There are times I wonder who of my companions, lovers, and acquaintances made it into the historical record. As with everything, the number of them bleed out over time. Someday, perhaps, there will be none. Even I will be forgotten when the next strata of the world is born.

I do not believe I have read every chronicle of the Heacharid conquest of Axichis. In the ones I have read, none mention Dromesia by name. Phaeliope appears in a few, but none detail our friendship. The only figure that consistently appears is Melodora Bardane, for reasons that should be obvious for any who know of me.

The women in this volume are all important to me in their way, but to a historian, they are but footnotes. Dromesia, if she is mentioned at all, it is as an unspecified healer who nursed me through my first encounter with Lysethe. Einoë and Kallea are far more infamous in their current incarnations than as my largely unnamed hetairoi. And none of them mention my week with the sellsword Talynore Tazo.

In the scheme of the war itself, it had no import. It provided another ship to the amazons, a few stormwights, but that was all. And all it cost me was my faithful ironwood staff. As for Talynore and me, it explains our later association, but that would come in time.

This interlude began with an ambush. One, I'm afraid, I was on the wrong side of. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. While the Axichan archipelago had but six major islands, it was filled with smaller spits of land, some barely more than a few salt-scoured rocks. Plenty of places for ships to hide. Easy to forget in my arrogance and rage.

We caught a Heacharid ship in an inlet of one of these islands, in a section of the sea littered with spits of land that only had names to the most experienced of Axichan mariners. The Heacharid ship was a nice fat prize that the crew of Naeri's Revenge couldn't turn down. My storm had the Heacharids pinned against the shore and I was about to commence with the process of killing when three more ships came around the windward side of the island.

Kallea kissed my cheek and settled her helmet into place, ready to repel boarders. The leaden clouds were thick over the area, and as the three Heacharid ships sailed hard for us, their catapults flinging the first volley of stone, an idea sparked into my mind. The ships left the bright and shining day for the false night of my storm. This was the answer.

"Hold fast," I murmured.

"Hold fast!" Einoë called to the crew.

Kucyone bellowed orders over the deck, the ship wheeling for open water. We would not make it before the catapults chewed us apart. If I knew it, everyone on the ship knew it.

I was deep in my spell, the magical energy wreathing me, flowing through my will, sharpened by my words, shaped by my hands, and overlaid on the world. I felt it all around me, surging in my blood, thundering with my heart. I dove into ocean of magic and made it dance.

The spell felt like one of the great sea monsters that lurk in the deep waters at the edge of the world, old and powerful beyond reckoning. It thrashed in my grip, its strength incredible and growing with every shuddering heartbeat. I don't know if I ever thought I could control it. If even that was my intent. I only know that when it twisted its way free, I found myself hurled into the gunwale.

My senses returned to me, the starry field of magic leaving my sight in favor of the heaving sea. The storm battered us. Sheets of rain slicked the decks. Gales tore at us with talons of ice. Lightning raked the seas and thunder shook the skies. The Heacharid ships were scarcely visible through the driving rain. The deck pitched and rolled beneath my feet, the ship seemingly desperate to fling me from its back. Waves crashed over the deck, soaking me to my skin.

"Tent brother!" Einoë bellowed, clutching the mast. "Your spell will kill us!"

"End it!" Kallea shouted, her knuckles white as she gripped the rigging.

I raised my arms, summoning my will, ready to focus it through my voice. I would hold this convulsing maelstrom of a spell. I would force it to bend to my desires. I would fling it behind Naeri's Revenge, into the teeth of the Heacharids. I saw the way though, shining brightly through the chaos of the spell. I saw how to take it and wrestle it to my will.

The wave hit me full in the chest right as the deck fell from beneath my feet. I felt myself hurtling through the air. My ironwood staff, Spire, flew from my hands. That would be the last time I ever saw it. Oddrin clutched my robes, his glow rendering what I could see strange and eerie.

And then I hit the sea. The water surged up, trying to drown me. Perhaps it would have succeeded, but my elven garment was light. The robe held none of the water. I could see only the wooden behemoth of my ship, bucking up and down as though trying to stamp the life from me, rain and seawater obscuring the rest. I struck out to where I thought the shore might be. Get to safety, then arrange rescue.

A current caught me, pulling me somewhere. Shadows loomed from the dark. Lightning lanced from the heavens, splitting one of the Heacharid ships in two. I allowed myself a small moment of pleasure as the current pulled me past the burning and sinking wreckage, screaming sailors falling into the surging sea.

Rain tried to drown me from above and the sea from below. I stopped trying to swim altogether and concentrated only on staying afloat. Distantly, I could see daylight, but it was a long way off. My spell had spread, perhaps joining the fabric of a storm already brewing.

The sea fueled by my own storm, tore at me. I pushed myself past exhaustion merely keeping my head above water. Oddrin perched there, his claws drawing stinging rivulets of blood. I do not know how long I stayed in the water, but I do know that it was dark under clear skies when I saw that little spit of rock that would be my home for the next week. I summoned every last ounce of will I had left and struck out hard for it. The current nearly swept me past, but I managed to haul myself into the shallows.

I put my feet beneath me and staggered onto shore, ready to die. The water spilled from my elven robes. Two things hung from my belt, secured so well that even the storm could not tear them from me. My sweetwater goblet, the gift from Thalalei on my right hip, Ellisyr's sword on my left. A tool and a trophy. Life and death.

The shore was rocky, punctuated by deep pools teeming with life. I staggered up past the waves, to the edge of a small expanse of sand and collapsed. I lay there, in the air, chill with evening wind, sucking air into aching lungs. Every muscle in my body felt loose, a faint burn at the edge of feeling.

I do not know how long I lay there. It is possible I lost consciousness, sleep claiming me for scattered moments. Oddrin's hiss brought me to awareness. I sat up only with difficulty. A shape floundered in the shallows. I forced myself to my feet, my exhausted mind too addled to think clearly. I shambled into the surging waves. The shape was female, though as she got to her feet, I saw that she was no amazon.

Her armor was a patchwork of leather and plate. Enough to keep her limber, extra protection on the parts of her most vulnerable in a fight. It struck me as the armor of someone who knew exactly what she would need. One who knew her own strengths and weaknesses from a lifetime of use. She wore a blade on each hip, one long, the other short, both with a slight curve.

She stood up straight, her eyes meeting mine.

She was beautiful but it was the beauty of the perfect killing stroke. She was tall and lithe, more lovely in motion than she ever was at rest. Her hair was auburn, lightly streaked with gold, bound into a high braid that went to the middle of her back. Her slanted eyes were a shocking shade of magenta. Her bronze skin was tinged with gray. Her face was angular, with a strong, stubborn jaw. Her canine teeth and her ears came to delicate points. This was Talynore Tazo, of course, but I did not yet know her name.

"You!" she said. Both blades whispered into her hands. "Time to die." Her accent was from somewhere in Aucor, but differed from the Heacharid accents I'd heard.

I drew Ellisyr's sword. I'd been practicing with my hetairoi and now was the time to put that training to use. I was better with a staff or even a spear, but I didn't have one of those.

She lunged. Talynore is a terrifying opponent, as swift as a viper and precise as an iasos, but no one is swift or precise after the best part of a day spent not drowning. Her attacks were clumsy, and I gave her ground, parrying what I could and dodging the rest. I focused my will and spat sparks, trying to build a spell that would slay her. She cursed at me in Eomet.

Our battle was neither epic nor elegant. We flailed drunkenly, far too spent to make a good accounting of ourselves. My muscled burned. Her breath was ragged, the blades of her longsword dragging in the sand. If we were not so set on killing the other, it might have been funny.

"This is foolish," I said in Rhandic.

"Of course it is," she said in the same tongue. "We're in a war." She did not attack, but she remained in her fighting posture, half-crouched, but both her weapons dipped.

"You are not a Heacharid."

"They paid me good coin to be here. Point of professional pride they get their money's worth." She settled back, no longer in any posture to attack. "But perhaps a momentary cessation of hostilities..."

"Is advisable?"

"I can always kill you on the morrow," she mused. She did not seem entirely serious, nor entirely unserious. That was Talynore's way.

"Many have tried."

She sheathed her swords and I followed suit with mine. She looked me over. "Have you scouted this island?"

"No. I do not know if I've the strength."

"We need water," she said.

"Then let's look." I didn't tell her about the goblet on my belt. I was not yet sure what I would do.

It did not take long to walk the island. We walked side by side, warily keeping track of the other. She did not reach for her blades and I did not begin a spell. Oddrin's glow gave some small illumination, and he gave small hisses whenever she strayed close.

The island was little more than a rocky peak poking up over the waves. Pools and a few strips of sand appeared at low tide. At high tide, it was scarcely an island at all. The only shelter was a small cave near the pinnacle, just out of reach of the tides. There wasn't anything even close to a water source. We found our way back to the beach where we'd washed up.

"We won't starve at least," she said, peering into the tidepools. "So long as you don't mind eating sea snot."

I untied the goblet from my belt and dipped it into the pool. She watched as I brought it to my lips. The water was sweet, putting strength back into my limbs. I dipped it back into the water and held it out to her.

"Some wizard's trick?" she asked. "Poison?"

"No poison. A gift from a paramour. An elvish trinket, I believe."

"Why not," she muttered. "Who wants to live forever?" She accepted the cup, sipping cautiously at first, and then slurping when the taste hit her. She quaffed another cupful and looked at the goblet. "Some trinket. That is quite the paramour."

"I thought so."

She handed it back. "The cave then? Any lower and we're liable to be washed out to sea in the night."

"I was thinking that myself."

We climbed up to the cliff, settling down at either end. She winced, shifting in her armor. "I could use a fire," she said.

"Tomorrow we'll look for driftwood. Tonight? I believe I can give us something. It will not last long, but I don't think there is too much night left ahead of us."

"I'm going to take this armor off. I'll freeze if this wet stuff is on my skin all night." She paused, giving me a speculative glance. "You're welcome to watch."

"I am?"

"You're going to look anyway." She flashed me a grin. I saw through it. She was trying to put me at ease. I would be easier prey.

"True," I said.

"Are you not going to do the same?"

"Elven robes. They're quite dry." True, although the wet loincloth was beginning to trouble me.

The armor came off swiftly. I focused on my spell, summoning a ball of warmth. It would not do much against the wind, but it was something, and perhaps this shallow cave would capture a bit of the warmth. It was funny. I was so used to the breeze off the Turquoise Sea, but now, exhausted and wet, it was bone-chilling.

I slipped off my loincloth beneath the robes, putting that by the warmth of the spell. Her clothing lined up by it, and soon she was huddled on the other side of the cave, nude, knees against her chest. Her blades sat next to her. She was lean, her body a fetching collection of muscle. Not a few scars ran over her limbs. Her breasts were small, but I could not see their shape in her present position.

"I am--" I started.

"The Dreadstorm," she said.

"Dreadstorm?" It was the first time I heard the name that would become one of my most oft-repeated epithets. It sat strangely on my mind. What modest reputation I'd had so far was as an explorer. This was the first that carried fear.

"The amazons' necromancer. There's quite a bounty on your head."

"Is there?"

"Oh yes. Five thousand crowns and a parcel of land in Arcanoir. The only bigger bounties are on the generals."

"You are looking to collect."

"Of course. That kind of money? And land I could tax? That would set me up for life."

"I should sleep with one eye open."

"I would were I you."

"I am Belromanazar of Thunderhead." I wanted her to use my name, not the epithet. While I might like the idea of Heacharids using it, having it spoken to me, and so casually, chilled me.

"Talynore Tazo," she said.

"Was that your ship I split in half?"

"It was the ship I was on. I was in the middle of hacking apart a bosun you'd turned to a wight when you hurled me into the drink. I don't think anyone else from that ship will be washing up either."

"Good. Let the sharks feast." I settled back, folding my arms. "Sleep well."

I drifted off, the exhaustion claiming me. In the middle of the night, a hiss woke me. I opened my eyes to find Talynore halfway across the cave, her shortsword in hand. Oddrin stood on my chest, hissing at her.

"I wouldn't," I warned.

She broke into a grin, relaxing. "Can't blame me for trying."

When I woke again the following morning, I found Talynore sleeping, her back turned to me. A few scars crossed her back, down to a shapely buttocks. I thought then that I would be killing her later, but there was still enough foolish honor clinging to my heart that I wouldn't do it while she was helpless.

I girded the hem of my robe, and pinned the sleeves to my shoulders. The island was even smaller in the daylight. That was when I realized it was high tide, and it was literally smaller. The horizon was clear of ships. In the distance off to the east, I could see smoke, and in another, the dim line of another shore. Impossible to tell which island, or who owned it.

I could only hope that it would be Axichans who found us. If what Talynore said was true, then every Heacharid in the war wanted my head. I could not expect mercy from them, and I was important enough that they would give away a king's ransom for my death.

A collection of wood had accumulated in the shallows where both Talynore and I had washed up. It had to be ship wreckage from the battle. I could only hope none of it was from Naeri's Revenge. I went about gathering it and carrying it up to the cave.

When I arrived with the first load, Talynore had awakened. She had donned a loincloth, but nothing else. Her abdomen was sleekly muscled, her breasts fuller than I had initially thought, topped with nipples the color of slate. She'd belted on her shortsword, but left the longsword with her armor and the bulk of her clothing on the cave's floor.

"Like how they look?" she asked.

I met her eyes. "They're not unattractive."

"They are better than that." She said, holding her breasts for a moment.

"I'll be sure to mourn them after I kill you."

She smirked. "Did you see ships?"

"None yet. I can't imagine it will take them long to find us. Either your side or mine."

"You should hope it's yours."

"Now that you're awake, help me gather wood before the current takes it out."

She sighed and followed me down. Soon we were ferrying up every scrap of wood we could get our hands on.

Talynore was weak, breathing heavily, a slight shiver in her skin, even in the sunlight. She had spent a far more miserable night than I, and I don't think she was looking forward to another. My spell of warmth was not the equal of the terrain, and would not last the night. We would need a fire. I was already thinking in terms of we, rather than I, even though I knew she was ready to kill me. There was a difference between her, a sellsword working for coin, and a Heacharid fanatic. Some would say she was worse. For me, in that situation, it eased my mind. A person motivated by coin can be treated with. A person motivated by a deity cannot.

Oddrin trusted her far less than I. He watched her, uttering hisses whenever she got close. I patted the little night eft on his head. He'd saved my life in the night. Wasn't a doubt in my mind she would have cut my throat if not for my familiar.

Our bellies were moaning by the time we'd scavenged every scrap of wood in the shallows. We began to forage. Fish were everywhere about the island, some trapped in tidepools. Catching one with my bare hands was going to be impossible. I was beginning to look at the brightly-colored snails that slithered to and fro over the rocks, and wished Xeiliope had told me which were poisonous. Our best outdoorswoman had always been Velena, and her area of expertise had been forests. Esmian forests specifically, though she'd managed to stretch her knowledge in the years we'd wandered Chassudor. She'd taught the rest of us the rudiments and I was grateful to her every night I've spent under the stars.

"Dreadstorm," Talynore called. She was knee-deep in a tidepool. She was still clad only in her loincloth, and her nudity, though undeniably alluring, had become so factual I was no longer distracted by it. "Catch us some fish."

"I am no fisherman." In my mind, I imagined the people of Burley Shoal mocking me. Here I was, the mighty adventurer, and I had not the skill they acquired as children.

"Use your..." she wiggled her fingers.

The silvery forms darted through the water, and my stomach took the chance to tell me that this was an excellent idea. "You want to try to eat an undead fish?"

"Just get them out of the water. I can do the rest."

"You can cook and clean a fish?"

"I was not always a sellsword. Now can you do this or no?"

I nodded. I was not good with manipulations such as these. I knew how of course. A cousin of flight that I had yet to master. Rhadoviel would never have let me leave his tutelage had I not the basics. I focused the magic through my will, trying to grip water. I will never know why this is difficult for me, but it is. After all I can hold air, sculpt it to my purpose, make it dance to my whims. I can move water with ease, so long as it resides in a cloud. But water in a pool will always be difficult.

It took a longer time than I would have liked. Eventually, I managed to sculpt a tendril of water, enticing a fish to swim free of the pool. Then I cut the tip from the pool itself and hurled the rest to shore. The bubble exploded, leaving the fish flopping on the black volcanic rock. Talynore sprang upon it, slicing its head off with a single sure stroke.

"Go on, get another," she said.

"No," I said. "One at a time. If you want to eat, my throat will remain uncut."

"Probably wise," she said with a smirk. "I'll clean this, and you build a fire. You can do that? It won't tire you out like catching this fish?"

"I can build a fire."

That was something Velena had taught all of us, and I was grateful to her for that bit of craft. The wood, still damp with saltwater, smoked heavily. I watched it thread into the sky, wondering if a ship would spot it and investigate.

None did, and soon she had slices of fish impaled on splinters of wood, getting a good coating of char. We ate and though the fish needed seasoning, I didn't care. I was famished and any food would have tasted like the ambrosia of the gods.

We each settled back on different walls of the shallow cave, digesting. The fire burned and smoked between us. Before long, Talynore pulled on her tunic, the fabric stiff with dried salt. The air was beginning to cool and the constant spray brought chilled points to our skin.

"It's elven," she said, breaking the silence that had stretched between us for hours.

"What?"

"Your blade. It's elven. How does a man who talks like a Rhandic saltie get his hands on an elven blade?"

"It's a long story."

"Now, I didn't get a clean look at your sword, but it looked fine to me. The weapon of a noble. How does a man, even a necromancer, get a blade like that?"

"I'm not a necromancer."

She smirked. "If you say so."

"As I said, it is a long story."

She looked about. "You see anything else to do?"

"You have a point there," I allowed.

"Come, Dreadstorm. Tell me a tale I can sink my teeth into."

I thought about it. Such things were private, but we were here, on the edge of the world, with nothing else to do. The boredom was maddening, and here was a way to alleviate it. "Very well."

She broke into a smile. I told her the tale of Tarasynora being taken by Ghorza the Hammer, my rescue of her, and the revelation that Tara's husband was behind it all. I told her of the duel I fought against the man, slaying him. The sword was my spoils.

When I was finished, she gave me an approving nod. "A worthy story. I am confused on one point. He knew you were fucking his wife?"

"Aren't you elvish?"

"I've an elvish grandfather. I've never met him and don't think I ever will."

"It's a tradition in elvish culture. At least in Iarveiros, I know not of other elvish lands. The Iarveiran elves have a dedicated lover not of the elvish people. I do not know why. Those lovers have recognized rights and privileges among them."

"And you fuck his wife."

"He is dead. Beyond caring what I do with his wife."

She snorted in amusement. "It must be boring, fucking an elf. I imagine she just lays there."

"She allowed me to take her in the Arthan fashion."

Her mouth dropped open and a moment later a gale of laughter burst forth. "You buggered an elven noble?"

Now I laughed. "I suppose I did. She seemed to enjoy it as much as I."

"I bet a good buggering is just what those prigs need." She shook her head in amusement.

"You are truly only a quarter elf?" I asked her.

"You want to bugger me?"

"Perhaps. Seriously, though. I am curious."

"Quarter elf, quarter orc, the rest is human," she said.

"The Heacharids allow you on their side?"

"The amazons allow you on theirs. It's funny how morals become ghosts the instant victory is in the offing."

"You bring victory?"

"I am the finest killer in Chassudor." She said archly, then frowned as she reflected. "Second best, perhaps. I am sitting with the mighty Dreadstorm."

That night I was not awakened to a blade. By morning, the fire had burned down to embers. I fed it, nurtured it back to a modest blaze, before going down to the shallows where I caught another fish. Talynore had awakened by then, and she killed, cleaned, and cooked the fish.

While the meat sizzled over the fire, a ship passed on the horizon, too far to see whose it was, and too far to see the smoke from our fire. The island was the definition of boredom. Between the fish and my goblet, we could last here indefinitely, but that did nothing to fuel our minds. Yet something made our conversation terse throughout the day. Though she had not attacked, I was acutely aware that our truce was temporary, and perhaps she had become aware of this too. We were not allies, but in this place we were not precisely enemies. Some foolish part of my mind longed for the lost simplicity.

I watched the sun set on another day. "Where are you from? Somewhere in Aucor?" I asked her finally. I knew very little of the world beyond Chassudor at this time.

"Somewhere in Aucor," she agreed. "Haguellon." The word was lovely, and she spoke it with a thicker accent, calling to the pronunciation of her youth.

"I don't know it."

"Have you been to Aucor?"

"No. This is the first time I have left Chassudor."

"Haguellon is...some would call it a kingdom, others a free city. It is both and neither."

"It is part of the Heacharid Empire."

"Again, yes and no. The king never formally surrendered. The theimes would never allow it. There might still exist a state of war between the two powers."

"Theimes?"

"Factions. The king has power, yes, but only thanks to the sufferance of the theimes. They all jockey for a place in the court, spilling one another's blood with abandon. Instead of formal surrender, the city pays a tithe to the Heacharids. It keeps them out. And I believe the Heacharids find it useful to have a place that will trade more easily with the rest of the world, and the duellists of the city are second to none."

"This is why you serve the Heacharids?"

"I don't serve the Heacharids," she said mildly. "I hired myself to them because they pay the most."

"It doesn't trouble you that they would kill you?"

"They would?"

"You're not human."

"I suppose it troubles me as much as your service to the amazons troubles you."

"What do you mean?"

"If the amazons had their way, they would slay every man."

"That isn't true."

"I've heard their stories, the myths of their people, and the rules of their culture. Perhaps they've turned their backs on that tenet but it is real."

"They were content to remain in Axichis. Even if they wanted me dead, they would never leave their islands to see it done. I would be safe from every amazon on Thür merely by crossing the sea. There is no such safety from the Heacharid hounds."

"They have not come for me."

"You are useful to them."

"As you are useful to the amazons." She broke into a grin. "Dreadstorm, you are younger than I thought you would be."

I frowned, unable to follow her pathways of her thought. "You are not old."

"I am older than I look and I've sold my skills since my first moon. I've fought with Heacharids, I've fought against them. I've fought in your homeland, up in skirmishes barely anyone cared about even while the blood was hitting the ground. This is what I know. There are no good people or bad people. There are only people, and people want to kill one another."

"There is a difference. The Axichans were no threat to the Heacharids and still they invaded."

"There is never threat," she said. "The Heacharids wanted these islands and so they will take them."

"Not if we stop them."

"You cannot."

"I will kill as many as I need to."

"There is no number that would make the cost too high. Their lands are limitless. They will keep throwing their slaves into the teeth of their defenses. The rulers of the empire will never lose a second's sleep over your butchery."

"Slaves?"

"They have a name for them, but they are slaves. I don't like artifice, so I won't use their word. They take boys from places they conquer, a tithe of flesh. Haguellon sends them too. They force them to worship their goddess of purity, taught the Heacharid Emperor is their father. They give them some training in the art of war. Then they throw their bodies into enemy weapons until they get what they want."

I settled back, stunned. "That is evil."

"It is hunger."

"And you help them do this."

"They would do it with or without me."

I could not quite contend with the emptiness inside that statement. "I would feel better if you believed."

"How would that matter?"

"Then you would at least be trying to do what you believed was right."

"If I believed, we would have fought, and either you or I would now be dead. All that would be salved is your idea of what should and should not be. The Heacharids will do what they do regardless of what I believe."

"You could stop it. You could take a stand."

"With you?" She laughed. "Pointless. You'll die, and the only regrettable thing is that I will not have your bounty."

"Then why am I keeping you alive?" I wondered aloud.

Her magenta eyes hardened. My decision was made, and she heard it in my voice. Those like her always lived on the knife's edge. Violence was never far, and they learned to smell it on the wind. I had only begun developing that sense. Even if I had not been ready to fight, the instant I saw her gain the will to slay me, the choice was well and truly made.

The spell leapt to my lips. I was ready to spill lightning over her. She would be just as fine company as a stormwight.

She sprang up, tigerish, knocking me back into the wall of the cave. My spell burst from me, in unfinished form, but an unfinished spell could still hurt. The scent of lightning popped in the cave, and she flew across the short distance to hit the far wall. She was off it just as quick, her shortsword in hand, gleaming in the dying light of day.

The blade sliced along my robes, and I caught her wrist. She struck me with her fist. We went down in a heap, wrestling for the sword. I no longer even tried to cast a spell. Oddrin darted in, biting her shoulder. She howled and hit him. I punched her. We fought tooth and nail, scattering the wood and ashes of the fire.

We rolled about on the floor of the cave. A momentary pause came when I found myself on top of her. My mouth tasted of copper and my face throbbed in pain. A few shallow cuts traced my ribs. She was nearly as bad shape, a cut under one eye, a split lip. Her blood was grayish, a strangely sterile color for one so full of life. Our clothes were in rags. As I looked down on her, every muscle tensed against her taut flesh, I realized that I was hard.

We both paused in our fighting, exhaustion warring with fresh hurts, our breath burning in our lungs. Her magenta eyes bored into mine, filled with fire. Her loincloth was torn, hanging partly off her hips. One side of her sex, hairless and flushed gray, called to me. I saw that her slit was shiny, though whether it was the juices of arousal or sweat from our exertions, I did not know. My mind was a torrent, as the storm that had dumped me on this place. I could not resist. I angled myself, now quivering with need, ready to plunge into her.

"Not in the cunny," she said breathlessly. "I've no night tea, and I'll not carry your whelp."

The fire in her eyes was not entirely lust nor was it hatred, but an alchemy of the two. It was need, the same as I had. Being surrounded with death only made such coupling inevitable. Some affirmation of life and connection, even between enemies.

I began an incantation, and her blade was at my neck. Cold and sharp, it could open me with a single swipe. "No spells," she said.

"You'll want me wet," I said. "Your mouth or my magics are the sum of your choices."

She reached up, sucking my lower lip into her mouth, then pinned it between the sharp teeth at the corner of her mouth. I felt a spot of exquisite pain, then a flood of copper. She released me.

"Give me your spear," she said.

I got up onto my knees, shrugging off the ruin of my robes. They would already be repairing themselves, the remarkable elven fabric returning to its shape. The loincloth was mere linen and when that fell from me, it was nought but a rag. I jutted up obscenely between us. "Take it," I said.

She smirked. "Provide the amazons with another service, do you?"

"Frightened?"

Her shortsword rested on the inside of my thigh where my pulse beat quickly against the cold metal. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

I never had the chance to answer her. She spat upon the head of me, an obscene gesture, but one I found undeniably arousing. It was at once contemptuous, but filled with desire. She then took me in her mouth, sucking me and laving me with her tongue. Her spit washed over my turgid flesh, soaking my staff.

I had the pleasure of her mouth. Undeniably skilled, I could tell she was not using all she knew. She didn't want me to finish there. She wanted me to take her properly. There was no stroking, no sense that this was an attempt to move me along. This was merely to get me wet.

Then I had the feel of her blade. A single shift, and the razored edge went from cold to the hot of a cut. Was she drawing blood? A piece of me wanted her to. Since Allegeth, I sometimes found myself craving a bit of that, a wound that I would carry. The scars Thalalei left on my shoulders throbbed.

She released me, then lay back, her blade still ready to kill. "Go on. Take me."

I came up between her legs. My fingers parted her sex. She was sodden, her powerful aroma filling the cave. It reminded me of my hetairoi. A warrior's scent, sweat and blood and weapon oil, wrapped in an animal musk. Talynore Tazo was a predator, a killer of men, and I knew the moment I forgot this fact she would end me. The realization brought a powerful need to my loins. A great, pulsing desire that wanted nothing more than to be inside her.

"Your finger...so cold," she gasped, arching her back as I penetrated her with one, and then two, and three. I stroked her, but my goals were the same as hers had been. I don't know why I used the ring with Diotenah's ring upon her. Perhaps I wanted her to feel death as closely as I fel it. As though to confirm, her blade twitched against my thigh. Death itself was in that cave, watching the two killers join.

I smeared her juices over my staff, adding to what she started. Then, I guided myself past her sex to her rosebud. She rocked forward again, giving me a better angle. I felt her drooling more wetness down to it, as though her sex knew what she was in for and was desperately trying to help.

I placed myself at the gateway to her. Her growl was throaty with need. Her eyes locked on mine, furious and aroused at the same time. I pushed the head of me around the edge of her, and she moved in counterpoint, swirling herself against me.

A snarl rippled over her thin lips. "Well? Are you going to play or are you going to fuck me?"

I allowed myself to be baited. In truth, I could no longer resist. I wanted her too badly. I wanted to hurt her and bring her bliss all at the same time. I wanted her the way I had not wanted any in a long while, an animal call to fuck. I pushed forward, letting my weight do some of the work. I pressed on the puckered opening, and it remained stubbornly shut for a moment. Then, all at once, it gave. And I was inside her.

Just the head of me, but that was enough to pull another groan from her. Her grimace was halfway between joy and anger. Her momentary distraction was the perfect time. I breathed a few words, softly under my breath, the words twining with the power of magic.

She opened her eyes, fixing me with magenta fire. She didn't notice the tendrils of cloud crawling up her shapely legs, holding her like an octopus dragging prey into the depths. A soft thunder boomed, but she likely thought that was from the sea.

I pushed deeper into her. She held me, flexing, releasing, grinding against me. Trying to get me into her. She uttered tiny snarls, expressions of pain and pleasure flickering over her fine features. I slid into her one hard moment after another, lighting my staff, sending flares through it, into my loins, up my spine.

The magic twined over her, the tips now reaching her sex, splayed lewdly open, weeping her juice. Thunder rumbled from it as lightning caressed her pearl.

"Oh!" she cried out, and finally, she looked down. "Magic!" The sword pressed hard to my leg.

I drove more of my length into her, momentarily forcing her eyes to roll back. "Cut if you must," I said. "But you won't. You want what I will give you." Her eyes locked on mine. I kept my voice level, but I knew I was quite literally on the razor's edge. Talynore would kill me if she wished, collect her five thousand crowns and land grant. Or she would see what I brought her. She would surrender herself to me.

The blade came up, and lightning raked over her sex, haloing it in bright flashes and rumbling thunder. She arched her back, driving me deeper into her. Her body was hot, her grip upon me tight.

She cursed in a language I did not know. I knew it was a curse by the way she spat it, her eyes hard on mine. She was bent double, the muscles of her abdomen taut against her skin. Her body quivered with the effort of maintaining the position. She moved the blade up my belly, over my chest, the blade hot. It rested by my neck, and I closed my eyes as I drove myself into her.

The magic twined over her, caressing over her sex. I felt through it, felt the power worming inside her. She gasped again, pushing against me, grinding her hips, desperate to take me all. But there was no all with the magic. There would always be more. A flash of white ran up the tendril, disappearing inside her. The thunder boomed in her sex. I felt it in my staff, now buried to the hilt. She was impaled from both sides now, impossibly full but still wanting more.

I moved now, my own gyrations moving counterpoint to hers. She felt hungry, her rosebud releasing me only to devour me all over again. The need that I had felt had only grown more powerful, snarling in me, demanding more. She looked up at me, her eyes steely, and she spat. I felt it on my cheek. I kissed her hard, and her teeth once again came down on my lip. The magic boomed inside her and she sobbed in pleasure.

I slammed into her then, leaving aside any pretense of gentile love. Her bite was released as she cried out into my mouth. The magic kept up its pressure, filling her sex, rattling over her pearl. The quivering that had started deepened. It took every part of her. It began where I was buried in her, moving out from there, touching every part of her with searing tendrils of light. Her blade lightly traced a burning line at the base of my neck. Her other hand was in my hair, holding tight.

I had the sensation that we were still on the waves, desperately clutching at one another to keep from drowning. The only thing that would keep us alive was the decadent bliss we sought in the arms of the other.

She snarled, and with strength I didn't know she had, she flipped me onto my back. Now she was sitting down on my length, as though this would finally sate her need to be filled. She brought her blade up once, running her tongue along the flat, before returning it to my neck.

The clouds went up around her legs, her open sex eclipsed, then revealed. Lightning clawed over her, the thunder booming in time with her heartbeat. She was brutal now, her thighs tensed as she pushed herself up and then sitting down hard. Each one pulled the curse from her lips, made her shuddering ever more intense. Her teeth were set, her movements hard.

My desire roared for her. I fought it back, holding it. Allowing her to build it until it shattered us both. We were too far gone for anything but this. We would be washed away in the storm when it came.

She moved faster. I pushed against her, back and forth, and up and down. Her eyes found mine and though I saw no love in them, there was the tiniest softness. A window, past the anger, past the fear and the hate, and there was something light and sweet. I gripped her hips, pulling her onto me until she swallowed everything. My magic surged into her, rumbling over each sensitive place.

She broke with a cry, contracting around me. I too flooded her. A sudden hot, sticky torrent filling her with searing strokes of pleasure. Her movements slowed, massing the last shreds of our joining. Then she lifted herself off me. She stood for one moment, a pearly line of seed running from between her buttocks down her legs. She looked at me, not quite in triumph and not quite in love. Then she lay down beside me.

We were silent, the two of us nude, our skins shiny with sweat. One of her hands was against her heart as we breathed in the dark.

"Now I can say I have something in common with an elf noble," she said finally.

The laugh burst from me with the force of my bliss. Then she was laughing too. On the other end of the cave, Oddrin watched us, as though confused by our outburst.

"There are other things we've done that you could have in common," I said.

"There's nothing else to do on this rock," she said. Then she sighed. "I wish I had my night tea."

"Another time," I said.

"There is no other time," she said. "If I see you on the field of battle, I'll cut your throat."

I swallowed. "And I will kill you."

"Without hesitation."

"There is no other time," I sighed.

"You will have to make do. Cruel fate."

We made do. After our first night together, we no longer bothered with clothes, even the ones we had not destroyed. We existed in a perfect state. I wish it had lasted longer, but we were only there for a week. A long week, where I could forget the war for a time, exploring her body with mine.

We slept beneath my robes, using the heat of our bodies to stay warm. Her blades were never far. She was not a sentimental sort. Had I not been catching fish I suspect I would be dead already. Or perhaps she enjoyed the feel of my sex too much.

"One of us will end this a prisoner," she said one night after our loveplay was finished. She was pillowed on my chest. I stroked her back, finding the few scars, the pungent taste of her sex still on my tongue. She'd told me the tale of each one. We'd spent a night sharing the stories as the other traced the hurts with their mouth.

"Who will find us you mean."

"It is only a matter of time. Axichis is not that big. More ships appear on the horizon daily. An amazon ship or a Heacharid one. One of us saved, the other a prisoner."

"I will be executed."

She was silent. I did not ask her what she would do because I knew. Talynore had been hired by the Heacharid Empire. She would fulfill her contract in good faith, even if it meant my messy death.

The question disturbed me in any moment I wasn't being sweetly distracted. The answer came too soon. It was mid-morning as we were preparing the day's fish. A ship appeared on the horizon and this one was headed for our little island. Smoke rose from the fire, dyeing the blue sky a greasy gray. Easy to miss, but impossible to miss forever.

I watched the ship closing with my rock, suddenly conscious that I was nude.

"Yours or mine?" Talynore asked.

My eyes narrowed as wind plumped the sails. The burning rose shone against the white sheet. "Yours."

She sighed. "All good things."

"I am going to kill everyone on that vessel," I said.

"I did not hear you," she said.

"I said--"

She cut me off. "If you take up arms against the Heacharids, I am honor bound to do something. But I was on the other side of the isle bathing, so I heard nothing. Wasn't I?"

"I suppose you were."

She stood, her magenta eyes steely. I looked upon her nude body, the tigerish muscles coiling beneath her supple skin. The beauty of a killing stroke. "Whoever survives, I am rescued," she said.

I smirked. "Indeed."

She sauntered from the cave and disappeared behind me. I donned my robes and buckled Ellisyr's sword about my waist. Oddrin took his place on my shoulder.

And I summoned my storm.

Soon the ship bobbed off the coast of the island, crewed by shambling stormwights, lightning playing over their rotten forms. Talynore strode up next to me. Still nude, her clothing, armor, and weapons were tied into a bundle.

"We are swimming, then?"

"Your transport awaits," I said.

We waded into the surf, and soon the stormwights fished us from the drink. Over the next several days, I took us to Thessandreia, approaching as closely as I dared. I was no sailor, but I had learned a few things during my time in the war. Enough to get the stormwights to sail at least. We had the last few days together, but something had changed. Our loveplay grew more distant, each of us preparing to once again call the other an enemy.

The morning we arrived off Thessandreia, Talynore squinted at the island. Then, without further discussion, she stripped down, once again fitting her possessions into a bundle. I thought for a moment she would leave with no further discussion. Then, suddenly, she stepped to me and her lips met mine. It was the softest she had ever done. We parted and for the first time, her magenta eyes were truly soft.

"We had a lovely time, Belromanazar."

"That we did, Talynore."

"I suppose this is the last time we will see one another."

"I suppose."

She gave me a wink. "Farewell, wizard." And with that, she hefted her things and dove into the water. I watched her swim for the island. Then, with a silent command, my stormwights wheeled the ship about. I made my way north, finally reaching Axichis, where I reunited with my ship and crew after a rather tense standoff at the harbor. The stormwights convinced them of my identity, and my hetairoi were beside themselves with joy at my salvation. They had not failed in their vows, Einoë explained when the three of us lay together.

I thought of Talynore Tazo often for the rest of the war, but I did not see her again during it. At the time, I assumed I had last seen her, swimming hard for Thessandreia, a bundle of clothing and weapons bobbing beside her.

That was a foolish thought. After all, the world was too small a place for the likes of us.