question your parentage, your fiber, your couth? Is that the word play I''m expected to engage in?"

    The giant chuckled as he urged the knight forward with a motion of his falchions.

    "What of you? You haven''t been exactly meekly quiet in all of this," asked the knight.

    "Gab is part of the weaponry for daimon djinn. Humans have a peculiar weakness for it."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s had a target in mind. He needed to break the giant''s knuckles so the ardants could close in on the giant safely. He caught a fleeting shape of a small figure breaking through the smoke and rolling with the atlatl in her hand.

    "Brendi, no," he admonished.

    She threw him a curt look that aimed as true as any dart.

    "Finish him off before he beguiles you any farther," she demanded.

    "I assure you, maiselle, I am in full command of my senses."

    "Are you, now? Have you ever fought a daimon djinn before? He is about to wring your cherries through the wine press. Finish him off, or I will."

    "Now, that is a taunt!" The giant applauded.

    "Don''t shoot him, Brendi. It would be dishonorable to turn the outcome of a duel to which you are not a party."

    Brendi cursed under her breath and disappeared back under the smoke ring.

    "What a knight we have here," the giant bellowed. "Such honor. Such virtue. Such integrity. Your soul would make for a demon''s feast in the banquet halls of the Abyss."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s considered what Brendi had said. Is this what possession is? My will becomes bent as I remain oblivious? The maneuver so supple I remain convinced I''m still in my good sense until it is too late to invade full control by the possessor.

    He decided to test Brendi''s claim. He would initiate an attack. So far he had only defended himself, and he had not brought the battle forth, but only reacted.

    He circled one side trying to find an opening as the giant clanged his falchions together. The knight circled to the other side. He could not bring himself to attack.

    All the while he rationalized a half dozen excuses to why the various combinations would not work. A side jaunced maneuver would only leave an upper cut opening. A straight ahead lead would weaken the necessary follow through.

    He tried to force thought from his mind and merely act upon his battle honed instincts and reflexes. His feet did not respond in kind.

    The giant smiled amiably.

    "My enemy-friend has grown silent. Shall we fill the silence with the music of swords clanging?"

    The giant rushed once more with his falchions held akimbo. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s deftly brought his bastard up to his left shoulder, as he held it straight out.

    He saw a way he could smack both sets of the Sa?droze man''s knuckles with one parabolic motion, but he merely reacted with a defensive swiping of both blades followed by kicking off with the flat of his left boot against the giant''s thigh so he could roll away, and not get caught up in the double thrusted counter-move.

    Crouching down, after the maneuver, he reflected. He would have broken the giants kneecap with the stomp of his heel and achieved the same defensive advantage, but his reflexes gained over thousands of hours of practice and battle execution refused to follow through as expected.

    Brendi with her keen eyes must have noticed how he protected the giant from any true harm, and concluded correctly his judgment had been compromised.

    He sparred for another series of thrust and jabs before the giant backed off to the other side of the ring of smoke. The giant heaved his mighty lungs. That was another weakness on the giants part, short duration, and little endurance.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s had noticed this early on but never thought to exploit it.

    "May I ask you for another quinch of that fine sherry," the giant requested.

    "''Fine'' be a stretch of terms, but certainly, sir."

    The knight abided the request and threw the flask back over.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s smiled as he thought of the beauty of the daimon djinn''s plan as it came clear to his intuitions in full. The Oblivion indigene had put a suggestion into T¨¦lsarr¨¤s'' head.

    What appeared to be a pointless lie concerning his identify had an ulterior purpose of corrupting the sound course of T¨¦lsarr¨¤s'' thought. He had said he was sent by Abattre Dezeer to test his mettle before he faced the daimon djinn lord, himself.

    Whereas, it was evident whom it was T¨¦lsarr¨¤s now dueling. Only through a lie that the subject agrees to could a beguiling take place, and only through a beguiling could a possession follow suit.

    After he returned the flask, the giant spoke.

    ''I see you''re too concerned with the outcome of our duel to continue in good humor, Winter Knight. I confess disappointment. You seemed not to know of fear until now."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s studied the giant as if he was seeing him for the first time, as his mind had been beguiled to ignore the obvious.

    The tattoo of a rose inside of a triangle above the man''s brow, the pierced lips lined with opals and pearls, the pouch that smelled of herb and talcum and numbed his skin whenever they came to blows, and a smock beset with gris-gris fetishes.

    This Sa?droze man was the herb doctor he came here to find.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s recalled his dream from youth. He recalled the advice given to him by Albacore to call upon his elemental benefactor. And how did he accomplish that?

    Though the benefactor shaped the very course of T¨¦lsarr¨¤s''s life that was the first and last time that they spoke.

    If his life path was a true one, and not merely a delusion propped by a long ago dream, certainly he should be able to call upon the wind. Certainly, it would speak to him once more.

    He closed his eyes and imagined the wind as he remembered it in his dream. He recalled the dank smell of the dismal forest, the wildberries of the field. He imagined the breeze upon his face.

    "Has my enemy-friend grown mad of the sudden? Oh, I see. He wishes to school me in a masterclass on the techniques of blind fighting because I questioned his fearlessness."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s'' vision grew in clarity and the voice spoke once more.

    You are beloved, Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s. The daimon djinn envy you as if you were siblings but you were the favored child.

    "If my purpose be true," the knight said as he dropped his sword. "Then let it be."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s felt his breath extend far beyond his body. It touched upon the smoke ring and he could feel the smoke ring as if it were in his own hands. He seized control of it from the daimon djinn.

    The ring of smoke rebuffed and reformed into a sphere enveloping the giant. The giant doubled over coughing.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s'' mind was free. Sweeping down to pick up the bastard, and in a forward dash he closed in on the giant and rapped his knuckles with the broad side of his bastard with two quick alternating smacks forcing the giant to drop the twin falchions.

    No defense was even necessary, as the giant was now too incapacitated to stand.

    Brendi came up to his side, she looked up at him sternly.

    "Did you lose your mind there at the end? Closing your eyes? Dropping your sword? If not for that freak wind, you would be dead."

    She grabbed him by the elbow.

    "Come along, my Sieur. Our part here is done. We are only in the priest''s way at this point."

    She pointed to one of Abicore''s brothers who sprinkled the ground with supernatural gold oxide while chanting in a long-dead language meant to stir favor from elder gods far removed from scribed memory.

    Abicore brought a wooden statue out of an oxcart. It bore a bird of prey''s body, a lizard''s hindquarters, and the face of a screaming, frightened man.

    He placed it in front of the giant as a companion priest grabbed the giant''s arm and he held him down. The man from Sa?droze seemed frail, fragile, and weak.

    He muttered incomprehensibly, and the words grew more and more rapid as he was forced to stay kneeled. A curling and whipping purple ectoplasm rose from the giant''s mouth and entered the statue.

    It engulfed the statue and slowly absorbed into it. Changing the color of the statue from mahogany to midnight blue, it came to glow in a pulse. The statue burst into a sputter of white hot flames, and was quickly consumed soon after. Not a trace of it was left in the Mundi.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s finally turned to answer her.

    "The wind played its part, but that is not what saved me, Brendi. You did. When you disabused me of my vainglorious presumption of having full control of my faculties you likely saved us all."

    He kneeled.

    "When we met, Maiselle Brenduanne, I thought you might be a daughter, but, nay, I see quite clearly now, how the sun has sketched into your face, that you are my peer."

    She smiled and bowed her head. "Thank you, my Sieur. I accept your complement in full."

    "I will ask once more, the first time I asked you it may have felt for you like you were under duress. It is still not too late to train at the archery school. We need you, Maiselle Brenduanne, to defend our Su¨¹d Nation."

    Brendi feigned a frown.

    "I''m coming with you because someone has to keep you alive. And it seems that responsibility has fallen into my hands."

 The Winter Knight - The Raven Forest

    "The fentifeledes," Rhoethella whispered.

    She studied the elixir in her hand with a tight, satisfied smile. She turned over the thick glass tube filled with a substance supernaturally pearlescent in her fingers with a slow twirl.

    It held an emerald green tint enfolded in it''s ivory sheen that separated light in mesmer inducing patterns.

    "It attempts to beguile you," Rhoethella continued, "the elixir knows your presence nearby. You see how it seems to change when I roll it with my fingers? This substance is so evil it corrupts the very light it touches."

    She placed it back on the felt board inside the metal box he had presented to her. She turned her gaze to him and she frowned.

    "Sieur Kel T¨¦lsarr¨¤s, your boots reek of the shit of the roads. Gather yourself up to my quarters before anyone else sees what you are treading through Castle Barso."

    With that order, he now stood in the foyer of her living quarters. Silent, alone, longing for a bed to rest his body and a pillow to rest his head. He would sleep eighteen hours if he could to make up for the slumber he lost on his vigil.

    The servant girl brought in a whicker basket. She placed it to T¨¦lsarr¨¤s side. Rhoethella followed in behind her.

    "Sit," Rhoethella ordered him. He immediately complied with his Queen''s demand.

    She kneeled before him.

    "Give me your foot."

    He raised his foot. She began to undo the straps of his hard leather boot.

    "Oh, gods," Rhoethella stammered as she removed the boot.

    From the wicker basket, the servant girl placed a squat ceramic vase and a pair of boots of coral snake skin on the floor.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s noted the pair of boots were well-matched with his urban wear just as well as the mambo skin ones. They would not be of much use on an expedition, however. Rhoethella removed the other boot with a derisive snort.

    She stood up and allowed the servant girl to remove the terry cloth bindings that padded his feet from the boots rough leather. Noting the girl squinched her nose, Rhoethella handed her a knife.

    "Lizzi, just cut those free."

    Once the servant-girl was done, Rhoethella soaked a wash cloth inside a pitcher vessel of water and she applied the cloth to his feet.

    After she removed the lid from the vase, Rhoethella dipped her hand in it. In her palm she held an ointment whose aroma smelled of sandalwood and lavender. Rhoethella applied the ointment and massaged it in with an expertise that only a former haetera could provide.

    He closed his eyes and relaxed for a rare time since the expedition began.

    "Now, T¨¦lsar¨¤s, report to your queen the findings of your quest and your service. I suggest you leave nothing out, or," she shook her black mane with exaggerated emphasis. "The Abysmal Mother may have mercy on your soul, but I shall not."

    He began with the voyage across the gulf, and his association with Abicore.

    "You, the battle-hardened knight became alefellows with an ardant?"

    "With common purpose all fruitful things are possible."

    Rhoethella finished the foot rub. She stood up and gave a nod to the servant-girl. Lizzi clapped her hands stridently. Seven servants marched in. Each man carried a large ten-gallon pitcher to the bath chamber.

    Rhoethella ordered him to stand. Soon they marched back out of the chamber. The servant girl came back over to Rhoethella''s side and bowed her head.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Lizzi. Those worn out boots of Sieur T¨¦lsar¨¤s'', place them in the wicker basket along with the bandages. Please see to it they are burned."

    ''With all due haste, Your Majesty."

    "Return in four hours with a light breakfast, but not before then."

    Lizzi left the chambers, Rhoethella threw T¨¦lsarr¨¤s a smile. She took his hand and led him to the bath.

    "Proceed with your account, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s."

    He started where he left off. While he recalled the events, she ordered him to raise his arms. Rhoethella stood two inches taller than the knight, so she had no trouble removing his tabard, his cauldrons, and his jerkin.

    Though never having done so before she stripped him down nonchalantly, until he stood in front of his Queen entirely nude. Her eyes grazed over him appraisingly.

    Her smile broad with sparkles in her brown eyes dancing in the lamp light. With her smile, fetching and bowed low; his excitement grew.

    He felt conflicted. She had just completed her third month of mourning, and only after nine months more could he rightfully claim consort.

    Her voice betrayed none of the longings the dark bronze of her face expressed so well.

    "Turn around, Sieur T¨¦lsar¨¤s. I must inspect for any damage to your person that you may have acquired while fulfilling your duties for your queen. I see you have on you bandages fastened around your right shoulder.

    "Surely an incident that required care should have been given in your oral report. What say you?"

    "I haven''t gotten to the m¨ºl¨¦e in the scrubland, yet, Your Majesty."

    Rhoethella removed the bandage.

    "A crossbow bolt would have likely gone all the way through. A dart?"

    "Yes, Your Majesty."

    She pressed her fingers against the wound, spread the tender flesh out and brought her nose up to it.

    "There is no infection I can spy. Though my nose may resemble my father''s overcompensating arch, it is all my mother''s heightened sensory perception inside of it.

    "At least, one of the ardants is a healer, as is necessary for an expedition to possess. I can smell the medicines applied last week."

    She kissed the wound, tenderly. With her canines, she pressed them down into the tendered flesh. She watched his reaction. He smiled, gingerly. Her tongue rolled over the scab sucking at the little punch her teeth just made.

    "You''ve surely heard, Sieur, that the soul of one who is pure of heart is a demon''s feast, and if a knight who is such escapes that fate, he will surely become revenant in his strident longing to fulfill his ultimate quest."

    "I''ve heard such tales, Your Majesty."

    "Would you mind if I open the wound a little farther?"

    She wore a robe of thick brown terry cloth, and his glance spied pajamas and matching long shirt of silken purple; all bodice warmth when she leaned into him.

    "I do not mind in the least, Your Majesty."

    "Perhaps, a thousand years from now I will be a vampyress, and you will be my revenant death knight lover."

    "An excellent lurid imagination you possess, Your Majesty."

    She bit into his wound more intrepid this time. The canines like a hornet sting.

    He gasped. She paused.

    "Don''t stop, Your Majesty, please keep on."

    She sucked her canines deep into the wound. Her warm tongue rhythmically lapped at it. She did this for several minutes. Clasping his shoulders with her long fingers kneading his tendons like they were baguettes of raw dough while she kept at her blood feast.

    Her cheek now smeared, her eyes and smile appeared frenzied wild with want. Only after the wound congealed did her bloodheat no longer have the best of her.

    She relaxed her stance, held him by the back of his neck gently and cleaned the wound off.

    "Sieur, can I be assured the people need not know their Queen has the appetites of a vampire? The Lords of Oblivion only know what my enemies would do with that rumor."

    "Your Majesty, so long as I remain a brood of one in your thrall, there will be no one else to tell them anything."

    Rhoethella giggled at his cheek. She cleared her throat. Her voice regal once more.

    "Before the water turns cold, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s, take your bath."

    He entered the water, sat down and rested his head down against the porcelain with his eyes closed. She rubbed his chest with the washcloth.

    It had been dipped in a liquid soap. It smelled of florals of a tropical locale remote from Barso Castle. The suds built up as she scrubbed.

    "Don''t fall asleep on me, Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s, or I''ll let you drown."

    "My Queen has little propensity towards mercy."

    "Lean forward, Sieur."

    He complied. Her fingers encircled his vertebrae and shoulder blades. She took a lava block and rubbed it in his muscles with her palm. With a small pitcher, she gathered a draught of water and poured down his back.

    "Stand up, Sieur."

    She helped him out of the bath, dripping wet on the ceramic tiles.

    Rhoethella''s eyes met his own. She smirked and giggled.

    "Not a word, Sieur. Not a word. Just close your eyes and enjoy. This may take a long sweet moment of surrender."

 The Winter Knight - Ten Thousand Wyrm

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s did not leave for several minutes as Rhoethella slept. Her long, nude figure sconced between two pillows with her head on another.

    He found the discarded tray of cheeses and aromatic seasoned breads crusted to crackers. One bottle of sweet white wine remained untouched.

    They feasted together before drifting to sleep. He was still famished. He watched her as if he were keeping a vigil. When her chest lifted, the stitches on her breast peeled and stretched. They held up well, and the tissue healed in full.

    Her tiny round chin, so contrasted with her long nose and face, tucked into her chest. What did she dream? They say elves drifted into Eversolstice in their sleep. It rejuvenated their minds, keeping them mentally sharp for the near thousand years expected of a Haute elf of pure lineage.

    He finished off the bread and cheese with two full cups from a glass of white wine. Dressed in his trousers and undershirt, he gathered his armor and effects in a second wicker basket back to his chambers where he dropped into his bed and slept for another twelve hours.

    A hard-knock pounded at his door. It must have been going on for some time, before his conscious mind was aware enough to register it. T¨¦lsar¨¤s slipped a dagger under the back side of his belt. He did not open doors not knowing who was on the other side without a weapon.

    "Give me a moment," he yelled just before pulling open the door.

    Seneschal Vohr¨¦ stood at the door. His face was hard and purposeful.

    "How long have you been standing there?"

    "I just arrived. However, I sent my errand boy a half an hour ago. He came back to me convinced you were dead given you did not respond to the ruckus he made.

    "I could even hear his pounding from three stories down. I merely assumed you were exhausted from your long trek, Sieur. I would not have bothered you, or allowed anyone else to do so this day if the Queen did not request your presence."

    "Aie, my thanks, sir."

    "I will inform her majesty you will attend her shortly. Please meet in her Day Chamber."

    The seneschal bowed and then turned to leave.

    T¨¦lsar¨¤s entered the atrium of the Queen''s Day Chamber. Several servants were gathered by a tub that had been placed near the western wall of the chambers. He noticed all eight servants were women. Four of the large stoneware vases used the previous day to carry hot water stood in front of the servants.

    Rhoethella approached him. Her gaze was warm and knowing.

    "Now that you are here, First Warden, we can begin."

    She motioned for a servant on the far side of the chamber. It was Lizzi. In her lap was the brass metal box he had secured from Dre¨ªz.

    The girl rose up and brought it to the Queen. Rhoethella, for her part, removed the elixir vial from its felt bed. Its very presence caused fear to tumble down into the pit of the Knight''s stomach.

    Rhoethella grasped his shoulder hard.

    "No matter what you see. No matter what occurs, you must be by my side. By my side, Sieur."

    "I''m going nowhere, my Queen."

    She leaned over to his ear to whisper.

    "You will see things no man should have to witness in his wife, his mate, his lover. It will likely haunt you to the end of your days. Perhaps, your soul even, ''til Day Final."

    "What is all of this about?"

    "You''re aware of who my mother is," she said. Her chin askant as her bottom row of teeth gnarled in her jaw.

    "How could I not be? She entered the palace of the Sunwelder and froze it over solid just as a warning. But I never thought ill of you by that bloodline."

    "She betrayed all mer kind," Rhoethella stated flatly. "She aligned with the Abyss, and lead ice devils, frost giants, Foeren yetis, all manner of goblin kind to seize an Elven City. All for the amusement of a demon lord who gave her a vial very much like this one, made of the same substance you retrieved from Gros Skerd.

    "Unfortunately, I am in such a dire turn, I will quaff down this vial just as my mother did ninety odd years ago. I have very few of her natural talents. Though many already believe me to be a great witch, I am almost as mundane as my human father.

    "What I need to do to survive this time of tumult is to tether myself to something of great power. I consulted with my astrologer many years ago. I am of the water firmament in the distance of constellation. I am of the moon in the near of planetary rise, I am of the season of change in the near of the Earth. In the confluence of the three, I will find my eventual salvation, or I shall stumble along until I see to my own damnation."

    "You must understand," she said, and she raised the vial to the side of her eyes. "This is indeed a thing of pure evil. A rarefied substance from the times the elder gods consumed the souls of men and mer to perpetuate their own existence.

    "This very vial was created over ten thousand years ago, and it''s formula has been lost in that far gone eon. I hope you appreciate my desperation in doing this, Sieur T¨¦lsar¨¤s.

    "What happens, you wonder, when I quaff the substance? For forty-eight hours no matter what happens to my body, I cannot die. You could cleave me in two halves with that great bastard of yours and the flesh, bone and viscera will find one another in reunion. I need you to stay steadfast beside me. No matter what you see, do not stop until the forty and sixth hour is complete and my Lizzi will assist you at that point."

    "Your Majesty," Sieur T¨¦lsarr¨¤s said, as he kneeled. "I Accept. If there is no more delay, then let us by all means proceed."

    Rhoethella nodded. Lizzi commanded the servant girls in a highly accented Su¨¹d. The girl readied two servants beside each vase.

    Rhoethella pulled off her terry cloth robe. She stood nude as she quaffed the elixir. She coughed, her eyes grew wide. She walked for three paces and doubled over. Rhoethella''s neck jerked wildly, but her hand waved off any attempt to help her.

    She rose back up, arched her delicate elven neck and gulped several times, keeping the substance down. Now ready, she walked to the tub, entered and laid herself down. She closed her eyes for five long minutes.

    "I can feel it now, coursing through me, pumping red-hot through my veins." Rhoethella blurted with an oddly giddy lilt in her voice. "Lizzi. It is time."

    Lizzi gave an order. The servant girls lifted the great vases over their heads. They poured thousands of silk worms on the Queen''s body. Rhoethella''s screams shattered the air.

    The servant girls dropped their vases and scattered.

    "Help her! Help her!" One girl screamed. "Oh, ye gods. What have we done!"

    "Keep back," Rhoethella yelled. Her voice nearly garbled. "All of you, keep back. Cover your eyes."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s was stunned for the first moment. He was the only one in the day chamber who knew not what was going to occur. He stepped forward. Rhoethella was already a bloody mess. Skin stripped entirely along her jawline where muscle tendons dripped off of the bone. He watched as her tongue was flayed by the silkworms in their feasting.

    Lizzi called out to the crying and whimpering servant girls.

    "All of you to your chambers, now! You already know not to speak a word of what you have witnessed."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s could only watch in helpless disarray as the silkworms devoured his Queen. They crawled in cascade inside her stomach lining causing the splatter of gastric juices. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Little remained of the tummy he had nuzzled just the previous night. Where he had licked the salt and succulent flesh, the worm''s incisors mercilessly ripped into ribbons. They cut deep into her intestines. The gas puffed out in a sudden loud whoosh, overwhelming him.

    He doubled over and vomited.

    "Step back, Sieur," Lizzi said in a commanding voice. "You have seen enough."

    Her hand pressed against his shoulder. He was reluctant to follow. Rhoethella''s skull was bare of flesh and caught in a tight rigor mortis smile. If she was wrong about the elixir she would be dead forever.

    "It is not necessary for your vigil to watch this horror," Lizzi appealed. "Queen Rhoethella needs you to be of sound mind and good judgment after this deed is done."

    He turned his head up to the servant girl.

    "Did she instruct you to watch over me, Lizzi?"

    "In fact, she did, Sieur. Don''t do this to yourself, Winter Knight."

    The girl placed her hand in his and she led him to a set of chairs and tables fifteen yards away.

    "Are they calling me by that moniker even here?"

    "The girl you brought back, the fine archer. She even sings a tune about it," Lizzi said as she sat.

    "Branduanne teased me with the ditty on our way back to Castle Barso. Now that it is in song it will inevitably spread throughout the entire Su¨¹d"

    After he settled down, Lizzi brought a bottle of blushbort to which they shared as they conversed. It was a good choice from the servant-girl as it did much to calm his frayed nerves.

    They conversed over the first two hours of the vigil. She told stories of the upper Midvries where most of her family originally hailed a generation previously to keep him distracted from worry.

    When they finished off the bottle, Lizzi looked him over, and satisfied with her assessment, she stood up. She flattened her dress with her arms pressed to the sides, and she smoothed two coils of Nincian bronze out of her otherwise blonde hair.

    "By your leave, Sieur. I need a little additional relief for my own nerves. Somniferum curings I could use at this moment. I''ll return in eight hours, and have one of my attendants check on you every hour."

    "Indeed. I thank you," T¨¦lsarr¨¤s said. "Your presence brings me great comfort, but it would be cruel of me to demand it. You don''t have to worry yourself, my lady. You have brought me back from the edge of the Abyss."

    She nodded with a smile and turned to go.

    "One last thing, Lizzi, the ardant, Abicore. If he is still on the Isle, staying close by, send for him. Have your girls bring two more bottles of the bort. After which, you are free for the evening. And, Lizzi, once more, thank you, my maiselle."

    Abicore arrived an hour later. He had his two brothers haul a pony keg between them.

    "A doppelbock from a personal brew," he announced proudly.

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s shook his head. "Not an honest Czerraza of a proper Su¨¹d vintage, Padr¨¦?"

    "My mother hailed from the Northern Isles. Give it a go. Let it roll on your tongue. The pleasure is infinite if your tongue is capable of perceiving it."

    T¨¦lsarr¨¤s found three more glasses for his company to drink. Lizzi thought ahead and supplied trays stacked with cheeses, well crusted seasoned bread, olives, pimentos and cured ham.

    From his robes, Abicore brought out a set of three chance bones. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s laughed at the sight of it.

    "The Lord of Days does not restrict gambling," he asked.

    "Not by any doctrine to which I am aware," answered the ardant.

    "I''ve no coin on me at the moment, and I can''t leave this chamber to retrieve it either."

    Abicore shrugged with a toss of his thumb in the direction of another ardant.

    "Brother Ficte is our banker. He''ll lend you the difference."

    Brother Ficte smiled as he removed a belt fitted to hold coin from inside his robe. It was lined with newly minted silver. A heavy set man with rose red cheeks he was; he had been eyeing the remaining bottle of blushbort since the ardants arrived.

    "Say, I spot you thirty coins for now," Ficte asked.

    Brother Abicore grabbed T¨¦lssar¨¤s''s hand and placed the three chance bones in them.

    "You give it a go first, Sieur."

    Brother Sarsmon overturned a small white wood table for a make-do backboard.

    T¨¦lssar¨¤s bent low and let loose the chance bones. They hit the backboard. All three landed on Settetoiles. Given there were two inscribed on each chance bone it was not an uncommon roll. Just an unfavorable one. Now he could not call high or low.

    "Well then," T¨¦lsarr¨¤s frowned. "I''ll place one coin on each."

    "There is no shame in forfeiting," Albacore suggested. "And it will only cost you one coin."

    The knight stared at the star symbols that looked so much like a demon''s bind.

    A whimper came from the tub. His heart jumped.

    "One moment, Padre. Wait here."

    He stepped over to the tub. The blood frenzy had slowed down considerably where he could see Rhoethella''s skin stitching together in counter to the biting of the worms. He could see into her rib cage. Her heart exposed. It was being stitched and in doing so made strangely glossy. It struck him that the muscles sheened like silk in the silver color of the moon where the cavity of her ribcage remained unexposed to light.

    "Sieur," Abicore called to him. "Lizzi informed us of the ritual being performed. We can keep good confidence. To the extent my brothers and I can assist, our knowledge is yours."

    "Much appreciated, Padr¨¦."

    He felt a hand brush up against his side. His heart jumped once more, further reassured Rhoethella was alive just as she proclaimed she would be. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s turned to look.

    She appeared an animated corpse from a mummy centuries dead. Muscles reformed where the worms slowly devoured around, when they moved, flesh reformed like an ever-moving battlefield.

    He looked to her face. It was more well constituted than the rest of her body. The silkworms tore into her jawline and forehead still, but oddly left the soft tissues alone.

    Her lips were full and her eyes intact. The sheen brilliant like the gloss of lipstick, but of a more scarlet shade than before. She whimpered.

    "The pain is beyond imagining. I won''t scream. I won''t scare off your alefellows. Play your chance bones, for now, my love. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s, I have to tell you this. I have thought of nothing else in my anguish. I love you with all the seasons of my heart. I love you from the base element of my soul."

    He took her hand. The disturbed silkworms bit into his fingers. He bowed and kissed her knuckles. His lips were bitten as well. He grimaced but he did not cry out.

    As he plucked the beast from his lips, she laughed with a guttural whisper. Her ears now devoid of hair around them waved almost merrily.

    "I will love you ''til Day Final," He said. The Knight grinned as he stared at her lips. "The gloss that has been rendered upon your lips is something exceptional."

    She licked them, flicking the silkworms off her tongue. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s bowed down and kissed her lips. When they parted, she smiled.

    "Go to your game now, I''ll be fine."

    He went back to the game feeling strangely hopeful. Abercore noted the smile and smacked him on the back.

    "Be prepared to lose your money, Padre."

    "Not with that roll."

    At the forty and sixth hour, Lizzi helped T¨¦lsarr¨¤s lift the pitcher of kerosene to douse the silkworms. With the silkworms dead, Rhoethella came out of the tub a little over an hour later fully mended. T¨¦lsarr¨¤s robed her and helped her to her bedroom chambers.

    As he bathed her, he admired the silken sheen her body acquired. Once cleaned, no longer smelling of kerosene, and feeling strong, they returned to her bed for an evening of oral satiated love making. They drifted asleep and he woke to Rhoethella rubbing his chest and kissing his neck hours later.

    "I approve of everything I''ve discovered of this unknown terrain that I now trespass," he murmured. "Except . . ."

    "Yes," she said as if to dare him to continue.

    "The scent of your sex is not so bold. I dearly miss it."

    Rhoethella giggled and patted his chest.

    "Like my hair, it will return."

    He kissed her bald head.

    "I have to ask, my dear Rhoethella, what has been accomplished?"

    She raised up over him. Her nipples bearing in his ribs in pleasant rub. He pinched on one.

    "What did it accomplish? My heart is now tethered to the moon. The light she sends, her moonbeams -" Rhoethella smiled. Her lips glistened brilliantly. She closed her eyes. "-they cast throughout the entire world and they come forth to me and speak to my intuitions. The whisperers in the night now have my ear. Whether they do so willingly or not. Soon the weakness of my enemies are laid bare to me."

    "May I ask a question about your mother."

    She smiled as she gazed down into his eyes. She placed a hand on his cheek.

    "I have such a weakness for you soulfull blue-eyed men with your pretty blond locks. I will abide you anything. Ask away, lover. Ask away."

    "Why did she need the fentifeledes?"

    "Smart man. You have been paying attention. V''ia''t''n''alla acquired it for one purpose, to cheat Death''s Embrace."

    "I be damned," T¨¦lsarr¨¤s whispered.

    "V''ia''t''n''alla be damned it is certain. Our fate, my lover and mate, is still in our hands to determine. Enough of that, I have something else in mind."

    She turned to T¨¦lsarr¨¤s moving him to be on top of her and she stroked his hair.

    "You have been repreived for a short while in your roll as the ranger of the Raven Forest as it has been clipped for a month at least. So you enjoy a stroll through the barren lands that no longer hide the Sabered Craig this eve in its stead."

    She would reign for another eighteen years before Izdun with the full might of his army dethroned Queen Rhoethella, forcing her into exile amongst the Haute elves, a people weary of her birthright. As for the five dukes who formed council against her, a schoolyard ditty survived the centuries.

    For the Duke of Andalas,

    A hookah drawn breath his last

    The Lord of Tara Kestrel

    His ear pierced by morning rill

    The great man of Sera Moche

    Brought low in horse-drawn coach.

    For the traitor of Galiege,

    A fleshy feast for the besieged.

    The ruler of Catavane,

    That death no rhyme can explain.

 The Wyvern

    The wyvern blinked as it studied Barathiel. Perhaps it never had seen a human who reacted to it behave so strangely before. For that moment, it''s supernatural speed failed it.

    Barathiel somehow found his good sense, and rolled away as the wyvern spit acid on the tree behind him. He rolled to the ledge with the anticipation of jumping down to the ground beneath for better cover, but he now recognized the small object below that had caught his attention before he realized Renua was choking.

    It was a spike and the advocate saw there were more of them. His hesitation caused him to lose his advantage. He felt a breeze from the flapping of wings against his neck.

    The next moment, he realized he should either be dead or in unbearable pain wishing he were dead. A thunking noise followed by the wyvern screaming intervened that dread moment.

    Barathiel glanced up. Something distracted the wyvern. It hovered just above him. A third arrow bounced off its hide.

    Barathiel had no time to thank the moment''s respite. He found a second footing as he looked directly below to a place with no spikes. He lowered himself down as he held onto the stone ledge with his fingers. Once his feet dangled straight, he dropped. And ducked into the cover of the ledge.

    The wyvern roared and wooshed by violently breaking the limbs above Barathiel. A great and terrible unnatural shadow spread over the watchtower.

    A bow fell to the ground followed by several arrows, smacking the moss beneath the station. A feather cap trailed along in a gentle flutter down after.

    With an air piercing screech, a man soon fell on top of the bow. He tried to stand up, but half of his arm was missing. He collapsed.

    Barathiel took off running once more in a path lateral with the ledge. He hoped the ledge and trees on either side of him would block the wyvern''s view of him. He stole a glance back only to see the dying ranger being dragged off into deeper woods by his feet.

    Tree limbs rushed by him. Perhaps, the brave ranger''s misfortune was his salvation. This thought caused him to pause. He bent low and turned around.

    A feeling of pure venality overwhelmed him. The ranger was now dying because he attempted to save Barathiel from the very fate he now suffered.

    So long as there was a whit of a chance to save the man, Barathiel owed it to him to at least try.

    He ran for the bow and arrows which still appeared in decent condition from where they had dropped.

    What good would they do?

    The ranger surely an expert with the weapon only succeeded in angerering the beast with three shots that bounced off its hide.

    Still, Barathiel found himself yelling to distract the beast from killing the ranger.

    "You have your back turned to me, wyvern. I''ll slash cutlets from just beneath your rib cage with my machete. Go ahead and feast and so shall I."

    Barathiel doubted his own sanity. He just threatened the wyvern with a weapon he did not even possess.

    The wyvern from within the thick of the woods growled, acknowledging it had unfinished business that it had unsportingly ignored. Barathiel heard a sweeping motion rise up across the branches. Then silence. It crouched on a limb attempting to find Barathiel in it''s line of sight.

    Barathiel crouched with his back to two large trees. He wished he brought his machete. He even built a pole to mount the blade to cut fruit and nuts down from tree limbs. That would have been very useful to have in his hand now.

    The trees he faced were a tight fit for a bow, but he had to find the ranger. It was difficult to see in the thick of the woods. He nearly bumped into a large slick mossy stone.

    A moan came from just above him. The wyvern had released the ranger on top of that very stone when it went off to search for Barathiel.

    The advocate surveilled the branches above him but he could not spot the beast. He looked from East to West, then to the South. His heart fluttered as his eyes slowly scanned to the South. He repeated the pattern, only to have his heart flutter as his eyes gazed over the same spot.

    There, vizdavur, the face of fear. His intuition felt it even if he could not see the wyvern. This insight also gave him understanding as to how he could defeat the beast.

    Barathiel threw the bow and arrows he had gathered on the top of the big stone. He climbed up. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    "You should not have come back for me, young Salugarr," the ranger said. "If you die, my sacrifice will have been in vain."

    Barathiel leaned up beside the ranger, and he appraised the wounds. A gash on the left leg where he was dragged. Likely bruised and broken ribs from the fall. Fortunately for him he landed on a large patch of moss. The ranger needed the shorn limb of his arm truncated.

    Barathiel pointed to the wyvern to let the beast know he was spotted.

    "It is that beast who will die tonight, not us," he yelled for the wyvern to here.

    The ranger chortled. "Are you insane, Salugarr?"

    "Surely even along these forested grounds you must be aware of what is said in the palace," he answered.

    The ranger, still laughing, "that cat''s ugly mug snapped your brain like a pile of twigs under a boot. I''ll grant you, you''ve got heart though.''"

    Barathiel noticed a quiver at the ranger''s side. The strap of which dangled from the ranger''s still intact arm. A knife was sheathed at the ranger''s belt.

    Barathiel looked back at the beast. Still out of sight, but the advocate''s skin suddenly flushed with warmth. His sinuses suddenly felt flush with heat, clear and dry.

    This fear emanating from the wyvern felt as addictive as the somniferum he vowed to stop using when his Ellie threatened to leave him soon after they married. Jaegers had said as much motivated them in their dangerous sport. That rush of bloodheat and the cool sense of control.

    He grinned up to the beast as he took the knife out of the belt and cut the straps from the quiver.

    The advocate made a tight tourniquet around the ranger''s severed limb. Glancing up as he tied that strap, he taunted the wyvern.

    "Patience, my trophy. I will be ready to kill you soon. I hear your hiss and your growl. You sound no different from a tabby in a futile challenge of its master''s hand."

    "The good gods," the rangers suspired. "I daresay you are tempting -."

    "Fate? Nay, no such thing exists. Just ask the Splendid Ladies of the S?urarchy."

    Finished with the tourniquet, he examined the arrows. Of the seven he had gathered up, five still appeared intact. He lay four out on the ranger''s chest. The last one, he readied in his bow, and then stood up on the rock that gave clearing in the thick of the woods.

    He stared at the spot where fear touched him. He felt the beast linger ever-so-slightly closer. The wyvern drew to him cautiously not willing to give up its advantage.

    Nearby he heard the yelping of wolfhounds.

    "Don''t you dare get distracted again, you coward," Barathiel yelled to the beast.

    It lowered to where Barathiel could make out a supernatural silhouette.

    "What are you holding back? I want to see you and all your vizdavur glory blotting out the sky."

    The wyvern dipped down by several feet before recovering it''s hovered placement. When Barathiel''s heart stopped, he grimaced. It was time. He lifted the bow at the same time the wyvern''s brows raised to spread it''s fear, drawing Barathiel''s blood to rise to his head in a dizzying stir.

    It opened its mouth as Barathiel released the arrow. The sharp head of which pierced the wyvern''s tounge, clamping it tight against the roof of its mouth.

    The beast gurgled and coughed as it grabbed onto a branch with its two front paws. As it stabilized it''s flight, preventing a fall, it turned its head back towards Barathiel.

    With its mouth shunted to remain open, this was a mistake. Barathiel would have laughed, if he could breathe. As now victory was his. He put two arrows through the wyvern''s open orifice. One arrow shot through the skull. The second pierced from inside of its mouth and out of its eyeball.

    The beast fell heavy against the ground. Barathiel realized his heart still had not started beating again. He did not panic as he leaned down and attempted to breathe in. There was a way.

    Fortunately, he did not give up his habit. He simply did a better job of hiding it from Ellie. The tobacco and somniferum curings were in his jacket pocket. As was the Deadsift.

    He grabbed two handfuls of leaf from his pouch and he began swallowing it rapidly. He opened the half full liquor bottle and drowned it in one go.

    A pack of wolfhounds descended on the dying wyvern and tore at it. A mort horn filled the air, and the dogs fell away from the fallen beast.

    "Do not rip at the prize kill," yelled Duke Lyoneid.

    Barathiel leaned over to the stone and puked his guts out. He could feel the thump of his heart again. Six other men, all rangers, followed the Archduke to the rock Barathiel kneeled upon. They all appeared to be awed in his presence.

    "I witnessed the kill," spoke Lord Lyoneid.

    "As did we all," an elder ranger confirmed. "Those were the three most excellent shots I have ever seen in my thirty years of service. How is it an advocate is able to put down a beast that has reigned over these marshlands and forest for seventy years and killed a score and dozen jaegers seeking glory hunt."

    Barathiel shrugged.

    "I followed my heart and I felt there to be a weird about the air this evening. I somehow knew in my bones the wyvern would be venturing out for a hunt, so I decided something had to be done about it."

    The Archduke looked curiously at Barathiel and the puked up liquor and leaf. He chuckled.

    "What of that, nephew?"

    "The vizdavur. Jaegers will tell you. You have to bring with you something that will restart your heart. I was ready for at least that much."

    The Archduke slapped Barathiel on the back.

    "My wife, you''re aunt, sent me to retrieve you. Your lovely wife Ellie is in labor. Your attendance is required."

    He turned to the six rangers.

    "Let us prepare triage for your comrade here. Salugarr and I will take him back to the palace. The rest of you, find a few good solid limbs to carry the wyvern back to the palace. This will be a evening of great celebration. All due to to this extraordinary young man, my nephew."

    With those words the Archduke slapped him on the back once more.

 The Bronze Eagle

    "So, you didn''t notice the horse missing?"

    Fekunde stared back, trying to appear undeterred by the accusatory question.

    "No one else came on to the garden''s grounds. There was nobody! Sir, she tied that rope firm. I watched her do it. The spearmaiden. I watched her with my own eyes."

    Captain Bierd¨¦ was losing patience with the watchman. When the sky lit up, the palace turned into pandemonium. The guards inside the palace reported hearing a loud, heated argument inside the treasurer''s office quarters.

    When they checked on it, they found the door molted together in a seal. It took eight men on a set of two battering rams smashing the wall supports to force the doors open.

    No one was there, but the assassin left behind the armor from her elven disguise. Likely to avoid implicating the Elven Goddom in the evening''s intrigue.

    The Sgo?the had clearly gutted the Treasurer. Blood drenched the carpeting and trickled far across the marble.

    It appeared as well, Lord Carro had attempted to defend himself with a crossbow. If her blood mixed in with his, Bierd¨¦ could not tell.

    When Bierd¨¦ read the notes of the palace interior officer that said, ''there was evidence of a struggle,'' he knew the whitewash had already begun. All reactions at this point were political calculation.

    It made no sense. Where was the body? How did the assassin escape?

    At that point, he returned to the palace grounds where he spotted Fekunde.

    "Repeat to me what she said."

    "When she spoke to the horse?" Fekund stared back, incredulous.

    "Yes."

    The watchman read from his notes. Bierd¨¦ let him read them all before he spoke.

    "At any time," Bierd¨¦ asked. "Did she appear to be over annunciating her words?"

    "What do you mean," Fekunde asked cautiously, as if he suspected he was being tricked.

    "Do you not think it odd you caught every word she spoke, every word even in her elven ditty, even though it was sung in the odd meter and dysrhythmia of Haute Elven?"

    "No. I just wrote down the words she spoke as it is my job to do so."

    Gods was this man thick. Every noted conversation Bierd¨¦ ever read of his men or written down himself contained chunks and segments of dialogue from where the spotter was not able to get a full view of the subject. Not this time.

    From the activities Fekunde described, she was always in motion, working around the horse. She pranced around showing off her derriere to the guards, yet in all of that commotion her head always faced in such a way that Fekunde could read her lips. The utter cheek of the woman. She was mocking the watcher the entire time and he never caught on.

    "Fekunde. Did you ever think it odd that she spoke of her youth as a lass, not lassmer, mind you, but lass, growing up near the Reiver''s Coast?"

    Fekunde blinked. He was about to protest, likely to point out the territories were adjacent, but even he must know enough geography to realize the Reiver''s Coast was a long way away from the Foering Glacier march the two cultures shared.

    "Oh," was all the watchman could say.

    "That''s the smartest thing you have said this entire evening. Likely, the assassin spotted you, saw that you were too bored with your duties to appreciate the sashay of her hips and haunches, and decided to make easy sport of you. You fool! You never ignore a woman. That innate sense of intuition keeps her a step ahead of you everytime. You ignore one, you have no hope to ever catch up."

    Bierd¨¦ threw the report notes down on the watchtower floor before making his way out of the station. A little smile creeped on his face. He had someone he could pin much of the blame on for the evening''s intrigue, and it happened to be the one man of the guard he disliked.

    Back on the grounds, Lieutenant Graes rushed up. He stopped for a moment to gather his breath before speaking. Bierd¨¦ had his second-in-command covering up any trace evidence of Lyre involvement.

    Most worrisome was the disappearance of Barathiel Salugarr. Bierd¨¦ hoped to the gods that the advocate was dead. Sad to say, that wife''s father was wealthy enough that he left behind more than enough to take care of her and the two children. It would be best for everyone if Barathiel met his demise out in the marsh.

    A conspiracy was only as strong as its most pliable member, and Salugarr was a most unstable man.

    "Captain, there is a watchtower being attacked in the marsh. The wyvern has been reported spotted in the same area. The Duke is still out that way. It''s the watchtower by Gooses Gather.

    "The wyvern has not ventured that far north in decades," Bierd¨¦ commented.

    Settetoile lighting up had everyone and everything spooked tonight. Including the wyvern.

    "Why is he out there," Graes asked. "Gooses Gather is exactly where we would expect him at this time if he followed the main concourse through the marshlands; that is, if he was going to the castle."

    "What, to take the fight to the wyvern?"

    "The absinthe makes the blood hardy, sieur."

    Bierd¨¦ looked up to the station tower. Fekunde leaned on the terrace railing with a fretful raised brow on his face. Bierd¨¦ made certain he enunciated every syllable he now spoke.

    "Let us pray to the gentler deities the advocate is safe. That child of his is due any day now. If not this very night.

    "Are there any other developments, Lieutenant Graes?"

    "The spotters by the bridge saw her horse leave on its own accord across the bridge."

    Captain Bierd¨¦ kicked a boot into the ground. Kicking up grass.

    "No one thought to stop the beast," he yelled.

    "I asked the same, Captain. A spotter by the name of Je?g said as it approached the bridge he began to climb down to retrieve it for the elf. As he started climbing, he was startled by the sight of Settetoile lighting up the night sky. He fell and broke his ankle. Between the star lighting up and his injury, the horse disappeared in the middle of the commotion."

    Bierd¨¦ nodded, watching the moon above make it''s fortnightly dissapearence. He knew where he needed to go.

    "Lieutenant Graes take command. I''m going to retrieve that horse."

    Bierd¨¦ rode his own horse back to the Cemetery of the Commons to check the gate lock. He could not fathom how she got off the palace grounds, or how she disappeared with Carro in tow. Why did she not leave his dead corpse in the office? One of the Handmaiden''s witchy rituals, perhaps.

    He would not put anything past Lady Intrigue''s operatives. He was certain of two matters that were utterly sincere on her part and not merely an element of her guise. The habitual gazes she made towards the moon, and the sad look in her eyes when she stared at the cemetery gates.

    From the few Ninci who were willing to speak to him on such matters he discovered the twin sister of Barathiel''s died of the plague. She had a tall Sgo?the lover, identified as Leresai Fervarryn. The twin''s body was never recovered by the family. It was the cause of a great deal of acrimony.

    When Salugarr weaseled his way into the conspiracy, Bierd¨¦ investigated the advocate''s personal history. He deduced the advocate''s motivation was revenge, but it never quite explained Salugarr''s odd behavior.

    Bierd¨¦ now set on his horse in front of those black iron gates, studying the lock which had not been touched; he tried to see them as the Sg?ethe saw them. She had other means. A netting-works of Rhoethella''s followers to assist her endeavors.

    She is in there.

    His intuition knew she had to be in there given everything that occurred in the course of the evening. Were there hidden recesses within the palace that led from its dungeons into the catacombs below and then connected into the cemetery? The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    He turned his horse back around. Where did her horse go? Someone must be handling it. If she is here, do the intelligencers of Lady Intrigue use the Cemetery of the Commons for their operations?

    It would be an apt location. As it was large and spread out. Only open to the public one day of the week. The day of Burial and Remembrance. Even then, most of the ground was inaccessible to the public.

    At the northwest corner he had previously passed before inspecting the gate locks was a crossroads.

    On the Westside began a luxury goods market. Along the boulevard going towards the South were a set of shops devoted to common utility. Blacksmiths, carters, tanners, weavers, and all such. The luxury goods market square on the other side of the same boulevard to the West was an extension of the diamond district in the control of the Kostlevidda.

    Having the common market so near, just across the street, would be considered undesirable. Intolerable even, in any other city. The guild would have bought out or ran off the owners like the ones that kept shop by the cemetery wall under normal operational circumstances.

    But why not here? That would have been a fight they had no chance of winning if his hunch was correct.

    He rode his horse down the boulevard. This late, this far off from Central Market and the concourse of taverns and inns at the city entrance, this market street was empty. Two blocks down, he spotted what he sought. Along the cemetery wall was an alley butted up against it''s cement blocks.

    The wall was twelve feet high, the surface of it leaned forward from the third to the ninth foot before lining up even again. This made scaling it extremely difficult. Iron spikes lined the top with what he assumed to be razor-sharp gables beneath.

    The shop on the southside of the alley was the one that best fit his hunch. It was a large spread of a building. Holding a blacksmith shop on the end Bierd¨¦ stood while the main body of it was dedicated to stables.

    Bierd¨¦ left his horse in the alley tied to a cross stand above a door. He studied the building. There was enough room between the shop and the cemetery wall where he could squeeze through and reach the southern side of it and stay out of the view of the front windows.

    He walked slowly and quietly to reach the far side where the stable doors were located. When he came to them Bierd¨¦ stopped. There was no lock on the door, but there were two empty hooks that could fasten one. They appeared well worn.

    He leaned against the wall and touched the door beside him with his palm. It gave way. He leaned his head to peak in. The interior was too dark from his vantage point to see much. Not much sound stirred but he did hear a horse shift on its hooves.

    Bierd¨¦ quickly and quietly slipped through the door, and closed it behind him. Now he heard a rhythmic pounding. He stayed crouched down by a shelf that stood adjacent to the side of the stable doors.

    In the stall directly in front of him he could make out the shape of the horse. His distinctive mane was obscured by darkness but everything else of his shape and his gait was the same.

    Bierd¨¦ peaked past the shelf to see from whence the hammering was coming from. He saw a little man the size typical of racing jockeys. He worked by the light of a tiny kerosene lamp at a desk by the front window.

    One hand held a lock, the other hand held a pair of needle-nose pliers.

    "So you can work ropes and locks now, can you, Nettayo. What else has that Sgo?the taught you? How did you jam it up with mere hooves, that''s a secret I would trade you a bundle of carrots for."

    While the man spoke, Bierd¨¦ walked quietly behind him. Tapped him on the shoulder, and when the man jerked his head around, Bierd¨¦ punched him in the jaw. It took a second punch to knock the man out.

    Bierd¨¦ searched the rest of the stables. An odd mildew-rich breeze drifted along the floor. He wet his fingertips and hung the fingers down just by the floor. It took several attempts to discern the source of the draft. The second to the last stall by the Westside was empty but for a canvas covered in straw spread out on the floor.

    Bierd¨¦ removed the canvas, revealing beneath a steep ramp connected to the stables. Lanterns lined the concourse. He started walking down the ramp. It leveled to flat ground eighteen feet down.

    The slow trod of hooves and boots came towards him. He stopped, crouched and he drew his longsword. A figure came in view but the horse caught his eye first.

    It was a sorrel mare with glossy hair and a gleaming mane. A supernatural appearing saddle with rune-engraved battle tackle fastened to its back. She shimmered the very air as if she was out of some delicate dream. It moved with a grace surpassing any show horse he had ever seen.

    The woman, tall and albino. He thought he should recognize her, but he didn''t. The other woman he had met and had long discourse with was beautiful, exquisite and of a graceful build even. This woman, certainly not ugly, nor homely, but she was more handsome than beautiful. Quite pretty, but with none of the fey cuteness of the elf. The transformation was not possible.

    "T''nonnon''B" he asked.

    "You can''t be here," she answered. Her voice dusk and royal Sgo?the in accent.

    He thought himself readied for any action, but faster than his vision could catch the moment that it occurred a red-hot screaming dagger flashed in the space between them, melting the mail of his armor as it passed through into his heart.

    "T''nonnon''B never was," she said, removing the dagger from his chest. "You skulked around your entire life searching for Death, Captain Bierd¨¦, bard of the Lyre Assembly. Well, now you have found him."

    She walked on by as the world tilted around him. The curved cieling above shot away just before the darkness folded in. One concrete memory was all that ever mattered to him, and it was the last ember he held on to as life left his body.

    The curved walls of the onion shaped chamber bore windows on the upper curve of the rounded walls open to the atmosphere outside. A slight pleasant breeze rippled through the room where he stood. This was Vo?l¨¦t¨¦l, Veiled Winter, where there was no tumult of weather. It remained spring in its climate in the midst of a glacier the entire year.

    Fairy dragons, no larger than greyhounds, flew in slow playful glide just outside in the early evening sky lit purple.

    Bierd¨¦ took a seat a few rows behind three other guests who conversed with great enthusiasm for the guest poetess slated for recital this eve. The Crown Prince D''tuout''N appeared through a sliding mach¨¦ door. Aromatic majoon followed his course.

    He carried a squat brandy bottle in one hand and a pair of fluted wine glasses in his other. D''tuout''N sauntered over to the three guests and whispered in their ears. Their faces appeared puzzled at first, but they soon stood up and made their way to the vaulted exit stairs.

    The prince turned to Bierd¨¦ when they were finally alone. The prince of the elves smiled at him ruefully as he poured a glass of brandy for him.

    "Now, for my guest of great honor, the hero of the Bloody Seven, I have a treat for you."

    D''tuout''N lifted the glass to toast. They clanked the crystals together in chime then both took a sip. It was a supple and aromatic spirit reminiscent of Nincian blushbort but more floral than their product tended to be.

    The burn in his throat grew in intensity before rapidly dissipating.

    D''tuout''N commented, boastfully.

    "We are getting better with each year''s vintage at matching the Ninci distillers, do you not agree, Bierd¨¦?"

    "Aie. That is ripe."

    "Now, for our entertainment this evening."

    He clapped his hands. A long elegant beauty with hair of a soft flaxen sheen that contoured along a most delicate build entered through the mach¨¦ door carrying in her arms a cithara ornate in dark green enamel with jeweled bands running down its length.

    She sat on a stool on the stage above them.

    "Do you see the glow of her skin? She has survived the Festival of Death''s Embrace on seven occasions. She grows more radiant with each season. With a mere ninety three more, she''ll be a literal Muse."

    She glanced at Bierd¨¦, then she leered at him a little longer. There was a fire in her eyes as real as any battlefield. He quivered.

    With her voice in nasal mezzo through lips that parted slower than the words that whispered through, she began her poem.

    Lord D''tuout''N,

    You are the charnel thorn,

    Set far from the midrib

    Of Brother Sunwelder''s

    Enliven green fold.

    A burl you are

    Upon the solid trunk

    Of his great oak.

    Beyond your worth,

    You have lived jaded.

    Insincere and most

    Unbecoming of Elven kind.

    A wanton vessel for ablution.

    By the means of night

    The mirecast of your soul

    Can be rectified.

    No action can undue

    Your distempered years.

    Fill that cup to the brim,

    Put an end to this charade.

    Quaff it down,

    For the poison

    I have infused within will fulfill

    What is most needed of you,

    So better mer

    May thrive better still.

    The Elven Prince staid Bierd¨¦''s hand from drinking any farther. D''tuout''N sniffed his own glass.

    "So she did poison it. Mer''Kendretta, What a sly lassmer you are."

    With this remark, she smiled wildly with her head jutted forward between raised shoulders.

    The Crown Prince stood up and he coaxed Bierd¨¦ to follow suit.

    "Now, join us, my friend. You, I deem worthy of this, the greatest gift possible for what you have done for our Elven nation."

    Mer''Kendretta placed the cithara in lean against the stool. She disrobed and stood nude before them. Ash blonde pubes cascaded between her thighs like a whitmeade waterfall.

    D''tuout''N took her hand in his and with the other playfully fondled her breasts and then he dug into her wild pubic curls. She gave a manic, stuttering chortle as his hands curled into her mound.

    The prince escorted her through the mach¨¦ doors. As she disappeared, walking in slow, small steps, legs pressed together, into his private chamber, the prince coaxed once more.

    "Come join us."

    Bierd¨¦ stood up and stepped forward. He paused on sight of a gift he had given the prince. A gelded lyre, given to him as an honorary member of the Assembly. The lyre leaned on an ornamental death head against a chamber wall just inside the mach¨¦ door. It seemed to stare back at Bierd¨¦.

    He looked to the drink in his hand, admired the ruby sway as it sloshed around in his goblet. He quaffed it down all in a single go.

    As he brought his head back down he now saw Mer''Kendretta peeking from around the corner as he imbibed. She smiled in approval.

    "Man of the Midvries, perhaps if you service me well in there, I''ll provide you with the antidote."

    Shoulders arched back, neck stretched long, she crooked one long finger and beckoned him to follow. He put the goblet down, and strode forward to meet his future wife.

    The End

 v.2.1 The North Princess

    "What kind of song do you prefer, girl? A florid chant¨¦ tease? A ballad of hopeless lovers? Something bawdy and emotively blue? You call the tune, Sellanna, I''m only here for you."

    The nightmare whinnied whispery.

    "Well, that was more specific than your usual request. The Blade of the Veiled Night, it is.

    Foot falls, breach slow, come, come, towards me.

    He hides, he throws, not, not his shadowed pose."

    Sellanna whinnied once more, this time abruptly. Someone approached so quiet Leresai realized right away the stealth it took must have been purposeful.

    "Come, come, show yourself," Leresai demanded. "Is it you, bard of Tos-Fervarrynn, stalking me? You''re going to make me regret my choice of lovers for this voyage."

    As he came into view out of the shadows, an uneasy smile pinched the man''s face.

    "Beigart, so I was right."

    "I wanted to hear you sing," he protested. "If you heard my approach, you would have stopped. Which is what you did."

    Leresai leaned her head against the nightmare''s neck.

    "I was singing for my lady. There is a time to entertain men, and there is time for us ladies to assemble ourselves in closure. You interrupted the latter."

    He approached; his shoulders furled in tight, sheepish.

    "May I brush her?"

    "Say you, Sellanna?"

    The nightmare harrumphed a whisper into her ear.

    "She will allow it."

    Leresai handed her fellow Sgo?the the brush. She then tipped over a bucket, setting it upside down. She squatted down upon it.

    As Beigart brushed the nightmare, he gazed over the beast in appraisal.

    "She is not of this Earth," he stated in admiration.

    Leresai tensed up as she asked him, "why do you say that?"

    Beigart gave a dismissive chuckle.

    "I do not mean that literally, Leresai. You took that as if I were accusing you of something. Something quite odd, actually. This exquisite beast takes me back to my uncle''s horse farm where I spent my Summers working when I was a lad.

    "And, indeed, she is quite the refined beast. I will say, and this I do mean quite literally, it must have taken a thousand years of proper breeding to arrive at this beautiful creature."

    Sellanna whinnied, appreciatively. A scent of jasmine delicately misted the seabreeze.

    Beigart chuckled with a nervous jitter.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    "I would almost swear she caused that to happen."

    "Caused what to happen," Leresai asked with feigned obliviousness.

    "Do you smell the flowery scent? It is something unreal how she does that."

    Leresai stood up, and gave a deep chortle. Beigart was shorter by four inches than she. She came up behind the man and enclosed her arms around him in an embrace. She gnuzzled his neck with scrapes, bites, and sucking kisses.

    "I fed her a salad of variedel leaf and flowers hours ago. There were many, many flowers in that mix. She either burped or she farted."

    Sellanna objected to the accusation with a high-pitched utterance.

    Leresai admonished her in turn.

    "It smells of jasmine and it sounds like a chime when it comes out of your rump, my lucky lady.

    "If I could do that it would be my foremost conversation piece at any soir¨¦e that I attended. I would be the belle of the ball with all the boys surrounding and sniffing. I would drink goat''s milk, and eat cheese before every party just so I could light up the room."

    Sellanna turned her head as if she were offended. She guffawed in a strident whinny.

    Beigart turned to Leresai and asked, "what did she say?"

    "She believes it to be beneath my station how I am carrying on on this voyage."

    Beigart sauntered up to the nightmare''s ear.

    "Beneath her station," he began. "I will tell you what your lady did last night, Sellanna."

    Leresai jumped on his back and tried to cover up the bard''s mouth.

    "No. Don''t tell on me. She doesn''t need to know our romantic play."

    "Romantic? Sellanna, this big brute of a princess held a thick quilt over her head as she jostled her way towards me wearing a dumb wide grin on her face. I was lying helpless down on a small couch.

    "She pulled the quilt down around us. Lets out a huge wheezer from out of the back of her pants. She held me down and forced me to endure it. Then another, and then yet another."

    After she climbed down from his back, Leresai held her tummy as she split-gut laughed.

    "Oh, you make me sound so evil," she said.

    "It was vile, Princess. So, so vile, especially coming out of the derriere of Tos-Fervarrynn''s very own princess."

    She let go of the bard, and shoved him playfully.

    "You need to get back in that den with your lute and earn your keep."

    "I am late," Beigart admitted, "I wanted to see how you are doing. Have not seen you since this morning."

    "Don''t fret yourself over me, Beigart. I won''t allow it. Now go. Go earn a yard of ale for me."

    He stared back at her, shaking his head.

    "You want to say it is hard to believe that I am an actual princess."

    "I said nothing."

    Leresai nodded and she tossed her hair out of her eyes.

    "Your survival instincts did not fail you on this occasion."

    He leaned in and kissed her lips, folding her hair along his arm.

    "Not necessary," she said.

    "What?"

    "Oh, kisses are always necessary. But what you were about to say, absolutely not necessary."

    "You are a strange one, Leresai Fervarryn."

    "I am but a jaded old girl. If you had some sense about you, you would part from me as soon as your feet hit the dock."

    Beigart smiled as he backed away.

    "This isn''t my first voyage romance," he said. "I do know what this is about. So don''t feel obliged to save my poor soul from heartbreak. Tonight, love."

    She returned a wane smile. Her hands in her back pockets.

    "I will come by later," she affirmed.

    He nodded as he turned and left.

    Leresai ran her hand through Sellanna''s sorrel mane. The nightmare exuded the scent of clay and the decay of a human corpse. The beast''s control of her ability was so refined as to suggest the vile scent without making it nauseous to whomever she communicated.

    "That is your solution to everything, my lady," Leresai answered her. She snuggled her face into the side of the nightmare''s head, and whispered, "at least not yet. Not until we know who sent him."

    She went back to brushing Sellanna''s back as she continued the old highway bandit chanson.

    "Foot falls, breach slow, come, come, towards me.

    He hides, he throws, not, not his shadowed pose. . ."