Chapter 8

I find I must break my own rules. I promised to confine myself to my romantic adventures, yet here I must delve into greater detail into the matters surrounding one. The tale of Tarasynora and myself holds too much fascination to omit, and no extant record chronicles the following events accurately. There is that song of course, filled with lies and fancy. Zhahllaia has assured me the damnable bard who wrote it is long in the grave. Perhaps I shall dig up his bones for the pleasure of blasting them into powder.

The stories omit this first section of the tale entirely, calling the cause of my visit a simple errand of love, and the culprit of its eventual turn the serpent called jealousy. While I was drawn back to Iarveiros because of love--foolish, youthful love that blinded me to the obvious--it was not jealousy that turned my hand. My rage, though misguided, was just.

The other version has taken root for that is how we like our history. We prefer the simple explanations, the smooth edges, to pretend that the jumble of events has a clean chain of cause and effect. We want the duel to be the second chapter of a tragic love story, when it is a far darker and more complex tale.

Let this be the true chronicle of what occurred between the Elion Tarasynora of Iarveiros, her husband the elf lord Ellisyr, and one young wizard still finding his place in this world. I pledge that every word in this chronicle is true and I will omit nothing save that which I did not know at the time. Later revelations would imbue these events, so baffling in the moment, with the most dreadful import.

I will begin just after my departure from Steelhelm. The Mythseekers begged to accompany me, but I did not have the power to transport us all. I would have to travel alone.

Almost alone. I hiked out of Steelhelm along the winding road that took me higher into the mountains, Oddrin following the threads of magic in the air. He would lead me to the nearest standing stones and I could begin my walk through the Hinterlands. The mountain path snaked along the ridge, taking me farther into the frigid peaks. I wasn't certain if I was still in Rhandonia or if I had crossed the border into Svarlskell. I suspect it didn't matter. Borders were for kings and emperors to fret over. Out here, at the edge of the world, such a thing didn't touch the daily struggle for existence.

The flames of Steelhelm's torches sparkled in the distance, growing smaller and colder with every step away. I already missed it, my Mythseekers and Comfort House. I was on a new journey now. The light on the road came from a simple spell, a globe of luminescent cloud collected at the tip of Spire, my ironwood staff. It shed light like a torch, though tinged with the blue-white of the storm.

I set my pack on the dirt road and knelt, rummaging through its contents. I found the lamp at the bottom, wrapped in a robe I never wore anymore. I unwrapped it with care, running my fingers over the tarnished brass surface. I had not touched it in years, not since I started my tenure with the Mythseekers, though I felt its warmth with me always.

"Zhahllaia the Enlightened," I murmured, momentarily worried I'd forgotten how to pronounce her name. My concubine, my friend, my love.

Smoke billowed from the spout, and her silhouette appeared within, as though she was walking up the path to join me. Yet as she appeared, she was not dressed for the cold that had me huddling in my robes. She was nude, as she always was, with only the slim gold chains draped over her lithe form.

I had forgotten how beautiful she was.

At the time, I had thought her no older than me. She had not aged, but now I thought of her as being a bit younger than I. Her hair, a deep brown that was nearly black, fell straight to the small of her delicately-curved back. Her fine, soft features were lit with amusement. Her wide, gold-flecked eyes were fixed on mine, her aristocratic mouth stretched in a smile. Her olive skin with its bronze metallic tint, was burnished in the dim light of my spell. Her figure was soft and slender, her breasts supple, topped with dark, metallic-tinted nipples. Her sex was bare, little more than a modest slit.

She wore bronze bracers on wrists and ankles, elaborately engraved and marked with turquoise adornments. A golden ring encircled her navel, delicate chains of gold radiating from it in a sunburst, wrapping her shoulders and draping over her hips.

"Is that you, Master Wizard?" she asked.

Despite the urgency of my errand, I had to smile. "It is me, my love."

She reached up, her hand bare inches from my face. "You've grown a beard. I like it."

"I am pleased."

She looked about. "Where are we?"

"We should get moving. I'll explain on the way." I told her. We walked into the night, me shivering in my robes, Zhahllaia nude and untroubled by such mundane concerns such as the icy night mountain air. I told her why we were traveling, and while she did not share my concern, she understood the need for haste.

We were deep in the night when we found the standing stones. The henge was tucked away along a hidden path that I never would have found were it not for Oddrin. He fluttered into the break, alighting on the rocks, his glow illuminating the path within. His soft trilling called me through the narrow path. I squeezed between the rocks, finding the henge in a clearing of stone scarcely big enough to house them. I worked my magic, and the world shifted.

A bright kaleidoscope of ineffable color appeared in the washed-out palette of night. A scent in the air, of wildflowers in a meadow. Birdsong danced on a sweet wind. The world about me flattened, but that just out of my vision was impossibly intricate, possessing angles and sides beyond the simple dimensions of reality. I was in the Hinterlands, Zhahllaia at my side.

We began to walk, each step carrying us leagues down the mountain. The air was twilight, and the birds flapping overhead looked to be made of folded paper, yet I had the sense that a creature lurked in the sky, just out of view, and it could see me. The Hinterlands were perfectly safe, as long as one followed the Wizard Roads that had been laid down thousands of years ago. Step off them and become a cautionary tale.

"I am sorry I left you in your lamp for so long," I said.

"It did not feel long, though I can see the differences in you."

"The beard?"

"And in your bearing. I see confidence in the set of your shoulders. I see steel in your eye that was not there before. I am pleased. You are becoming the man I want you to be."

"Worthy of you?"

"Oh no," she teased. "But more worthy. Perhaps."

We walked for longer than I would have liked, but I was getting a late start, emerging in another set of standing stones, these at the foot of the mountains I had so recently been traveling through. I unfurled my bedroll.

"I will watch over you," Zhahllaia said, standing on her toes to kiss my cheek. Her touch brought that delightful shiver through my body, like the light draw of a finger over the spine. I had missed it, and her. I settled onto the bedroll and found a few fitful hours of sleep before setting out, eating my meager provisions on the road. I sighed. Not one day ago I had been eating delicacies in a warm tub while a professional woman gently rode me to a lovely end. Now it was cold ground and dry salt bread.

"Tell me," Zhahllaia said, partway through our first full day of traveling, "since our last time together, have you taken any lovers?"

I watched her out of the corner of my eye. Jealousy would be strange coming from Zhahllaia, who had encouraged me in other romantic pursuits, but it had been so long that even familiar ground felt uncertain. "My companions have been my most common bedmates."

"I expected as much."

"I have lain with a sorceress on several occasions."

"Oh?"

I told her of Allegeth ur-Udraeg and her interest only grew. "A dragonblood? Yes, this is a worthy concubine. She should join our household."

"Household? Zhahllaia, I don't have a house."

"You have riches, surely."

"I have significant stores. Riches might be an overstatement." My wealth was scattered in the banks of a half dozen free cities. I carried only a modest amount of coin and a few gems sewn into my clothing and pack for emergencies. Adventuring had afforded me with enough that I no longer knew how much I had.

"You will have a house then."

"Allegeth is an adventurer, not a concubine."

"I am an advisor first. A good concubine will have another responsibility, proving her value." She regarded me. "When next you see this sorceress of yours, you will woo her. Properly."

I had to laugh. The weight of my errand momentarily dispelled by the company of my love. That evening we reached the chain standing stones I remembered from my original trip from Thunderhead to Iarveiros. We were not far now.

As I unfurled my bedroll, Zhahllaia demanded that I bring out our Alishum set. I carefully took out the wooden box from where it had languished in my pack next to Zhahllaia's lamp, laying out board and pieces. The board was a scroll that I had painstakingly managed to draw a facsimile of an Alishum board upon. The pieces were sculpted from coral for one side and driftwood for the other. The set felt like a link to a past I thought gone, but sitting across from my djinn, losing a game to her remarkable skill, and it was like no time passed at all. I slept for longer that night, Zhahllaia watching over me.

On our third day of travel through the Hinterlands, we walked past a field of paper flowers. "I have been thinking of what Allegeth taught me," I said. "I believe that I might be able to use it on you. That we might lay together after a fashion."

"Why did you not mention this earlier?"

"I hadn't thought of it then."

Her eyes narrowed. "We will try this tonight," Zhahllaia said firmly.

At nightfall, when we slipped back into the mundane, I sent Oddrin to the top of the henge, where he lashed his tail and peered about in the darkness. I laid out my bedroll in the shadow of the biggest of the stones, just outside the circle. The ground was hard and cold, but I had grown used to such rude accommodations. I ate some of the hard biscuits and dried berries I'd picked up in Steelhelm. I drank from a nearby stream, filling my Sweetwater Goblet several times. The newly-enchanted water put some strength into my limbs.

Zhahllaia watched me with increasing annoyance. "Are you at last finished?" she demanded while I was sipping water.

"Eager, are we?"

"You tell me that we might lay together and you act as if you don't care!"

"I care," I said with a smirk. "I merely wanted to see how much you did."

Her glare grew hard, then the corners of her wide eyes crinkled. "You have grown," she said, her tone suggesting that she might like this new development. "Well, Master Wizard, are you ready to take your concubine?"

I smiled at her, wishing that I could touch the soft skin of her cheek. "As you wish." I stood opposite her, close enough to touch, but never reaching out. In our other times together, we would already be mimicking the motions of love, my skin alive with the shivering caress of the djinn.

I began my invocation. Zhahllaia frowned, but she said nothing, trusting me. The cloud appeared at her belly, encircled by the golden ring, the gray tendrils reaching out over her, tracing the same paths as her golden chains. Zhahllaia was an ineffable creature of the air. Where the clouds touched her bronze skin, they glowed with an ethereal white-blue light, like a lightning strike that would not stop.

She gasped at the touch. "I can feel it," she breathed.

"That's the idea."

"Do not stop."

The tendrils wrapped around her, caressing every part of her body. A rumble of thunder shook her and she answered it with a moan. I felt her now, not with my hands, but with my sense of magic itself. Her smell, the burning incense and the dried rose petals, was soft beneath my clouds. Her feel, like a cloud on the edge of spilling dry lightning over a parched desert. Her taste, airy mountain air with a touch of spice on the wind.

I ran the coils of cloud over her. It was not that she was more solid in my touch, it was that I was as ethereal as she. I ran fingers of lightning over flesh of desert wind. Thunder rumbled through them again, moving from the eye of the storm out to the fingers, and she moaned again, her body writhing against the multiple points of contact.

The tendril found her mouth, probing her lips. Lightning crackled, momentarily haloing her moan. She opened, taking the gray inside her. A flash, another rumble, another sweet sigh. I hissed with my own pleasure, her lips sparking lightning along the coil of cloud.

The tendrils found her breasts. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her hips gyrating against the air, her scent now heavier between us. Lightning plucked at her nipples, pebbling her otherworldly flesh. For the first time I was able to touch her. Different than what had occupied my fantasies, but that was one of the best parts of Zhahllaia. She was continually unexpected, a puzzle box that would never be solved.

My clouds spread and now they found her sex. This time her "Oh!" carried a sense of urgency. I caressed the modest slit with fingers of lightning, relishing the bloom of scent that came with it. Clearer, higher, the spice stronger on the wind. My lightning wreathed her lips, playing over her chains, crawling inside of her. Now her Ohs were more desperate than I'd ever heard. Her eyes were wide with happy surprise.

The clouds enfolded both of us. Flashes illuminated great globes of cloud. Thunder stroked our bodies, finding that lighting within. I felt her all over my skin. Her lips were on me, in me, about me. At once tiny, brushing over tiny swatches of flesh, and enormous, stretching all around me.

I threw pulses of my lightning, heralded by my thunder, through the clouds, into the writhing body of the djinn. The rain was cool upon us, covering not our flesh but our spirits. Zhahllaia's cries of pleasure were now a mountain wind, high and beautiful. I surrendered myself to the magic, riding the storm and Zhahllaia within.

She broke with a happy sob, the lightning crashing and the rain falling. I followed her into the delightful shivering abyss. We were together in a way we had never been before. She shuddered in my embrace of pure magic, slowly regaining control of her ethereal body.

The clouds faded, leaving only the residue of thunder in the air. Zhahllaia stood before me, her breasts heaving, her bronze skin dotted with moisture. Our flesh never touched. We had been bridged by magic. She put a dainty hand on her chest, steadying her breathing. Finally she spoke.

"When you woo this Allegeth, I shall have to express my gratitude."

I laughed. "I'm pleased."

She kissed me, her lips sending delicious chills down my spine. "Now sleep, my love."

***

For the next two nights she insisted upon the same, and I couldn't deny her. The morning after the second we awoke within sight of Iarveiros from the same set of standing stones I had initially beheld it. The forest marking the border of the elven lands took the horizon. The trees were dark and looming, with vibrant green canopies. In the center, at the terminus of the path on which the standing stones stood, revealed the westernmost point of the elven city of Laerothia. Here, the first of the xilquinal trees, the elven city-trees, were revealed.

Their silvery trunks and golden boughs sparkled in the sunlight, promising the magical vistas that lay within. They formed the core of the forest ahead, the settlement built high in the branches.

Zhahllaia folded her arms, staring at the cluster of silver trees with distrust in her gold-flecked eyes. "I did not hope to return here so soon."

"Would you like to be known to them as my advisor? Or would you like to travel in your lamp?"

Her eyes narrowed, flicking from me to the forest. "You are no longer the boy I met in Thunderhead. You are a man worthy of my council. We will begin to build your legend, Belromanazar."

"As you wish."

We made our way to the edge of the forest, where the silvery trees with their golden boughs loomed over us. They filled me not with wonder this time, but with foreboding. I thought of the sapling of one of these very trees that Tara had gifted me, now secured in my pack. I felt eyes on me, but I saw none on the balconies in the canopy nor in the dark forest at ground level. I had no doubt that there were arrows leveled at both Zhahllaia and me. The elves did not take their security lightly.

I approached the tree with the staircase spiraling up the trunk. The thick canopy had just turned the day into night. The forest ahead was utterly dark, with only suggestions of shapes, of narrow trails through avenues of high ferns and fallen logs. Two half-elves in armor and wearing the Tree of Iarveiros on their chests stepped from the shadows. They held elegant bows, arrows nocked but bows undrawn. They looked at the two of us with the dull interest of a sentry, a look that could acknowledge danger but not humanity.

I gathered myself to speak, but Zhahllaia was quicker. She stepped forward, and in a clear voice, "The wizard Belromanazar, leilatha to the Duchess Tarasynora, has been called here. You will make way for him." I noted that her accent was a bit thicker than usual, as though she were emphasizing her connection to Old Qammuz.

The two half-elves regarded Zhahllaia, desire flickering over their features to be replaced with the distant speculation of a professional sentry. They looked to one another. I tried to remember if I had ever seen either of them before. Something passed between them and one nodded to the staircase. "Go on then, leilatha."

I mounted the steps behind Zhahllaia. The stairs, formed from the very wood of their host tree, had the sheen of silver and the give of wood. Though they appeared impossibly delicate, I had no fear as I ascended the long flight into the rarefied air of the canopy. The leaves of the xilquinal glinted with gold, each one like a sheaf of precious metal. I looked up at my concubine. Her naked buttocks were alluring, but what I concentrated on was the set of her shoulders and the straightness of her head. She was utterly serious in her task as my representative.

We arrived on the first platform. The city extended from here, a series of balconies, platforms, and walkways bridging the xilquinals that formed Laerothia. Ten armed and armored half-elves waited, their bows in hand, but no arrows drawn. None of them spoke a single word, their eyes on the two of us.

A party approached from a walkway to the west. As they drew closer, I was able to pick out individuals. There were two elves, a half-elf trailing close behind in servants' livery, and two more armed half-elf guards.

One of the elves was a man, with long platinum hair and delicate features. He was dressed in a noble's gown with a diadem on his brow and rings on every finger. I recognized some of the designs worked into his gown in silver thread as pieces of Tara's own heraldry. As he neared, his midnight blue eyes found mine and I saw irritation in them, perhaps even the edges of hate.

The woman was dressed more simply, in a sleeveless tunic and trousers, though they were of elven make, and embroidered with silver thread. Her hair was short and bronze, her elven features harder than his but no less beautiful. Swirling elven runes climbed her bare muscled arms.

Zhahllaia stepped in front of me. She was a stunning sight, nude and completely unafraid, ready to meet these elves on equal footing.

"...help. This is help," the elven woman was saying to the lord.

"We need no..." He trailed off as he arrived, looking at me with weary annoyance and then to Zhahllaia, some of his annoyance bleeding away into honest desire.

"The wizard Belromanazar has been summoned here by the name of Tarasynora by right of his place as her leilatha," Zhahllaia proclaimed.

"Elion Tarasynora," corrected the elf lord. "If we must treat in this barbarian tongue, at least use our titles correctly."

"I speak your language.Belromanazar does not." The truth was that I read Elvish far better than I spoke it, something that is only more true now. I certainly did not have the skill to treat with a lord.

"Of course he doesn't." The elf lord's attention flickered to me, then back to the djinn. "I know who he is. Who are you?"

"I am Zhahllaia the Enlightened, Wazira to the great wizard. I speak with his will." I recognized the word from my lessons on Abbih, the language of Old Qammuz. It meant advisor or councilor styled in the feminine form. She had apparently decided upon her title.

Both elves and many of the half-elves openly gazed at Zhahllaia's beauty. I could hardly blame them. She is exquisite. I knew Zhahllaia would use that to my advantage.

The male elf recovered. "Then you may inform your master he is not needed."

The woman stepped forward. "Wait. Belromanazar, I am Itylara, leilasa to Tarasynora. I am she who summoned you."

"Without my will."

"And you would be the Duke," I said. "Husband to Tarasynora."

"Elion. I am Ellisyr."

"Your Grace," I said. I was playing at this. At any moment I expected one of them to call me for what I was, a pretender. None of them did. Perhaps it was the weight given me by my love. My Wazira. I held onto that idea, to be who Zhahllaia saw in me. "I've been told Tarasynora..." I used her full name, though it was hard not to use my nickname for her, "has been abducted."

"This is true," Ellisyr said. "We do not require your assistance."

"He is an adventurer," protested Itylara.

"Nomadic trash," sneered the Elion.

"Your wife's leilatha!" Itylara shot back. "That alone entitles him to a place at this table."

Ellisyr sighed, a slight gesture on the ageless elf. "Very well. Belromanazar, you are in Laerothia under the privileges afforded a leilatha. Itylara, he is your responsibility for the duration of his stay. His short stay."

He turned and went back the way he came, his guards following. The ten half-elves who had been waiting for us split into twos, returning to their patrols along the soaring walkways of Laerothia. Itylara lingered and only moved when I came alongside her. Zhahllaia followed. "Thank you for coming, Master Wizard," she said. She watched me with eyes of breathtaking turquoise.

I found myself coughing, thinking of a recent time I'd been called that. "Excuse me, it was a long road."

"I understand, of course. Thank you for making haste."

"When I received your message, I could do nothing else."

"When Tarasynora was abducted, I couldn't trust Ellisyr to recover her."

"Is there something wrong with him?"

"We have not the time to go into her husband's shortcomings. When I could not convince him to lead a company to her rescue, I looked for another solution. She always spoke fondly of her leilatha, who had become an adventurer of some renown. Seemed a logical choice for a rescue. I'd hoped you would bring your whole party."

"Unfortunately, my skills at travel magic are not advanced enough for that."

"It is of no consequence. A seasoned wizard is more than enough. Especially one who commands the loyalty of a djinn."

I didn't mention that Zhahllaia had long since exhausted her wishes, merely nodding and doing my best to project an aura of power. I still didn't know what I was facing, but the way Itylara was talking, it was nothing beyond my means. Or whatever means she thought I had.

"Bel?" The voice was familiar, pulling me from the dark musings that had entrapped me. I turned to find the smiling face of my dear friend and fellow wizard Lyta Sullac, her moon cat following her steps.

"Lyta?" We embraced without hesitation. Though I had not seen Lyta since we met those years ago, we had corresponded extensively while I was still at Thunderhead and continued as much as my nomadic lifestyle allowed. Her keen intelligence and incisive wit made every letter a gift. Lovely woman, curvy and soft, with light brown skin and dancing green eyes. Her wide mouth was stretched into a smile, and she was dressed for travel.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Here to see Vallyn," she said, naming her elven mate. "You're here to see your Tara."

"In a way. I can't talk now."

A frown creased her smooth brow. "You will tell me later? You've barely been writing."

"I will be better at correspondence, I promise."

She hugged me again, and when we parted, she murmured, "The djinn with you...could this be the reason for your research?"

My face grew hot. "Can you blame me?"

"No," she said, giving Zhahllaia an appreciative look. She kissed me on the cheek. I introduced her to Zhahllaia and the djinn softened her stern mien. Lyta gave me a final kiss, saying, "I will let you go. Write me soon?"

"I will," I promised.

Itylara patiently waited for me and when I returned to her side, she never asked about Lyta. We walked to Tara's home at the edge of the city. As was customary with elvish structures, there was no clear demarcation between inside and outside. What was a garden started to feature chairs, tables, even bookshelves. Then there was a rising series of floors, plants still growing from them, then finally at the far wall, a ceiling enclosed the soft beds and couches.

I passed the pond where I'd once taken Tara in the Arthan fashion, the night that had sparked my fantasies for so long. I pictured her at the edge of the pool, arms braced on the shore, back arched, as I plunged into her shuddering body. She had given herself to me completely that night, and I treasured it always.

Ellisyr had arrived already and was at the far end, a goblet in his hand, his half-elven servant hovering nearby with an open bottle of wine. Itylara moved over to the pond, as though drawn by the echo of my and Tara's passion, settling on a delicate bench.

A half-elven woman was nearby, sitting in the garden beneath an elegantly-curved tree, a small child suckling at her breast. I paused to regard them. The woman had pale, ash blonde hair, a common marker for half-elves. The child, a boy, had brown hair, darker than I'd ever seen on a half-elf. He looked healthy, maybe two years old, though I knew half-elves matured more slowly than a human infant would. He was, perhaps, twice that.

As we came into the room, the little boy took his mouth from his mother's breast and regarded us, blinking green eyes as though awakened from a dream. He said something to me in Elvish.

His mother responded in the same tongue, and I caught the boy's name. Galan. A good name. My Elvish was better than it had been, but I could only get the barest hint of sentences. She seemed to be gently scolding him not to talk to guests.

"It's all right," I told her. Then, to Galan, "Hello."

"Zelyon, you may go," Ellisyr said absently.

The young woman stood, her eyes downcast, and carried the child out of our sight. I was sad to see them go. The sight of mother and child had soothed me. It spoke to me of hope, and that was something I needed against this queasy feeling that had settled into my belly.

"Tell me what happened," I said, my eyes still on the doorway through which the half-elf had gone.

"Not in front of the djinn," Ellisyr snapped.

"I have no secrets from my Wazira," I said.

Zhahllaia watched Ellisyr imperiously, her hands clasped behind her back. He glared at her, finally saying, "Very well."

"Tarasynora wanted an outing on the lake..." started Itylara.

"I told her it was foolish," Ellisyr said, downing the last of his wine. The nearby servant instantly stepped up, refilling the cup. Ellisyr never offered any to the rest of us.

"The area on the northeastern shore of the lake grows cold and marshy. The Valenspar Mines are on the eastern side, where the ground gets harder. They've been exhausted for centuries, but the tunnels remain. A tribe of orcs, led by a savage called Ghorza the Hammer, now infests the mines. They have kept clear of Iarveiros, wary of sparking our wrath, but they prey on the halfling villages in the foothills."

"Tarasynora wasn't afraid?" I asked Itylara.

The woman smiled wistfully and shook her head. "She said the orcs wouldn't dare."

"She was foolish," Ellisyr insisted, swallowing the contents of his cup, the servant filling it again. Annoyed, he snatched the bottle away. The half-elf scurried from the room. "She went alone, with none of her house guards."

"When she didn't return, I went to look for her," Itylara said, throwing a baleful look at Ellisyr. "I found her stag, Aumeryl, at the edge of the marsh, an orcish arrow through his eye. There was no trace of Tarasynora."

"You and Tarasynora are both nobles," I said. "Why not send your forces to retrieve her?"

"They would be butchered," Ellisyr said, as though I were foolish for asking. "The orcs know that place. I'll not send my men in to be slaughtered."

"You were going to give your wife up?" I asked, incredulous at the man's callousness.

"I have no other option," he snapped.

"You have a seasoned adventurer here now. This is what he does." Itylara said.

"I do not know why we're still having the conversation. I will go," I said.

"You will not meddle in this," Ellisyr snarled. "This is an elvish matter."

I stared at him, and perhaps it was Zhahllaia by my side, but I felt the rumble of the storm in my chest. "You cannot stop me."

Ellisyr stared back, contempt in his eyes. He poured the last of the wine from the bottle into his cup, looked into its depths, swirling it about. I do not know what he saw there, but when he looked up, his eyes were flinty. "Very well. Go and die. Her leilatha sacrificing himself for nothing. That should please her."

I turned to Itylara. "We have no time to waste. You will show me where she vanished. Leave the rest to me."

"You're a fool, wizard," Ellisyr said, downing the full glass in a single swallow. "Luck be with you."

Itylara led me from Tarasynora's home deeper into the treetop city. The balconies and walkways were deceptively delicate, and I knew them to be stronger than castle stone. Though Laerothia looked like it could be conquered with ease, any attacking group would be forced up narrow staircases, peppered with arrows from every side, and any who made it to the top would be exhausted and extensively feathered. Ellisyr, if he was frightened of orc raiders, was a rank coward.

"I am grateful you came, Belromanazar," Itylara said.

"Anything for her."

"Yes," said the elf, her expression wistful in her turquoise eyes. "Have you fought many orcs?"

"Not many," I conceded. "Wights are my stock in trade, but I've dealt with raiders of all stripes, orcs included."

"This Ghorza the Hammer is rumored to be a terror."

"I understand. I shall take care."

She led me to the eastern side of the city, then down one of the great trunks. Here, what looked like a moss-covered hill was in fact an expansive stable, holding the riding stags for which the elves are famous. Rows of stalls held the mounts, all leading to a corral at the back of the structure. The air was lit with the same hanging globes that provided illumination to the town above. A stag, either hart or hind, waited in every stall. Handsome animals with silvery coats and antlers the color of cherrywood, they were fierce and noble. Each was the size of a destrier, and I knew they were trained to fight.

"Can you ride?" Itylara asked.

"I never have."

"Ailas is good to beginners."

I turned to Zhahllaia. "I think it is time to return to the lamp, my Wazira."

"I need to watch over you," she protested.

"You will not be able to keep up with the stag." I let that hang, not wanting to bring up what would happen should she be separated from her lamp. "Oddrin will be my eyes and ears."

"Very well." She stood on her toes and put a shivery kiss on my nose. "You will draw me forth when you have succeeded."

"I promise. Please return to your lamp, my love."

The smoke came and she stepped into it, vanishing into the lamp. The ache of her absence was worse now that I had spent the recent days in her company. I wrapped the tarnished brass in my old robe and returned it to my pack. Itylara watched me. "You speak to your djinn strangely."

"She is much more than my djinn."

Itylara's face was thoughtful. "I can tell."

"I will not need this," I said, indicating my pack.

"I will return it to Tarasynora's home. You will retrieve it upon your return. It will be safe."

I placed it on a chair near the entrance and felt it secure. I trusted the elves then, and for all their faults, they were not thieves. They were many other things far worse than that.

Itylara nodded to herself, and retrieved a hart from his stable. A pair of half-elves in livery, who until now had stood by the walls without a word, saddled the beast. Itylara swung astride the animal with practiced ease. The two stablehands retrieved another hart from his stall, outfitting him with tack and saddle.

"Ailas is a hart, but don't fear," she said. "He will follow me and respond to my commands." She said something to the stag in Elvish. "You will want to hold on."

I secured Spire to the saddle and hauled myself onto the animal's back. I had barely gripped the reins when her stag bolted out into the forest, and mine followed at a full sprint. Though I hung on with the strength born of fear, I didn't truly feel like I was in danger of falling off. The stag was swift, navigating the forest floor with startling agility, and his back was shockingly steady considering the treacherous trail we followed. This was an elf-bred creature, trained to be the perfect steed. It was no wonder that's precisely what he was.

I grew more comfortable in the saddle, holding the reins more loosely as I came to trust the animal. Itylara had been right, my mount followed hers through the trees as sure as if they had been tethered together. The silver-trunked xilquinal trees receded behind us as we left Laerothia for the wild forest. Flickering through the trees to my left I saw the lake shimmering under the early afternoon sun. I was in the deep shadow, as dark down here as in the dead of night.

Oddrin wrapped himself about my neck, his claws clutching at my robe. Ahead of me, Itylara was bent over in the saddle, her body nearly parallel with the stag below her. I imitated her posture, putting my weight on the stirrups. I immediately started to wobble and sat down. I imagined Zhahllaia's voice scolding me, that I would have to learn how to ride before I started showing off.

We rode into the twilight before reaching the edge of the woods. The lake rounded around its east end to the north. The ground had indeed gone marshy, with pools of water and soaked turf between them. Fallen trees and broken limbs made the area even more treacherous. The heavy scent of peat hung low in the air as insects purred their nocturnal songs.

Itylara's mount stopped at the edge of the trees and mine followed suit. She hopped from the saddle. "We go the rest of the way on foot," she said.

I slid off the animal and my legs wobbled underneath me. I retrieved Spire and let the ironwood staff bear some of my weight. I wished I had brought Velena with me. One of her pungent and bitter concoctions would have made my legs feel better. Alia would have been able to sneak into this lair too. And Xeiliope would have fought. They were not here and wanting them was a waste of time. This was my responsibility and mine alone.

The sensation of being well and truly alone was stark.

"The orcs patrol the marshes and they see better than we do in the dark," she murmured.

"How are we going to get into these mines without them seeing?"

"The Valenspar Mines are more than one mine. There was the first, and main mine, but there were others, dug to intersect, to exploit veins as they were found. The orcs know about the main one, but not the others that it linked with. We'll go due east and let the trees camouflage us, and we'll be harder to spot without our mounts."

She touched the necks of each beast and murmured words to them. They moved off into the deeper dark of the wood. She turned to me. "When you are coming this way, Ailas will be waiting."

"Are you coming in with me?"

"I am an artisan, a maker of jewelry, no great adventurer. I'd only be a millstone about your neck," she said, shame coiled about her voice.

As the night closed in, she led me east. My senses were not equal to the task. I navigated by the light of the moon and the glow shed by my night eft. Oddrin sat on my shoulder, lashing his tail back and forth, a hiss simmering in the back of his throat. Finally, Itylara stopped, following a trail north. The ground here was indeed drier than the marshlands. We made our way past looming shapes and I comforted myself with the idea that I had only to find the edge of the woods and go west to return to Laerothia. I could do that in the dark.

We walked until the aches in my legs reached the bone and I was beginning to wonder if I would get into the mines before morning when Itylara stopped. The terrain rose here, though I could not tell how far in the dark. It was merely a great velvet shadow, of slightly deeper color than the moonless night. "Here," she whispered. She reached out, moving some rustling brush aside to reveal a yawning black hole. "This is as far as I go."

"Thank you," I whispered.

She gripped my hand and in the dark I saw the faint glow of her turquoise eyes. "Bring her back to us." Though she kept her voice even, I heard the desperate plea within.

Then she was gone, a shadow in the night. I looked to the hole. Oddrin heard my thought and with a flap of his wings slithered through the air, his glowing body giving me enough light to navigate by. The mine shaft was partly collapsed, forcing me to stoop. I followed the tunnel into the dark until it widened, and then I was walking upright, the ceiling built for people a head or more taller than I. The walls were dirt, weeping with the persistent moisture of the marshlands. It gave the whole area a terrifying precarity. I had delved deep into the earth, but I had no desire to meet my fate at the impersonal hand of a cave-in.

Remembering that the entrance the orcs had used was to the north and west of this one, I followed the leftmost tunnels, creeping into the dark, one hand on the disturbingly throatlike wall. It was long and lonely before I began to hear what I hunted for.

At first, I thought the illumination ahead of me was a fancy of my light-starved eyes. But it grew brighter, a flickering gold spilled over the orange soil of the mine walls, catching the beads of moisture on the dirt. The smell went from the persistent mildew of the entry, to the scent of people. Orcs have a loamy, mossy scent that combines with something almost human, and here it permeated the walls. I began to hear their harsh voices speaking their tongue.

I must confess here that I had not the highest opinion of orcs at this time in my life. I am ashamed of this, though I had not the chance to truly treat with them until I was older. My actions here are motivated by that youthful ignorance, fueled by my encounters with tribes of raiders. Ignorance is fertile ground for fear, and where fear grows, hatred blooms.

I emerged on a ledge overlooking a central room where nearly twenty orcs relaxed. They were clad in patchwork garments, all of them showing off copious amounts of powerfully muscled green flesh. They were evenly split between men and women, with all of them looking like warriors, scarred and tattooed. Their armor was off, and some were tending to it, cleaning and polishing. All had weapons nearby, from swords to hammers to axes. In one corner, three of them engaged in loveplay, an orc woman on all fours being lustily taken from either end. The three of them looked to be enjoying themselves, and the others treated such a lewd sight as being nothing of great interest.

I crept away. Alia would have been able to get through that room without being seen, but I was not her. Instead, I followed this level, periodically finding another hole down to the lower one. I navigated by the strength of the light bleeding up through these vents. Hunting around, I built a map in my mind, finding the various corners where the sentries were. I made my way deeper into the mine, where I judged they would likely keep prisoners.

When I found a hole that had no light coming from it, I climbed down, dropping into the level below as quietly as I could manage. I crouched in the blue-tinged dark, waiting for a call of alarm. When none came, I followed Oddrin down the corridor.

I found a room filled with provisions, baskets of potatoes and bread, dried meats, and barrels of beer. Another room held plunder, though the chests of bronze and copper were hardly impressive to one used to delving into the capitals of forgotten civilizations.

Making my way toward the populated area, I found a passageway. It doglegged several times, effectively blocking it off from the others as surely as a door. I came around the final corner and found that it opened up into a room. A real bed stood against one wall. A collection of chests and barrels against another. One wall held a tapestry steadily being eaten by mold. Light and warmth spilled from a fireplace set into the far corner. But what captured my attention was Tarasynora.

My elven love was shackled to the wall, her delicate wrists up over her head. Her gown had been torn, and only a swatch of cloth draped over her breasts, another about her waist. Her platinum hair hung lankly down to her waist and over her face. Her skin was covered in a sheen of feverish sweat. Her skin was striped with welts. Though she was in pain, her lissome body, barely clothed, stirred something in me.

I ran to her, brushing her hair back and taking her face in my hands. "Tara."

She reflexively struggled, but then blinked her wide, violet eyes. "Bel?" she managed.

"It's me, my love. I'm here to rescue you."

"Oh, Bel," she whimpered.

"I'll have you out of here in a moment." I looked up at the shackles, wondering what spell I could use that would break these, not hurt her, and not bring every orc in the mine down on us. The wall was wet. Perhaps that meant the shackles were loose. My spells tended to be loud, but perhaps I could direct it so that the wall swallowed the bulk of the thunder.

"Where is my orchid?" the voice echoed up the passageway. It was a contralto, clear but with a harsh orcish accent.

Tara's eyes went wide. "Hide!"

"Who is that?"

"Ghorza! She comes!"

I ducked behind the barrels making myself as small as I could. Oddrin's glow winked out as he hid himself nearby. I watched as an orc strode through the door, as impressive a creature as I had ever seen. She was taller than I, taller even than Xeiliope, and far more powerful than the Amazon. The orc's shoulders were great masses of muscle, her arms rippling with incredible strength. Her bare belly was sleek and flat, lines of muscle revealing themselves when she moved about. Thighs like tree trunks were visible between her furred loincloth and boots.

Though she had the characteristic underbite and tusks of her people, I still thought her to be beautiful. Beautiful the way a hurricane could be, a destructive force to be viewed with awe. Her eyes glittered red. Her long black hair was tied in a simple tail. She pulled her top off, revealing impressive breasts topped with fat jade nipples. Her boots and loincloth came off next. My eyes went to her bare slit, where bright red inner folds peeked out of blushing jade lips. Her scent was a heavier version of the loamy smell that permeated this place, like fresh moss growing on a rain-soaked hill.

She grinned at the captive elf. "My orchid. Are you ready to serve your mistress?"

"Please, my lady," Tara begged. "I am sore."

"I imagine so," she said, "but I wish to hear the noises you make when I ride you."

The orc turned to a chest and emerged with an ivory spear. Two-sided, I had seen these in Comfort House at Steelhelm. The shorter end fit inside one woman and featured bumps and nubbins to tease the sex of the user, while the longer end was used as a false staff.

I hesitated. I am ashamed to admit that part of me wanted to watch the orc don the device and take Tara. But I was bound by my oath, to Itylara and as leilatha. I stood, stepping out from among the barrels.

"You will return the elf to me," I said, trying to project the gravitas that I believed was expected of me. Faced with this magnificent creature in her nudity, I felt more like a child than ever, pretending at being a hero. I wanted her, but I was afraid of her, and of my desire.

The orc turned to face me, the device held in one powerful hand. She raised an eyebrow as though the presence of a wizard in her bedchamber was no more interesting than the presence of the bed itself. "Who are you?"

"I am Belromanazar the wizard, leilatha to Elion Tarasynora."

"I am Ghorza the Hammer, scourge of the Valenspar Hills. And you're a pretty one, Belromanazar the wizard," she mused, hefting the ivory spear. "Perhaps I'll use this on you first."

"I'll take the keys to the shackles," I said, "or you will feel my wrath."

She glanced to her fallen clothing, betraying the location of the keys. "I wouldn't mind feeling something from you." She tossed the device on the bed and flexed her hands. " Would you like to join the elf on my wall, pretty? I'll show you such delights that you'll beg to be my slave. You'll crawl on your belly to feel my touch. You'll lick me clean after battle and if you've done a passable job, I might just take you."

"I gave you a chance," I said, and with an incantation, wind swept in from the doorway hurling her into the far wall. She hit next to Tara, who uttered a terrified squeak. Ghorza was up just as quickly, a feral grin on her face. She lunged for me, my spell caught in my throat partway through. Spire went clattering to the floor, out of reach. I fell into a barrel, which broke under my weight, spilling wine over the floor. Ghorza was atop me, lifting me up by my neck. She gripped the front of my robes and tore. The cloth gave, revealing my chest and shoulders to the naked orc bandit chieftain. Her red eyes drank in the look of my body.

"Very pretty," she said. "Slender. Almost like an elf." Her hand went to my waist, and another pull, and the bottoms of my robes gave, revealing my staff. I was partly turgid, unable to escape the intense arousal of this incredible foe. A grin rippled over her face. "Oh, that will feel lovely."

I reached up, gripping her wide nipples and giving them a brutal twist. She cried out, dropping me. I slipped on the wine-covered floor, but kept my feet. Her scent grew stronger. She was crouched like a wrestler, grabbing my shoulder, her grip tighter than anything I had felt. I realized at that moment, there was only one arena I could battle her in. I would have to give in to what my body demanded and hope that I had learned enough to survive.

I whispered a spell, clear grease covering swatches of my skin. Her powerful hands slipped for long enough that I was able to throw the wind into her, knocking her off balance. I slammed into her, and she fell on her back. The floor beneath her was red with wine, the vinegary scent joining hers. I was fully hard now, my staff ready to find the warmth inside her.

I brought my knee up between her powerful legs. Her sex, sodden with arousal, pressed against the muscle of my thigh. My mouth closed over a dark green nipple, teasing it to arousal with my tongue, nipping it harder than I ever would with another lover. She sighed, her hips beginning to work against my thigh.

"You want to play, pretty wizard?" she asked.

I took my mouth from her breast. "You've found yourself in a battle you can't win, Ghorza."

"I will break you, pretty. Men have died between my thighs."

"Then why do I see fear in your eyes?" I asked her. I covered her mouth with my own, sucking her lip into my mouth. Her tusks might have been frightening to some, but I had my staff in a dragonblood's mouth. This orc carried no fear for me. On the contrary, I wanted to take her. Needed to break her as she had promised to do to me.

Her eyes went smoky with desire. "Very well then, wizard. Battle is joined."

Her hand went to my staff, finding me hard. Her eyes widened just a bit, as she recognized the nature of the weapon I would bring to our struggle. I still didn't know hers. I would have to change that. I murmured my spell, and a soft rumble shook the room.

"No you don't," she said, her hand milking me. I gasped. She was not gentle, but she was skilled. Her strokes were powerful, demanding, and she was well on her way to bringing the first explosion from me.

I responded with the language of magic, whispering my words over her nipples, wet with my spit. I felt my clouds coalescing about her, ready to hurl thunder against the walls of her. She saw my counterattack and growled, easily rolling astride me. Wine soaked my back and hair, lines of it ran over her broad back to drip upon me. I gazed up at her power, her full breasts with their erect nipples, her heavily muscled arms and broad shoulders, and her belly, coiling and uncoiling. She moved down by body, taking her heavy breasts in her hands, wrapping my staff in them. She stroked with this soft flesh, and the barriers between me and my explosion frayed. If I broke first, she would have the advantage. I had to hang on.

"I feel you rumbling, pretty. Will you spill on my neck?"

"I will fill you," I vowed.

She put her chin to her chest, and on her downward stroke, sucked me into her mouth. There was a time that this would have finished me, but I'd had the mouth of one trained in the Silken Labyrinth of Kharsoom. Even with this, I could not let her continue her work unanswered, but she had me pinned, far too strong to let me get atop her.

The rumble rattled through the room. My storm crawled up her haunches, tendrils of cloud exploring her body. I reached through the senses of magic, desperately trying to hold onto my concentration as she brutally sucked me. As with her strokes, her sucking was powerful, as though she could pull my pleasure out of me through sheer force. A line of cloud found her sex, easing inside. Lightning raked over her soft folds, thunder booming into her body.

She let out a cry. "What is this?" she gasped.

"Power," I managed.

"You want power, pretty? Contend with me."

She got to her knees, raising her pelvis up and guiding my sex to hers. She settled down on me, taking me inside of her. She was so strong, her orchid gripped me like a vise, her thighs held me in place, and now her hands clutched my shoulders, pinning me flat. Her heavy breasts hung in my face, her dark green nipples fully erect. I longed to have them in my mouth. I could have been content suckling at them for hours, but I knew this was what she wanted. To succumb would mean my defeat.

"When you finish," she vowed, gasping between her thrusts as she took me inside her, "I'm going to bend you over and take you like I take her."

"I will remember that when you're the one being taken like a dog," I shot back.

She snarled something in Orcish, her hips grinding against mine, her powerful sex gripping, releasing, stroking. As Ghorza moved, her muscles coiled against her skin. She was the most powerful being I had ever been inside, a woman I could not hope to dominate save through the gentle tools of pleasure. The storm built in my belly, longing to be shed inside her. I imagined flooding her, the way her incredible body moved on mine. I wanted that, to claim her in that small way, to make her my mate.

I held tight to my will, remembering Tara chained on the wall nearby. Yelan had taught me another trick, and I used it now. One tendril of the storm wrapped about my coin purse, drawing tight against me. The storm built, but it would not shed so long as I could maintain that bit of focus. Another tendril wrapped over Ghorza's muscular buttocks. A third slithered up her powerful body.

Now her hand went to her breast, her fingers toying with her nipples as she rode me. She went up and down, with the strength of the sea, her thighs flexing with each stroke. Her breath came faster, her skin now covered in a sheen of sweat, her loamy smell heavier between us. One powerful arm pushed her hair back, and I saw her face a mask of surprise and pleasure. She gasped, her rhythmic cries growing more desperate.

She was losing herself, and I encouraged her. I thrust up into her as she came down, drawing out gasped Orcish curses. My cloud slithered across her sex, finding her hard pearl, raking it with lightning and teasing with thunder. Her cries found a new pitch, her body wracked in waves of shudders, her hand going to her chest almost daintily as the pleasure coursed through her.

Ghorza fell, and her momentary loss of balance enabled me to get on top of her. She was on her back now, and as the wine dripped off me, I thrust into her with long, brutal strokes. Her spread thighs quivered as the pleasure crashed over her. My magic attended to her pearl, the peals of thunder joining the Orcish curses that tumbled from her lips. My own pleasure would be spilling from me were it not for the death grip I held on my purse. I would hold. I had to hold.

With each thrust, we slid a little way across the wine-slicked floor, reaching the bed. I reached onto it, cast about, and my hand fell on the ivory device. I stuttered out an incantation, covering it in grease. My mind roiled with my need to finish, but I fought it off. Insensate, I pulled out of her, drawing a snarl from her, enraged that I would cease the pleasure. I rolled her onto all fours, and Ghorza went willingly, her pleasure addling her mind. She only knew that she needed my sex. She would do what I wanted now. I had won, but I had not yet truly defeated her.

Her orchid was sopping wet, dripping with her nectar and the spilled wine. I angled myself to her and found a new depth with my stroke. She howled now, past words. Her rosebud, a ring of dark jade, winked at me with every thrust.

I spat into it, my ability to call magic now gone inside the crushing bliss I found inside her. I pushed my finger into her, and found a new pitch to her curses. A second finger joined the first, and then a third. This was mere prelude. I placed the false staff at the jade eye, and pushed. Ghorza's body, loosened by my exploration, opened, and she accepted the tip of the device into the tight opening. She shook like a landed fish, the pleasure cresting.

As I continued to take her, impaling her with long strokes of my staff, I pressed the device deeper into her body. Each subsequent inch tore what humanity she had from her. She was turning into a beast, existing only for the pleasure I could bring. When it was buried to the hilt, filling her most secret of openings, she thrashed, completely out of control, the waves of pleasure battering at her.

Now I thrust against her, first my staff, then the false one. She was always filled, her body overloaded by sensation. She shuddered against me, her sex gripping mine, frantically milking as though it could find a way to end this sweet torture. Finally I could take it no longer. I released the hold on my purse, slamming deeply into her with both staff and spear, filling her utterly.

The pleasure flooded into me, washing me in lightning and thunder. It flowed out of me in great, pulsing waves. I felt myself unspooling, my seed shooting deep into her. I shook, my body gripped in the sweet agony, and I could only hold her haunches until I was finished filling her with every last thread.

I collapsed against her wine-scented back, breathing heavily, my staff and the device still buried inside her. Her broad back trembled, her breath ragged. I found the strength to rise, gently pulling myself from her. Ghorza was facedown on the floor of her quarters, unconscious, the ivory device poking from her like a tail.

My entire body was sore. Exhaustion gripped me. I could not rest yet. I cast about, finding a ring of keys on her belt. I unlocked the shackles, and Tara fell into my arms. "You were magnificent," she breathed.

"Not yet, my love. We still have to escape this place." I kissed her deeply, knowing we had a long night ahead of us and salvation was hardly assured.