Chapter 55

Time continued its inexorable march, bringing with it sorrow and joy. Sorrow when Ujaala, Shaluvia, Alia, and my Kharsoomian boys, Beltorys and Hadirseen, died. We laid each of them to rest and I wept for the time that would not pass for me. My boys each fell in the distant Red Wastes after having lived full lives in service to Clan Abibaal. I would not see their graves, in the shadow of the onyx trees of the Forest Issatesh, for many years.

Not even the war could keep me from journeying to Stellanmark to pay my respects to the woman who had been my beloved companion during my earliest years. I was taken aback when I beheld the other two Mythseekers. Velena and Xeiliope were from longer-lived people than Alia, but now their age was impossible to hide. Velena's once raven locks held thick silver streaks and the lines were deep on Xeiliope's face. Even my children by the Mythseekers, Rina, Hadrian, and Xeilyphon, had children and grandchildren of their own. I spent many hours next to Alia's plot in their little family cemetery, thinking of our time together. There were but two stones there, one for Alia and the other for Cull, and melancholy gripped me when I imagined all the others that would soon join them.

There was joy when Sarakiel and Lysethe bore children, though little Janniah would be the last Sarakiel bore for some time. The child Lysethe bore was Dioscoro, who like his siblings Faustan and Deimara was a wizard, though his legacy would be a dark one.

In the west, the Arkohnum Gate held. The Heacharid camp had festered into a city. Permanent structures now sprouted from what were once fields of gold and now was a cracked and blighted wasteland. I took to calling it the Golden Wastes and the name stuck long after I abdicated my throne. The siege ebbed and flowed like the tide. A tide of blood.

Jerrika Grendel and Mu-Baoth guarded the bay at Uraraoi. The privateers ranged out through the Turquoise but their hauls had diminished. It seemed the Heacharids were doing most of their shipping overland or by rivers. Though the Heacharids had not tried another seaborne assault, that did not mean they wouldn't.

I no longer feared sudden collapse. What troubled me more than anything was my dwindling number of soldiers. Already there were gaps on the palisades, gaps that would have been far wider had I still needed a navy. Zuunkhorun was small and insular, and it simply could not support the casualties we sustained. We slew hundreds of Heacharids for every one of us, but they had all of Aucor to harvest. If not for the Deadwall, we would have fallen long ago.

I was considering what I could possibly do over my morning mug of chocolatl. With the protection of Uraraoi came that benefit at least. Though the beans I acquired could not compare to the Pelesamatu variety, it was good enough, the bitter, complex flavors giving me fertile ground to ruminate.

Because of my fondness for it, chocolatl gained popularity in Zuunkhorun. Trade was difficult, as anything coming from Uazica had to pass through the Strait of Trelyr and span the Turquoise. I had managed to import a few plants, husbanding them in greenhouses. Eventually, the Zuunese would cultivate their own varietal, of which I confess I am not fond.

As I sipped the bitter beverage, I reached out along Diotenah's whispers. The heaviest concentration of my wights were at the Arkohnum, hidden in hills and warrens, the famous Deadwall. Others waited in the mountain passes. I felt my tent sisters resting in the palace and Jerrika and Mu-Baoth beyond the bay. In this strange way I knew the kingdom. It was the body of my dead soldiers.

Wind kissed my shoulder, the delicious sensation of every hair on the back of my neck raising covered me in shivers. "Zhahllaia."

"You have been troubled of late, Master Wizard."

"I've been troubled since we began this."

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret is a strange word. I mourn every Zuunese death and I can only hope it is balanced against Heacharid suffering..." I shook my head, unable to grapple the enormity of what I had unleashed.

She kissed me. "I think often of the boy who took me from my lamp on that distant beach and I look now upon the shah before me."

"You would style me a shah?"

"You speak like a civilized man. Now come with me, they've arrived."

I stood. "Why did you not say anything?"

"I wanted time with my husband, no matter how brief."

I softened, gently kissing her ineffable lips. "I love you, my Wazira."

She led me down to the palace garden. I was somewhat disappointed that there were but three of them standing with Sarakiel and little Janniah. The visitors were half-dwarfs, their length of bone courtesy of their father. Their complexions also carried a slight bit of green from him and his mother. I could at least take some credit for their brilliant green eyes.

"Grandfather!" cried Eltuil, the eldest of them and Threch's first child. I embraced the lad. Lad indeed. Though he was still young by dwarven standards, he was in his sixth decade.

"You look well." I embraced his two sisters, Ognagith and Balmarra. They were his youngest siblings, barely out of their third decade. "And you two, lovelier every time I see you. Where are the others? I thought I was getting the whole brood."

Ognagith pouted. "We are not enough?"

I hugged her again. "Oh, you think to tease the old man, hmm?"

"The others will be along later," Balmarra explained. "Our mothers too."

"I had the kitchens prepare a feast for all of you. I hope you're hungry."

We ate Zuunese food, the hearty flavors of the fertile valley filling our bellies, and we drank watered oghul. I was once again struck by the incongruous sight of my grandchildren looking older than my wives and their youngest aunt and uncle barely having learned to walk. Another strange feature of eternal life. Lysethe would bear children who lived long after their grandnephews had died.

"Tell us of the war," Ognagith said as our meal was ending.

"You have a mind for war?" I asked.

"No need to sound so surprised," Tanyth scolded.

"Tharwihr is a peaceful land," I explained.

"Hence her interest," Zhahllaia remarked.

Balmarra laughed. "Ognagith is fascinated. She knows the history of every battle the Firnóg have fought." Dwarves had divided themselves into seven tribes. The Firnóg were those who settled in Chassudor. Or perhaps more accurately, beneath it.

"It is quite unlike any war I have seen in my homeland," Tanyth said. "The number of soldiers upon the field...it seems like madness."

"It is madness," Sarakiel intoned.

"They are like goblins," Maireili said with a tone of helpfulness.

"Thanks to Zuunkhorun's unique geography, there are a limited number of places an enemy can attack," Zhahllaia explained. "There is Ironmotte to the west, which is accessible by land and Uraraoi to the east, accessible by sea. A few mountain passes are navigable, but Heacharid doctrine relies on their numbers, making the passes unappealing routes. We used bandits and privateers to provoke an attack on our defenses."

"The intent was to use the strength of the Heacharids against them," I said.

"I don't see how inexhaustible manpower is a weakness," Ognagith said.

"Not that one. The Heacharids are relentless once they fix themselves on a prize."

"But they turned away after Axichis."

"Your sister said you know your history," I said, smiling with pride. "Yes, they paused. That was all it was intended to be. Axichis was so costly it provoked a civil war. The Heacharids had to sort that out before they could once again turn outward. I thought if an island could do that, stronger defenses and more resources could do much more."

"And how is the plan?"

I chuckled. "As well as can be expected. Nothing unfolds as it does in the mind. We have secured Uraraoi, but we have other troubles." I related our concerns over our faltering reserves of soldiers.

"You mention Jegu and Besh...these are humans?" Eltuil asked.

"Besh were here first," Zhahllaia said. "They were subjects of Qammuz. The Jegu came later, from Jhobai. They are both human."

"I was told the Khaltóg occupied the Zuunkhor Mountains."

"They do. They've sworn loyalty to Zuunkhorun," I said.

"But I have seen no dwarves since we arrived."

"The guard, the handsome one, I think he might have some stone in his family," mused Balmarra.

"The dwarves were in the mountains when Zuunkhorun swore loyalty to the shahs of Qammuz," Zhahllaia said. "They paid their tax in ore and weapons and the shahs let them be."

"The Jegu made war upon them, but it's my understanding the Khaltóg surrendered swiftly and have been relatively content with the arrangement," I said, "Although they are used as scapegoats at times."

"You think the Khaltóg will solve your problems," Ognagith said.

"In your time as king, have you sent emissaries to the dwarves?" asked Eltuil.

"I had none they would receive. The dwarves do not trust us. From what I understand, to them, their taxes are a bribe that keeps humans from their homes. They are willing to pay, they are willing to trade, but that is the end of it."

Eltuil smiled. "You called us here to be your emissaries."

"I called you here because I wanted to see my grandchildren. I called your mothers here to be my emissaries."

"You would entrust this to us, grandfather?" asked Balmarra.

"Gladly," I said, hiding what trepidation I might have felt. They were only half-dwarves and from a different tribe, but they were what I had. If I could not have faith in my own family, I was well and truly lost.

My grandchildren departed and spent some months in the lands of the Khaltóg. They returned with the welcome news that the Quoin of Gazelum had extended an invitation to his lands. I chose to go only with my familiar, my grandchildren, and a minimum bodyguard. These were Zuunese women trained by Shaluvia and her successors, as loyal to me as my hetairoi. I wanted the Khaltóg to understand that I came in a spirit of trust.

We journeyed north from the capital, where we met the Quoin's people. The dwarves have existed on Thür since the Fourth Strata, but they have changed. I believe the tribes of them as they stand are not as they once were, but I am not certain. The Khaltóg were those native to Aucor. Unlike the Firnóg of Chassudor, who were famous for their beards, the Khaltóg instead cultivated impressive mustaches. Some hung free, often to their belts, others were braided into their thick hair, while others were thick and sculpted with beeswax.

Some fools will claim dwarven women sport the same hair upon their face as the men. The same number of dwarven women have beards as human. It was a foolish prejudice and I'm afraid one that has only gotten worse as dwarves have joined humanity as a race navigating its final millennia. Ghouls, growing no hair of their own, often have strange beliefs about it in others.

The Quoin's delegation waited on the road leading to a sculpted archway leading into the mountain itself. A carriage pulled by aurochbugs was at the center. These draft insects were one of the older breeds, the ones that only saw daylight rarely, and fidgeted and preened in the sun. Surrounding it were dwarven footmen in matching livery. Their armor was heavy on their upper bodies, while being nearly absent on their legs. They carried pikes in their hands and axes on their belts.

Two dwarven women in brocade gowns and fine jewelry stood before them, hands folded under their ample bosoms. Like most dwarven women, they were blessed with voluptuous bodies, heavy breasts, thick thighs, and expansive buttocks. Their hair was piled high atop their heads and decorated with jeweled combs, one was raven black, the other a deep auburn. Their features were cherubic and lovely, their eyes wide and a deep blue that was nearly black.

"Welcome Your Majesty," said the black-haired one as they both bowed.

"Thank you. Which one of you is Quoin? Or is it Quoina?"

"Neither one of us. I am Strombella Stoneborn, and this is my sister Bhaznella. Our father is the steward of the mines and has charged us to be your escorts." She looked to my grandchildren. "Welcome back."

"We're honored to be here," Eltuil said.

"I am to meet with your father?" I asked.

"Yes, our father is the Quoin of Gazelum."

"You did not bring much of a bodyguard," said Bhaznella.

"Every dwarf I have ever encountered has been honorable," I said. "I do not believe your people would send assassins after me."

"You have a high opinion of dwarves."

"I've been privileged to have some of your people in my family."

Bhaznella smiled. "Your grandchildren are well-mannered. I had never met one of the Firnóg."

Strombella leaned forward, "You should not refer to the Firnóg as our people."

"I meant no offense."

"And you have caused none. Each tribe of dwarves is a people unto ourselves."

The truth of what I had implied dawned upon me. "It would be as though you referred to the Heacharids as my people."

"I believe that is accurate. Now, if you will accompany me? The carriage will take us the rest of the way. Your...serpent? Will it..."

"She will accompany us. You have as much to fear from her as you do me."

Bhaznella's eyes flashed. "If half the tales we've heard are true, that is a great deal."

They escorted us into the carriage, while my bodyguards marched alongside. The aurochbugs trundled into the darkness and the dwarves unhooded their lanterns. The perfume of the two dwarven ladies permeated the interior of the carriage. Dwarves have a natural mineral scent and their perfumes take gentle mushroom scents that are subtle and complex.

"What have you heard?" I asked, as the carriage went into the dark.

"That you are a mighty wizard who commands the sky."

"We are far away from the sky down here."

"Something to keep in mind," Strombella teased. I found I enjoyed her cheek.

"You know more of me than you. I beg a favor from you two noble ladies. Would you tell me more of the Khaltóg? I'm eager to hear about you in your words."

The two dwarven sisters shared a look. Bhaznella brushed a strand of auburn hair from her cherubic face. "I would be honored, Your Majesty."

Bhaznella told me of the Khaltóg. When the original fourteen dwarven matriarchs came from deep within the earth already heavy with the first children of their tribes, the Khaltóg sisters were the ones who did not migrate across the world, remaining in Aucor. They prided themselves not only on their stonework but on the intricacy of their weaving, employing a variety of silks from any number of subterranean creatures. They had battled both goblin and ghoul, as well as other races I had yet to encounter.

Her lecture was unprepared and thus scattered, but I would not fault her this. She was eager to tell me of her people and I was eager to learn. If I was to forge bonds of friendship, I would need to know more of the people whose friendship I sought. I had read extensively in the libraries of Zuunkhorun, but I judged this more valuable, for it was what she believed to be important.

It was difficult to reckon time in the perpetual dark, but I believed it would be around sundown when we arrived at a small village on the banks of an underground river. I wondered if this was a tributary to a river I knew, or if it winded along secret pathways a surface dweller would never see.

"The village Milgrum," Strombella explained. "The closest of our settlements to the surface. We will be taking you to the magistrate."

"I thought I was visiting your father."

"He is some more distance deeper still."

Ahead a manor emerged from the gloom, carved from the living rock. Its lanterns were glowing toadstools, a fungus I would grow well-acquainted with during my time inside Zuunkhor. Outside the manor, a household's worth of servants clad in livery waited. At the head was who I could only assume was the magistrate, a dwarf in his late middle age with long, iron gray mustaches and a heavy golden buckle beneath his expansive belly. The two women flanking him were handsome, their age leading to a pleasing weight. We stepped out of the carriage to greet him.

"Welcome to Milgrum, Your--" the magistrate's greeting ended in a yelp as Quiyahui slithered out of the darkness to alight next to me, coiling her body and tasting the air.

"My apologies," I said. I spoke the local dwarven dialect, having practiced with Zhahllaia. I was not adept and my accent was thick.

"No apologies necessary, Your Majesty. I knew you are a wizard and a wizard has a familiar. I simply had not expected a beast so grand."

We exchanged introductions. The magistrate's name was Dhuram Ironriver and he was honored by my presence but confused as to why the Tyrant of Zuunkhorun would want to visit the Khaltóg people. I promised to explain and he insisted that it would be over a sumptuous supper. As he ushered us into the manor house, we were enfolded in the clean scents of the mine.

"Tell me," he said, switching to Zuunese. I was pleased to allow him to grant me this courtesy. He nodded to my grandchildren. "Their grandmother is an orc?"

"Indeed she is," I said with a wistful smile. "Was."

"Then I grieve for you," he said, touching his chest.

"You're kind," Ognagith said, looping her arm through his. He was taken aback, a blush rising to his cheeks. His wives exchanged an amused look.

"You must tell me more of the orcs," he said.

Ognagith was only too happy to charm the magistrate. I turned my attention to his wives, finding a pleasant pair of women who reminded me a bit of Sarakiel. The magistrate set a fine table and I was exposed to Khaltóg cuisine. It was not far from what I'd had in Firnóg settlements while we searched for Mira and her party, though the flavors were subtly different. Dwarves ate a good deal of mushrooms and farmed the great insects of the caves. Their meals were hearty, with a lovely mineral aftertaste to most of the dishes and strange spices that could only be cultivated in the dark.

The Khaltóg had a wonderful tradition in which, after a meal, it was customary to retire to an outdoor fire and enjoy several mugs of beer, a pipe, along with scraps of bread and a delicious, meaty honey. It was a time of reflection and soft conversation that would allow the fatigue of the day to sink into the bones and make sleep come quickly. The balcony looked out over the town, its toadstools glowing in the dark of the cave. I sipped my beer and listened to the soft breezes of the cave. Quiyahui settled next to me and I stroked her feathered head.

"Your Majesty, if you would enlighten me," Dhuram Ironriver said, taking the stem of his pipe from his mouth. "What is the purpose of your errand here? It is my understanding you have pressing concerns aboveground."

"That is true. We fight a war against the Heacharid Empire."

"I always thought Zuunkhorun was their vassal," Strombella said. "As we are to you, you are to them."

"Both situations I would like to change," I said. I turned to Dhuram. "I would be pleased to explain. My errand is no secret. My goal is to alter the relationship between Zuunkhorun and the Khaltóg from what Miss Strombella describes to something more like friendship.

"What does that mean?"

"I plan to create a position on my Council to speak directly for the dwarves. In that way, the Khaltóg will have representation and my ear. I will be able to serve your people and I hope in time that we will cease to think in terms of your people and my people."

His bushy eyebrows shot up. "A position on the Council?"

"Equal to my Master of Horse or Master of Wolves. I plan to call it the Master of Stone, if that's amenable. I wish to cause no offense."

He blinked in surprise, stuttering, "No, that would honor us. And wh...who would you name to this position?"

"I would not presume to select anyone. I was hoping that the Quoins would nominate a candidate of their choosing. One that is amenable to all of you, who would best represent your interests."

"You would give this power to our rulers?"

"If I didn't, I would be issuing demands, not offering friendship."

Dhuram broke into a wide smile. "Your Majesty, I think you might just find what you seek."

I retired to my quarters that night and slept well. Based on how the magistrate had reacted, I didn't think I needed even the meager bodyguard I'd brought. The following morning, he set a sumptuous table and sent us off, admonishing me to be swift. As we settled in for the ride to Gazelum, I noted both Stoneborn sisters were watching me keenly.

"Yes, I was being quite honest with Magistrate Ironriver," I said mildly.

"My grandfather does not lie," Ognagith said.

"Let's not overstate things," I said with a chuckle.

"You would let us select anyone we like?" Strombella asked.

"I insist upon it. I have not the expertise to choose. I want someone who can speak for the Khaltóg people, to make their needs known to me, and to carry my words to them."

"You have words then."

"Of course I do. Friendship is bought, but it is genuine and I believe this is long overdue. The Khaltóg should take their place beside the Jegu and Besh in the landscape of Zuunkhorun. Now, Bhaznella, would you please continue your lecture? You were in the midst of explaining holidays."

Bhaznella blushed, and I found the expression fetching on her chubby cheeks. The longer I spent with them, the more intoxicating I found them. I had to remind myself that I sat with my grandchildren and they did not need to see their goat of a grandfather seduce a lovely pair of sisters. The auburn-haired cherub launched into another lecture and I absorbed what I could. I resolved to begin the dance later, in private.

We arrived in Gazelum that night and were welcomed by Strombella and Bhaznella's family. Their father, Bhazdrag, had bright red hair braided into his great muttonchops. He was barrel-chested and powerful, his fair complexion prone to ruddiness. His wives, Gognella and Skandrella had raven-black hair like Strombella, each one with a fetching streak of silver on opposite temples. Their brother Torelar looked much like Bhaznella, albeit with an impressive mustache whose tails he waxed into curls.

"Welcome to Gazelum, Your Majesty," said Bhazdrag Stoneborn.

"I am humbled by your invitation."

"Father, you are going to want to hear His Majesty's proposal," Bhaznella said, embracing the elder.

"It shall be done with proper hospitality. Come, Your Majesty...I..." He trailed off.

"My familiar," I said, already knowing what he beheld.

"She will not harm anyone," Bhaznella said. "She is beautiful, isn't she?"

He cleared his throat, watching the coatl warily. "Yes, lovely. She? She will be...fine here?"

"She can remain outside. She might wish to hunt." I let that hang for a moment, before going on, "She ate recently, so that is unlikely."

"Yes, well, welcome."

He showed me into the manor, carved from the living rock in the dwarven custom. As with the magistrate, he set a sumptuous table and I told him my idea. He was just as eager as Dhuram Ironriver had been, instantly pledging to contact the other seventeen Quoins that ruled across the Zuunkhor Mountains. I would wait for whichever of them wanted to hear my promise.

I did not like to be away from the war for so long, but I had to trust those I left to prosecute it. I had appointed an excellent Master of Wolves, a man devoted to the principles of defense, and he would work closely with Lysethe. Maireili would continue her coordination with the Master of Birds and sow assassination and chaos. Jerrika would keep us safe from the sea. Tanyth would be the public facing monarch, inspiring the populace. Zhahllaia and Sarakiel would offer counsel for all.

This errand was important enough to cost my presence. I did not forgo communication with my brides. Lysethe and I were able to talk through our birds and every time a sparrow with wings of sunlight flapped down into the dark, my heart soared.

In the months I spent as guest of the Stoneborns, I made certain to be seen in the city of Gazelum, sampling dwarven street food, watching their performances, and speaking to whoever wished to talk. Though I missed home, the Stoneborn family salved my loneliness. The sisters especially seemed to enjoy my company and I spent many evenings chatting with them or listening to the two of them play their dwarven harps.

When Ararfog Caskbreaker arrived, I took him to be one of the quoins. He seemed young, but I had met young nobles before, and he traveled without bodyguards, but I assumed the dwarves didn't need them in their lands. I learned he was the son of the Quoin of Brutmac, the demesne adjacent to Gazelum. It was obvious to any with eyes that Bhazdrag thought to make a match for his daughters, and equally obvious they did not care for the idea.

After dinner, I stayed up as was the custom, watching Ararfog attempt to impress the Stoneborn sisters while boasting to their father. It was telling that he retired bare moments after Bhazdrag did. Seemed the lad was more interested in the family than the sisters. More fool he. Soon I was alone with the Stoneborn sisters. Strombella sucked on the stem of her pipe while Bhaznella ate the last of the honeyed bread. I sipped what I determined would be my final mug of beer of the evening.

"You're married, are you not, Your Majesty?" Bhaznella asked, breaking the silence.

"I am."

"Was it arranged by your parents?"

"I'm lowborn and never knew my parents."

"Never knew your parents?"

"I was a foundling."

"A man without a family," mused Strombella. "You had no station."

"At the time I was married, I was an escaped slave. I had even less station. My intended's family had to give me a title."

Bhaznella giggled. "That must have been a scandal."

"Less than perhaps you might think. Kharsoom has the tradition of the boldisar, who is ideally an escaped slave. I was one of these. Once my father-in-law accepted the union, he treated me as well as he would were I a prince of an august clan."

"You are from Kharsoom?"

"I am from Rhandonia. I found myself in Kharsoom after...a series of events." I smiled thinly. "Now, this Ararfog is to be your husband?"

"No," Strombella said simply.

"I like him a little better than she," Bhaznella said, "but both sisters must agree to make a match."

"I admit, this is one tradition that seems to span the entirety of the dwarven people," I said. "I am familiar with it in my own family, though not the reasons."

"We bear twice as many girls as boys. It is necessary," said Strombella.

"I would not know what to do without my sister," Bhaznella said. "Going to the home of a strange man without an ally."

"I suppose that is one way to think of it," I said.

"Do you have more than one wife, Your Majesty?" Strombella asked, exhaling a cloud of fragrant smoke.

"Yes."

"Then you understand."

"I'm not quite certain I do, but I do not need to understand something to accept it. How will you select a husband?"

"We'll both know," Bhaznella said. "That was how it was when our mothers met our father."

"That I can understand. Every time I have taken a wife, a concubine, however you choose to define them, I have known." I swallowed the last dregs of my beer and stood. "Thank you for keeping me company. You two have been consistent friends and I would not be nearly as content here without you."

I found my way to bed. Quiyahui entwined about me and the two of us slept deeply.

The first thing any wizard learns is how to clean, both ourselves and the homes of our masters. The simplest cantrips, focused through the lens of our specific gifts, keeping ourselves and our surroundings tidy. Thus, I had no need to bathe and neither did my wives as long as I was nearby, but we often did so anyway for the ritual. The perception of cleanliness is often more important than cleanliness itself, especially for outsiders.

In Zuunkhorun, I regularly went to the baths in Tagariaganuur. This helped me cultivate the appropriate image as a Tyrant who embraced the customs of his subjects and maintained his hygiene in the proper setting. My wives were split. Tanyth and Lysethe, both at ease with public nudity, quite enjoyed the baths. Sarakiel and Maireili refused to go.

While I was with the Khaltóg, I made an effort to abide by their hygiene traditions. Their baths were stone rooms, with narrow canals of water leading to a central fountain. These were stocked with salamanders, the yellow, red, and black creatures warming the room with their fiery skin. Benches carved into the walls gave visitors a place to rest.

A collection of pitchers filled with different kinds of oils sat on a shelf by the entrance, divided into two groups. Each one carried its own subtle scent, and together it gave the room a dense smell that reminded me of the leather that wrapped the hilt of a blade. Next to the oils was a container of strigils.

I selected one of the oils and poured a bit into my hair. I massaged both in. When dry, it would give me a glossy hair with a subtle scent. I came to appreciate this part of the bath and I still use it from time to time.

When my hair was slicked against my head and my fragrant, I took the second kind of oil. This one carried the scent of buttered cinnamon. I poured it over me, then rubbed it into my skin. It tingled, right on the edge of burning. I was never fond of this.

I selected a strigil and scraped the oil from me. It took both the top layer of my skin and every bit if hair. Soon, I was bald below the neck, my body glowing pink. I settled down on the bench, my flesh gently stinging. After one is thoroughly denuded and oiled, it was customary to sit in the heat and meditate upon the events of the day. It is a time of reflection and relaxation, while the last of the oil and the heat of the room massages one's body. I thought of my errand and I missed my wives.

I was nearing the end of my time in the room when I heard footsteps approaching. They were flesh on stone, so I knew it was someone else in the household come to take their turn. I was about to rise and give them the room when Strombella and Bhaznella entered. The two fetching sisters wore the simple robes of their household, the thin linen showing more clearly their voluptuous contours.

"Your Majesty! We did not know you were here!" Strombella said. She feigned surprise well, but I caught the way her eyes flicked between my legs. The air was as hot as breath, and the buttery cinnamon scent of the oil was heavy in the air.

"I am nearly finished," I said. "Allow me to give you some privacy." I rose to fetch my own robe, folded neatly by the doorway.

"Don't trouble yourself," Bhaznella's gaze now fell between my legs. Her eyes widened.

"We beg you, stay, Your Majesty," Strombella said. "Do not Zuunese bathe in groups?"

"Normally the women with women and men with men, though there are some less reputable bathhouses that have alternate arrangements."

"Have you ever been to one of those?"

I laughed. "It would not do for the Tyrant to be seen in them."

"There are none here who would speak against you," Bhaznella said.

Before I could say more, Strombella opened her robe and shrugged it off her shoulders, folding it and placing it near mine. Bhaznella followed suit. They revealed lovely, thick bodies of copious curves. Their fat, powerful thighs reached to an apex lightly fuzzed with hair. Their breasts were mountainous, capped with thick, pink-golden nipples. Their buttocks were expansive, a pleasing jiggle to them as they moved. Even my most voluptuous bride, Sarakiel, could not compete with this avalanche of loveliness and I found myself craving both of them. Which was, plainly obviously, their plan.

As though to make clear their intent, they went to the oil. Strombella poured a thick stream over her sister's chest. Bhaznella rubbed it into her body, her mountainous curves soon shining wetly. Then Bhaznella took the pitcher and Strombella repeated the process. The two of them took their time, massaging the oil into their pale golden flesh. Beneath the layer of supple fat, I caught glimpses of the powerful muscles. These two were poetry, but it was a poetry of stone and hearth.

Finally, they finished, rivulets of slick fluid dripping over their plump flesh. They were shiny and bright, like polished gemstones. They made their way to me, Bhaznella carrying the pitcher with her. Now the smell of the oil was joined with another, one that reminded me of succulent mushrooms. I realized then that this was their smell, and my eyes went to the short hair about their orchids, slick and matted to their soft folds.

"You seem to be enjoying what you see," Strombella teased.

Indeed, my staff had begun to harden. I made no motion to hide it. "I am a famous appreciator of beauty."

"Tell me, Your Majesty," Bhaznella asked. "Did you apply the oil correctly?"

"I believe so," I said, though I was suddenly unsure.

"Allow us, Your Majesty. We would be pleased to show you the proper way."

Bhaznella poured the oil over my shoulders. It was as warm as the touch of a woman. She climbed up onto the bench next to me. As she found her position, she carelessly brushed against me. The first time I thought perhaps it was an accident, but the second, when her hard nipples ran over my slick flesh, I knew it was her intent. Strombella settled onto the other side of me, and now I was flanked by these two oil-covered angels.

"The oil must be massaged into your skin," Bhaznella explained, her strong hands finding my shoulders.

"Humans live on the surface of the world. They forget what's underneath," said Strombella, beginning to knead the muscles of my back.

"That is true," I sighed, sinking into the pair's ministrations.

"You think of what lies beneath the surface," said Bhaznella. She leaned forward, her breasts now consistently running over me. Where her nipples touched, tiny bolts of lightning worried into my skin.

"Else you would not be here," said Strombella, turning her attention to my legs. She massaged my thighs, her hands never far from my staff, but never touching them. I knew she was looking. She could not do anything else, but the way she never touched inflamed me.

"I used to adventure with a group who delved into the darkness in search of treasure."

"Did you find it?"

"Many times," I sighed, happily surrendering to the massage.

"Sometimes such things are neglected," Bhaznella said. She moved from the bench to kneel before me while Strombella took her sister's place at my back. My staff was swollen, a tiny bit of nectar collected at the head. It had been some time since I'd lain with a woman. Quiyahui had not taken human form and I had been away from my wives. I would have needed these two no matter what the circumstances, but the ground had been prepared.

"It is important for a craftsman to oil his tools," Bhaznella said, pouring oil over the head of my staff. She then took me in hand, running her palm from the root to the crown and back again. The oil tingled as it sank into me, right on the edge of a sting. Her hand was strong, but she was gentle, pulling pleasure from the base of my pelvis up through my body. "Too many men neglect their most important tool."

"That would be unfortunate," I agreed, trying to fight the desperation in my voice.

"An impressive tool," Strombella said her hands kneading the tension from me, echoing her sister's strokes over my shining staff. "Are all human men so endowed?"

"I'm told no, but I've not investigated. Have you never had a human?"

"Dwarves in plenty, but none of your people."

Suddenly, the touch I felt between my legs was softer. Bhaznella had taken her great breasts, catching my staff between them, and stroking me. My head was between her clavicles, pointed at her throat. "Now do you see how massaging the oil in is so important?"

She was skilled, caressing me gently, giving a flick right at the apex of me. She grinned, watching me watch her. I reached out and brushed her cheek, and she leaned into the affectionate touch, grinning like a cat. Then, I guided her firmly. She chuckled at my eagerness and opened her mouth, her hot tongue swirling over me. I tangled my hand in her auburn hair, slick with oil. Her small mouth strained to take me in, but she gamely worked, stroking me with her breasts and taking the head of me past her lips to be licked.

Strombella forcefully turned my head and pressed her lips to mine. "Have you ever had dwarven sisters?" she murmured into my mouth.

"No," I said, seeking another kiss. "I have always been curious."

Bhaznella smacked her lips. "Strom, you must try him. His hammer tastes of the overstreams."

I did not know what she meant by that, but I did not have time to ruminate. They shifted, Strombella leaned over, while Bhaznella moved up next to me. I groaned in surprise as the raven-haired dwarf sucked me into her mouth. Her tongue was busy, reminding me of the movements of her sister, but sucking was her primary weapon. Saliva ran over me, washing over me with each insouciant suck, her head bobbing eagerly over me.

Bhaznella pressed her lips to mine, her tongue strong, her hands against my chest. I reached between her legs, finding her sodden lips. I slipped between her folds, gently teasing her. "Oh, Your Majesty!" she murmured.

I whispered a word of magic, and a frown of confusion rippled over her lovely features. Her eyes widened as clouds formed by my hand, tendrils of storm reaching into her. She moaned, rocking into the exploration.

"You do not lay with a human," I murmured into her mouth. "You lay with a wizard."

The clouds reached over Strombella's broad back as she slurped me into her mouth. I ran over her spine and between her soft buttocks, probing for entry. She gave a squeal as I took her. A ragged moan followed immediately as thunder rolled through her body. Her sucking grew more desperate.

I pulled Strombella up, crushing her to my mouth, my hands kneading her soft breasts, teasing her nipples. Bhaznella immediately returned to her former position, and I felt her velvety cleavage stroking me, her inquisitive mouth taking me. She licked, pumping me. I could not fight this wonderful bliss and I closed my eyes as it boiled from me in stormy shudders.

Bhaznella yelped happily, and Strombella swiftly leaned over and sucked me into her mouth, swallowing once, then Bhaznella took her turn at the fount. Then Strombella finished, sucking me dry.

Though I was not ready for love so soon, I found the two of them intoxicating. Their plump bodies, slicked by the oil, addled me. I wanted to take them. They stood, finding the strigils and running them over their bodies. Hair went with every stroke, leaving them smooth and bright. They did the same for me, careful about my staff. Bhaznella broke into a grin as I began to harden, and she pressed an affectionate kiss to the head.

"I look forward to trying this, Your Majesty."

"You will not have to wait long, my lady."

They settled next to me, combing their luxurious locks. They always wore their hair up, and I had not realized it was so long, reaching the middle of their backs. I leaned over, kissing Strombella's neck, caressing her heavy breast.

"I think His Majesty is ready," she teased.

I felt Bhaznella's hand on my staff, stroking me. "He feels ready."

"I want more," I murmured, leaning over to kiss Bhaznella. She squealed softly as the storm that I had conjured reached its tentacles over her. It bloomed, embracing her, then stretching over to her sister. I had boasted that they lay with a wizard. I could not make such a promise and not deliver.

"Oh my," Strombella moaned, rocking her hips against the clouds that now covered her sex.

"I like him," Bhaznella purred, turning over and arching her back. She took her breasts in hand, running her hard nipples over me. I took her in my mouth, tasting the oil on her flesh. My tongue lashed the turgid flesh, teasing one, then the other.

"As do I," Strombella said, spreading her legs. The clouds took her, lighting spidering over and inside her. Her words vanished into a cry. The oil glowed with every strike of the storm.

I had lost track of Bhaznella, so focused was I on the beautiful sight of Strombella fucking my storm. Suddenly, Bhaznella murmured, "Mine," in my ear. She knelt over me, her thick thighs straddling my lap. She placed me against her lips, running me over her oiled orchid. She kissed me in little snaps. Her breath was ragged, and that powerful mushroom scent swirled through the buttery cinnamon of the oil. I longed to bury myself in her, but she continued to tease.

She traced me over her lips, then up to the apex of her sex. Her pearl was hard against the silky touch of my manhood. I pushed my hand into her auburn hair, still heavy with oil, and pulled her into a searing kiss. At the same time, I thrust. She whimpered into my mouth as I took her.

She broke from our kiss, speaking frantically into my mouth. "Not so fast, Your Majesty. One does not get gold by plundering a vein."

Then I reached a new depth in her and she shivered, sucking my lip into her mouth. My hands dimpled her fat hips. "I need you," I said.

Strombella ran her hands down my chest. Her nipples poked my back, her breasts against me. I felt the storm between her leg, the tentacle pushing into her, throbbing with power. "Do not forget me, Your Majesty," she purred into my ear. She sucked it into her mouth, her tongue tracing the edges. I leaned over and kissed her, even as her sister took me deeper inside.

"Oh, Strom," Bhaznella moaned. "He is like being split so wonderfully."

"I want my turn, Bhaz."

"You'll get it," said her sister, rolling her lovely fat hips, taking me deeper. She squealed as I hit the back of her. I slapped her flank, reveling in the way she jiggled. She kissed me hard. "Slap harder, Your Majesty. I'll not break."

I did as I was bidden, each time pushing up into her. She cried out with each one, her great breasts heaving in my face. I took one then the other, sucking the hard nipples between my lips. I was frantic, my passion beyond my control. Bhaznella's brow was furrowed, her cries increasingly high, her thrusts broken.

"My sister is nearly finished," Strombella said, running her tongue about my ear. The other dwarf gently thrust against my storm, but both of us wanted more.

"Then she needs a rest," I gasped. With a stuttered word, my storm lifted Bhaznella off of me. The clouds replaced my staff inside her. She opened her eyes in confusion, making a small noise of disappointment. I pushed the storm from Strombella to her sister, caressing every corner of her.

I turned about, kissing Strombella hard, roughly spreading her legs and sheathing myself in her. She screamed when I hit the back of her. She always had such quiet dignity but there, bent nearly in half, her legs up, she was slave to her passion. I took her hard, my eyes locked on hers, relishing the desperate pleasure I found.

"Harder, Your Majesty," she begged.

I kissed her once. "You are so beautiful."

I took her in brutal strokes while my magic continued to play with Bhaznella. Soon it was Strombella who had gone past words and could only cry out with each stroke. It was then that I turned once again to the auburn-haired sister.

Roughly I turned her over, pulling her haunches back. With my magic, I did the same to Strombella, lining both sisters side-by-side, both bent over before me. Both expansive buttocks waited for me, shining with oil. They were breathtaking expanses of shuddering flesh.

I took Bhaznella first, letting the storm fuck Strombella. With each, a tendril of cloud ran down the crack of them, pushing into their tight rosebuds. Their cries reached another pitch with this fresh indignity. I thrust, slapping each in turn, harder and harder, pounding these visions of voluptuous beauty. The only regret I had was that they were not deep enough to take all of me. Later, when they gave everything to me, we would find a way. I spread Strombella apart, looking at her puckered rosebud. A tendril of storm impaled her there. I sent a rolling peal of thunder through her.

I could not hold off forever. I conducted them, taking both, guiding their pleasure to new heights. Soon the quakes had consumed their bodies and they were little more than shuddering masses. Only then did I allow myself to finish. I was inside Strombella, pulling out barely in time. The first stripe of pearl went over her sex, the next over the backs of both sisters.

As I caught my breath, I looked upon my handiwork. The two exhausted dwarves, red handprints covering their flanks, breathing heavily, still lewdly bent over. I settled onto the bench and the two turned over, cuddling into me.

"That was wonderful," Bhaznella said, kissing me.

I returned her kiss, then one for her sister. "I think my stay here has grown more pleasant."

The Stoneborn sisters shared my bed for the remainder of my visit with the Khaltóg. They took their night tea without being asked, and for that I was grateful. We were scrupulous in our affair and insatiable in our desires.

"What would your wives say if they saw what you did to us?" Bhaznella asked one night, evidence of our passion gently drying on her belly.

"They would be upset that I did not share."

That provoked a laugh and another bout of love.

One by one, the quoins arrived from each of the dwarven duchies. My offer was received skeptically, but the Stoneborns were my champions. I left not long afterwards, for I could not be away from the surface for much longer and I believed that the Stoneborns would better advocate for my proposal than I. The Khaltóg would give me their answer with a delegation.

I returned to the war and my wives. The sight of them filled me with love. Tanyth ran to me first, searching my face after we shared a kiss. "You had a time down there," Tanyth said with amusement.

"You know me well."

"My sweet old goat. Now come and please your brides. You've a lot of work ahead of you."

Several weeks later, I received word that a dwarven delegation was making its way to the capital. They had appointed a Master of Stone. No other information arrived.

I should note that this reform was the biggest challenge I had faced, worse even than the war itself, for the Zuunese people had grown used to distrusting the dwarf. Now one sat upon my Council, the equal of such august positions as Master of Fish, Master of Bees, or Master of Wolves. This reform produced among my population a group who so hated the dwarves, they refused to accept them.

Fortunately, the sight of dwarven warriors on the walls of Ironmotte and dwarven engineers maintaining defenses mitigated some of this distrust. I could want all of my subjects to love one another, but it could not be done by fiat. Filial love would have to be nurtured.

That was in the future. On the day the delegation arrived, I was bursting with curiosity to see who had been appointed. I tried to remember the various dignitaries, the sea of names that had confronted me. When the wagon made its way to the palace, I was outside to meet it, my wives with me, certain that I would have to be reminded of whoever would emerge.

"This is a momentous day," Zhahllaia murmured as the carriage door opened.

I was shocked to see the Stoneborn sisters emerge. My smile was unsure as I watched the door for another dwarf.

"Your Majesty," said Strombella, bowing.

"Your Master of Stone," Bhaznella said, gesturing to her sister with a smile.

"Welcome to Tagariaganuur," I said, beaming with relief.

"We are pleased to serve the Tyrant and our people," Strombella said. "May we begin now?"

"You did have a time down there," Tanyth chuckled, her hand interlacing with mine.