Chapter 52

The Zuunkhorunia summarizes the two years of civil war after the tyrant Yerentei Wailor's death well. Thanks to our maneuvering, Nesugen was in the best position to seize power, which she did without hesitation. This part of my plan was necessarily vague, for I did not know what destruction would be visited upon Zuunkhorun. I hoped any misery would be passing.

Nesugen's cousins were fractured by differing ambitions. Many were perfectly fine with her ascendency, assuming nothing would change for them. Those who wanted the power themselves never managed a united front against us, allowing us to crush each in turn. The Zuunese were skilled warriors, but they were not prepared for stormwights.

Weather was the key. The nobles that swore loyalty to my patron were blessed with long growing seasons. Nesugen wanted those other provinces to be punished with tempest and drought, but I counseled against it. As I said, I had no wish to inflict pain upon the Zuunese. Some historians have claimed my mercy was cold pragmatism, others that it was my conscience. It was both. I am neither demon nor angel, though my path was one of death.

After her victory in the civil war and her ascension to the throne, I shared Nesugen's bed more and more infrequently. She was enthusiastic, but I do not believe this was thanks to my skill. She had denied herself too long and power had made her wanton. This would be her leash, though I had no wish to hold it so tightly.

"You should marry me, Master Wizard," she said once after one of our nights together. She was glowing, evidence of my passion drying in streaks over her pale golden back. I never once spilled inside her. In this I was scrupulous. "I will bear a dynasty for the two of us."

"My lady, it cannot be."

"Am I to be your whore, then?" she asked. Though her tone was light, I caught the hint of danger beneath. She had tasted true power. I knew that I had gripped a serpent and if I was not careful, it would sink its fangs into my flesh.

"I am your most loyal ally," I said carefully.

"And you could be my husband."

"I wish it could be so," I lied.

"I am Tyrant of Zuunkhorun. Whatever I wish is law."

"Law, yes. But law is not what governs the passions of the crowd. No matter what she wishes, the Tyrant of Zuunkhorun cannot be the second wife of an upjumped barbarian."

"You are no barbarian. You are a wizard. You are the Dreadstorm."

"I am lowborn from a provincial land."

"You're a noble." She moved closer, her expression kittenish. "Lord of Eirashtar."

"A title given me by my wife."

"I have no jealousy of them. Keep your wife, keep your menagerie of concubines." She reached between my legs, coaxing me to hardness once again. "You already perform husbandly duties for me."

"Which I will continue to do as long as you wish it. Your people...our people would not want you with one such as me. They would want you with one truly worthy of you."

"What of my desires?"

"You have what you want already. You must think of what we have. You are Tyrant. A powerful woman. Marriageable. And to the world at large, you are pure and beautiful. With how desirable you are, we may dangle the prospect of marriage with you to cement alliances, to keep our enemies from uniting. As long as others believe you might marry them, you will be far more valuable alive than dead. Locking you to me takes away avenues of influence and power."

She pouted. "But..."

I silenced her with a kiss. "Fear not. As long as we remain discreet, we can continue our loveplay. We must keep you pure in the eyes of the public and potential suitors."

"I am not pure, not with what you have taught me to submit to," she said with a sly grin.

"True," I mused. "But I am still a Rhandonian. A stranger in these lands and unsuitable as a husband."

"I will grant you title."

"That I will accept, for I need a measure of legitimacy here. Now, l want you to submit to my savage lusts once more." I reached behind her, cupping the soft globe of her buttocks.

She grinned, turning over at my guidance. She whimpered sweetly as I pushed into her. She was as good as her word, granting me title. She had no need for her old fief, and so, for the next several decades, I was Halaak of Jihorut. Ironically, I saw far less of that place as its halaak than I ever did as a mere visitor.

***

Forgive me, for my memory of the following is somewhat hazy. I remember the event well, but I cannot recall if it was before or after I gained my initial Zuunese noble title. In any case, I had sent out my missives into the Turquoise and the Beryl for the next stage of the plan. I received responses some months later, which drew me to the port city of Uraraoi, the eastern gateway into Zuunkhorun.

The city was situated on the one bay on the craggy eastern coast of the kingdom, surrounded by the forbidding Keening Cliffs. The name comes from the way the wind rushes through ancient caves. In summer, it is like the walls are whispering. Storms produce the most unholy howling.

I traveled hence on the back of my loyal qobad Ksenaëe, with my daughter Malycent at my side. She had insisted on accompanying me and I thought the errand would be useful for her education. I saw in her the same wanderlust that had gripped me in my youth. I knew she would not stay with me for long, but I did not dream that she was already on the precipice of departing.

Malycent was growing well. Her elvish and orcish heritage were not immediately obvious, though her skin carried a slight gray cast and her ears a subtle point. Her eyes were a subtle shade of burgundy and her lower canines were a bit heavy. She was tall for her years, and she carried on her hip a straight Kharsoomian blade, a gift from Tanyth's father Hadirseen. He doted on my children whether they sprang from his daughter or not, and insisted they all consider him a grandfather. When Tanyth named our newborn son for him, I had no objections.

We paused on the road into Uraraoi, looking down on the bustling port city. "It reminds me of home," Malycent said.

"Tagariaganuur?"

"Castellandria."

"You miss it?"

She nodded. Then shook her head. "Yes and no. It's hard to say."

"I know what you mean. I used to think of Thunderhead the same way. I loved it, I wanted to go back to it, but the place I was going back to wasn't what was in my mind."

"Thunderhead was tiny," she said.

"And Castellandria is the Great City, but believe me, the principle is the same."

"I used to imagine being a sailor," she said, her young mind already flitting off to another topic.

"I always knew you liked boats. I didn't know it went that far."

"I talked to Mama about it from time to time." For Malycent, Mama was Tanyth. Though Mal did not spring from Tanyth's loins, my Kharsoomian bride had always taken the lead in caring for her.

"It's a fine thing to be. You chose an excellent errand to accompany me on, for we are about to meet some real mariners."

"I know," she said and in her too-innocent mien, I should have detected her true purpose.

Zuunese cities lacked gates, for they didn't need them. There were only the defenses at the harbor of Uraraoi, what were later called the Arkohnum Gate in Ironmotte, the forts guarding the few passes through the Zuunkhor mountains, and a single blockhouse by each noble manor. As such, the two of us rode into the port city without incident. We attracted attention, what with the fact that we were two non-Zuunese on the backs of Kharsoomian riding birds accompanied by a feathered serpent from the highlands of Uazica. We were a curiosity, even in the most cosmopolitan of Zuunkhorun's cities.

I was reasonably well-known in this place as during the civil war, it had been my priority to maintain good relations with the people of Yamanai, the halaakun that contained Uraraoi. This was the primary point of trade, the one place where non-Heacharids could access the kingdom. Uraraoi had been spared my wrath and Jodai Yargai, the Halaak of Yamanai, was one of Nesugen's closest allies.

The bay was deep at its center, but grew treacherously shallow at its edges. This, in addition to the numerous seawalls and defenses, made it a daunting target. Even the parts of Zuunkhorun open to the world were forbidding. At the edge of the farthest seawall, scraps of fog clung to a distant lighthouse, its flame an unearthly glow in the mist. Malycent drew her cloak closer about her, shivering in the cold. Our qobads picked their way over the cobbled streets as we headed down to the shore.

Timing this meeting had been a challenge, but as a wizard, I would pretend it was a trifle. That is truly our greatest secret. Treat a great expenditure of effort as a trifle and a trifle as a grand mystery, as the old man had counseled me. I knew not what he meant when he first said it to a provincial foundling, but after my time as a political animal, I understood it in my bones.

The tavern was one of many by the wharf, a place frequented by the mariners who made port here. It was a two-story structure of dark, salt-scarred wood, its merry hearth fighting its many drafts, and smelling of equal parts sweat and drink. Malycent and I hitched our riding birds outside and we entered.

"Received your message, my lord," said the barkeep upon our entry, giving me a casual Zuunese salute, barely a wave over his shoulder. "Prepared a room upstairs as requested." He escorted us up the narrow staircase to a small room with windows overlooking the foggy bay. A table dominated the center of the room, four chairs about it.

"This will serve well," I assured him as I took a seat while Malycent lingered by the windows. Quiyahui coiled by my chair. "We will need some food and a bottle of oghul. Cider for my daughter."

"Papa," Malycent protested. "I am nearly thirteen."

It was not unusual for Zuunese children as young as eight to drink oghul, albeit heavily watered. "Cider," I said more firmly. Perhaps I was being overprotective. Perhaps I felt guilty for the way her mother left and never returned, or perhaps I sensed what was on the horizon and hoped she would remain a child for a little longer. Mal was always special to me. I handed the barkeep more money. "When my guests arrive, show them right in."

Not long after he had provided the refreshment, the door opened again. It had been years since I had seen her, and longer still since we sailed together, but the warm feelings returned as though not a moment had passed. The Amazon captain Kucyone strolled in. She was a wizened gnome of a woman now, tough as a windburned treestump, her pipe clenched between her teeth. She had not aged so much as pickled. She broke into a broad smile as she saw me.

"Belromanazar, my boy."

I sprang from my seat and embraced her. "Thank you for coming, old friend."

"I was intrigued. Not every day a wizard sends a magic bird for you."

"I suppose not. Sit, eat. Have some oghul. We're waiting on one more."

I introduced Kucyone to Malycent and the old salt was on her second mug of oghul when the door opened once again. This time it revealed Arishat, Princess of the Shattered Reavers. She too was older, though her beauty had not dimmed. What fat on her was gone. Tigerish muscle writhed beneath her crimson skin and her turquoise eyes were as bright as ever. In begrudging adaptation to the climate, she wore a furred cloak, and from what I saw when her limbs peeked out, not much else.

"Belromanazar," she said, a hint of sadness in her eyes. We embraced and shared a kiss halfway between one of friends and one of lovers.

"Welcome Arishat. Allow me to present Kucyone, a fellow pirate." I spoke Eomet, the language of Castellandria, and the one tongue we all had in common.

"Oh?"

"Different seas, I expect," Kucyone said, saluting the other woman with the stem of her pipe. Kucyone's Eomet was easy, carrying only a slight touch of her native Akleona.

"Kucyone plies the Turquoise, Arishat the Beryl," I explained.

"And who is this?" Arishat asked, a twinkle in her eye as she indicated Malycent. Arishat's accent was thick, and I was far from the only one who found the Kharsoomian accent lovely. Many could not tell Tanyth's aristocratic Kharish from Arishat's rougher dialect, for one needed time in the Red Wastes to learn the difference.

"I am Malycent Tazo, daughter of Belromanazar," said my daughter, her chin high.

"Oh, are you?" Arishat turned to me "It has been some time. A daughter and a serpent."

"Too long. Please, sit down, eat, drink." I introduced them to Quiyahui, who regarded them with her storm-blue eyes.

Arishat sat, regarding Kucyone with guarded interest. "You summoned us here, wizard. I assume it wasn't for a tryst."

"We'll begin, then," I said. I looked from one of my old friends to the other. "First, I want to make proper introductions for the two of you. Kucyone is a veteran of the Turquoise Conquest. She captained the ship on which I served and together we assembled a fleet of captured Heacharid ships. After the war she turned to piracy. Arishat is the princess of a pirate fleet off the western coast of Kharsoom. During my exile I was one of her marines. There is no greater pirate in that area of the world. I love the two of you as my dear friends, and I have the utmost respect for the both of you as leaders, mariners, and warriors."

They were silent as they absorbed the biography of the other and the depth of my esteem. Finally, Kucyone smirked. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Arishat."

"Likewise," said the Kharsoomian. She looked to me. "It's pirates you want then."

"Pirates I can trust."

"For what?" Kucyone asked.

"I have an offer." I produced a pair of letters from my valise.

"Marque?" Arishat passed a crimson finger over the seal, my feathered serpent in blue wax. "This is not the Tyrant's sigil."

"It is mine," I said. "Those are not true letters of marque. They are letters of passage through the Castelpont. Hold those and no authority in Castellandria will hinder you. You may go from Turquoise to Azure unmolested."

"Passage is useful," Kucyone said, "but we'll still be hanged as pirates without marque."

"If we're caught," Arishat said.

"If we're caught," Kucyone agreed. "Still don't know who I'm to be hunting, though I have my suspicions."

I grinned at Kucyone's deduction. "Another reason I came to the two of you. All you have is my word." I would not tell them that Nesugen knew nothing of this errand, nor my next one. I was participating in treason against one who trusted me. I would betray her, but not these two. I had no way to offer marque. Stealing the Tyrant's sigil was a step too far. I would use it when it truly belonged to me.

"What do you want for these letters?" Arishat asked.

"I want the two of you to prey on Heacharid shipping. Prizes are of course yours to keep. Any cargo you take can be sold here, at this port. I will pay handsomely for it. Those letters of passage will make it much easier to get here and any pursuers will be shed."

"I'm already preying on Heacharids," Kucyone said. "Why do it for you?"

"Why not do it for me? I'm handing you passage through the Castelpont and giving you a port you can trust and a ready market for plunder. That is not all. When you're finished, I'll see to it that you're given land. A place to retire in peace. No one else will offer that to a pirate."

"I have a place," Arishat said.

"In the Red Wastes," I agreed. "Here you would have another. All I am asking of you is that you target your depredations and reap the rewards."

Kucyone watched me keenly. "You know that the Heacharids will learn that we're selling our plunder to you. They will come calling."

"I know."

"You are certain you're ready for this?"

"Do you have one more campaign in you, old friend?"

Kucyone sucked a great lungful of smoke. "One more, I think."

I turned to Arishat. "And what of you?"

She smiled at me. "You know I cannot refuse you."

"And I want to be on your ship," Malycent blurted.

"What?" I turned to my daughter. Her burgundy eyes were alight.

"Papa, I want to go to sea. I'm old enough."

I was about to protest when Arishat spoke. "I could use a steward. I will train her."

"Please, Papa," Malycent begged.

"You will look after her?" I asked Arishat.

"As though she were my own. I'll make a fine pirate of her."

I could not refuse Malycent. This was a good vocation for her and I could trust Arishat. "Then let it be so." Malycent embraced me and I felt such pride and pain.

We celebrated the accord for the balance of the evening. Over the next week, we prepared their ships for departure while Malycent began her training as a sailor. I spent nights in Arishat's cabin. Though we knew each others' bodies well, time had passed and our passion was dimmed. This was an act of friendship.

One evening after we had finished, we lay in her hammock, her head pillowed on my chest. She traced the scars on my shoulders, where long ago a nereid had cut me in her passion. "You have done well for yourself," she murmured.

"As have you."

"There is a part of me that wishes you had not," she chuckled. "That leaving me was a terrible blunder."

"It was hard and it hurt, but I think it was for the best."

"Yes," she sighed. "And now I am older and you are not. You should have stayed, fucked eternity into me."

Now I chuckled. "Now I have regrets of my own."

When the week was over, I bid them all farewell. I hugged Malycent tightly and made her promise to take care of herself. As I left Uraraoi, leading her qobad, I stopped once at the crest of the hill to watch the departing ships. Arishat's fleet made its way into the Azure, her banners flapping in the wind. I fancied I could see my daughter on the deck. The tears on my cheek were chilly in the salt wind.

***

Our household was in upheaval. We had recently moved from our home in Jihorut, which Sarakiel had named Southwind, to Zuun Khatai, the palace in the capital. While I was concerned that I was placing my family in danger, I needed them close by. My brides are dangerous, skilled, and formidable women, and I would not succeed without them.

Zuun Khatai was opulent, though it had begun to show its age. Unlike so many other structures of its ilk, it was never intended to withstand a siege and no enemy army had ever seen its spires. The vulnerability of Zuun Khatai had begun to trouble me more as I truly began executing my plan.

The year had brought three new lives into the family. Tanyth had produced little Hadirseen, Sarakiel had borne my daughter Sophiel, and Maireili my son Tobar. I believe it was Sophiel who would grow to the most fame, though Kharsoomians would know Hadirseen for his embodiment of the chivalry of the Red Wastes.

We had manumitted Tanyth's handmaids and my bedslave Ku-Tala, for we had greater plans for them. They were given charge of the two hospitality houses we had constructed, one in Ironmotte and one in Uraraoi. They were gambling halls and brothels, the kinds of places pirates and bandits could not help but patronize. I would purchase their plunder and give them the perfect place to hand the money right back. Sarakiel's idea, as if there could be any doubt.

Tanyth and Lysethe had journeyed to Kharsoom to purchase workers for the brothel. We'd even managed a few trained in the Silken Labyrinth, and damn the expense. Tanyth had wanted to purchase new handmaids and bedslaves, but I counseled her against it, saying we should cleave to Zuunese customs. She employed her handmaids from local Jegu women and I would go without bedslaves. Only Ujaala remained enslaved, for I had another plan for her.

Nesugen was delighted by another purchase my wives had made. I presented her with a handsome Kharsoomian man clad only in a simple collar. "For when I am away," I said.

She ran her palms up the defined muscles of his torso. "What a gift, Master Wizard!"

"Enjoy him."

"I believe I shall at once. Leave us."

I bowed and was making my way across the palace grounds when Faustan, a huge grin lighting his face, jogged to meet me. Kajah, his night eft, fluttered alongside him, echoing his happiness.

"You've some good news?" I asked.

"Papa, you have a guest." He refused to say more, other than to assure me it was a surprise. As I opened the door to our quarters, I saw a tall, well-built man, dressed richly in what I took to be Esmian styles, with long and graying hair falling past his shoulders. He was absorbed in conversation with my brides, two comely dwarvish women nearby.

"Papa is here," Faustan announced.

The visitor turned. The familiarity in his face bloomed into recognition and then love as I realized I beheld my son Threch. The age that sat upon him uneasily was the curse of his orcish blood. Lines carved up his handsome face, and his hair was more silver than black.

"Hello, Father," he said.

I approached in wonder, throwing my arms about him and pounding his back with joy. "There you are, boy! Where have you been?"

"I was just telling your wives," Threch said.

I sat and listened to my son's tale. Threch had retired from his adventuring career and now served as a magistrate for Tharwihr, a dwarven settlement not far from Grukhnak, where he had spent much of his youth. The two dwarvish lasses were his wives, a pair of sisters as is their custom. I was immensely pleased with my son's choice of these two, and over time my esteem for them has only grown. Amentaine and Bazentaine Lostlight were both blonde, with a touch of strawberry to Amentaine's hair. Bazentaine was a new mother, and I was thrilled to meet my grandson Eltuil.

The Lostlight sisters were of the noble family who ruled Tharwihr and their marriage to Threch, I understood, was a minor scandal. He was, after all, an adventurer. He had become since respectable. They had come hither after Ghorza's recent death, as the two lasses were curious to meet the other side of Threch's family.

Though I longed to spend time with my son after so many years apart, I could not postpone my errand. I extracted a promise from Threch that he would wait for me before he returned to Tharwihr.

He smiled thinly. "You always have some errand that cannot wait."

***

Extending from the west of Ironmotte out into the plains was a place called the Golden Sea. It was an endless field of prairie, some farmed, some left to the great herds of therion. This was the domain of nomadic tribes, halfway between herdsmen and bandits, who raided the eastern edges of the Heacharid Empire and fled to the borders of the Jaggurzar Tundra when any thought to hunt them.

On a sunny day, I rode out into the Golden Sea on the back of my qobad. It would be her final journey, with the rest of her days lived in comfort in a Zuunese stable. Quiyahui fluttered overhead like a pennon. My destination was the Freemoot. At the summer solstice, the bandit clans gathered at the Halagad Plateau in the middle of the Golden Sea to honor the God of the Seven Winds. Any who approached without swearing fealty to one clan or another would be killed. It was a fool's errand and if nothing else, I hope this chronicle convinces its readers that I am a fool.

I rode for a week across the Golden Sea. I slept on the hard ground, wrapped in a cloak and a coatl, with my head pillowed on a bird. I saw not a single living soul. In the distance many times I spied lines of smoke billowing into the air from a village or family farm, but I bypassed them. They were not my goal. Just when I began to think I would never arrive at my destination, I glimpsed the plateau rising in the middle of the Golden Sea like a titanic beast surfacing from a sun-kissed ocean.

I felt like I was arriving in Iarveiros for a symposium. As soon as the thought entered my mind, an ache bloomed in my chest. I missed Tara. This might seem strange to those who only know how we ended, and though I no longer trusted her as once I had, I still loved her. It had been several years since I had seen her and I had no way of knowing when I would once again be by her side. The absence of standing stones in Aucor made travel difficult. In many ways, I had chosen for myself a gilded cage.

I was not the only one approaching. Men and women on horseback thundered to the winding paths that climbed the great rise. Tents, some plain, others garish, sprouted from the crown like mushrooms, while lines of smoke from a hundred campfires reached into the flat blue of the sky.

I can imagine the questions percolating in your mind. How could the Heacharids allow this Freemoot to exist? All of the bandit clans of the Golden Sea gathered in one place could be annihilated into one fell swoop. While this is true, I believe the Heacharids and I had come to the same conclusion that the clans were more useful alive than dead. Where we differed was how.

The Golden Sea was the soft border of Heacharid territory in the east. Though the Golden Sea contained farmland, the Heacharids had fertile lands elsewhere, lands closer to Heacharium itself and thus easier to subjugate. The Heacharids allowed the bandit clans to exist because they believed that as long as the locals hated the bandits more than the Heacharids, distant rule and taxes by the empire would be welcome. The Heacharids had only to send sorties once or twice a year and bring back some heads to maintain equilibrium on the Sea and the loyalty of their subjects..

The Heacharids had a good system, but it had not reckoned upon my hatred.

A thundering horde of riders came up about me. I heard them coming from far off and resolved to present no threat unless they commenced hostilities. I trusted curiosity to overwhelm territoriality. They rode jagai horses, the swift and hardy breed native to these parts. Their coats were honey brown, powerful muscles straining as they ate up the turf. I have never been one for horses, but I appreciated their beauty.

I reined in Ksenaëe, who pawed at the earth in consternation. Quiyahui loosely coiled about me. Both of them showed more nervousness than I. I turned to face the oncoming horde.

A magnificent woman rode at the head of them. She was tall and leanly muscled with a flowing mane of lustrous black hair. Her leather armor was light and reinforced with metal plates at strategic points. Tattoos covered every inch of her skin, tiny and intricate lines of every color that turned her into a creature of geometric beauty. I knew in that moment that I had to have her.

Her clan encircled me. They looked to hail from the local ethnic group, and all sported a golden olive complexion, tawny, almond-shaped eyes, and thick dark hair. Most of the men grew long mustaches, sometimes spanning their cheeks. A fierce-eyed valkyrie carried a banner of a horse wounded by arrows. All sported markings like the lead woman's, though none were tattooed as extensively. Their stares were hard, suspicious of the newcomer but also curious as to why I was completely unafraid.

"Outlander," said the woman in the lead, speaking Helt, the language of the area. Zhahllaia had tutored me in it, but my accent was thick and understanding slow. My wazira had a fondness for not only the Besh people of Zuunkhorun but the people of the Golden Sea, for their ancestors had been subjects of Old Qammuz. "You have ridden the wrong..." she paused, looking at my bird. "The very wrong horse."

Ridden the wrong horse was an idiom of the place. I trust her meaning was clear.

"Hail and well met, noble queen," I said. Her soldiers chuckled, exchanging appreciative looks. "I am Belromanazar of Zuunkhorun."

"Are you a madman to come here with no riders and under no banner?"

"For certain," I agreed, and she grinned, her soldiers laughing.

"Any who come here without riders are to be killed. I have no wish to kill a madman, especially one with such lovely pets. Give me what gold is in your purse and begone with you."

"What sort of madman travels all the way to the Halagad Plateau at the solstice? What sort of madman keeps a coatl from the highlands of the Ocaital as a companion? What sort of madman rides a bird of the Red Wastes?"

"You're a spellweaver then." She was keen.

"More importantly, I am a spellweaver bearing gifts. Cast your eyes on the jugs hanging from my saddle. Each one is filled with Jihorut oghul, distilled with loving care."

"We could take it from you."

I grinned. "But I already plan to give it to you, and that would deprive you of the company of a wizard."

"He's weak," sneered a bald man with a long, drooping mustache. "He makes no threats."

"He makes no threats because he doesn't need to," the chieftain shot back. "Isn't that right, Belromanazar?"

"I've killed more than you even without my powers." They tensed and a few hands went to weapons. "But I've no wish to shed blood today. I've come instead to make an offer."

The woman looked me over. "I am Whetehan," she said.

"The Winter Wind," intoned her riders.

"Today, Belromanazar, you ride with me. Tomorrow, perhaps you won't."

"I offer you my thanks."

"You offer me your oghul," she said. "Now, on to the Freemoot."

We rode. Some, including the mustachioed man whose name I learned was Ogai, regarded me with open suspicion. Others were merely curious.

"Where is the Ocaital?" Whetehan asked.

"Across the Lapis," I said.

"You are not Damar," she said, naming her ethnic group. "Nor are you Jegu or Besh."

"I am Rhandonian."

"You came from Zuunkhorun?"

"Yes."

"Tell me of it."

I found it strange at first that her curiosity was so focused on Zuunkhorun. I came from far away and I had journeyed even farther. What I realized later was that the most tantalizing mystery is the close one. Every time she rode within sight of the Zuunkhor Mountains, she would imagine what lay beyond. She peppered me with questions about it, and by the time we made our way up the plateau, I had attracted an audience.

A makeshift tent city covered the top of the plateau, with each clan gathered about a fire. In the center was an unlit bonfire which would be lit on the final night. Whetehan's clan found a space on the northern edge of the plateau, pitched their tents, and built their fire. I thought it wise to assist, summoning up servants of cloud and wind to fetch and carry. The bandits were appropriately impressed by the display.

Soon we had our fire lit and had circled around it, sitting on the earth and leaning on our saddles. Whetehan gestured to the space next to her and I took her meaning, settling with her. Bandits from other clans had noticed my magic and some joined us, bringing gifts of food and drink. A few of ours went to other fires bearing gifts of their own. This was how the Freemoot fueled itself. The bonds between the clans were renewed each year, first with gifts, then friendship, then love. The clans were separate, but they were part of a larger community. Around me, I witnessed old friends renewing their acquaintance and new relationships blooming.

"Belromanazar," said Whetehan, "You're a guest. You owe us a story."

"Of war or adventure?" I asked, warming to the idea. I found myself wanting to impress Whetehan, not only for our alliance, but in the way I always liked to impress women.

"Have you ever stolen anything?" asked Ogai with a hint of a sneer to his voice.

"Piracy?" I broke into a grin. "Let me tell you a tale of my service on The Typhoon Cross out in the Beryl." I regaled them with the tale of the time the cyclops Gurek hurled me from one ship to the next. That received a whoop and a cheer.

"You know how to fight?" demanded a woman. She was young, with a mop of hair like a flame. Her name was Servet the Red.

"I had to learn."

"What is your weapon?" Whetehan asked.

"The spear. I can fight with staff as well."

"Care to test him, Servet?"

She grinned. "I believe I shall."

She retrieved a staff from her horse and I was unsurprised when it was Ogai who gave me a weapon. I spun the staff, testing its pleasing weight. We were not the only fight shaping up. Wrestling matches were about every fire, and other contests joined them. The clack of wood and the grunt of competitors filled the summer night.

I wasn't even set before Servet flung herself to the attack. She was fast and I was out of practice. I parried her ably and only managed to rally for a single blow. Fortunately, it was enough, a tap to her chest. She beat me in the next rally and I took the third.

"Looks like he can fight," said Whetehan, smirking.

"What now?" I asked, out of breath.

"Now we drink," Servet said with a grin. Her feverish gaze roamed over me and I found I enjoyed the attention. I did not want her the way I wanted her chieftain, but desire had grown in me for this one as well.

I returned to my saddle and Servet crawled into my lap, holding two mugs of the local beer. I was surprised by her boldness, but pleased that apparently one seduction would be easy. The beer was better than the Rhandonian variety, more pungent and complex. I swigged it, and her mouth closed over mine. Her tongue darted between my lips, sampling me and the beer. She broke and swallowed, her tawny eyes alight. Yes, one seduction was going to be quite easy.

"Hospitality is a wonderful thing," Whetehan observed, a smirk tugging at her lips. Arousal flashed in her eyes as Servet warmed to my affections. I understood what she was after, and in that moment I knew that I was going to get what I wanted.

I turned Servet's face and kissed her again. She moaned in shock, but soon her natural aggression took over. We were not the only ones in the early stages of such entanglements. A few couples and trios were in advance of us. Nude flesh glistened by the firelight, curious mouths explored one another, and limbs caressed and fondled.

Servet reached between us, her hand burrowing into my robes. She found me hardening and her eyes went wide. "What have we here?"

"I wish to inspect my prize as well," I murmured, my hand slinking into her trousers. I found her wet and ready, the fur between her legs already soaked. I withdrew my fingers from her. Her scent was strong, even pungent. I pushed them into her mouth. Her eyes widened as she sucked them clean. I brought her lips to mine, kissing her again, tasting her sex on her tongue.

I whispered an incantation and storm clouds gathered over her belly. She once again gaped, but I closed her mouth with mine, willing the tendrils of power to reach out over her body, to caress her flesh. A peal of thunder boomed and she whimpered, undulating against me.

I looked up and found the bandit chieftain's tawny eyes on mine. "Is this why you came to us?" she inquired. "You wished to sample the delights of the Golden Sea?"

"I have a more interesting proposal," I said. "Before I give it, I am going to take this one, then I am going to take you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

I nodded. Servet's body heaved beneath my ministrations. She was inches from her first bliss of the evening. I would need to sheathe myself in her soon. "You see what I am doing to your woman here. You'll want the same."

"She is not my woman. Servet is free, as we all are." A smirk twisted her lips. "She does share a blanket with Ogai more often than not."

I glanced over and found the bald man glowering. He looked away as my eyes found him. "That will not make him like me any better."

Whetehan laughed. "He might wish to test your skill with a spear."

"His woman will test me first."

The stormcloud was now over us, fog wreathing us. The bonfire was an eerie glow through the gathering mist. The others were mere shapes beyond, the sounds of fighting and fucking a bright counterpoint to my mounting passion.

The elven robes responded to my desires, unfurling and revealing my turgid staff. Lightning pulled the trousers from Servet, then her vest and tunic. Her body was lean and muscled, her tattoos following the contours of a body sculpted by violence. A fiery red ruff grew between her legs, sodden with her nectar. I was treated to the lewd sight of a tentacle of cloud pushing its way into her body, throbbing with the power of storm.

I hauled her over me and slipped inside her easily. She was soaking, her orchid closing around me with desperate strength. She thrust against me, taking me to the hilt. I had already opened her up with my storm and now I could only hold on as she thrashed. I stoked my own pleasure in her, taking her in long, shuddering strokes.

I pulled her from me and she whimpered, a sound replaced with a moan as I turned her over, hauled her haunches up, and took her roughly from behind. She was rags by then, the pleasure turning her inside out. I did not need more than a few simple thrusts to find my own bliss. I wanted to get the first out of the way quickly so that I might truly impress the chieftain when her time came. I pulled myself from Servet, striping her back with pearl.

Servet lay upon her discarded clothing, her back rising and falling shakily, her body glistening with sweat. Whetehan looked at me, a challenge in her eyes. "And what will you do next, wizard?"

I murmured an incantation and swept my hands. Wind lifted her from the ground. She yelped, flying into my arms. "This," I said.

She struggled, a playful grin on her face. "Is this truly what you came for?"

My winds took her tunic down, yanking her small breasts free. Her nipples were thick. I sucked one into my mouth, relishing the way it hardened against me. I broke from it, and explained to her my purpose as I had with Kucyone and Arishat, though this time between more diverting uses of my mouth. Whetehan would hunt the Golden Sea as Kucyone and Arishat hunted the Turquoise.

As I spoke, my winds snaked into her clothing, stroking her body. She began to writhe as my magic teased her. Her eyes remained keen as she fought the urge to surrender. I held her fast, punctuating my words with kisses, licks, and nibbles over her tattooed flesh.

"An interesting proposal," she said, shivering.

"Ironmotte will be open to you for the first time."

She began to rock as the magic worked over her. "And if we should ride into Zuunkhorun to prey on you"

"Then I'd kill the lot of you," I said mildly, sucking her lip into my mouth and releasing it.

"You."

"And your corpses would rise and fight on my behalf." I kissed her again, harder, my tongue plundering her mouth. "I have done worse in the past and will certainly in the future."

"You have this power?" She shuddered, sucking in a breath.

"And more." I held her breast, coaxing her nipple to hardness.

"Why do you not kill us all then? Turn us into your undead legions?"

"Because you are skilled warriors who will be far more effective in your tasks without my guidance. Because you are not my enemies and I have no wish to kill you. Because you are alluring and I have not yet had you."

My words, spoken against her neck, the winds of my spell carrying it over her body, had the desired effect. She quaked, and her eyes opened wide, uttering a tiny whimper. She stood at the edge of bliss.

"By the winds, Belromanazar, I bid you fuck me," she commanded, her mouth on mine. "Fuck me hard. Make me yours for tonight. Mark me. I will ride for you and soon others will join me."

"That is what I wanted to hear."

"A woman of the Gold does not lie," she said archly.

"And I will not lie to you." My magic stripped her clothing from her in the soft caress of the wind. I wanted to see that leanly muscled body covered in her tattoos. Each line was not more than a finger in length, most only the length of a single joint. The colors gave her a disruptive pattern, made her a creature of abstract beauty. I hardened, ready to perform once again.

Her trousers came off her legs, revealing a thick triangle of fur between her legs, redolent with sweat and arousal. I could not stop myself. I leaned down, intending first only to press my lips and nose into her fragrant hair, but her pungent scent drove me. I parted her with my tongue, kissing her sex deeply. She unleashed a ragged moan. I explored her, fascinated by the way her taste assaulted my senses.

We shifted, her shoulders upon the ground, her pelvis thrust up to meet me. I held her gently, kissing and sucking, parting every fold. She was wetter than I could imagine, her juices flowing freely with my attentions. I brushed my tongue over her pearl and she cried out.

"I am no tender and sheltered noblewoman," she said, her flesh shining with sweat as she undulated into me.

"You are a woman of the Gold," I said, kissing her sex hard.

She nodded, sucking in a breath. "Fuck me. Let me feel that beautiful weapon you have between your legs."

I brought her down and poised my staff at her flaring lips. I held for the space of three heartbeats, my eyes focused upon hers, then pushed into her hard. She was warm and tight, and more than anything she was hungry. She hooked her legs about me, pulling me, desperate to take me to the hilt. I scarcely had a chance to adjust to her before she was squirming on the end of me. I was treated to the beautiful sight of her muscled body writhing, the tattoos covering her seeming to dart about her skin like a school of fish. She was beautiful and fierce and in that moment I loved her.

My magic was not idle. The tendrils of storm slithered over her, teasing and caressing, never relenting in their quest to please her.

"Take what is yours," she said raggedly, her eyes partly shut in the torpor of bliss.

I knew what I wanted then. I encouraged my magic to enter her, to sheath me in soothing cloud and throbbing thunder. Then I pulled myself from her. She never noticed, continuing her mad writhing. With a murmured incantation, I covered my staff in oil. I needn't have bothered with how wet she had made me, but the sight of her filled me with affection and mercy.

As I placed myself at her tight rosebud her eyes snapped open, and through the haze of lust, I saw a spark of fear.

"Wizard hold--!" she gasped.

"You told me to take what is mine," I reminded her.

I thrust into her and she went rigid, the bliss ripping through her body. A wail was torn from her throat, her incredible muscles going tight. She gripped me with a stunning strength, igniting pleasure through my body and up into my belly. I luxuriated in this, impaling this mighty bandit chieftain, watching the bliss, the agony, the terror, and the need war upon her lovely face.

I lifted her up with the power of my stroke. Her cries were high and pained. Her knuckles turned white, her tattoos standing out starkly as she balled her fists into her shed cloak. I could not be moved. Now the passion had taken me. I buried myself in her, withdrew, watching the relief and ache bloom over her face, then erased it with another fiery stroke.

She broke against the constant pleasure and pain. Her body seized, gripping me in a vise of flesh as every quake reverberated in upon itself. She was as a statue, making a single high keening sound at the edge of hearing. At that moment, the ecstasy boiled from me as well. I felt it leap from me in blissful waves as I filled her.

I guided her quivering body to the cloak, wrapping the both of us. She gripped me, uttering a soft sob. "I have not been taken that way in some time."

"I could tell," I said, kissing her hairline. Others watched us, but none approached. Quiyahui had coiled nearby and watched them, her tongue tasting the air.

"I am yours for the Freemoot," she said.

"And after?"

"I am a free woman of the Golden Sea, and I will prey upon your enemies."

"Good."

Whetehan was as good as her word, and I had my army. The Heacharids would not ignore me for long.