- The Archivist, your narrator

- S.P. von Dassau in "The Sigil Review of Social Sciences, 412th Anniversary Edition"; entry under "Radiant Path, Order"

“So here it is,” blood-haired Vice-Commander Isobel barked, “twelve of our finest Temple novices who will soon be Consecrated to serve the Maiden. This is the assessment of your instructors, but an assessment of superficial value. You must all be forged through the crucible of combat and shed real blood, sweat and tears before you show yourselves worthy of serving Her. I say this with special reference to you, Friyya.” Tall, intimidating and possessed with a most striking appearance - a sort attractive, Amazonian belligerence, Isobel tolerated no weakness or indecision in the novices which would soon form the new vanguard of the Order of the Radiant Path.

Friyya shuddered at hearing her name called out. Whenever Isobel pronounced it, punishment or humiliation – often both – usually followed. Not that Friyya was in any way talentless, she was, most strikingly, a young woman of shimmering beauty: an almost impossibly pretty face, not so much girlish as it was angelic like the Maiden's own divine entourage, was framed by rich locks of auburn hair - blonde like a cider apple in late autumn - and complemented by intense, turquoise blue eyes which spoke of an inner fragility. Isobel's problem with Friyya was universal - the unfortunate novice was too overtly feminine, her skin flawlessly pale like a new pearl, her limbs sensuously languid, her body slender and comparatively fragile. It was evident that Friyya's real talents lay in the classroom, where she shone in doctrinal studies - an asset which had guaranteed her candidacy for full paladinhood despite the Vice-Commander's reservations.

By Friyya's side stood her sworn sister and lover, Syf, whose sheer presence drew an approving glance even from the severe Isobel. Syf towered above the other novices and was taller than many men; her physique was lean and athletic, her limbs long and powerfully elegant, just as her femininity was one of power and command, like the manifestation of a stern warrior Goddess. Small, but high, noble breasts and firm, flawless thighs and bottom underscored the severity of Syf's coldly beautiful features: the steel blue of her piercing eyes, the unyielding coal-blackness of her hair - carefully cropped halfway to the shoulder - and the aristocratic elegance of her cheekbones. None matched Syf in the fencing court with the blade, for her skill and avid dedication to the arts of bladecraft put many a fully-fledged paladin in the shade. It was as if she had been issued from her mother's womb with a longsword already in hand.

The accolade of finest swordswoman was one that Syf disputed with Marséna, who stood irreverently beside her adored friend, sister and rival. If Syf's fencing style was one of discipline, order and power, Marséna's technique, as befitted the sun-kissed, salt-sprayed climes of her native Mareterra, was based on intuition, innovation and unpredictability. She was certainly no less of an impressive presence, for unlike the snowy white clarity of Syf and Friyya, whose ancestors hailed from cold, misty Ortho, Marséna boasted an exquisite olive tan which complemented her most fortunate combination of svelte musculature and sultry, sculptural curves. Her breasts and bottom mirrored the timeless, divinely proportioned roundness of caryatids shaped like Muses or Goddesses one would find in a ruined temple by a rocky seashore amidst low-growing shrubland. So too her face bore the imprint of seductive, effortless mystery, as did the deep brown wells of her soulful eyes. With her raven-wing black hair, Marséna resembled the Mediterranean girl-seers whose utterances iron-mailed legionaries carried with them to war.

Some had judged Marséna too intemperate - like her home-world's burning, indomitable sun - to take on a lover, but Virginia, whose soul was perhaps the fairest of the congregated novices - and the most confused, had risen to the challenge. At the very cusp of full womanhood, her features, though charming and very attractive, already seemed to have taken on a reassuring wisdom that belied her years. Deep, emerald green eyes, soft, gentle lips always ready for a playful smile, and short, but tastefully cut blonde hair, crisp like a field ready for harvest, often gave casual viewers the impression that they were beholding a truly prototypical knight in training, a young Valkyrie perhaps, on a quest for her Goddess. Though shorter than Syf, Virginia's body had all the guarded, athletic beauty one would expect from a true daughter of Ortho, so that she was lithe without being frail; energetic and dynamic without being ungainly - for Virginia always carried herself with the utmost, unpretentious grace.

So they were ranged in the great, oval open-air fencing yard of the Temple of the Vigilant Maiden - four who with the passage of years had become one. Not even the petty, acrimonious disputes that flared up between the vain Friyya and the temperamental Marséna could interrupt the gentle rhythm of time which had welded the four together into a single unit. But that was the way of the Radiant Path: four, chosen by lot, were placed in a single small, cramped room with two bunk beds and compelled to make the best of their situation. In time - five years in the reckoning of many Prime Material worlds - they had grown together compact and solid, finally ready to serve the Maiden. If epics were to be written on these four would-be heroines, then that which has come so far would be their pompous beginning.

In reality, the morning was heavy, cold and damp, as was so often the case in Sigil. Marséna would have slept for another five tolls from the Bell Tower had Syf not physically dragged her out from under the sheets. What Virginia could not accomplish with honeyed tones and murmured promises, Syf had concluded with a pragmatic challenge: if Marséna could wrestle her to the ground, she could stay in bed - otherwise, she would get up immediately and make herself presentable. Fencing was one thing and a direct physical confrontation was another; despite Marséna's valiant struggles on the cold, hard floorboards of the tiny dormitory chamber the four shared, Syf's advantage in height and power had won the day and saved them all from Isobel's infamous collective punishments.

As much as Virginia adored Marséna, allowing her lover a few more hours of sleep was certainly not worth ten days of sanitation duty. It was, put simply, one of those days when the desire to do nothing greatly exceeded any dutiful impulse. Although she wished to cement her reputation as a dependable type, in truth, Virginia would have happily whiled away the rest of the day with Marséna, exchanging nothing more than soft cuddles and sweet nothings until they both grew bored and decided to get up and eat or sink under the covers and make love. So it was to everyone's evident chagrin that they found themselves, in the earliest Sigil morning when the blue-black darkness of night gave way to violent hues of indigo and rose in a progressively more luminescent sunless sky, before the powerful, armoured form of Isobel who was feared, loathed and admired by the novices in equal measure.

Isobel's fierce countenance - she never wore the standard issue tunics, but insisted on striding around in full armour - hid a concerned, almost maternal interest in the well being of her students. Of all people, the Vice-Commander knew the sacrifices that the Radiant Path entailed so if her approach was to be loving, which - as far as she was concerned - was to be tough love.

"Now listen carefully," Isobel barked to the tired, slightly intimidated rank of last year novices, "the Path that you will soon embark on will see your sword, or lance or arrows run red with the blood of many an evildoer. Sometimes you will suffer, make mistakes, grow disillusioned with yourself or your sisters in arms. These are normal, human reactions...but, let me tell you now, something more than human will be expected of you. We must exceed our mortality to bring aid to those who have no strength to stand alone. Understood?"

"Yes, Reverend Sister." the cohort of novices rang out in unison.

"That's the official part, now allow me the Isobel part. In order for this to happen, you will have to fight, kill and be prepared to die. If anyone is squeamish about such things, I invite her to disappear now and cease wasting my time. You will have to be stronger and more determined than any man. Yes, we of the Radiant Path eternally foreswear motherhood so that we may defend life - let no man tell you that this his work. Man's record in the protection of the vulnerable, the weak and the innocent is..." Isobel chortled with perverse glee, "dubious at best. You will never be mothers to your own children, but you will forever be the divinely appointed mothers of those who turn to the Radiant Path for aid and comfort."

Marséna shifted impatiently - her interest was only piqued when there was a sword to wield, or wine to drink, or fair women to admire - so that doctrinal lectures held little interest for her. As far as she was concerned, her blade would cleave through any and all evildoers and that, in her estimation, should have been the sum total of Isobel's lectures. Not so Friyya, whose more pensive disposition normally drew her to the intricacies of doctrinal and philosophical debate, though this was an activity she preferred to conduct in the relative safety of the classroom where, at most, an error could lead to a rebuke and not the sharp, agonising strike of Isobel's braided leather cane.

Indeed, it was not long before the Vice-Commander's notoriously sanguine disposition once again came to the fore: "These will be the final few lessons before you are evaluated on your weapons skills, so allow me to be perfectly clear. The dagger you carry by your side is a last resort: if you are fortunate it will save you, if you are unfortunate it must end you. Perhaps it was not made clear to you in the past, so I will say it again: should you ever be taken prisoner by any number of our enemies, I guarantee you...no I swear to you that the last, agonising moments of your existence will not be pleasant as your hated foes take their pleasure from your flesh again, again and again...those whom we are sworn to fight are scum, even for males, they deserve no quarter and will give none - so be sure to meet the Maiden with at least your honour intact."

Although Virginia found Isobel's commentary crude, she realised its necessity. Whilst Virginia abhorred violence, she would not hesitate to deploy her formidable skills with the lance and longsword in the fulfilment of her divine mission - all life was sacred, but the victim always took priority over the aggressor. If anyone agreed fully with Isobel's righteous indignation, it was Syf whose demeanour, though more reserved, had all of the Vice-Commander's crusading zeal. Most expected that Syf, in time, would take Isobel's place as the field commander of the Order's paladins.

"Now the lecture ends," Isobel said sternly, "but I have decided that this will be a special practice session - to any who will accept this wager. Two of you against me with practice blades. If either novice lands a clean hit before the final grain in the hourglass falls, you will all be dismissed and may enjoy free time for the rest of the day. Should you fail, this session will be prolonged until darkfall." Isobel knew that only the most supremely confident novice would take the spot - year after year, this particular challenge had the unique quality of discerning the finest, and most foolhardy, warriors.

Predictably, it was Syf who spoke first,"If there are no objections, I will be the first to volunteer, Reverend Sister, there is much I still need to learn from you." Sparring with Isobel was never pleasant - for her blows were precise, powerful and vicious, but at least with a partner, Syf knew she stood a slim chance of succeeding.

Unwilling to be outdone, Marséna knew she could do nothing but follow Syf's example, "Then you'll need me by your side., you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself, now would you, my dear Syf?" The olive-skinned Mareterran followed Syf's lead in stepping forth from the row of expectant novices. Her gait was more casual than Syf's military precision and her lithely muscular limbs moved with almost sensual grace.

"As I expected," Isobel said, a wry, cruel smile spreading across her lips, "so draw your weapons and be prepared to defend yourselves on my command. Take note, Friyya, how unbecoming it is for Marséna to take your place at Syf's side." Friyya blushed furiously, biting down so hard on her ruby-red lips that she tasted the salty, metallic tang of blood on her tongue. Isobel ignored the novice's show of distress and bade Virginia to fetch the hourglass from the armoury and, on her command, allow the sands to flow.

The wait was tense. Syf and Marséna unsheathed their dulled practice longswords which, though lacking a cutting edge, were blades of hard-wrought metal which were more than capable of producing long, livid bruises and cracking bones. Thus they stood before Isobel, clad in the plain, simple white fencing tunics accorded to novices which were cut off at the elbow and the knee.

"So that the fight is fair, I will not make use of my favoured zweihänder greatsword, but take a longsword to match your own and...," quite dramatically, the blood-haired Vice-Commander stripped off her heavy, immaculately polished breastplate, emblazoned with the stylised starburst of the Radiant Path, before casting it aside. Dust and sand dispersed into the light breeze as the heavy metal struck the ground with a dull clanging sound. Beneath, Isobel wore only an almost transparent white undershirt, proving to a relieved Friyya that Isobel was indeed a woman and not some vengeful Valkyrie or Fury sent to punish unwitting novices.

"I-Impressive...uhm, physique, Reverend Sister." Marséna ventured, trying to be amiable and defuse the tension. In truth, Isobel had great presence, her pale skin taut over powerful yet lithe muscles which appeared to be in a permanent state of preparedness, like a serpent ready to strike or a hunting cat ready to pounce.

"Silence!" Isobel roared, pointing her mock-longsword at Marséna's throat, "Or your admittedly impressive bottom will enjoy an extended night of pleasure under my cane."

Even as Marséna nodded a nervous apology, Isobel smiled inwardly. She liked Marséna for her intuition and breathtakingly imaginative fencing skills, but the little slattern needed to learn discipline and proper form. Nevertheless, there was at least a part of Isobel which would have preferred an encounter with both Syf and Marséna in the bedchamber rather than the fencing yard. Proud novices though they were, the Vice-Commander was certain she could break them both in either location.

Virginia's return interrupted Isobel's mental digression, "Reverend Sister, your hourglass, as required." the blonde novice announced, a finely carved crystal hourglass in hand.

"On my command, set it on the ground for all to see." Isobel commanded, her amused smile now almost a sneer as Marséna and Syf evaluated their options. The air grew heavy with the combined anticipation of the other novices - a full day off from physical training, lessons and chores was a boon indeed, if only a single hit could penetrate Isobel's sublime defence.

"Ready your guard!" Isobel ordered. Syf struck her typical, technically flawless defensive pose; sword clasped in both hands and held high, at an angle, one leg behind the other so as to reduce the size of her target. Marséna's approach was more improvised, though evident enough for the Mareterran girl: Isobel would doubtless commence with a sweeping attack, taking advantage of her superior physical strength and technique, which meant that Marséna's centre of gravity should remain low, to ensure she was not knocked off her feet. That and a low position would give her more room to spring, scramble and manoeuvre with low cuts aimed at Isobel's legs. As a child, Marséna had grown quite proficient in the Mareterran martial art of Sapatena by surreptitiously watching the civic guards practice ever more intricate high kicks against a stuffed goatskin. It was only fitting that she take advantage of the superior quality of her legwork.

Silence shrouded the ten anxious novices left watching as Syf and Marséna sought to gauge the type and direction of Isobel's opening gambit. Both had mentally projected themselves into a vast, empty arena under an unblinking sun, so that they were oblivious to everything but themselves and their severe instructor.

"Now!" Isoble barked and Virginia quickly turned the hourglass and set it down. None of the novices paid it any attention; Friyya was riveted on the graceful, technically perfect movements of her beloved just as Virginia quickly looked up to catch the first glimpse of Marséna's long, luxuriant, coal black hair swaying with her first motions.

Isobel's first strike was typically powerful - and lightning fast. Her blade whistled through the air with a piercing screech and struck Marséna's guard so hard the Mareterran felt the metal dent beneath the blow - her low stance did little to absorb the sheer power of the impact, and she was cast down to one knee. Fortunately, Syf was quick to intervene by parrying Isobel's punitive overhead blow.

"Up!" Syf ordered desperately. Without Marséna, she stood little chance of countering Isobel alone for more than few blows.

Scrambling to her feet, Marséna obeyed and once again opened up a second front at Isobel's side, counter-attacking with eager determination rather than skill. Isobel parried the Mareterran's predictable attacks effortlessly, before bringing the flat of her blade to bear - hard and inhumanly stinging - on Marséna's bottom.

"Impressive indeed," Isobel commented wryly, "learn to hold you guard better, girl."

Syf's series of sweeping, cutting strokes were easily cast aside by Isobel's masterful swordsmanship - it was as if the novice's every movement had registered, in its entirety, in Isobel's mind before it even happened. Thus, when Isobel prepared her counter-strike, Syf's own feeble defences were overwhelmed by their very predictability. Sparks flew in red and yellow tracers from cold steel as Isobel's blade snaked ever further into Syf's guard. A spirited attempt by a humiliated Marséna to intervene was met with an impenetrable wall of perfectly placed parries.

Virginia watched from the sidelines, almost mesmerised. Both of the challenging novices fought with magnificent skill, determination and grace. But Isobel was something else entirely - her mind and body had been tempered by years fighting the legions of evil. She was certainly in no mood to be undone by two upstarts. The fierce Vice-Commander's blade sang its devastating song through air and against metal, sending the two novice scrambling into defensive positions just in time to barely hold off the next flurry of blows. For her part, Marséna was convinced that Isobel was taking unhealthy enjoyment from dominating them so utterly on the fencing court - the blood-haired woman's dark pink nipples appeared stiff and turgid under the flimsy undershirt, causing the Mareterran girl to wonder whether or not it would ever be a good idea for anyone to spend a night at Isobel's tender mercies.

As moments passed, inching at an agonising pace, it became clear by the time the hourglass had been left a little more than a quarter full that Marséna and Syf - bruised, demoralised and almost beaten - were as far as ever from landing a clear shot on Isobel. With time running out, Syf played an uncharacteristically daring gambit, knowing that it would probably be her last. She allowed Isobel some space by temporarily lowering her guard, as if preparing a powerful, sweeping strike - in truth, the plan was to allow Isobel's blow to land, grit her teeth and wind around in a half-circular low cut to hit the Vice-Commnader's knee.

Syf's decoy was, predictably, unmasked moments after its inception and Isobel's blow was typically savage. Much to her shame, Syf dropped her weapon under the searing agony of the cold, blunt metal blade crashing down on her wrist. Marséna rushed to her friend's aid, only to be caught offguard by a deep, powerful slash from Isobel's longsword that sailed through the air like a shrill siren, striking the novice's weapon so hard that the metal bent under the impact. The dull ring told Marséna that her fight was as good as over.

But it would not be over for Syf yet, and Marséna knew this. From the corner of her eye, the Mareterran girl saw the burning, steel-blue determination in her comrade's eye and knew, by instinct, how to act - so she drew Isobel round, so the Vice-Commander's guard rotated by a few degrees to deflect a series of desperate, clumsy slashes. That space was all Syf needed to gamble on taking up her sword in her off hand and lunging out at Isobel's abdomen. As if by miracle, the silvery blade snapped by a hair's breadth through Isobel's intuitive counter-blow.

Thus they stood, Syf crouching and panting, her lungs stinging and on fire, but her sword planted less than an inch from Isobel's abdomen just as the Vice-Commander's weapon had been held at a similar distance from the novice's throat. Marséna's wrist was almost numb, her vision blurred from the exertion. Nothing but silence floating in the still air of the fencing court. Virginia had her gaze riveted on the bout, so much so that she had long ago lost count of the tiny grains of sand which only then finished their painstaking transit into the bottom bell of the hourglass.

"So it is." Isobel bellowed, finally dispersing the silence, "Excellent work. But make no mistake, had this been a real encounter, you would have been dead sooner than me." She was clearly excited, pleased in the progress of her two favourite students. Perhaps, one day when they were full paladins, she would allow them to try again - this time without the metaphorical hand tied behind her back.

"Th-thank you Reverend Sister." Syf said between ragged gasps. A droplet of hot sweat trailed down her eye, clouding her vision.

"Have yourselves medicated and then you may proceed to the Baths, the rest of you are dismissed." Isobel ordered, granting Syf and Marséna an almost imperceptible congratulatory nod. That was the closest Isobel came to heartfelt praise. Moreover, she had been indulgent - she normally prohibited novices from seeking magical healing until after the practice session. Priestly magic could not be guaranteed immediately on the battlefield, so the novices were normally forced to learn how to bear the pain of their injuries.

"Many thanks, Reverend Sister." Marséna said softly, almost incredulously. Only in her wildest dreams did she imagine that she and Syf could pull of such an upset in front of the other novices. That coup would make the heroines for at least the next few days.

"What are you waiting for?" Isobel barked - for the novices had remained firmly rooted in stunned disbelief at the mighty Isobel's defeat, "Disappear!"

The withdrawal was immediate as the novices fled down back into the main temple building, eager to spend the free day as they saw fit. Virginia and Friyya remained to dutifully grant their conquering heroines the honours of victory. Virginia embraced Marséna fiercely, burying her face between her lover's majestic, sculptural breasts, breathing in the familiar scent and listening closely to the comforting rhythm of the Mareterran's heartbeat. The sweat and dust that soiled Marséna's tunic were of no importance, "This...this is why I love you." Virginia breathed softly, hoping that she did not sound too contrived.

"Well, Virg, I hope you never doubted me." Marséna replied wryly, drawing Virginia in closer.

"Not for a moment." the blonde novice shot back, "Now you better take a bath, because tonight...we celebrate."

"I live to obey, mistress." Marséna replied ironically, "Have we forgotten something?"

"In front of Isobel..."

"C'mon, it'll make her jealous. I've seen her admiring my ass with that hungry look of hers." Marséna did not wait for Virginia to respond, but drew her lover in for a deep, passionate kiss. There was a magnificent, compassionate and almost maternal ocean in the emerald depths of Virginia's eyes and it was Marséna's pleasure to sink into it, just as her lips and tongue wrestled hungrily with those of her blonde lover.

"Your ass," Virginia said breathlessly - Marséna's occasionally crude vocabulary was, under the circumstances, exciting in its unforced spontaneity, "is mine alone to enjoy." The blonde novice emphasised her point by trailing her curious hands up the skirt of Marséna's tunic until they finally cupped the glorious - no divine - globes of the Mareterran's bottom: so firm, yet so feminine.

"Hmm....I can't wait, but I really should wash up."

In the meanwhile, Syf was in the process of communicating the same thoughts to Friyya, though the auburn-haired girl was far more preoccupied with weaving her healing magics on her lover's damaged wrist.

"She gave you a nasty bruise," Friyya said fretfully, invoking the Maiden's favour to restore skin and tissue as her hands moved over Syf's wrist, circled by the soothing blue restorative aura of her patron Goddess, "my poor Syf..."

"Come now, it's nothing." Syf protested, a little embarrassed. The pain was agonising, though Friyya's healing skills were as masterful as always. Soon the dull, hot throbbing gave way to a soothing, numbed relief.

"Always the stoic, right?" Friyya said with admiration, clasping Syf's strong hand closely in her own, "This hand...this hand will lay waste to countless enemies of our Order and I will be by your side when it happens, always."

"I know," Syf replied smiling, "and you see, Isobel isn't so bad as long as you know what pleases her."

"If you say so." Friyya said sceptically. She could not remember a single instant in which Isobel had treated her as anything more than a weakling, an object of derision and, worst of all, a loose girl who had used her feminine wiles to persuade Syf to take her side. In truth, what she felt for Syf was a union of souls - she simply did not feel like a complete whole without her lover by her side.

"Come, she will no doubt grow to appreciate you in due course." Syf said, even though she knew that Friyya had been traumatised by Isobel's public humiliations and punishments.

"If it had been up to her, my application would have been rejected - but the priestesses defended me..."

"Hmm, Friyya, sweetest," Marséna interrupted in a gently mocking tone, "why is Syf getting all the healing attention, I could really use some of your skills myself."

"That's Virg's job." Friyya shot back, even if the thought of running her hands up the curves of Marséna's exquisite, sun-kissed bottom was tempting.

"You sure? Do you know how many novices around here dream of sliding their hands up my tunic?" The Mareterran said with a suggestive wink. Virginia could not help but sigh in resignation - her lover's bawdy comments had become infamous.

"Good for them," Friyya snapped back, "they must have a taste for the exotic. A lady, Marséna, has skin the colour of a limpid pearl, not a hazelnut."

"I'm not that fucking dark, you vain bitch." Marséna snarled, bounding forward towards Friyya, "Since you, my fair donaisela, are so concerned with what's becoming of a lady, why don't you disappear and get married and stop trying to play the paladin?"

"Marséna, enough!" Syf said, her voice firm but conciliatory, "Let's go to the baths and we can rejoin Virginia and Friyya later." She was eager to calm the situation, especially since Friyya and Marséna had decided to behave as if they were still first year novices all over again. In both cases the wounds of insecurity ran deep. Marséna had been teased for her darker complexion by the primarily Ortho-descended, and thus pale, novices of the Order - though in other worlds, where the Sybils and Oracles ruled behind marble pillars, she would have been esteemed as an ideal of beauty from the Middle Sea - just as Friyya's sub-par fencing and physical skills were often the brunt of cruelly pointed jokes.

"Fine, it's all of you who need a little sun, anyway." Marséna sulked, stalking off towards the elegant marble edifice of the Temple of the Vigilant Maiden. Syf followed, as Friyya was left to mull what sort of revenge she could exact on Marséna for the insult and Virginia just stood, a wry smile on her lips. Even then, the blonde novice was convinced that - despite the occasional bickering - her sisters in arms, her room-mates since their very first day at the Order, were the finest people she would ever know.

***

Steam filled the empty bathing chamber. It clung to walls in warm, dripping moisture and filled the air in a thin, white blanket. Beneath the great, carved marble dome, a central, communal pool lay, surrounded by smaller cleansing pools bubbling with warm, fragrant water. Marséna was all too eager to strip off her clothing, casting it aside with careless abandon before diving gratefully into the warm, welcoming waters of cleansing pool. Syf followed soon after, though she took the time to put some semblance of order to her clothes, leaving them folded neatly by the side of Marséna's carelessly discarded garments.

To share an entire bathing chamber without the intrusion of other novices was a luxury in itself, but even more of a privilege now that they were both filled with the triumphant sensation of having vanquished Isobel. It was Marséna who let her enthusiasm get the better of her as she pounced upon Syf, who had just lowered herself into the comforting warmth of the pool, and drew her friend into a celebratory embrace, "We make an amazing team," the Mareterran novice crowed, a broad, affectionate smile spreading across her sensual lips, "I can imagine you by my side in full armour, sword ready in hand. The two of us...we could hack our way down into the Ninth Hell to the very iron gates of Nessus itself."

"How do you know so much about the Lower Planes?" Syf replied sardonically, as she happily wrapped her arms around Marséna's waist.

"Oh, alright it was on the crib sheet Friyya made for us, but you can't expect me to be an intellectual. We both know that I have other talents." Marséna said. Her deep, soulful brown eyes were fixed with burning intensity on Syf's. There was nothing new in the intimacy of their contact, for they had been as sisters for nearly ten semesters. There was, however, an energy in Marséna's grip that was instinctively fascinating, so that Syf's steely gaze was drawn to the perfect, lush curves of the Mareterran girl's breasts and the beautiful café-au-lait hue of her nipples which stood just a few inches from the water's surface.

"I wasn't criticising you," Syf said softly as she leaned back against the side of the tub, warm water settling in gentle waves around her high, elegant breasts, "I'm not much of a bookworm either, as we both know, it's just that I have come to love the Marséna who, with her sword drawn, would defend her sisters to the death and all stupid, pointless doctrinal exams be damned."

"That's because doctrine," Marséna said, her voice lower now, almost a husky whisper as she drew closer to Syf, "can never tell me what my heart should feel. I believe in the Vigilant Maiden because I am strong by Her blessing, but I also believe that She's probably best served with less reading and more hacking."

"So we understand each other." Syf said with satisfaction. Marséna was close, so close she could feel her heartbeat. With every breath, the Mareterran's full, yet elegant breasts rose and fell, entrancing Syf with their vital rhythm.

"I think we've always understood each other. So I understood the reason why you never defended me when the other novices taunted me - you immediately knew that I would have found it humiliating if you had come to rescue me." Marséna was close now, almost straddling Syf against the stony side of the pool. The Mareterran novice's long, raven-black hair trailed behind her on the water's surface like soft strands of coal-black kelp.

"It hurt, you know," Syf confessed, her heartbeat quickening at the sensation of Marséna's firm yet feminine thighs so close to her own - with the sensory deprivation of the silence of the baths and the misty condensation of steam, all of her attention was focused on the tanned, statuesque form of her friend, "it hurt to see you have a hard time. Those first nights of our first year, I really wanted to comfort you...but then Virg got there first and..."

"Shh..." Marséna whispered sensually, before taking her gambit and sinking into a tender, long overdue kiss against Syf's inviting, unexpectedly soft lips. Although Marséna had half-intended it as a chaste kiss of affection, there was something more in Syf's eyes - a deep, almost saddened longing which seemed unfulfilled.

"I...I always thought you beautiful," Syf blurted suddenly, her striking blue eyes staring deep into Marséna's just as her arms held the Mareterran woman close, "even when the others made fun of you. But I never saw you so beautiful as you were today on the fencing court. Your every movement was like something out of a painting - like your style was coming from your heart and not a weapons manual."

"Weren't you Ortho girls supposed to prefer your own kind?" Marséna said, smiling gently. She had detected the latent desire in Syf's gaze, the way the taller woman stared at the ripe, firm curves of her tanned breasts.

"Yeah," Syf said unsteadily - there was complete silence in the bathing chamber except for their increasingly laboured breathing and the occasional droplet of condensation falling from the stone dome into one of the steaming pools, "but I suppose Virginia is the exception that proves the rule."

"And you?" Marséna said, her sensual lips so close that Syf could feel her friend's warm breath caress her chin and neck.

"Me?" Syf replied, her heartbeat deafening in her temples - the desire to seize Marséna and ravish her until they both collapsed from exhaustion was almost overwhelming, "I never...much cared for what my parents told me. My mother said I shouldn't play with the boys, but I beat them at every single one of their games; my father said I should concern myself with housework, but I ended up helping him with the sacks of grain and charcoal."

"That's reassuring to hear," Marséna's voice was thick with desire, her eyes riveted on the flawless athleticism of Syf's body, "so you won't object if I do this." The Mareterran's lips touched Syf's once again, but this time with boundless, searing passion. Before Marséna knew it, her tongue was duelling with Syf''s in a dance more sensual than any of the closely fought fencing duels they had engaged in during practice. Even if it was Marséna who initiated the kiss, Syf's passion was indomitable as her lips pressed thirstily against her friend's. It was as if her desire for Marséna had finally been released in one wet, breath-stealing kiss, just as her hands moved down from the darker girl's waist to slide down the glorious, sleek curves of her bottom and towards a tanned, supple thigh. There was a universe of pleasure to discover in Marséna, the only jarring question was whether or not Syf was doing the right thing.

"Are you alright?" Marséna inquired gently as Syf retreated from the seemingly endless kiss they had been sharing.

"Should I? Should we? I don't think I could control myself if we...well, started..." Syf's mind was in disarray - torn between the deep, pulsating desire which had spread from her chest to deep in her sex, and her sense of loyalty to Friyya. There would, of course, have been no harm done in a single, celebratory encounter - just the delectable muskiness of Marséna's nectar on her lips and the deeply erotic, sensual warmth of a loving sister-in-arms and nothing more. No doubt, Friyya would be understanding. But as powerful as Syf's overwhelming desire was, she could not help but feel the pangs of guilt.

"Tell you what, Syf," Marséna whispered, for she too felt a slow-burning desire building her loins - a desire that had caused her light brown nipples to stiffen visibly despite the warmth of the baths, "let's do it this way."

"How?"

"Just relax." Marséna's tone was dripping with tender sensuality, even if, in her heart the Mareterran novice thought of Virginia and how she would feel about that particular encounter.

Syf complied, reclining against the very side of the pool, allowing Marséna closer still, so that their breasts, glistening with warm water, virtually touched.

"What we did today, Syf, was amazing," Marséna began, planting soft kisses on Syf's forehead, "and I'd really like to celebrate it with you - just this once, so that you know just how much I admire you as a fighter and as a woman. So what do your mind and your reason tell you?"

"That we both have a duty to Friyya, just like we both have a duty to Virginia." Syf replied, almost in a trance. The gentle, moist contact of Marséna's kisses sent shivers of electricity shooting down her spine.

"Yes, and what does your heart tell you?" Marséna continued, drawing her hands down towards the water's surface to cup Syf's small, but beautifully formed breasts - dark red nipples, like raspberries fresh from the thorn, stood out stiff and proud, in contrast with the ivory whiteness of the firm mound beneath them.

"It tells me that I know no honour greater than fighting by your side, just as it is a pleasure to take you in my arms each morning and greet you with a kiss."

When you aren't pulling me out of bed. Marséna thought sardonically, before deciding not to spoil the moment, "And what," Marséna said with a lascivious smile as she trailed her hands beneath the water's surface, down the flat, rigid firmness of Syf's belly to the soft black curls atop her sex, "does she tell you?"

"That despite Marséna's clumsy attempts to be romantic," Syf retorted with mock irritation, "she has inflamed my heart and my loins with desire."

Marséna did not reply, but flung herself against Syf to devour her newfound lover's lips with wild passion. Syf kissed back almost instinctively; her hands were eager to drink in and revel in the flawless curves of Marséna's body, "I want you," Syf began huskily, running her tongue over Marséna's sighing lips, "let's get out of the pool."

"Hmm...and why should we get out of the pool?" Marséna teased, swaying her full, magnificently proportioned breasts, ripe and swollen like juicy autumn pears, in front of Syf's face.

"It'll...uh, make things easier." Syf said, blushing slightly, even if her piercing blue eyes remained as dignified and aloof as ever.

"What easier?" Marséna said, using her most seductive tone. Her sex was slick with nectar as well as water, her lower belly flowed with the thick magma of desire.

"Oh, Marséna!" Syf said with exasperation as she lunged forward and seized one of Marséna's ripe, swaying nipples between her lips and playfully bit down on it, "Why do you want to force me to use your...uh, colourful language."

"Ai!" The Mareterran whimpered, "You little salopa. Now you're going to stay here until you tell me exactly why I should let you out."

"Well, let's see," Syf growled as she seized Marséna by the waist and deftly shifted her to the side of the pool and then up, so that the Mareterran found herself in a sitting position on the warm stone surface, "it appears that you are in no position to make demands."

"That's not fair!" Marasena protested, giggling lightly - Syf could always count on her superior strength, "But since you insist, I suppose I may just surrender my chastity to you."

"And what chastity would that be?" Syf insinuated, pulling herself out of the pool in one clean jerk and then quickly covering Marséna's lips with her own.

Marséna did no even bother giving a cogent reply, Syf had already decided that the sun-kissed Mareterran, with her wry smile, coal black tresses and sculptural curves was a little strumpet who needed a strong, disciplined woman to tame her. So the tall novice claimed her prize with wet passionate kisses that trailed down the sensitive skin of Marséna's neck, tasting the slightest residue of salt and dust and then trailing lower to draw her tongue down the soft valley of her newfound lover's breasts. So close to Marséna, Syf could feel everything, hear everything: heartbeat, breath and soft moans and whispers of encouragement. Marséna trailed her fingers through Syf's short, raven black hair and down her strong, pale shoulders. There was not a hint of graceless bulk in Syf: everything was streamlined, elegant and athletic. It was not, Marséna reflected as Syf trailed eager, wetly insistent kisses up the alluring curves of her lush, iodine-tan breasts, a boyish body as some had claimed unkindly, but a kind of fierce femininity - like the Virgin Huntress Herself.

For Syf, the experience of savouring Marséna's scent, her soft skin and the firm muscle beneath, was no less divine. As Marséna sighed at the sensation of Syf's inquisitive tongue running long, wet licks down her belly, she bucked her hips upwards inviting her lover closer to the molten nexus of her pleasure nestled between her thighs. But they were in no hurry, so Syf took her time to ease Marséna's thighs apart to look down in marvel at the flowering, moist sex beneath her, hidden only by soft, midnight black curls. The scent of sweet, feminine musk was in the air - but that was no surprise because Marséna was desperately wet. The Mareterran's deep pink nether lips lay spread and pouting in their arousal, glistening with water and nectar, silky and tender with sensual promise. It was nothing that Syf had not seen before, since the communal living of the novices ensured that their bodies held no secrets, but to see Marséna's sex in such a state of vulnerable excitement - so pretty and so ripe, just begging for the kiss of an expert lover to drink at its spring, was privilege indeed.

The sensation of Syf's eager breath on the sodden petals of her sex caused Marséna to sigh, eyes tightly closed in mounting passion as her hands gripped Syf's head closer to the burning well of her desire. Syf's first, tentative approach was a kiss, lovingly placed on the fragrant fold before her. That first sensual contact made Marséna's toes curl - it was almost as if Syf were teasing her. But, the Mareterran resolved, she would be patient and appreciate every single moment with her friend, fellow Maiden, and lover, so she allowed Syf to explore. A probing, gentle tongue parted the sex-slick folds, curiously lapping the thick residue of Marséna's arousal in slow thrusts deep into the hot tunnel of her sex. Oblivious to Marséna's mounting gasps of pleasure, Syf concentrated on the velvety sensation of the nether lips, the earthy, salt, musky and sweet tones of the copious moisture. In that symphony of sensations, a light, sunny citrus fragrance could be detected that seemed to contrast perfectly with the rich femininity of Marséna's dripping arousal.

"Don't tell me you apply your perfume...uh, down there." Syf said quietly, almost incredulously.

"Just a tiny bit, on the hair, otherwise it stings," Marséna replied matter-of-factly, "Virg loves it."

"I do too." Syf growled passionately, a burst of excitement made her seize Marséna's thighs and spread them wider, before slipping her thumbs against the Mareterran's rich, pink sex to hold the inner lips apart, exposing the blooming fount of femininity beneath. Now Syf's tongue ran passionately across the lust-inflamed flesh, relishing the intoxicating flavour of Marséna's excitement and the sharp, breathy moans that ensued.

Marséna strained against the warm, moist stone floor, her breasts heaving with the exertion of her passion. When Syf inserted two tensed fingers deep into her sodden canal, Marséna could only bite her lip as her hips jerked instinctively forward to ensure a deeper penetration. Marséna was hungry for Syf's fingers and the taller girl knew it. Venturing forth in to the tight, velvety embrace of the Mareterran's sex, Syf could feel the wanton muscles of her friend's sex tense and spasm around the intrusion. Then Syf moved in with insistent licks to mouth the top of Marséna's sex, her tongue grazing over her lover's clitoris with almost playful insistence. Marséna began to feel a knot of tension build in her loins; her whole existence now revolved around the dextrous play of Syf's mouth and the insistent thrusting of her fingers that effortlessly parted the Mareterran's swollen nether lips, easing them aside to allow access to her inner core.

But Syf was not going to get away that easily, "Wait...wait," Marséna called out breathlessly, between gritted teeth, "this isn't fair...I want to do it together."

"What?" Syf asked incredulously, taking a moment to look up from Marséna's delectable sex.

"No, no, keep on going, but I want to taste you too." Marséna did not want Syf to get the impression that she was passive when it came to lovemaking.

"I like your idea." Syf replied with her usual understated irony. So she rose from her prone position and shifted to carefully place her knees on either side of Marséna's shoulders. Syf then settled atop Marséna's face with a deliberate, seductive sway of her hips. She need not have bothered because Marséna had already seized her firm, athletic bottom in her hands and pulled it downwards, so her tongue could taste the sodden lips of the pale novice's sex. It was a sensation Marséna immediately fell in love with, for Syf had much the same pleasantly soft, saline taste as Virginia. Then, of course, to clasp Syf's bottom in her hands, to spread it open and reveal the pale, dewy pink nether lips and tight rosy pucker at the base of the flawless valley of her bottom was an experience Marséna would not soon forget.

Losing no time, Syf forcefully parted Marséna's thighs again and slid forward to resume her work on the Mareterran's juicing sex. This time, her attention was focused on Marséna's clitoris, which she attacked with precise, firm licks, while her fingers once again resumed their infuriatingly arousing work deep in the darker girl's welcoming channel. For her part, Marséna craned her neck to gain better access to the pale, pink feast of Syf's slick nether lips which opened with minimal coaxing to reveal the soft, budding flower within.

In lovemaking, as with most aspects of her life, Marséna was straight to the point: Syf could hardly suppress a low moan of surprise as she felt three fingers thrust almost brutally into her sex. Syf realised that the shock had been deliberate, Marséna was, in her playful malice, trying to find out whether her lover was as unflappable in the bedchamber as she was on the battlefield.

"I see you enjoy my little surprise." Marséna said between licks, her voice thick with desire.

"Let's see how long you last." Syf retorted defiantly. She hooked her fingers deep in Marséna's sex, seeking out the most sensitive depths of her lover's canal. Syf's tongue and lips were awash with the fragrant tears of Marséna's desire. It would not be long now, Syf knew it by the bucking of Marséna's hips and the slow, deep moans that now escaped her sun-kissed lover's lips.

Marséna did not even reply, she merely abandoned herself to the coiling pleasure deep in her sex which was now loosed in a series of rapid, spasmodic contractions around Syf's invading fingers. She bit her lip to try to suppress her most vocal, mewling cries. Syf, Marséna reflected, would probably interpret that as a sign of weakness. No such thoughts crossed Syf's mind, however, as she noted the final spasms of Marséna's climax with smug satisfaction.

"Don't you dare stop." Syf warned. It was a warning Marséna did not need. The sheer pleasure of devouring the yielding moisture of Syf's sex while her fingers thrust rhythmically between the light pink petals of the taller girl's channel was intoxicating. Marséna's enthusiasm did not go unnoticed. Syf's low, muted gasps of pleasure became ever more wanton with each probing thrust of Marséna's fingers, before becoming positively keening as she felt the tip of one of the Mareterran's fingernails graze against her most sensitive spot deep in her sex. The agonising buildup of her climax was like nothing Syf had ever felt: it spread from the furnace of her belly deep into her sex, like an itching tension which, when released was suffocated in relieved moans against the firm, muscular flesh of Marséna's thigh.

"You little strumpet, you're dripping." Marséna crooned, her lips working earnestly to lap up rivulets of fragrant nectar.

Syf was in no position to reply, all she could do was concentrate on regaining the steady rhythm of her breathing while planting soft, butterfly kisses on the inside of Marséna's tanned thigh.

"Oh, come here," Marséna said with mock irritation, propping herself up on her elbows, "mighty Syf defeated by some gentle licking, I would never have believed it."

Nodding wordlessly, Syf accepted her lover's invitation and turned to take Marséna into her embrace. They lay there for some moments on the stone floor, held close to one another, lips pressed together in lazy, deep kisses, so that they could hear only breath, heartbeat and the gentle lapping of water in the bathing pools.

"This was special," Syf said quietly as she lay atop Marséna, abandoning herself to the Mareterran's tender caresses through her raven-black hair and down her back, "and a celebration, not the beginning of a routine. Understood?"

"Yeah..." Marséna breathed. Syf was breathtakingly beautiful from her angle, so Marséna marvelled at her friend's haughty cheekbones, her stunning gaze and her small, but noble breasts.

"There is something I need to confess, Marséna." Syf began, unsure of herself. If there had ever been an appropriate moment for the secret she had carried with herself for so many years, it was this one.

"You know you can tell me anything." Marséna was privately surprised: Syf was not normally especially forward with her emotions.

"The first day...the first time I saw you, I immediately thought you beautiful...then when I saw you pick up a practice sword, that first time when we were all unsure and trembling on the fencing court, I thought I realised that you were the girl for me," Syf paused to look into Marséna's deep, soulful eyes - they were just as charming and intense as they had been when they were first year novices, perhaps more so, "and so I immediately thought of courting you, of winning your favour. Day after day I put it off, even when I thought of you by night. It hurt to see you perform so brilliantly during the weapons drills, because I wanted all that beauty for myself - by my side and sharing my bed. So one day, I took all the money I had been saving up - for what I never knew - and bought some roses..."

"Oh, fuck, Syf..." Marséna said gently, her voice trembling. As far as she was concerned, this was anything but the right moment. All she could do was draw Syf closer, so that the taller novice's voice could sink into a conspiratorial whisper.

"But then I saw you and Virg," Syf continued, even as her heart suffered, she did not allow her voice or eyes to betray the state of her soul, "I saw how close you had become, how much more she had said and done for you, and I decided that what I was doing was stupid...just a clusmy, stupid attempt at romance by an adolescent girl. So I resolved to put those matters beyond me and never breathe a word of it to you, never again think of love or desire...that, is until Friyya opened up to me, but that is another story."

"I swear, I never knew." Marséna said, gently kissing Syf on the lips.

"What would you have said?" Syf queried, almost aggressively, "Had Virginia not been there what would you have said?"

"Yes." Marséna replied spontaneously, "Yes with all my heart and soul."

Syf nodded, both pleased and moved by Marséna's profession of devotion, "Prove it." she challenged.

Marséna decided to let her caress do the proving for her. She drew Syf up into her arms, as they both knelt on the moist stone floor, their kiss renewed with passionate intensity, this time with the added, thrilling flavour of the mingled nectar of their love. The Mareterran's hands explored the linear grace of Syf's body, tracing the lines of her shoulders and back, before moving forward to cup high, aristocratic breasts. They were firm in Marséna's hands, dense almost, but effortlessly elegant. To Marséna, there was only one course of action: she sank forward, Syf gratefully taking her lover's soft, long coal-black tresses in her hands, and kissed the taut surface of the taller girl's breasts.

"What beauty..." Marséna sighed. She leaned close against Syf's breast, kissing lower down the gentle curves until she reached the stiff, eager peak of her lover's dark pink nipples - they were ripe, firm under her lips, but yielding. Syf cooed almost inaudibly, sinking against Marséna's hair to lose herself in its silky softness. Marséna took her time to savour each nipple, grazing them under her teeth, licking and suckling with hungry sensuality. The liquid heat in Syf's loins returned with a vengeance. She wanted to become one with Marséna - flow together into a single knot of heat and flesh.

"Now look into my eyes and you will find your proof." Marséna said huskily, as she adjusted her thighs against Syf's so that they lay joined at the sex, legs intertwined in their passionate, sensual dance. Syf obeyed, gritting her teeth at the feeling of her over-sensitive sex grazing against the soft, textured down atop Marséna's nether lips. The Mareterran's eyes were a deep pool of slow-burning sensuality, of desire and of genuine love. There, Syf thought, lay the curse of walking the Radiant Path of paladinhood: she had met the best women she could ever have imagined, but simply could not understand whom to love as a sister, a lover, or something in between.

Such thoughts quickly fled her mind as Marséna took the lead in thrusting herself against Syf, grinding her sodden sex in a firm yet fluid rhythm. They spread their inner lips, pink as rare orchids, to deepen their nether kiss - velvety flesh gliding over tiny, stiff clits. Black curls melded together, drenched sex lips rubbed, kissed, melded and folded against one another - two taut bodies: one pale and majestically slender, the other darker and more feminine, but no less elegant, engaged one another in the sweet struggle for pleasure. Marséna was, as usual, the more vocal one and her moans filled the chamber as she felt the burgeoning heat in her sex becoming tenser and more aggressive. One hand she used to prop herself up against the stone floor while the other clasped one of her own rounded breasts, which swayed enticingly with each desperate thrust, driving stiff café-au-lait nipples into the warm, steamy air.

Syf was more muted in her cries, even as her pleasure mounted deep in her loins with each long, languid thrust. The sensation of Marséna's sex against her own was irresistible, like two warm, pliable oceans of sensual pleasure flowing together with each tense thrust. Continuing her assault, Syf raised herself up further, so that she was almost face to face with her newfound lover and finally able to feel Marséna's warm, breathy moans on her neck. Their legs were locked together, thighs tensed with exertion and desire. Now Syf could feel her clitoris and innermost lips sliding with agonising friction against Marséna's soaked nether flesh. It would not be long, for she could already hear the Mareterran novice's orgasmic sighs begin, so she suffocated them with a searing kiss.

Overcome by the first throes of her climax, Marséna sank forward into Syf's arms, riding out the spasmodic waves of pleasure deep in her lover's reassuring embrace with long, almost violent thrusts. They continued making love at a slower, more deliberate pace. For Marséna it was a leisurely, post coital grinding as she diligently brought Syf to climax with two expert fingers that quickly and lethally sought out the taller girl's clitoris. Syf felt herself melt under the firm caress of the Mareterran's touch, so when she finally came in long, ragged breaths, all she wanted was to be surrounded by Marséna, to be absorbed into that sculptural femininity.

"Maybe...we should call it a day." Syf suggested, her breath still short as the final contractions of her sex released the last of her erotic tension. She knelt, leaning forward against Marséna, her thighs slick with their combined moisture.

"As you wish, kitten." Marséna said sweetly, before lavishing a playful lick on Syf's throat, "But I had an unforgettable time."

"Me too," Syf whispered - she was not entirely comfortable with Marséna using such unprofessional terms of endearment, but there were bigger concerns to sort out, "but when I think of Friyya and Virg..."

"I think they would be happy for us." Marséna ventured, nuzzling the hollow of Syf's throat.

"Then you tell them." Syf challenged.

Marséna was taken aback for a moment. In truth, she had never contemplated being seriously involved with anyone except Virginia. That had not prevented the occasional lapse in judgement, but Virginia had always been exceedingly tolerant. Perhaps too tolerant; there was something about her companion's apparent lack of jealousy which made Marséna suspicious. It was almost as if Virginia did not take their relationship to be fully mature yet, which, in light of what had just transpired in the baths, was not an unreasonable assumption to make.

"I knew it," Syf said glumly, "we shouldn't have." Her sense of duty to Friyya weighed heavily upon her. As was often the unfortunate case, whenever Syf felt guilty, Friyya appeared to be flawless in her thoughts: smiling, angelic and unspeakably beautiful.

"Fuck it. What's done cannot be undone. You regret not courting me back when we were first years, but then again, in another - more important way - you don't, because you have Friyya now and you can't base your life on what-ifs. If you ask me, we just shared some happiness between us, but that doesn't mean I love Virg or you love Friyya any less."

Syf nodded. Marséna had always been a pragmatist, but her fierce devotion to her sworn sisters had never been in question - not for a moment. Yet as she stared into Marséna's eyes, allowing herself to sink in their loving depths, Syf found herself questioning the workings of fate. Uncharacteristically - for she was loath to show weakness - Syf allowed herself to be cradled in Marséna's arms. For a guilty moment, all that warmth, all the affectionate whispers made Syf wonder what her life would have been like if she and Marséna had been an item. How would they have made love? How would they have fallen asleep, huddled under the same sheets? What would have become of Virginia and Friyya? Those questions dissipated into the welcoming embrace of Marséna's breasts. Syf would never have said it, but for a few moments at least, she just wanted to be held.

***********

"Amazing, I never thought they'd make it." Virginia commented, still incredulous at Marséna and Syf's feat. She had returned with Friyya to the small, rectangular chamber the four of them shared in the Temple dormitories. Two bunk beds and four clothes chests and that was all in the spartan room, which was separated from others like it by thin, wooden screen-like walls.

"Yes, but both are redoubtable fighters," Friyya said airily, happy to be given the opportunity to rest for a few more hours, "I expect they will be cutting through the ranks of the Abyss in short order." She spoke almost distractedly as she eagerly discarded her white novice's tunic and changed back into her nightgown. It was silk - a gift from Friyya's wealthy but distant family - rather than the regulation cotton. But Friyya, within the limits of the Temple regulations - and sometimes beyond them - spared herself no luxury.

"Nice to hear you compliment Marséna." Virginia said, smiling a little. She knew that Marséna and Friyya had great mutual affection for one another, but that was bound up in a tendency to exchange sharp, verbal barbs at every opportunity. Virginia always thought it to be something akin to sibling rivalry.

"Well, she has to be good for something." Friyya replied smugly. She smoothed out her hair and carefully contemplated her image in the silver mirror she kept by her bedside, "Aren't you going to get changed? I thought you might like to keep me company while we wait for our heroines to make their triumphant return."

"If you insist." Virginia said, affecting reluctance.

"No, I demand it."

"As madam wishes." Virginia stepped out of her boots and tunic and donned her nightgown. It still smelled strongly of soap from not having been rinsed properly - Friyya had been on laundry duty again, a fact which was, in perspective, incomparably preferable to having her on kitchen duty.

"I still think it's cruel to have practice and weapon drills at first daybreak." Friyya complained as Virginia joined her under the thick, down-stuffed covers of her bunk.

"Yes, I know it's cold and miserable, but maybe one day we will have to go to frozen Cocytus or ice-bound Caina, so hopefully, Isobel is preparing us for the trials ahead." Virginia settled under the sheets - privately grateful to be warm and doing nothing in particular. Friyya huddled close to her, resting her head on Virginia's breast, her long, soft auburn tresses spread across the white sheets like a blanket of fresh-fallen autumn leaves. Virginia could not resist running her fingers through her friend's fine-textured hair, drawing a satisfied purr from Friyya.

"What do you think lies ahead?" Friyya inquired, somewhat curious to see Virginia's take on the matter. Syf may have been her lover and Marséna engaging conversation, but neither were particularly deep thinkers.

"Well," Virginia said pensively, wrapping her arms tightly around Friyya and drawing her closer to place an affectionate kiss on her head, "we promised to give our lives and our souls to the Maiden, just as we promised love and undying loyalty to one another. So I expect our destinies are wound tightly together. But the Fates are fickle, so one cuts as another weaves. All I can say is that we should have faith in the Maiden to give us the strength to master even the workings of the Fates."

"An interesting answer." Friyya noted wryly. Virginia's embrace was comforting, warm, almost maternal. "But evasive nonetheless, there's something you're worried about."

"Perhaps."

"Care to explain?" Friyya ventured.

"Marséna and I may need time," Virginia said unsteadily, "and sometimes I don't think she realises that our relationship needs to solidify before we can build upon it."

"No!" Friyya protested, "You two are made for each other."

"Almost certainly, but remember when we skipped curfew a few weeks ago to explore the city?" Virginia's gaze was fixed upon the simple wooden ceiling.

"Of course." Friyya said darkly. Isobel had given them, and Friyya in particular, the thrashing of their lives.

"Marséna made me realise that there is so much to be seen, learned and experienced. This city is so vast, filled with experiences and lives I want to know. After all my curiosity has been satisfied, I am convinced that I would return to Marséna and make her mine forever, but the journey is at least as important as the end destination."

"What, you mean that business with the half-elf?" Friyya inquired - her incorrigible, gossipy curiosity had got the better of her.

"Yes, I wasn't angry with Marséna, it just made me think." So Virginia resolved to tell the story.

************

The tavern, which bore the ominous name "The Styx Boatman", lay in a comparatively quiet corner on the border with the sprawling, chaotic Hive Ward where Sigil's ragged and dispossessed sought shelter. Over time, it had grown accustomed to occasionally receiving a few daring, wide-eyed novices from the Temple of the Radiant Path who wished to taste the vital beat of Sigil's nightlife firsthand. One such group had ventured in that particular night, and had thus entered a new world of low-hanging candles, alcohol-soaked wood panelling, and the resonant, rhytmic beats of fensir troll music. Needless to say, four novice paladins in their white uniforms, swords sheathed at their sides, had caused quite a stir.

By the bar, where strong-smelling drinks were poured from bottles of all shapes, colours and materials, Syf did not mind the attention in the least. She had struck up a conversation with three powerfully-built mercenaries clad in wrought-iron plate armour. It was only a few years ago that those mercenaries had been children - the neighbourhood boys she had wrestled to the ground in the communal courtyard under fluttering curtains of drying laundry. Now they faced each other once again and Syf saw maturity and purpose in their eyes, for it was well known in Sigil that the men of Ortho were excellent and undyingly loyal warriors. Yet, as those men looked back into Syf's piercing blue gaze, they saw glimpses of the tall, inscrutable girl they had all desired, but who answered all suggestive comments with her fists and had a soft spot for beautiful, shy Ethelberta.

Friyya, on the other hand, sat at a nearby table, with barely-concealed boredom, taking small sips from a cup of sweet wine. She found Syf's conversation with the mercenaries boorish, even if they seemed to appreciate Syf. As a matter of fact, Friyya found the whole tavern dull, vulgar and very poorly decorated. The quality of its patrons veered from acceptable to repugnant, especially considering that the bulk of them appeared to be less than human. Monitor lizard-like Khaasta drank pitch-black liquor and threw dice, straining their heavy red steel armour with each movement; shifty tieflings - mortals with fiendish ancestry -, some with coal-black skin, others with spiked tails stared out suspiciously from under cowls and assassin's hoods. Not exactly the company the pure Maidens of the Radiant Path were supposed to keep.

Pure, of course, was a purely theoretical term and this, Virginia could confirm, was especially true with reference to Marséna. Although she had originally intended to entertain Friyya with some light banter, the sight of her Mareterran lover immersed in a particularly intimate conversation with a voluptuous half-elf was more than enough to distract her attention. Virginia was not the jealous sort, but Marséna was doing everything in her power to push the limits of tolerance.

In a dark, quiet corner of the tavern, where the light was at its dimmest, Marséna reclined comfortably in her chair, her heartbeat racing, just as her mind was addled by the two flasks of wine she had so far imbibed. Straddling her, knees on either side of her thighs, was the most alluring half-elf Marséna had ever laid eyes on. Never had the Mareterran seen such rich, chestnut hair - streaked with thick strands of moss green -, such hypnotically intense, chocolate brown eyes, and - most intriguingly of all - such magnificently proportioned curves. Though the half-elf was short, her woodland tan body exuded a primal vigour: full breasts, for her kind at least, slender waist and gloriously flared hips. They had been chatting in that compromising position for well over a stroke of Sigil's Bell Tower, and there was something in Verden - for that was what the half-elf called herself - that kept Marséna obediently planted in her seat. Perhaps it was the sultry, feminine tone of her voice, which made even her liberal use of the harsh Sigil vernacular sound melodic, perhaps it was the fae-like beauty of her delicate, youthful features, the spontaneous eroticism of her smile.

Either way Marséna was entranced, especially since Verden dressed in a manner that expertly accentuated her assets: a short, very tightly knotted blouse with a flattering neckline and skin-tight green canvas leggings. This was not what Virginia had anticipated when she had, unwisely, encouraged Marséna to exchange a few pleasantries with the charming half-elf who had caught who had caught their attention by running a dextrous hand over the Mareterran's shoulder, with the conspiratorial suggestion: "I have a proposition, let's say the next round's on me..." Everything had followed from there.

Plied with wine and flattery, Marséna found herself dangerously close to the stunningly firm, rounded breasts of her newest friend. Verden knelt on top of Marséna with her arms wrapped around the novice's neck. The proximity excited her: Marséna was one exceptional find, so spontaneous and unforced, unlike what she perceived to be the cold hypocrisy of Ortho humans.

"So, have I made your little field trip worthwhile?" Verden whispered sensually as she leaned closer to inhale the light citrus scent of Marséna's perfumed hair.

"Not only that, but you've made my day." Marséna said, smiling eagerly, her hands clasped firmly around Verden's waist. The half-elf's blouse was cut off at the right point to show off an enticing strip of firm, yet feminine abdomen.

"Is that so? I'll take it that you're not addled by the bub and that you're not barmy, just distracted. Maybe you like something you see?" Verden breathed suggestively, swaying her hips forward to emphasise her point.

"I'd say it would be hard for me not to." Even Marséna was not normally that blunt, but the wine had brought her inhibitions crashing down one by one.

"Oh well, just for you then, I think we can arrange a closer look."

"What?" Marséna inquired with a confused smile.

"Say, cutter, how many paladins of the Radiant Path does it take to unlace a blouse?" Verden said with sensual sarcasm. Her throat was dry and - though she cursed herself for having become so involved in one of her well-rehearsed seduction routines, she needed Marséna's touch.

Marséna did not dare reply for fear of breaking the magic of the moment, but swiftly moved her hands to fumble, almost desperately, with the laces of Verden's cream white blouse. Such was her excitement, the tension in her shoulders and the electric numbness in her fingers, that after three attempts, she had not succeeded in loosening the offensive garment.

"A little nervous, are we?" Verden said, gently kissing Marséna's forehead, "Just take your time, I'm not going anywhere."

Marséna swallowed, gathered herself, and took a moment to stare into the boundless intensity of Verden's eyes. That was the trigger. As dextrous as they were on the fencing court, Marséna's hands danced effortlessly over the tightly-knit laces, undoing each with methodical precision. As the last lace was released, the fabric fell slack and Marséna's hands followed to clasp the dense firmness of Verden's breasts under the blouse. Virginia bit her lower lip as she observed from her table - she was too far to make out the details of the conversation transpiring in that odious, dark corner, but she knew exactly what was in the process of happening. Whipping around to seek moral support from Friyya, Virginia found the auburn-haired novice dozing quietly on the table, an expression of angelic peace painted on her achingly beautiful face. Syf was still chattering away as if nothing else was relevant.

"Wow..." Marséna said, a little dumbstruck by the heft and sheer perfection of Verden's breasts. The Mareterran novice carefully raised Verden's blouse, so that each woodland tan orb was revealed and sprung free, light brown nipples riding with stiff arrogance over sublime hillocks.

"Oh, would you look at that," Verden said with mock innocence, "how embarrassing, the room must be a little cold."

Marséna did not wait to be asked, her tongue was already at work up the gentle slope of Verden's breast. It was scented with perfume, though when she finally reached the beautiful, tense nipple, Marséna once again tasted that fleshy, pristine sensuality she so loved. She felt that she could have suckled at Verden's breast for the rest of the evening, just to hear the sensual half-elf's muted, mewling sighs of pleasure. Virginia tensed in her seat. This was too much, and she already had half a plan to break that wanton scene up.

Verden, however, was utterly oblivious to such concerns, "Finally we get started, soon you'll learn all the dark there is to know about me."

"I never thought half-elves could look like this..." Marséna said, placing a long sensual lick on the valley between Verden's breasts. The skin was so intoxicatingly soft. Marséna felt hot wetness between her thighs – she badly wanted Verden's sensual lips to relieve that erotic tension for her.

"Well," Verden said, flicking back her shoulder-length hair to reveal gracefully pointed ears, "there you have it, but half-wood elf, mind you, not one of those sodding scrawny grey elf bitches."

"A half-elf..." Marséna sighed dreamily, her face buried between Verden's breasts, her hands now curiously cupping the taut globes of the half-elf's bottom. She absolutely needed to get those leggings off as soon as possible and admire Verden in all her splendour.

"You poor, deprived girl," Verden purred with lascivious compassion, "don't tell me you've never had the pleasure of half-elven pussy."

"Not yet..." Marséna said longingly, "so tell me, what is half-elven pussy like?" Virginia had never been one for colourful pillow talk, though Marséna felt she was quickly making up for lost time with Verden.

"It's like the Seventh Heaven." Verden said hungrily, dipping one graceful hand under the waistband of her leggings. She moaned softly, nuzzling Marséna's hair as she drew her fingertips against the lust-inflamed inner lips of her sex. When she withdrew her fingers, they were covered in a thin veil of fragrant nectar, "But don't take my word for it..." The half-elf said, offering her moistened fingertips to Marséna's lips.

The Mareterran novice lunged hungrily, suckling the residual juice with wanton abandon. The flavour was divine: slightly musky and earthy, like Virginia, but at the same time with an added fruity, fresh dimension which was almost sweet, like aromatic sap from a tree.

"Hmm..." Verden cooed, "there's so much more where that came from, cutter, I can get us a room upstairs - my treat - and since I've been such a shameless girl, I think I could use a little military discipline."

"When you're ready..." Marséna said weakly. Her throat was cloyed with arousal, her heartbeat echoed in her temples.

"Excuse me." Virginia said firmly, patting Verden on the shoulder.

"Fuck off, berk." Verden snarled, before realising it was Marséna's companion who had interrupted them.

"Charmed, I'm Virginia, but I think my friend and I ought to return to our quarters."

"What, you two married or something?" Verden said with palpable irritation.

"No..." Virginia began indignantly.

"So where she sleeps tonight is up to her."

"Yeah, Virg..." Marséna said, her mind inflamed by wine and desire.

Marséna had never seen Virginia's features betray anything but sisterly affection, but on that occasion the blonde novice glowered at her with such damning intensity that she looked positively frightening.

"All right, all right." Marséna said in resignation. She was desperately wet and had privately been hoping for a nice, warm double bed where Verden could demonstrate all her elven tricks. But it was not to be, "Sorry Verden, you're more than fascinating, you're stunning, but I regret that tonight was simply not meant to be our night. Maybe another time..."

"Says you." Verden snapped angrily. She rose to her feet and quickly fastened her blouse again. That, she reflected, was exactly the problem of self-professed paladins of justice. They were just hypocrites, like most humans and elves. She knew that the seemingly prim and proper members of the Radiant Path looked upon her exotic beauty with barely restrained desire, but when it came down to actually making love to a half-elf, even they got squeamish.

"C'mon, Verden, I like you...I really do." Marséna said desperately.

"Tell her that." Verden challenged. She felt hurt and humiliated by Virginia's sudden intrusion into what she had thought was a private encounter.

"You should know better," Virginia chided sternly, "we are sworn to the Maiden and do not take these matters lightly."

"Stuck-up cunt." Verden growled as she barged past Virginia.

"Oh, Virg, it was just a little fun." Marséna protested pre-emptively.

"Little fun?" Virginia reprimanded, "Did you hear what she just called me? Instead of defending the honour of the Order you just let her go?"

"Look, she was annoyed..."

"Is there something you need to tell me? Am I perhaps inadequate?" Virginia pressed, more aggressively than Marséna had ever heard her.

"No, Virg, my treasure...but for a moment, my curiosity became something else..."

************

"You were right to intervene." Friyya said after Virginia had finished her story, "That woman had no right to claim Marséna."

"No, but the fact is that I have begun to understand Marséna's curiosity. The Multiverse is endless...there is so much to learn, so much to explore..."

"We are sworn sisters," Friyya interrupted gently but firmly, "what we have is not made to be undone by a vulgar half-elven slattern. My family...my mother from whose womb I was birthed, my father...they are as good as gone to me. They never paid me a moment's notice and I was left to my clothes and to the indifferent silence of my tutor. We are a family now, a true family and that comes first."

"I too suffered, but from being kept closeted in fear. When I joined the Order, I just wanted to see the wonders of existence, not to step into another darkened cloister." Virginia's comment was enigmatic, but Friyya knew that there was something deeper, some hidden scar that was being secreted deep in her soul, beyond memory. She could feel it in Virginia's nervous heartbeat, in the pained heaviness of her voice.

"Virg, now is not the time. Please, let us be at peace." Friyya snuggled closer to her friend and drew the sheets up. There were some questions which only Time himself could answer. It was useless to speculate on a cold, lazy Sigil morning.

By the time Marséna and Syf returned from the baths, they found Friyya fast asleep, curled up in Virginia's embrace. The rest of the day flowed on like a blur, spurred on by amiable banter and intermittent excursions to the mess hall. It was as if the tightly regimented and strictly enforced time they had all become used to had faded into something more idyllic and imprecise. Thus, in more ways than one, that day had been made for dreaming, so that the mirages of desire could finally find at least some purchase in reality.

Yet it was not until the next day that Marséna found an off-white envelope, browned by age and the elements, under her pillow. She only dared to open it in a quiet corner of the Temple gardens, under a secluded willow whose branches spread their canopy over a mossy lake. Inside was a burgundy red rose, desiccated by the passage of time, but otherwise perfectly preserved, and a small note in Syf's functional, orderly handwriting that read: "For Marséna, my rose - thorns and all."

NB: The story of the paladins of the Radiant Path continues in the Sigil series, also stored on this Archive.