Chapter 64

The first I heard of the wenhoule people was their attack upon the hamlet Silverholt. The emergence of a new people was a rare event, though not unheard of. There was a time before Thür knew the tread of humanity, before the elves, before the orcs, and so forth. The wenhoule were an omen of what was to come, though through no fault of their own. Blaming them would be like the cursing the bird that fled the squall that followed it.

The first word of those people came in the dead of night. Good news sleeps soundly, but bad is restless. I had accompanied Jerrika to one of her nighttime haunts. I had perhaps neglected my undead mariner in recent years. She was uncomfortable so far from the sea, but she could not stray far from me without risking descent into her near-mindless existence. She spent her time at cards and drink and I believe we all knew this was not sustainable. She was unhappy, and at the time I blamed it upon Bashamailon.

Still, I tried, and I confess I enjoyed myself. Cards lacked the elegance of Alishum, but there was still the sense of excitement of a contest against worthy opponents. Jerrika attended a half dozen regular games, but this was her favorite. The tavern was the first building erected in Kaibéliard, originally the residence of the first human miner to find these peaks, and later expanded into the labyrinthine edifice it became during my time there.

We were in the midst of a hand where the pot had grown to precipitous proportions. I suspect some of them enjoyed taking the Prince Consort's money. No shame in that. I was about to add a little more to the pile when hoofbeats shook the coins upon the table.

I sprang to my feet, certain Kaibéliard was being attacked, the game forgotten. I could not imagine how, as the Avelina Valley was in the center of the kingdom and any invaders would have to cross at least one other, but in the moment I only wanted to be out on the street.

I ran down the stairs and emerged into the chill air of the late autumn night. A small group of riders thundered down the central thoroughfare, the hooves of their horses chewing up the mud. A pair peeled off for the Dragon's Roost, a trio to the home of the magistrate, and another pair to the meeting hall of Order of Bashamerax.

"Rider!" I called as the trio heading to the magistrate's passed the tavern.

The woman on horseback turned to me, initially dismissed the hail of a strange man out in the middle of the night, before reining in her horse hard. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not know you," she said as her horse danced in place, trying to control its headlong momentum. The other two riders kept going.

"What is happening?" I asked.

"An attack at Silverholt. From the mines, Your Highness."

"Go! I will meet the others at the Order house!"

She nodded, too out of breath for a response. She dug her heels into the horse's flank, and the beast sprinted after the others.

"You're going, aren't you," Jerrika said, ambling over to me. She was dressed in her ship's finery, lacking both a hat and anything on her feet. Her body glowed softly, lightning playing over her fetching curves.

"Come with me," I said. "A little adventure will do you good."

Her cold lips found mine, and a graveyard shiver ran through me. "I am no knight, love. Besides, the cards are still speaking to me."

Quiyahui slithered from the roof where she had been coiled like an early snowfall to follow along overhead on my journey to the order's meeting hall. The hall itself was a single longhouse, with a barracks, smithy, and stables behind. The Order's dragon banner flew over the structure, proudly proclaiming their allegiance.

The squire at the door bowed and ushered me inside. The room was long, a feasting table spanning its length, the hearth at one end. Banners, the personal sigils of notables, hung from the rafters, each one a variation of the traditional dragon banner of the Order of Bashamerax.

There, the bedraggled riders begged the assembled knights for aid. The knights were dressed simply, in soft tunics and trousers, their hair mussed from sleep. Among the knights were my daughter Isneth and my son Tyrvath, their scaled faces set. Isneth was the spitting image of her mother, her gray-touched hair cut short and framing her face. Tyrvath favored me in features, with even his scales carrying jagged bolts of bright blue through the orange.

"Father," he murmured as I approached. "What are you doing here?"

I hugged him, which he accepted with good graces. He had thankfully grown old enough that affection from his parents was no longer a source of shame. "Arrange for another horse. I'll be going with you."

He nodded, and I caught I wash of pride over his features. "You will not ride ahead?"

"It sounds like the attack is over. Better to arrive in force, I think."

Isneth spoke with the head of the order, a white-haired man whose best days were behind him. He raised his voice, addressing the room. "Knight-Sergeant Isneth ur-Udraeg will lead this sortie. Obey her as you would me."

The other knights' faces were set. Isneth was one of the younger knights in the Order, but she carried the blood of the Great Red Father. In a place like Bashamailon, that would not be forgotten. I would be concerned if such faith was placed in another, but I had nothing but esteem for my Isneth.

Isneth issued orders, and the other knights scrambled to obey, including my son. The squires were to gather their things, armor, horse, and provisions, and make ready to ride within the hour. I waited quietly, not wanting to undermine her authority with the rest of her Order. Finally, she approached me. "Thank you for coming, Father," Isneth said.

"I likely won't be the last to hear the summons."

"Mama Lysethe and Mama Ten Ghosts won't miss this," she said grimly. "It will be good to have them with us."

Of her mothers, Isneth was perhaps closest with Ten Ghosts, who had taught her to ride and wield a Theva warclub. Isneth had since given up vorghals for horses and clubs for a heavy mace, but the lessons and love remained. I saw much of Ten Ghosts in Isneth, both in their reserved demeanors and quiet faith.

Her brother Tyrvath, who entered the room with his squire, stood in contrast. He had bonded with Tanyth and still favored a straight Kharsoomian blade, like the one she had taught him the art of fencing with. I saw in him that same spirit of adventure that had first led me to join the Mythseekers and spurred me across the Red Wastes as a boldisar. I wondered if a knightly order was truly the lad's ultimate destiny.

I sat with the riders, who now waited for the knights to assemble, and bade them tell me what happened. They came from Silverholt, a mining town in the valley to the west. The bulk of the inhabitants were dwarves or carried some dwarvish blood. Both of the riders looked, as the saying went, that they had a bit of stone in the family tree. They told me the attack had come suddenly from the mine itself. I had assumed the culprits to be goblins, but the riders described creatures that glowed yellow and were covered in spines. They killed several miners before making it to the surface, where they ransacked the town. Then they retreated underground, leaving behind a stunned community that had seen no real violence in over a century. I vowed to do everything I could to protect Silverholt from further harm.

We assembled outside, one of the squires entrusting a horse to me. I would never like the creatures overmuch, but I had become a passable rider in the near century I spent in Bashamailon.

Lysethe and Ten Ghosts rode up. Isneth's shoulders relaxed as she saw the Theva, and she immediately hid her relief beneath a stern mask. I embraced both of them, pleased that I would have not only two of my loves with us, but two of the finest warriors I had ever known. We rode out soon after, arriving in Silverholt in the late afternoon after a hard ride.

As our banners flapped into view, a cheer went up from the townsfolk. Their faces brightened further as they realized that not only had knights arrived, so had the queen's Prince Consort, the Huntress, and the Red Hound, as well as two children carrying the blood.

Evidence of the attack was everywhere. Though it was nothing compared to what Syventyth had done to Bergau, a few buildings smoldered and fresh graves were being dug.

A Firnóg man, his white beard reaching his belt, strode out to meet us in the road, mopping his brow. His limbs were like stone, his chest like a barrel. As he beheld us, he pulled the cap from his head, revealing that most of his hair was on his chin. "Hail and well met. When I sent my riders for help, I didn't know we'd be getting a royal delegation."

"I am Isneth ur-Udraeg and the sortie is mine," said my daughter with impressive authority.

"I know you, Your Highness," he said with a bow. "Dhurlgar Silverhand's my name. I'm the master miner here, so these men and women are my responsibility. Did you want to rest and refresh yourselves?"

"I would rather not waste the time."

The master miner looked at her with renewed admiration. "As you wish. I'll guide you down there, but if you'll permit, I'd like to bring a half dozen miners. More than that want some payback, but six should do. Keep us all safe down there."

Isneth nodded. "I trust your assessment, Master Miner."

We were forced to stable the mounts. The vorghal provoked some consternation, but there was nothing else to be done. Ten Ghosts soothed him as they put him into a locked stable and gave stern instructions to the terrified stablehands.

"They were bred in caves for centuries," she sighed.

"He makes the locals nervous," I said, leaning up to kiss her cheek.

"And we don't know how close the confines will get below," Lysethe said.

"Quiyahui will look after him," I said. She sullenly coiled about the roof of the stables and the vorghal calmed himself.

When all was made ready, we went up the winding path to the mines. The entrance had long ago been sculpted by the dwarves, welcoming visitors within. Dhurlgar waited with four men and two women, all armed with hammers and picks. If the riders had some stone in their family tree, these seven might have had a few leaves in the family stone if that makes sense.

He nodded in approval as we approached. "I would not want to be those creatures now," he said. His eyes fell upon the great mace my daughter carried on her shoulder. "Don't often see a lass with such a weapon."

"I'm more than just a lass," she said.

"I meant no offense, Your Highness, merely that you could be Firnóg with that mighty club."

"I thought your people favored hammers."

"We're miners first and any weapon has to pull its duty as a tool. For a knight, a weapon is her tool."

Inside the mountain, the first expanse was a village, really a neighborhood of Silverholt, where the miners who preferred a subterranean home could live. As with any such place in Bashamailon, lamps blazing with dragonflame marked the avenues and eaves, shedding more than enough light to see. Firnóg locals removed their caps as we passed, then as soon as we were by, replaced them and returned to cleaning up the damage the raiders had inflicted.

Lysethe cast a spell, releasing moths of pure sunlight into the air. The magical creatures circled us, bolstering the dragonflame lights and remaining ready when those ran out.

"They took nearly everything they could lay hands on," Dhurlgar said. "Like locusts."

"Nearly?" I asked.

"They didn't touch the silver. Most of what we pull out of here is silver, hence the name. They didn't care a whit for it, though we have a queen's ransom in our storehouses."

"They took food?"

"Food, water, weapons. I'd call some of what they took supplies, you know. Things you need like wagons or tents. Think they got a couple barrels of demon powder. We'll need a shipment of that sooner than I thought."

"Demon powder?" Isneth asked. "I don't like them being armed with that."

"Nor I, but better you know about it now before they use to bring a tunnel down on our heads."

Dhurlgar was an able guide. He led us down past the expanses of the mine, to a tunnel that broke through into a natural cavern. The invaders, he judged, must have come this way. He was proven correct shortly thereafter, finding a discarded sack of local make still smelling of onions.

"Miss Hound?" Dhurlgar said. "Would you dampen your light a touch? I don't think these invaders got far and I wouldn't like to give them more of a warning."

"You worry about light reaching them?" Lysethe asked, but obediently dampening her spell. The shadows closed in about us.

"Light has a funny way of carrying belowground," he said. "Places it shouldn't be, it lingers."

We camped that night, the dwarves breaking into their hard, mushroomy bread and pillowy aurochbug meat. I retired to a tent with Ten Ghosts and Lysethe, the three of us settling into our bedrolls. No loveplay happened that night. We slept deeply, the exhaustion claiming us.

We were able to overtake the attackers late in the following day's travel. Dhurlgar bade Lysethe douse the last of her light when he was certain the invaders were only a short distance ahead. He, Ten Ghosts, and I moved ahead, emerging on a ledge overlooking a great chamber. In the cavern below, a vast array of wagons pulled by wan aurochbugs formed a loose circle. I spied barrels, food, and supplies that could only have come from Silverholt. These were the culprits.

The raiders were as had been described. They stood perhaps as tall as a human, though they all walked with a bit of a bow-legged hunch, I suspected from the realities of living underground. Their skin was yellow, shedding a glow bright enough to see by. I noted, after a time, that they could brighten or dim it at will, a useful talent for living underground.

Short spines sprouted over the flat planes of their bodies, over their upper backs, the backs of their arms, their calves, and so forth. Their features were close enough to those of ghouls, with small noses, wide mouths, and huge eyes the side of a child's fist. Their ears were webbed frills. Their hands sported long and clever fingers, tipped with claws. They dressed simply, their ragged clothes missing panels over the spines. A few carried weapons, some were steel from the surface, while most were simple bone and stone.

"We've caught them unawares," murmured Dhurlgar. "I'll go fetch the others. Even with their numbers, our knights should make short work of them."

"Hold," I said. I looked to Ten Ghosts.

She nodded, knowing my mind. "Children," she said.

"Children?" asked the dwarf.

"Look with different eyes," Ten Ghosts said, nodding to the encampment.

"Women. Children," I said, pointing to them below. "And those men hardly look like hardened raiders."

"The people of Silverholt call for retribution."

"We'll not be a party to butchery." I turned to Isneth. "Remain here. Ten Ghosts and I will speak to them."

Dhurlgar was silent and I took that as assent. Foolish, but I was overconfident. I found the pathway down and Ten Ghosts followed, myself empty-handed and my wife resting her club loosely over her shoulder. We were partway down when a sentry spotted us and raised the alarm. As the pale yellow creatures emerged ready to fight, the only sign that Ten Ghosts was nervous was a tightening of her grip on her club.

We stopped where we were as the sentries regarded us warily. One said something in a language I didn't understand. I held up my hands to show they were empty. Two of them argued, then one took a threatening step, raising his weapon and barking words.

I turned my palms to face one another. Lightning spanned them, cooking the air and hurling light about the room. Just as quickly, I banished it, once again holding out my hands to show I meant no harm.

They exchanged tense looks and tenser words. The aggressive one lowered his weapon. Right at that moment came the clanking of knights rushing to my aid. Dhurlgar was at their head, and their weapons were naked. The yellow beings raised their weapons, steeling them to fight.

"Hold!" I called.

"Father, what is going on?" demanded Isneth. The dwarf was by her side, his features stormy.

"Isneth, look at these people. They are desperate. I would wager they are fleeing something. I've seen enough of that to know the look. Desperation made them attack Silverholt, I would swear on it."

"What do you want to do?"

"Communicate with them. Make peace. Help them."

"They attacked Silverholt and you want to help them?" demanded Dhurlgar.

"I want to talk to them before wholesale slaughter, and you will mind your tongue when you speak to me."

I held out my hands to the yellow beings and they seemed to understand that I stood between them and the knights. Tyrvath and two of the younger knights interposed themselves between me and the dwarves. Isneth came to my side.

"Father, you are certain?"

"I am certain I would like to understand these people before we slay them."

"My oaths compel me to agree. What would you have done?"

"Escort Dhurlgar and the other miners back to Silverholt, then send Tyrvath to fetch Zhahllaia."

"Mama Zhahllaia?" she frowned, then the sun dawned on her features. "She speaks every language."

"Exactly."

"You will be safe?"

"I have Lysethe and Ten Ghosts with me. These people are in more danger than I."

Isneth admirably corralled the others. The dwarves muttered, shooting baleful looks my way. Lysethe came to my side, conferring quietly with Ten Ghosts. I faced the newcomers and nodded, showing them my hands. Their weapons lowered.

Three more came to the front cautiously, talking to their sentries. These were women, and I noted that beneath their breasts was another pair, these smaller. They wore meager adornment of carved and polished insect shells. After a short discussion, the sentries allowed them to pass.

The leader, marked by a diadem that gave her a third eye upon her forehead, touched her chest. "Drann."

"Belromanazar of Thunderhead." She blinked in surprise, her eyelids closing sideways over the impressive orbs. "Bel."

She smiled, showing an impressive set of teeth. "Bel." She held out her palms, showing me they were empty. I mirrored the gesture.

She returned to the sentries and talked more with them. Their voices grew strained in argument. Lysethe leaned over to me and murmured, "I don't trust them."

"Good," I said. "We need that. I don't want to be blinded to possibilities of treachery."

Drann turned to us and spoke again. She and her two companions moved away from the sentries over their obvious protestations and beckoned us along. They brought us back to the overhang where we originally found their camp. Drann gestured to it, speaking firmly.

"I believe she is asking us to make camp here," I said.

She spoke again, gesturing to her camp, and then to us, and then to the area. I understood what she meant, more or less, though I longed for Zhahllaia's help translating.

I sat down on a rock, and Drann did the same. As Ten Ghosts sat, another, whose name I would learn was Xul, did as well. The last, Bek, remained standing as Lysethe did.

"Bel," Drann said.

"Drann," I responded. I picked up a stone and held it up. "Stone."

"Tok," she said.

And thus we began to learn.

We made our camp where Drann asked. For two days, she and I learned language from one another. It was slow, little more than vocabulary, but the learning itself was secondary. Nothing inspires trust like an attempt to learn a language. It is peace in action and intent, the opposite of a raised weapon.

Drann, Xul, and Bek spent their days with us, then at night returned to the camp. We did not stray from our place. Lysethe and I set out sentry spells, while Ten Ghosts beseeched the breath of her ancestors to whisper warnings to us. We were quite safe.

I learned that Drann's people were called the wenhoule and they came from underground. It was late in the second day when she was able to give me some of the story. They had indeed been pursued from their home by invaders. She could not communicate the motive behind the attack, but it was obvious when I saw their meager provisions.

I came to know the three of them well, though we did not share a language. Drann was the eldest of the three, patient and dedicated to the aim of making a friend of me. Xul was curious, but in her I detected a coldness. I thought she would kill without hesitation or remorse, though it would take necessity to so move her. Bek was sullen and standoffish, but in her I felt a softness that was absent in Xul.

I was not clear on their relationship with one another. I did not think they could be mother and daughters, for the age difference was not so pronounced, but then I looked younger and had in fact outlived many of my own children. The way the three wenhoule interacted, with long looks and lingering touches, made me believe they were paramours of a sort.

That was somewhat confirmed, though not in the way that I thought it would be. The wenhoule were not shy in their affections. On the first day we saw a trio of them laying together by one of the fires. Not an arm's length away was another adult, passively cooking as though nothing was happening.

The wenhoule mated freely and without a care for privacy. They did so in all manner of groupings and without regard to apparent gender. Others regarded it as the most mundane thing in the world. It was the second morning when I glimpsed Drann with Xul and Bek. The three of them had picked a fire and lustily explored one another. Though they were strange to my eyes, I found a certain appeal in them. That appeal only grew.

Tyrvath returned at the end of the second day carrying Zhahllaia's lamp, and had wisely exchanged his heavy armor for simple boiled leather. My guests tensed, and my son gave them no reason to fear.

I embraced him. "I should have told you to bring food," I said.

"I will fetch some, Father."

"For them as well. As much bread as you can lay hands on."

"That might take some time."

"You have it. Tell Isneth we are attempting to make peace with these people, but if it happens, we will need to escort them from here to another cavern entirely. Silverholt will likely not appreciate them settling here."

"And what should I tell my mothers?"

"The same," I said. "Thank you, boy."

I set Zhahllaia's lamp upon my bedroll Drann spoke. She gestured to where Tyrvath had come from and phrased a question. I held up a hand and gestured to the lamp. I made placating sounds and then I called to my bride.

"Zhahllaia the Enlightened," I said.

Smoke issued from the lamp. Bek raised the alarm, but Drann held out a hand and spoke calming words. She stared into the billowing smoke. A silhouette appeared in it, exquisitely perfect. The smoke faded at the margins of perception, leaving Zhahllaia, my wazira, standing in the cavern. She was nude, save for her bracelets and anklets, and the web of tiny chains over her body. Her skin was bronze, shining with metallic undertones.

"Master Wizard, what need of me have you?"

"These people are fleeing an aggressor. I want them to understand we are no threat to them." I explained the situation, including the hostility of Silverholt, as quickly as I could. I was grateful for Zhahllaia's quick mind and practiced ease with complex political situations. This was as nothing to one who had advised the Shahs of Qammuz and the Tyrant of Zuunkhorun.

Drann said something. Zhahllaia turned, her lovely brow furrowing slightly. Then she responded. I heard the names of all of us in the stream of unfamiliar language. Zhahllaia turned to me. "Drann is aware that you are no threat, but much of her people do not agree. She also knows that we are not united."

"As Jerrika would say, let's lay our cards on the table."

I explained the situation as best I could to Drann through Zhahllaia. Her two companions listened and even the wary Bek had relaxed, paying close attention to the words. Drann returned the favor, confirming what I suspected. Invaders had pushed the wenhoule from their homes deeper underground. The refugees had suffered subsequent attacks since.

"You are being pursued?" I asked.

"'I do not know,'" Zhahllaia translated. "'They followed for a time, but we have not seen them in many days.'" The word day was a convenience to the wenhoule. It described a cycle of air currents that washed through the lightless places of the world and was not nearly as consistent a time frame, but it was as close as we could come.

"Who is your leader?" I asked.

"'We have no one single leader,'" Zhahllaia translated. "'I am one such leader, and the disposition of our people and supplies is mine. We have our war leader, our knowledge leader, our god leader. I will take you to our council and you will speak to them. Now that Zhahllaia can translate, your intentions might reach them. Is that well?'"

"Thank you," I said. Though I believe they needed me far more than I needed them. Their meager provisions were running low, and I only counted a few dozen who might be capable of fighting. I was not here for material gain. I think I foolishly thought to balance the scales I had upset in my war against the Heacharids. As though lives saved in one place could make up for lives taken in another.

Drann swiftly gathered those necessary for such a meeting. Though the camp was every one of their people who had made it from their settlement, there was precious few of them. Xul and Bek escorted us into the wenhoule camp. It was the first time I had been past the line of sentries, and though I had seen much of it from above, it was different being in their midst.

The scent was sour, like water from a deep lake that had not been stirred in far too long. I would later find that they carried a much more pleasant scent when they were not suffering deprivations, something like a breeze from an underground sea. The wenhoule watched me and we passed more than a few groups of them in the throes of loveplay. I tried to affect the lack of interest that seemed to be good manners, though it was difficult. I found myself wanting to try one of them, or perhaps three. Perhaps a specific three, who had found a home in my idle imagination.

The center of the camp was a ring of wagons. Their draft animals were few and malnourished, though recognizable as a kind of aurochbug. Fires dotted the camp, but this center ring held the biggest of them, serving as a makeshift town square.

Several wenhoule waited by the central fire, including Drann. Like Drann, these chieftains wore more adornments than their fellows, marking them as beings of high status. Two of them looked to be drying out, their skins cracked, their spines blunt, and their glows dim. Other wenhoule gathered at the edges of the firelight, watching us with wary curiosity.

Drann stood and began to speak, gesturing to me often. Zhahllaia leaned up to my ear, murmuring, "She is introducing us. Her understanding of who and what we are is...interesting."

"Interesting?"

"She believes you to be a priest of surface and we to be your acolytes."

Drann finished her introductions and gestured to me to speak.

"I am Belromanazar, Prince Consort to Queen Allegeth ur-Udraeg," I said, Zhahllaia translating my words. "Through Drann, I have come to know your people. I understand that you have been driven from your homes and forced into unfamiliar environs. You have also committed a crime against the kingdom of Bashamailon. I understand that it was not motivated by malice, but by what you perceived as necessity."

The assemblage shifted uncomfortably, though the leaders maintained admirable composure. "I do not seek vengeance for this crime, but I believe your people owe a debt. However, I also believe we are in debt to the principles of mercy and charity. I ask to be allowed to take a delegation of your people to mine to plead your case directly to Queen Allegeth herself. There we can find a solution that protects you and redresses the harm you've done."

An elderly wenhoule stood. He was covered in scars, and next to him was a two-handed weapon forged from bone. "Prince Consort," he said, "You have behaved honorably since your arrival. We will discuss your proposal, but this is not a place for outsiders. Return to your camp and you will have our response."

We excused ourselves and made our way from their game to ours. "They're prideful," Zhahllaia said as we walked through the dark.

"Pride is all they have left," I said. "Makes sense they would hold onto it so tightly."

"They will see the wisdom in the offer," Ten Ghosts said.

"The only other option is fighting, which they cannot win," Lysethe said.

"We will worry about that when it happens," I said. I had no wish to fight them even if they were fool enough to try.

I settled down on the stone that had been my chair for the past few days. Lysethe lingered by the overhang, watching the camp, her sunlight moths whirring through the dark. Ten Ghosts knelt by the pack, unwrapping a loaf of bread and some cheese. She cut it up, assembling bundles of food, and taking first one to Lysethe and then one to me before preparing one for herself.

I watched her with growing need. I cannot explain it, other than I find my brides enormously fetching. Sometimes only one of them will do and I cannot think until I have her. I watched the curve of her body as she knelt. I thought of going to her, pushing her braids aside and kissing the nape of her neck. My hand would come up underneath her breast and her nipple would already be hard--

"What is it, my love?" she asked, and I realized I was staring.

"He's feeling randy," Zhahllaia said with a smirk. "I'm surprised you don't know that look."

Ten Ghosts glanced over the side of the overhang. "I do not know if we have the proper privacy."

"They care not for privacy. Why should we?" I asked, putting the food aside.

"Oh, he is randy," laughed the djinn.

"Go on," Lysethe said, chewing her bread. "I'll keep watch."

I joined Ten Ghosts by the ashes of our last fire, kneeling by her. "We'll be very quiet," I vowed. My hands found her strong thighs, gently lifting her kilt.

"What if I am loud?" she asked, biting her lip.

"She's as bad as he is," Zhahllaia said, joining Lysethe. The witchthrall stared at us, red touching her flour-white complexion.

I eased Ten Ghosts onto her back, spreading her legs. After several days underground, her scent was strong, but I loved her smell. It was uniquely hers and as with anything of that ilk, I treasured it. I treasure her still. I pushed her kilt up over her hips, revealing her sex, her nectar beading in the golden hair. I kissed her softly once, and then began to explore. I felt her hand on the back of my head, keeping me deep in my sweet kiss, and the grind of her hips guided my love. I looked up more than once to find her desperately biting her lip, one hand massaging the nipple of an exposed breast.

I brought her to a height, but relented, unsheathing myself. Ten Ghosts watched my staff with her sunset eyes. I plunged myself into her. She pulled me to her lips, kissing me hard as I took her. My hand found the breast she had been so recently been toying with, the nipple hard like a gem.

"Bel. My love. Kiss me," she begged, her brow furrowed.

I obeyed, and as our mouths met, I felt her lose herself. Her body shook, drawing my own pleasure from me. The storm boiled within me, and I was filling her. I kissed her cheeks gently as she recovered. My attention was pulled upward, at the pathway to the cave. I thought I saw a yellow glow.

"My turn," Lysethe said, pulling my attention from the glow with a searing kiss.

"Hold," Zhahllaia said.

At that moment, Drann, Xul, and Bek wandered into our camp, sitting down as though I was not presently between my wife's thighs.

"You were keeping watch!" Lysethe said.

"You were keeping watch," Zhahllaia said. "You said so yourself."

"I was distracted." The color returned to Lysethe's cheeks.

Ten Ghosts blushed a deep teal as the two of us disengaged. The wenhoule watched us with rather more interest than they placed upon their fellows, their gazes concentrated upon spear and orchid. I put myself away, wiping at my beard still succulent with the juices of my Theva bride.

Drann said something. "You are finished?" Zhahllaia translated.

"Yes."

Zhahllaia fought a laugh as she translated Drann's next question. "Do you not intend to give the other two anything?"

"You are here now," I managed. "I did not wish to be rude."

"It is far more rude to leave them unsatisfied, but I am not familiar with your customs. If you wish to remain focused upon our business, I am pleased to tell you that your proposal was accepted. We are to be your delegation. We can leave immediately."

"Good, yes. That was what I was hoping you would say."

We left then, with myself and Ten Ghosts being unable to meet the eyes of the wenhoule, while Zhahllaia and Lysethe smirked in amusement.

I counseled the wenhoule to stay close to me as we passed from the natural caverns into the mine. We paused at the crack in the wall where the wenhoule had originally emerged, listening as the sounds of activity slowed with the waning of the working day. By the time we emerged, only a few miners were on the avenues, the rest having retired to their homes for the night. Dwarven faces went slack with first amazement and then the cruel delight of vengeance. A few called out, and faces appeared in windows, followed by more miners coming out onto the subterranean streets.

"Stand back," I told the gathering crowd. "They're being taken to the queen."

"To face the queen's justice," said one Firnóg woman, to the happy murmurs of the others.

The dwarves did as I asked, following at a distance. Their anger was thick around me. I wanted to get outside, where their hot breath would not be on my neck. They were being held in place by a lie, and the instant they detected it, they would fall upon the three wenhoule and I would be forced to choose who died.

Night had fallen outside, and I was grateful for that small bit of luck. The crowd only summoned more of the villagers of Silverholt from their beds to watch us. I took the three wenhoule quickly to the knight garrison, where Isneth was in the midst of her evening devotions.

"Father," she said, embracing me. "What is the meaning of this?"

I explained quickly, and Isneth furnished us with horses. Ten Ghosts fetched her vorghal, and we rode for the Dragon's Roost. The wenhoule, now swathed in cloaks, would attract less attention. I could only hope that word of them had not spread too far since we went underground.

Allegeth received us and through Zhahllaia was able to hear Drann's entreaty. The queen, after a short consideration, agreed to allow the wenhoule to settle in Bashamailon, marking caves far from Silverholt for their homes. Once settled, they would begin to make restitution to the people they had wronged. I would like to say this gave them acceptance there, but it did not. The people of Silverholt were never fond of the wenhoule, and a community of the undergrounders never took root there.

Buoyed by good news, we made ready to leave. We would spend one night in the castle. Alone in my chambers, I undressed for the night, then laid out the few things I would need to return underground to Silverholt and bear the wenhoule elsewhere. I was filled with hope, that we might be able to integrate these people into Bashmailon. It would take work, but we were the equal of it.

A scratching came at my chamber door. I thought perhaps it was Maireili or Allegeth, though why they wouldn't simply knock was strange. I opened the door and instead of any of my wives' lovely pale face I found three glowing yellow visages. "Bel," said Drann.

My nudity forgotten, I stepped aside and gestured them inside. They were not prisoners in the castle, but neither were they intended to wander about. I might trust them, but their people were chiefly known for attacking one of our towns. They were safer with me.

"Bel," Drann said. "Thank."

I closed the door behind them and touched my heart. I spoke a word in her language that I believe expressed something like you're welcome, though I wasn't certain. I have a hard time remembering what I said because in the years since, I have become a practiced speaker of Traal, their language. I still have a thick accent, but I can make myself understood at least to the wenhoule of Chassau.

Bek inspected my luggage while Drann crouched by the door. Xul approached me. She had always been the most attentive, convincing me that should violence become necessary, she would be the one to attack. Her posture was strange, not quite hostile, but aggressive. The wenhoule are inhuman, but there is something alluring about their slick proportions and lithe bodies. My body stirred, my manhood thickening.

Her gaze went to it, and she cocked her head, asking a question. I nodded, now certain of what they had come to do. I welcomed it. If learning a language bridges a gap between people, a satisfying bout of love can do the same. She wrapped her fingers about my thickening manhood. The wenhoule hand has a smaller palm than human, with far longer fingers, producing an interesting sensation. She said something to her comrades, and Bek turned from my baggage to inspect what her companion did.

I had watched the way the wenhoule approached loveplay. It was casual and seemed an expression of friendship and community as much as anything. I was no expert in their techniques, but I had learned certain truths that have proven to be universal. I was looking forward to exploring the bodies of these three and seeing what sorts of sensations I could find.

I took Xul's hand, leading her to my bed. She followed without hesitation. I lay down, pulling her atop me. She moved with eagerness, dropping her loincloth from her body. She revealed a fascinating tri-lobed sex. Her juices held a faint purple tinge to them and smelled of one of the living rivers that ran deep underground. I already longed to bury myself in her, but she was content to take me in hand, stroking me from root to crown.

Bek moved to our sides and I wrapped an arm about her and drew her close. She made a happy sound as I kissed her strange face. She nibbled my lips and I reflected that I had seen this often in their loveplay. I momentarily thought of trying to explain what I wanted in my limited vocabulary, but Xul's stroking had sped up, and what words I knew were replaced by the reddening need within me. I guided Bek to straddle my face, putting her tri-lobed orchid before my mouth. The dellicious smells were imprisoned by her slender thighs.

I will always be an explorer, whether it be unfamiliar lands or bodies. I traced the lines of her with my tongue. Her nectar was thick, the flavor powerful. She tasted of the deep places, the flavor at first overpowering, but once past the initial shock, was complex. I teased her open, finding her petals hid a brightly shining opening. The brightness would be blinding in the deep places, the brightest thing any of them had ever seen. I wondered if, to them, light itself was erotic.

I found myself fascinated. I turned Bek onto her back and spread her legs. The wenhoule's huge eyes watching me eagerly. Xul released me, licking her lips. I plunged into Bek. She was not warm, as the light would indicate, but as cool as a deep cavern. She gripped me well, her body strong. She let out a happy trill, her bowed legs wrapping about me. I hauled her hips to mine, taking her as deeply as she was able.

Xul moved about, watching the two of us. As I stroked within Bek, I found contours to her sex. Hard nodules punctuated her depth, sparking delicious sensation along me. She seemed to enjoy when I pushed over them, as every time, she made the lovely trilling sound.

Xul wrapped herself around me, grinding into my backside, encouraging my thrusts into her friend. I put a hand over hers, forgetting her spines. I hissed in pain as they opened me up. Xul made a sound of dismay and I tried to show her it was no trouble without breaking my stroke. My bliss was too powerful to deny, and judging by the way Bek moved and trilled, she was close. Xul brought my hand to her lips, her long tongue laving away the pain.

The sight of this was enough. My thrusts were hard. Bek screamed once and I impaled her deeply, spending my seed within her. I held her for a few moments, gaining my breath, before withdrawing and laying back on the bed. If I thought to rest, Xul had other ideas. Her tongue ranged over me, and I felt myself hardening as I imagined taking her mouth.

"Drann," I said.

Their leader was by the door, watching with interest. "Bel?"

"I want you," I said. Then I repeated what I thought was the right sentence in Traal.

Xul paused in her ministrations and stared at me in confusion. Drann laughed, then said something. Xul nodded and returned to her licking. She went past my hand, down to my arm, then to my torso. She stopped at my nipples, licking and sucking them to hardness.

Drann stepped to me. I caressed her chest. Four breasts was a novelty for me, and I was interested if they were sensitive. Her eyes went smoky as I explored, stroking the flesh and teasing all four nipples. I reached for Xul's head to push her to my staff, but remembered the spines at the last moment. I would have to give her time.

Bek had roused herself by now and she joined Xul, covering me with spittle. It was strange. I had already taken her, but this felt strangely innocent, these two creatures licking every inch of my body. Drann leaned in and gave my lips a lick. I chased her for a proper kiss, but she moved away, joining the others. Three tongues bathed me, a delicate sensation that I had never before experienced.

My staff strained to be used, still slick with the mingled juices of Bek and me. Their tongues swirled closer and closer. My need maddened me. Every time I reached for one of them, their spines kept me at bay. I suspect they knew, driving me to ever-greater heights of need. Their yellow glow bathed me as the three of them circled my staff in tighter orbits.

I reached between Drann's legs. It was all I could do to join in the fun. I could at least tease her. I had learned a bit of what pleased them when I gave Bek her knight's kiss, but I wanted to know more. I wanted to unlock the secrets of their tri-lobed orchids. In my fondling, I quickly found that the outer part of the sex was not terribly sensitive. They craved penetration, the nodules them the most reliable engine of arousal. It was as though they had not one but a dozen pearls, and they were all within them.

I quickly came to that understanding, penetrating her deeply with even strokes of my fingers. Perhaps my realization spurred their ardor, for I felt a tongue at my coin purse and another at the fleece over my staff. That brushed my hair, then swirled to the base, then up the shaft, to the head. Drann stood poised, ready to suck. The others were still about my belly and over my thighs.

There was a short conversation, and then Drann moved away. I growled, reaching for her, but before I could do anything, Xul threw her legs over mine, straddling me. She pressed and I was inside her. My hands went to her narrow waist, where thankfully no spines grew. I threw my hips up into her, plumbing the depths of her. Now that I knew they liked to be fucked hard, I showed no mercy or hesitation.

She came along quite swiftly, and when she broke, she covered me in a fresh torrent of her viscous nectar. I had kept myself controlled, as I wanted Drann. I would fill her and I would no longer be denied. I pulled Xul from me and grabbed Drann, who gave a happy trill. I held that smooth spot of her waist, guiding myself into her. I was gentle only to that point. After that, I was rough, taking her with brutal strokes. Her trills grew louder, edging to cries. She did not last long, and neither did I. I filled her cool depths with hot spurts of seed, only then did I release her.

Drann smiled at me and nibbled my lip once. The three of them left after that and I was alone. I reminded myself that to their people, sex was no great concern. This night had been a welcome to their tribe, a way to affirm community and bond with me. That was the limit of their affection. I cleaned myself up, chuckling at my sentimentality, and finished packing.

We returned to Silverholt. Our travel this time was slower, as we came with wagons of supplies Tyrvath had managed to gather. The wenhoule stayed within the wagons once we crossed into the Galvenisse Valley. The locals were none too happy to see our arrival, and the sullen anger I saw in their eyes disturbed me. This attack would not be forgotten no matter how much I might wish it.

We went underground, passing out of the mines and into the natural caverns. Soon, a scent reached my nose that I wished I did not know so well. "A battle has taken place," I murmured.

I hopped from the wagon, running ahead. Tyrvath and Drann at my side. Before we entered the chamber, the sickly stench of battle enfolded us. Blood and fear hung in the air in a hideous miasma. The wenhoule camp was in a shambles. Wagons had been broken, corpses of wenhoule and pack animal alike, lay all about bleeding onto the stones. Living wenhoule carefully pulled their own from the dead to line them in neat rows.

Drann let out a wail, running to her fellows. My breath burning in my lungs, I pulled Zhahllaia's lamp from my belt and summoned her forth. She stepped from the smoke and looked about the cavern in horror.

Tyrvath came to a stop next to me. "What happened, father?" he gasped.

"Their pursuers," I managed, joining Drann where she spoke to the war leader. He was heavily wounded and I reflexively looked for one of the battle-exorcists who had tended to my wounds so often on the ramparts of Ironmotte. They were many leagues away in Zuunkhorun.

Before I arrived at the conversation, a single corpse grabbed my attention. It lay on the stone, apparently forgotten when it was struck down. My blood turned to ice. The corpse was not that of a wenhoule.

It was a misshapen creature, taller than a man, four-armed and with a hideous face like a grub. Foul ichor leaked from its many wounds, stinking of a midden at midday. The corpse was already festering, its wounds alive with maggots and its flesh putrefying. I knew what this awful thing was, though it had been centuries since I had beheld one. It was chaldum, one of the blasphemous rotkin.

"My love?" Zhahllaia asked, looking into my face with worry.

"The war leader, Zhahllaia, bring me the war leader."

The djinn ran to the wenhoule, speaking their language. The war leader shambled to me, Drann behind him, looking stricken.

I pointed to the dead chaldum. "This creature. Where did it come from?"

Zhahllaia translated and the war leader responded, pointing to the tunnel beyond. "'They are our pursuers. They have found us,'" the djinn translated.

"I will see that they follow you no more," I vowed. Zhahllaia translated and quickly ran to my side as I stalked purposefully into the black.

Tyrvath jogged next to me. "Father? Where are you going?"

"Get these people to safety. See their wounds tended and bellies filled. When you return to Kaibéliard, tell your Mama Maireili that the chaldum have come to Bashamailon."

Tyrvath frowned. "She will understand?"

"Only too well, my son. Now go! Move swiftly. I'll not have more of these people suffer."

I paused at the tunnel at the other end of the chamber. Zhahallaia stood next to me, concern on her pretty face. Drann joined us. She spoke, the djinn translating. "'You will need a guide.'"

"That I will," I said, and the three of us went into the dark.