Authors Note: this story is dedicated to Colleen
Thomas, whose works inspired my forays into erotic fiction. I never had the
opportunity to work with her in person, so I hope that I can do her memory
justice in this work.
The Bladesinger is the sublime fusion of innate elven
artistry and her deadly skill with the blade. She spurns the intricacies of
sorcery, politics and religion and lives to perfect the union between herself
and her weapon. She is the unblinkingly vigilant protectress of her people and
her art is much feared by the foes of the Quessir [elves]. She is noble,
gallant and chivalrous, so that even the coyest elven maiden wishes fervently
to press a freshly plucked orchid against her breast in exchange for a soul-burning
kiss
- Travelogues
of the Elven Ways
Imej
Scented water dripped down the garden wall. Thin rivulets glistened in the
late-afternoon sun, flushing the mossy white stone with a rich, orange glow. A
cool breeze drew in from the mountains across the gilded spires of the Grey
Elven city of Imej. Light and air combined in the skies, casting a radiant
mantle over the tall, fluted towers which dominated the skyline. All, but the
subtle rushing of water, was silent.
The garden sat upon a veranda that overlooked mighty, ice-bound peaks whose
rocky forms occasionally jutted like a dragon's spines - hard, black granite
thrust from the shimmering blue ice. Imej, however, remained pleasantly cool.
The city had been a controlled environment for aeons, a refuge for the
studious, artistic race of Grey Elves who, over the course of countless
generations, had erected an architectural marvel wrought from gold, rock and
the greatest magicks ever woven. So now, even in the icebound Season of the
Mother's Sleep, nothing but the pleasantly bracing chill of cool mountain air
swept across the pristine gardens and narrow waterways of Imej.
Yssinel lay pensively on her divan, an ancient tome with silver bindings held
aloft before her, levitated with a simple enchantment. Concentration had not
come easily to her in her family's library, so she had relocated to the garden,
hoping to catch the last rays of natural sunlight. She found she studied much
better surrounded by nature. Yet the rows of perpetually blooming, multi-chrome
flowers which sprouted freely, unheeding any design, at the base of slender
ornamental trees brought no comfort.
So she snapped the book shut with a wordless mental command and set it down on
the cherry-wood table by the divan. Yssinel had studied to become an
Enchantress because she had no intention of becoming a manuscript illuminator
like her mother. At times, she could not help but regret that choice. Even if
her studies at the Tower of Enchantment had impressed all of her tutors, she still
sometimes despaired at the sheer volume of magical knowledge that was still out
there, waiting to be learnt. Now, little more than a year after completing her
studies, the anxiety of a vast, mysterious and endlessly fascinating world
still beckoned.
Modesty aside, though, Yssinel knew she looked every bit the part. Even by the
notoriously exacting standards of Grey Elven aesthetics, few even compared to
her in beauty. A flawless, elfin frame with smooth, pearly skin was
complemented by the most graceful, subtly curved femininity. Her breasts were
small, but sublimely formed and taut, like a tyaelh tulip bud, her hips
elegantly flared under the gossamer fabric of her thin, silvery robe. Yet it
was her visage that was most striking: fine-boned, with elegant, turquoise-blue
almond eyes, framed by magnificent gold and silver lashes. Long tresses of
polished gold and shimmering, metallic silver cascaded down her shoulders and
over the white and blue silk upholstery of the divan. As was Grey Elven custom,
Yssinel's hair was arranged in a carefully-judged pattern of thin braids and
free-falling locks. Such beauty was truly fitting for an Enchantress.
But, as with all magical disciplines, time and patience were required. As an
elf, Yssinel had time in abundance. Patience was another matter entirely.
"Finished already?" a familiar voice called from the garden's
vine-woven entrance.
"For today, yes." Yssinel replied. She composed herself a little on
the divan, but decided not to turn around. A little coyness always did wonders
in courtship. "Have you returned victorious?"
"Naturally. I won in three straight duels. I fear there may not be much
competition left in Imej, so I thought of applying for the tourney of the
festival of Corellon Larethian." Soft bootsteps approached Yssinel.
"Always leaping to the next challenge, my dear?" Yssinel purred,
shifting slightly in the divan. She could smell the faintest trace of fine,
elven steel amidst the rich, flowery perfume of the garden. Her pulse quickened
slightly. All of a sudden, the silk beneath her felt deliciously sensual under
her bare feet, as did fabric of the robe that pooled between her thighs.
"Come, greet me, Tahllea."
Yssinel felt a slender, but strong hand on her shoulder and soft, light pink
lips pressing against hers. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of
crushed silk, subtle perfume and metal. She suppressed an involuntary shudder,
before opening her eyes once more to see her suitor smiling, sitting on the
side of the divan by her side.
"My gallant heroine." Yssinel breathed softly. There was no other way
to describe Tahllea. She was tall for an elf, with a wiry, athletic build which
set her aside from the soft, almost waifish physique of a Grey Elven woman. But
Tahllea was a High Elf, orphaned as a child and raised in Imej, she had always
refused to fully submit to Grey Elven notions of propriety. So she had become a
blademistress in a society where only low-born women ever took up the sword or
bow.
But it was Tahllea's originality that made her so
charismatic. She had a fiery, handsome countenance, with pale, noble features
and vivid eyes the colour of burnished gold. Tahllea's latest provocation was
styling her shoulder-length black hair in curls and ringlets, in defiance of
elven styles and in imitation of a famous human anti-heroine she had once read
about in an illustrated epic from off-world. Yet there was not a single woman
or girl in Imej, no matter how traditionalist, who did not swoon at the sight
of Tahllea striding haughtily through Imej's orderly, cobbled streets in her
high-necked fencer's shirt and form-fitting brown doeskin breeches. That
afternoon, Tahllea wore her snow-white shirt open, so that the shifting of the
cool mountain breeze revealed the rounded curves of small, but perfectly
proportioned breasts.
"Is something on your mind, Shannaeliia?" Tahllea inquired,
lovingly running her long, dextrous fingers through Yssinel's silky hair.
Yssinel smiled to herself. Tahllea had always preferred calling her by her child-name.
It indicated that they had grown up together and, amongst Grey Elven women,
there was no greater term of endearment. The only problem was that Yssinel had
never liked the name she had been given as a child: Shannaeliia was simply a
diminutive of the Grey Elven word for 'electrum', a reference to her hair.
"There is always something on my mind, my dear." Yssinel said,
shifting her head to let a few strands of hair fall back to reveal her
delicately pointed ear. She very much enjoyed being a teasing flirt.
"Enchantresses and sorceresses, by definition, are always thinking."
"And Bladesingers don't?" Tahllea probed, feigning offence.
"Will you ever lay that sensitivity of yours aside? You chose to dedicate
yourself to the art of the blade, just as I have to the arcane - there is no
shame in that." Yssinel spoke that phrase for what seemed like the
thousandth time.
"My adoptive father always wanted me to attend an Academy of magic, but
his bonded lover was more understanding. He encouraged me to be the gardener of
my own soul. I remain torn, because I do not want to disappoint either of the
two men who raised me." Tahllea continued to caress Yssinel's hair, but
her gaze was lost in the distance, fixed on the mighty peaks which sprung
before her like giants clad in icy platemail.
"I know." Yssinel nodded apologetically. "But this is a rather
strange time. It has been some days now that I can't concentrate on my
research."
"Aerylle?" Tahllea ventured, swiftly returning her gaze to Yssinel.
"Yes."
"Time hurries on and I, too, have missed her terribly. I would love to see
her again, then the old group would once more be complete." Tahllea said
wistfully.
"She always mentioned how much she missed Imej in her letters, but now
that she has found a bonded lover, I suspect that even if she does come back,
it will not be permanent."
"Do you often think about her?" Tahllea pressed, trailing her fingers
down the flimsy fabric of Yssinel's robe until she reached that magical
juncture where the fabric split apart, revealing the pristine whiteness of the
Enchantress' thigh.
"Often, yes." Yssinel admitted. "But we wrote to each other
regularly...and copiously. She seemed very happy to hear that you had finally
decided to court me. She almost sounded relieved."
"Was I that transparent?" Tahllea sighed.
"By Grey Elven standards, yes. But I certainly cannot blame you."
Yssinel did not so much consider herself arrogant as aware of her talents.
"Anyway, it appears that Aerylle's broken new ground, yet again. Her
bonded lover is a tiefling."
"You told me." Tahllea nodded pensively. She still could not quite
grasp what a tiefling - the product of the union between a mortal and a demon -
could look like. "I suppose I'm somewhat curious myself, but I take it
that curiosity isn't the only thing on your mind."
"Jealousy is a vice, my dear." Yssinel chided, even as she felt a
spark of electricity shoot up her spine as Tahllea's expert finger tips traced
a long, sinuous line down her leg.
"You and I both know this is a delicate moment." the Bladesinger
retorted, more sharply than she had wanted. But elven courtesy could not hide
the fact that she still had deep insecurities about her courtship of Yssinel.
Their relationship had been hovering in the nuanced gap between close
friendship and romance, but that, as far as most Grey Elves were concerned, was
perfectly normal and even desirable. There was no use in rushing the reasons of
the heart.
"Your fears are unfounded." Yssinel whispered reassuringly.
"Aerylle has already found her love. To be sure, I have always wished to
make love to her, but as a friend and not as a bonded lover."
That eased Tahllea's nerves. But she was left with the lingering doubt of being
a second choice. The very fact that Aerylle had once refused Yssinel's advances
was suspicious: only those who wished for a deeper, long-term relationship
turned down noncommittal sensuality between friends.
"Now, enough of that," Yssinel said, sitting up in the divan and
breaking Tahllea's brooding silence. "How about a drink and some tidbits
before dinner?" The Enchantress smiled alluringly. Her eyes were hypnotic,
drawing Tahllea into a world of gloriously understated sensuousness.
"I thought you'd never ask." Tahllea joked, teasingly running her
fingers down Yssinel's ankle, lightly tickling just enough to make the
Enchantress squirm. "Ceremonial duelling always works up an
appetite."
"Hmm...?" Yssinel smiled, this time suggestively, trailing her
delicate foot, adorned only with a single platinum anklet shaped like a garland
of roses, up the pristine fabric of Tahllea's fencing shirt. "Your
appetite for what exactly?"
"Always the brazen one, hmm?" Tahllea said, swiftly suppressing the
knot of passion forming in her throat. Yssinel's movements had caused the
Enchantress' robe to slip to one side and slide down her thighs. Tahllea felt
her sex tighten and her blood quicken at the thought of the plump, silky mound
nestled between those perfect thighs.
"If you wanted a frumpy lover, you could always have chosen a
Diviner...but court an Enchantress and, my dear Kyrithi, you know
exactly what you get." Tahllea's child-name was, appropriately enough,
almost martial. Kyrithi was simply an affectionate form for the mythical sword of
Corellon Larethian - the creator god of the elves.
"And not once have I regretted it." Tahllea breathed reverently.
"Now, if you would excuse me, I'm hardly presentable. I should wash and
change before dinner."
"As you wish, my treasure." Yssinel said, a little disappointed.
There was something in the smell of steel and leather on Tahllea's skin after
her duels that turned the blood pulsing in her veins to fire.
"Or...I could stay here by my beloved's side." Tahllea ventured,
sensing Yssinel's desire.
"Excellent idea. A sorceress always feels naked without a gallant warrior
to defend her." Yssinel measured each word to ensure that Tahllea
understood exactly what she had in mind for the evening's entertainment.
"Mjrina!" the Enchantress called, mentally commanding a silvery bell
by the garden's entrance to chime melodiously with her summons.
In an instant, a slender Wood Elf, clad only in a simple green shift padded to
Yssinel's side, her moss-green hair streaked with oak-brown highlights clinging
like tendrils of verdant vegetation to her soft, innocently beautiful features.
She was little more than a girl, yet moved with languid grace, her thighs and
belly firm from years spent running in the forest. But that was most
appropriate, for she exuded a rich, sylvan vitality: her skin was a lustrous
woodland tan, her eyes green like the forest, her breasts firm, yet larger and
more rounded than those of a Grey Elf. "You called, Mistress." Mjrina
whispered, her eyes respectfully lowered to the garden's dewy floor as she
curtsied her greeting.
"Be so kind as to fetch us a bottle of spiced wine and some crystallised
fruit." Yssinel ordered, her voice musical and airy.
"With pleasure, Mistress," Mjrina replied softly, with the lilting
tones of her Wood Elven accent that reminded Yssinel of a silver wind-chime.
"I take it that Milady Tahllea will be staying the night. I shall prepare
a bath and the bed for two."
"You see, Kyrithi," Yssinel remarked, languidly trailing her
legs around Tahllea's narrow waist, letting her robe pool in a cascade of
gossamer pleats over the sides of the couch. "Mjrina here is making
excellent progress as my handmaiden. Alert, efficient and discreet. I could ask
for little more."
"Mistress..." Mjrina breathed, as demurely as possible. Yssinel was,
on balance, a kind, tolerant and even loving mistress who treated her more like
a friend than a servant, but it was always best to be respectful to a fault. It
was considered bad form for a Wood Elf to speak to a Grey Elf without first
having been spoken to.
"Yes, Mjrina?" the Enchantress replied,
half-distracted by Tahllea's maddeningly swift hand riding under the fabric of
her robe to press against the smooth, pale skin beneath.
"Is it your desire that I attend to you and Milady
Tahllea this evening?"
"Good question," Yssinel sighed, shivering
in anticipation as Tahllea's fingers crept up her thigh. The Bladesinger's
touch was electric, trailing like a live current under Yssinel's robe, before
coming to rest maliciously on the taut, alabaster curves of her bottom.
"What does Milady Tahllea say?"
"Well..." Tahllea purred, her heartbeat
quickening. She felt heat and moisture temptingly close to her fingers. She
leaned forward on the divan and kissed the delicate point of Yssinel's ear. The
Enchantress shuddered at the sudden surge of desire in her loins. "Last
week you had to study and this week, I was engaged in the duelling tournament;
perhaps this evening we could have some time to ourselves."
"So, Mjrina," Yssinel said, her breathing
quickening with every passing moment. "You may retire early tonight, but
make sure the bedroom is in adequate condition to receive Milady Tahllea and
notify the cook that breakfast tomorrow should be for two."
Mjrina nodded, curtsied and left as soundlessly as she
had come.
***
Temple of the Order of the Radiant Path
The corridor seemed endless. From the beginning to the
end, it was stony, cold, unyielding - hewn from dry, grey rock. A single window
let in suffused light, but that was all. As far as Sigrid was concerned, there
could as well have been no light at all. Nothing in her life had ever worked
out especially well. The day she had been born, her father had taken one look
at her otherworldly features and renounced her on the spot. Her mother had made
her live with that stigma for twelve years of her life until finally unloading
her onto the tender mercies of the Order of the Radiant Path of the Vigilant
Maiden. There, she was to train to become a paladin of a mighty
warrior-Goddess. At least that had been the plan. Sigrid, however, had never
taken too well to military discipline or, indeed, to life in the company of
others.
So she found herself: swept under the carpet by her
mother, despised by her room-mates and constantly, despite her best judgement,
in trouble with senior priestesses and paladins. Not that it was her fault.
Naturally, in Sigrid's mind, it was all a matter of jealousy. The other novices
were jealous of her beauty, of her talent and of her celestial heritage - for
Sigrid was no ordinary mortal. She was an aasimar and angelic blood
flowed in her veins, though, in truth, that did little to help her when she was
being pounded into the dust of the fencing yard by a stronger novice's wooden
practice sword.
"Sigrid!" a thundering growl rolled out from
the room in front of her. "Come in." That last invitation was softer,
with a dangerous, sadistic edge to it.
Sigrid swallowed and clenched her fists. She took a
deep breath and inhaled the musty, mineral air of the corridor. Her palms were
damp with sweat. She wiped them on the side of her white and blue tunic and
mentally bade her knees to stop shaking.
"Sigrid!"
"Yes, Reverend Sister." Sigrid murmured
apologetically, throwing all caution to the wind and sliding the door open.
Vice-Commander Isobel was imposing, more so than
usual. A head taller than most men, her physique was lean and powerful. Her
short-cropped hair was the colour of blood and she always insisted on wearing
her shimmering breastplate indoors, giving her the appearance of some terrible,
martial goddess. Isobel's room was predictably spartan: with nothing but a
simple writing desk, washbasin and bed to furnish it.
Sigrid trembled, eyes downcast, in the doorway,
fearful of taking even another step into what she knew was going to be certain
- and painful - punishment.
"Enter, girl, and shut the door!" Isobel
snapped. She had every intention of settling the matter as quickly as possible.
She had to deal with a new shipment of arrows for the armoury, an activity that
required much pedantry and paperwork. The prospect of an afternoon wasted on
itemising the inventory had rendered Isobel's disposition even more truculent
than usual.
"Yes, Reverend Sister." Sigrid whispered
weakly. She took a wary step in, shut the door and knelt before the
Vice-Commander, carefully scrutinising the cracks in the floor's stonework to
take her mind off the terror she felt welling inside her.
"So explain, girl, why exactly I have to waste my
time dealing with yet more disciplinary matters?" Isobel thundered,
striding over to Sigrid.
"I..." Sigrid began, before deciding to take
another deep breath to still the nervous throbbing of her heart. "I...may
have...uhm, used some inappropriate language in addressing a superior, Reverend
Sister." Her fencing instructor, Syf, had deserved it. There were only so
many repetitions of the words 'useless weakling' she could take.
"Really?" Isobel said contemptuously.
"And what might you have said?"
Sigrid gritted her teeth in desperation.
"I...uhm, perhaps...Reverend Sister, I don't think I'd like to repeat
it."
"No matter." Isobel said, suddenly seizing
hold of Sigrid's hair and forcing the novice to look her in the eye. "You
are a third year novice, correct? Well, to my knowledge, in those three years
you have been responsible for impudence, neglect of duties and petty theft on a
truly epic scale. Now, I may be slightly old-fashioned, Sigrid, but you have
shown yourself to be the opposite of everything that is required of a
paladin." Isobel's steely, blue-eyed gaze seared itself into Sigrid's
fearful soul.
"Reverend Sister..." Sigrid whimpered
desperately, not even daring to resist the iron-hard grip of Isobel's hand on
her hair.
"What?"
"I'm trying to be a good novice and do honour to
the Blessed Maiden, but..."
"But you don't exactly have the undying loyalty
of your fellow novices to count on. I know." Isobel released her grip and
allowed Sigrid to compose herself. The girl had backbone. Few third year
novices did anything but grovel apologies in her presence. At least Sigrid had
managed to string together a coherent sentence. But Sigrid was a striking
character, not least because of her appearance. Athletic and possessed with
elfin grace, Sigrid was clearly not quite human. Her moonlight-pale skin,
violet eyes and delicate, fae-like features set her aside from the tall, blonde
Ortho human girls who made up the bulk of the Order's intake of novices. Isobel
remembered that when Sigrid had first come to the Order, she had done her
utmost to keep her short, naturally dark indigo hair in such a way that her pointed
ears did not betray her ancestry.
"We don't exactly get along." Sigrid
ventured, gaining a little confidence. Still, she did not dare raise her eyes
to meet Isobel's gaze.
"Listen, girl," Isobel snapped, extending a
long, accusing finger in Sigrid's direction. "Your sisters-at-arms will be
your life, whether you like them or not. Even before you can consider being
Consecrated as a paladin, you will have to learn to work with others. Now it
occurs to me that an arrogant little slattern like you doubtless thinks she is
the most talented and most sought after novice in the Order. I can tell you now
that you are neither. Humility is a virtue and the Blessed Maiden demands it of
all Her novices. I don't care if you are an aasimar - that you have celestial blood.
Nothing in this Order is won by birthright, which is why we only accept the
most talented girls as novices, not the wealthiest or the highest-born."
"I know that what I am makes me closer to the
Blessed Maiden." Sigrid hissed, before she could stop herself.
Isobel's slap caught her unprepared. The sheer
strength of the blow sent Sigrid sprawling on the floor. She tasted metal in
her mouth and felt something hot and viscous pour from her nose onto her lips.
There was no pain, for the left side of her face was numb.
"What you are," Isobel said matter-of-factly
as Sigrid scrambled back to her knees, angrily blinking back her tears.
"Is Fate. The Goddess is indifferent as to your form. Her only concern is
your substance." The Vice-Commander paused and saw something in Sigrid:
there was strength in that angry, defiant gaze. Her features were still soft,
like a girl, but there was something akin to a lambent fearie fire in those
violet eyes that told Isobel that Sigrid might just be worth her time of day.
"I'm told you are inept in fencing practice. Explain yourself." the
Vice-Commander probed.
"Longswords and broadswords are cumbersome."
Sigrid replied flatly, hastily wiping the back of her hand over her nose and
mouth. Live, coppery blood trickled down her wrist.
"But, I am also told that you are the best
forward in Schalssucht." The contradiction intrigued Isobel. Schalssucht
was an Ortho field game which required excellent coordination with the
playing-stick to manoeuvre the ball into the net. Since it was considered ideal
preparatory training for fencing, the best players were normally the best
fighters.
"Yes, it's the only time I'm popular with my
room-mates." Sigrid quipped wryly.
"Something tells me," Isobel said pensively
as she turned and strode over to her desk. "That you don't need brute
strength to power your way through the opposing team's defence in Schalssucht.
Something tells me you know exactly where the defenders will be without having
to look up from your stick..." With that, Isobel seized a dense, heavy
black rubber ball from the top drawer in her desk and cast it, as hard as he
could, in Sigrid's direction.
The ball bounced once, hard, against the floor and
skidded towards the ceiling. Sigrid's hand was there to catch it in mid-flight.
The girl was still kneeling, her eyes fixed to the ground, but with the ball
triumphantly in her slender, and rapidly reddening, hand. "Did you know
where it was?" Isobel inquired, nodding in grudging approval.
"Yes." Sigrid whispered. "I heard it
and I felt the air stir around it."
"Very well. So now listen to my proposition. On
your feet!" Sigrid complied, unsteadily, still clutching the ball in her
stinging hand. The pain was sharp, but it felt like victory.
"A number of conservative colleagues of
mine," Isobel continued, "have been searching for a reason to dismiss
you from the Order. Nevertheless, I shall provide you with an opportunity to
redeem yourself and show your worth. The conditions are simple: you will take
such weapons and equipment as you see fit from the armoury and take the first
portal out of this city and into another Plane of existence. When you feel
ready to report back, you will return and bear witness to what you have done,
so that I may judge whether or not you are worthy to remain in the Order."
"But..." Sigrid began nervously. The offer
was appealing, but sounded fiendishly difficult. A planar portal could bring
her to any dimension of existence, even a blasted hellscape, populated only by
demons. Granted, paladins were infused by the power of their divinity to push
back the hordes of evil, but Sigrid was hardly the fully-formed heroine she
often dreamed of becoming.
"It will be dangerous, though I shall select a
world for you that is not too inhospitable. To order a novice into a
dangerous situation would be irresponsible, so I shall give you this choice: go
out and prove yourself or remain here at the Order. I have chosen to give you
this opportunity because I feel that you have much untapped talent. Since we at
the Order have been incapable of coaxing this talent out of you, the only
solution is to put you in such a situation where your talent, like the fire of
your soul, will shine with its own light."
Sigrid felt fire rushing in her veins. It was not
fear, but something more visceral still. If she stayed, she knew that one or
two more infractions would be more than enough of a pretext for her expulsion.
In the end, there was no other choice but to seek out her destiny, rather than
languish in the Order.
"I'll go." Sigrid declared.
"A wise choice. You leave this evening."
Isobel concluded curtly. Perhaps others would judge her as cruel for forcing
such an ordeal on Sigrid, but Isobel was convinced that it was high time for
the girl to become a woman and a paladin. The hardest metal was, after all,
forged by fire.
"Yes, Reverend Sister." The die had been
cast.
***
A brave new world
Sigrid stumbled through thick vegetation, leaves
covered with dew, ferns still musty with the smell of damp earth. The instant
she had stepped through the shimmering gate from the Temple of the Radiant Path
into unseen lands, she knew that she went out to face herself. She told herself
that she would have to master all her weaknesses to prosper and return
triumphant to Isobel. The very fact that the quest was open-ended, however,
filled Sigrid's soul with nagging doubt. What could it be that Isobel wanted
her to learn, to become?
Whatever the new world was, it seemed profoundly
strange. Sigrid had grown up amidst cobblestones and smoke-darkened bricks in a
vast, sprawling city, yet this world was awash with life. Vast trees with
gnarled trunks extended into the distance, their branches so high that Sigrid
felt as though she were walking under the arms of giants. The undergrowth was
rich, laden with moss and thick shrubs bearing alien blossoms and strange
fruit. A stream of water hummed in the distance.
In that moment, making her way cautiously over the
slippery forest floor, Sigrid felt grateful that she had not chosen to bring
armour. She preferred ease of movement, so she had ventured forth with only her
only her tunic, rapier and dagger. Her main concern was to reach some form of
civilisation - anywhere she could find supplies and, perhaps, employment while
she mulled over what to do next.
- Perhaps there is no 'next' - Sigrid thought -
suppose I just disappeared, and never returned -. The idea was tempting. She
had no real desire to return to the jeers and humiliation of life at the Order.
It was as though all the other novices reserved their cruellest quips for
Sigrid, so that she had no option but to lash out in turn. But such had been
her lot in life - even if she had never gone to the Order, her odious
stepsister would have been more than willing to supply the abuse.
Stumbling into a clearing, Sigrid could hear the water
rush closer. She could almost hear each individual droplet hammer against rocks
hewn so smooth they could have been mirrors. Light filtered through the canopy
of the mighty trees, flooding the forest floor with a bluish tint. Dawn had
come but recently. Sigrid followed her sensitive ears to the singing water. She
did not know how long she had been trekking since passing through the gate, but
she already felt a heavy weariness in her limbs. The terrain was difficult and
a drink of water would do her good.
A flock of birds, whose silhouettes Sigrid had to
squint to see in the rapidly brightening sunlight, flapped frantically through
the forest canopy, breaking the silence. Sigrid pressed on, her boots crunching
wetly into a forest floor studded with pine needles and damp earth. By the time
she reached the stream, the sun had fully risen - a great disk of deep, golden
light filling the cloudless sky with an ethereal gleam. This was no sky Sigrid
had ever seen, yet the air and the land seemed strangely familiar, as if they
echoed something that had always been in her subconscious.
As she drew closer to the riverbank, Sigrid saw that
the forest sloped downwards. The crystalline water, so pure and cold with misty
spray that it seemed to shimmer like a jewel in the light of the dawn, flowed
downwards. Sigrid imagined that she was on the slope of a hill, perhaps even a
mountain, and resolved to proceed to the valleys below. Civilisation always
flourished at the convergence between valleys and rivers.
In that moment, though, all Sigrid could think of was
immersing herself in that cold, mountain current. So she gingerly approached
the stony bank, slipped out of her boots and dipped her feet into the icy
water. The sensation of relief on her tired skin was immediate and divine.
Slipping closer to the stream, Sigrid rinsed her face and lay back, sprawled on
the bank, gazing at the sky, absentmindedly kicking her bare feet in the water.
If only she had been less hungry, she could have revelled in the soothing sensation
of cold, clear droplets drying on her face.
Her dreams of food - in her mind she saw something
sweet and unctuous, like a warm saffron syrup pie - were suddenly interrupted
by a presence on the opposite side of the riverbank. Sigrid sat up and saw a
slender, figure peering at her from a rocky outcropping. It was almost
certainly an elf - a young maiden, clad in a loose, green travelling gown that
reached down to her knees and with an exquisitely woven wicker basket by her
side. Such hair Sigrid had never seen on an elf: forest green, flowing down the
maiden's shoulders, framing a smiling, curious face and soft, rounded breasts.
Sigrid took a silent breath and drew in the
mineral-scented moisture of the river's spray. The elven maiden was a vision of
rare beauty - her smile so radiant that it took the young novice's breath away.
Sigrid rose, very slowly, to her feet. She was careful not to startle the girl
with sudden movements. Freezing water rushed around her knees, but she did not
care to move. Her eyes were riveted on that curious smile, on those
emerald-green, almond eyes.
The elven maiden drew closer, her hips swaying ever so
subtly with each step. Although she only wore a pair of flimsy sandals, her
movements were expert, as if she were gliding over the terrain. Sigrid felt dry
tension forming in her throat. A tingling spark of trepidation and excitement
coursed up her spine.
When the elf finally reached the riverbank, she
paused, clutching the wide-brimmed basket in her arms. In it, Sigrid saw dozens
of ruby-red blossoms. Pausing, the elven maiden nodded timidly in greeting.
Sigrid was just about to take yet another step forward when she noted a slight
rustling in the leaves in a shrub behind the elf. Something was amiss.
As inconspicuously as she could, Sigrid raised a hand,
motioning the elven girl to lower herself. There was something behind her,
Sigrid was certain of it. The smell and sensation of the air had changed. With
a perplexed look on her face, the elf whispered something in her own language.
Before she realised she could not understand Elven, Sigrid had replied in a
fierce whisper.
The elven maiden paused, staring curiously at the
stranger, before proceeding to very slowly lower herself into a crouching
position. Sigrid saw the shrub move again. It was now or never. She leapt back
and dashed for the rapier she had left on her side of the river. As soon as her
sudden motion had been detected, something powerful and monstrous broke through
the ground from the behind the shrub. Earth, stones and vegetation erupted in
all directions.
Sigrid swiftly drew her rapier, its steely blade
shimmering in the early morning sun. The smell of steel filled her nostrils as
she lunged forward, traversing the river in five long steps and pouncing to the
elven girl's side. As the dust cleared, Sigrid could make out the form of a
vast and bloated insect, the size of a horse with wickedly curved mandibles and
a verdigris-coloured carapace.
A single crushing pincer thrust forward in Sigrid's
direction. It was all too easy, the insect was too predictable as the aasimar
ducked out of the way and lunged forward. She instinctively knew the creature's
technique after observing it for but a few moments, so that when it hissed and
lunged with its steel-sharp mandibles, Sigrid banked left to avoid the attack
and thrust her rapier to counterattack, catching the beast at the juncture
between two of its carapace plates.
The creature gave a low, guttural hiss and thrashed
its massive body to one side, yellow ichor dripping from its wound. Sigrid had
already moved on, flanking around the insect, before lunging again, striking
her surprised foe once more at the base of its mandibles. More foul-smelling
ichor ensued, flooding the moss beneath. The insect's spindly legs flailed
wildly as it desperately sought to extricate itself from the agonising edge of
Sigrid's blade.
As it felt the cold steel finally slip from its
viscera, the great insect reared up and sought its vengeance. In a long,
arching lunge, it thrust down towards Sigrid, only to find its mandibles
clutching thick rock and soil where the aasimar had been. Sigrid effortlessly
dodged the attack, and back-pedalled to one side, before striking out once
more, this time thrusting the humming steel of her rapier deep into the gargantuan
insect's beaded, composite eye. More ichor burst forth, followed by spasmodic
trembling. Then, the insect finally lay motionless, its wounds still trickling
out bile-stinking fluid.
Sigrid withdrew her rapier from the insect's carcass.
Her heart pulsed in her chest, her mind felt faint, as if the last few instants
had been a distant dream. It was the first time she had killed anything
remotely dangerous in her life and it had come so naturally. Her rapier's
pommel had felt so right in her hand, as if it had belonged there.
"What in the Goddess' name was that?" Sigrid
whispered to herself.
"An ankheg...silly me, I should have
recognised its trail."
Sigrid whipped around to meet that soft, musical voice that seemed to fuse
perfectly with the singing of the river behind her. "You speak my
language?" the novice said incredulously.
"Why is it so odd?" the elf replied.
"You speak mine."
"Do I?" Sigrid paused and heard the sound of
her own voice. It was strangely different - the images, thoughts and words she
had formed in her head were the same, but when the time came to vocalise them,
the sound was new, yet strangely familiar.
"And very well, too." the elf said, smiling
demurely. "Many thanks, milady, an ankheg is always a dangerous
foe. I'm in your debt."
"My pleasure." Sigrid replied with brash
confidence. "It's a paladin's duty to come to the aid of those in need -
no creature of evil is a match for my blade."
The elven maiden blushed and quickly averted her gaze
as she felt Sigrid's admiring eyes on her. The attention of that dashing,
mysterious stranger flattered her. "My name is Mjrina," the elf said
with a quick curtsy. "If I may ask, what brings a gallant lady-knight such
as yourself to these lands?"
"Oh..." Sigrid's mind scrambled for a
plausible - and dignified - answer. "I am on a quest. I have no fixed
abode, but wander the world seeking to right wrongs. A knight-errant, if you
will, and my name is Sigrid."
"An honour, Lady Sigrid." Mjrina said, even
if she could not help but wonder what exactly Sigrid was and where she had come
from. "Apologies if I indisposed you with my recklessness, but I was here
in the Vale of Serennessi to collect Flame Hibiscus blossoms for my
Mistress."
"Your mistress?"
"Yes, she is an Enchantress and lives in the city
of Imej, high in the mountains." Mjrina explained.
"Would you bring me to her?" Sigrid asked.
"Of course," Mjrina said with a light
giggle. "I'm certain she would be happy to reward the fair warrior who
rescued her handmaiden."
"Although it's my policy to act only from the
goodness of my heart and the resolve of my faith," Sigrid said
grandiloquently, desperately searching for the most formal terms to give her
act more dramatic weight. "I would be honoured to meet your
mistress."
"Very well, Lady Sigrid." Mjrina said,
subtly shifting back a few locks of verdant green hair to reveal the barest
hint of a pointed ear. "Please, follow me."
"Sigrid..." the novice said, forcing herself
to overcome the sudden surge of fire in her chest."Just Sigrid will
do." She rushed back across the river to slip her boots back on, before
returning to Mjrina's side. Fate was finally being kind to her. After little
more than a few hours on a brave new world, a sensuously beautiful elven maiden
was already flirting with her. The irony, Sigrid was certain, would not have
been lost on Isobel.
"If I may say so, Sigrid," Mjrina began
amiably as she clasped her basket of flowers firmly in her arms and began to
make her way back into the forest. "Your fencing style is most similar to
that of the elven Bladesingers - for you fight with no armour and with a grace
that a dancer would envy."
Sigrid swallowed. Mjrina's voice seemed to be in
rhythm with the sway of her hips. The accursed elven maiden was not wearing any
undergarments, so that whenever she moved, Sigrid could see the glorious curve
of her woodland-tan bottom, firm and alluring under the material of her gown.
Then, whenever Mjrina turned around, that sweetly innocent smile drawn across
her wine-red lips, Sigrid found her gaze riveted on those wonderful, green
eyes, vivid as gemstones and framed by long, elegant lashes. Lower still was
the swell of Mjrina's breasts, the light brown nipples that so teasingly poked
through the fabric of her gown, the exposed curves of those rounded globes as
they swayed ever so gently with every step the Wood Elf took.
"Ah...Sigrid..." Mjrina whispered,
interrupting the aasimar's silent contemplation.
"Oh, yes...yes," Sigrid replied, smiling
nervously. "No, I'm not a Bladesinger, my style is my own and I'm still in
the process of refining it, but, modesty aside, it's served me pretty well so
far." That, Sigrid noted ruefully, along with her name, was probably the
only honest thing she had said to Mjrina. Lies, however, were sometimes
necessary. Sigrid knew the ways of the world: beautiful elven maidens never
fell in love with third year novices on punishment detail.
"Whatever your style is, it was most impressive.
Perhaps you could even measure up to Lady Tahllea. How I would adore such a
duel," Mjrina mused dreamily, expertly sidestepping rocks and woody stumps
while Sigrid stumbled through the undergrowth behind her. "I think my
Mistress would love it, too. When I first came to Imej - I feared swords, for
my people, the Wood Elves, never use metal. We consider it an offence to the
Forest Mother. But Lady Tahllea showed me such artistry with the blade that I
now see it like a painter's brush, constantly unfolding new worlds and new
realms of beauty with each stroke." Privately, Mjrina hated herself for
moronically repeating one of Yssinel's learned comments about the art of
fencing, but it was as good a way as any to keep up conversation. That and
Mjrina knew enough about the world to understand that swashbuckling swordswomen
never fell in love with humble serving-girls.
"Yes...exactly." Sigrid said evasively. It
was hard enough to keep up with Mjrina's pace, but the Wood Elven girl seemed
to be one with the forest. She instinctively knew the path just by following
it, so that they had made their ascent rapidly. Soon, the bubbling stream was
but a distant memory and, in the distance, Sigrid began to see mighty gold and
ivory spires of Imej tower above even the mighty trees.
The trail grew easier even as the mountain air became
thinner, fresher and inebriating. Sigrid privately made a note to herself to
find a library as soon as possible and cram in as much knowledge about Elven bladecraft
and etiquette as possible before she seriously embarrassed herself. She was
fortunate enough, by some unknown agency, to speak a version of Elven, so she
counted quite heavily on being able to read it as well.
Yet, as the pair drew closer to the great, gold-inlaid
hardwood gates of Imej, with its shimmering shield of magical energy that
covered the great city in a protective dome, Sigrid could not help but think
that things were beginning to look very interesting indeed.
***
Imej
What struck Sigrid most about Imej was its sheer
verticality. The moment she stepped within the city gates, she was greeted by a
great crowd of gleaming, slender towers that jutted elegantly into the sky - a
shimmering grassland of marvellous architecture. Yet there was no brashness or
bustle to the city, only quiet, well-tended shops selling their exquisite wares
and small groups of merchants, commoners and nobles gliding gracefully over
polished flagstones.
As she followed Mjrina through winding alleys, each
adorned by tasteful little gardens and silent, contemplative courtyards, Sigrid
realised that all the elements of city life were present, yet never intrusively
so. She saw what must have been restaurants, taverns, temples and clothing
emporia and each seemed discreet, absorbed in a rhythm of life much slower than
anything she had ever experienced before. It was only when they reached the
upped part of the city, close to the thickest concentration of silver-spired
towers surrounded by great, floating prisms of eldritch light, that Sigrid
noticed a change in the inhabitants. The darker-skinned, green and brown haired
elves like Mjrina no longer mingled freely with their paler cousins, but walked
several steps behind enigmatic, silk-robed nobles, almost as if they were
retainers in some ritual procession.
"If you please, Sigrid, I welcome you to my
Mistress' tower." Mjrina intoned, pausing before an ornate hardwood door
inlaid with fine golden filigree, shaped to resemble the flowing curves of the
Elven cursive script.
Sigrid paused to find her bearings. The tower stood at
the juncture between an alley and a small canal of rushing water, spanned by an
arched marble bridge. By the canal's side, vegetation sprung from the tower's
structure, hinting at a garden within the building, irrigated by fresh
meltwater from high in the mountains. Mjrina raised her hand to the door and
the locking mechanism obeyed her mental command, whirring quietly before
disengaging and presenting Sigrid with a circular and magnificently appointed
parlour.
Stepping into the building, Sigrid felt ungainly and
out of the place. The silent peace of the domed hall was echoed by the
spontaneously artistic arrangement of the furniture. There was no rigid pattern
or order to anything, but there was no denying the genius of the hand that had
arranged the hall: thin crystal vases, the finely-carved pinewood chairs and
tripods, the shimmering water-bells which rang with the music of water drifting
slowly over polished silver. Sigrid felt inelegant, out of place, her eyes
dazzled by the silken tapestries that hung from the walls, depicting what
appeared to be scenes from Elven mythology.
"Please, do sit down." Mjrina invited,
motioning to a gold-silk upholstered armchair set by an oval-shaped bookshelf.
"My Mistress will be with you shortly."
Sigrid moved carefully, as if she were afraid to
injure the wonderfully polished stones upon which she walked. Mjrina, on the
other hand, seemed to float soundlessly. The moment Sigrid sat down on the
decadently plush armchair, Mjrina had disappeared up the stairs at the far end
of the parlour. Sigrid could only look around in wonder that the perfect fusion
of light, colour and sound that seemed to infuse the chamber with a sublime
harmony.
Then came a tinkling of tiny, silver bells, followed
by a subtle breeze of fresh jasmine. A form of ethereal beauty descended the
stairs and, in that instant, Sigrid's eyes were entranced, drawn to that
supremely radiant elven woman whose gold and silver hair fell over a dress of
glimmering silks that reflected a mother-of-pearl spray of colours. Yssinel
approached the stunned Sigrid, who, swiftly mastering her amazement and
remembering her manners, sprang to her feet to greet her host.
"Milady Sigrid." Yssinel said, each syllable
a melody. She proffered a snow-white hand, adorned by a platinum bracelet in
the shape of a winding vine. "I am Yssinel of the House of Ceilanith. Your
presence illuminates my home."
Sigrid reverently took Yssinel's hand in her own and,
with a sweeping bow, pressed her lips against the incomparably soft, pale skin.
A somewhat awkward silence followed as Sigrid searched for an appropriate
response. Mjrina, who stood a few paces behind Yssinel, smiled in encouragement.
"Your hospitality honours me, Madam." Sigrid
whispered, fearful with every word that her act may be betrayed.
Yssinel, however, had known straight away that
something was not quite right. Mjrina was a lovely girl, but infuriatingly
naive. Errant knights had not prowled the mountain slopes near Imej since
mythical times and Sigrid was, quite evidently, like no elf Yssinel had ever
seen. The indigo hair and violet eyes immediately suggested the features of the
Star Elves of the far north, who lived in cities carved out of ice and crystal,
but Sigrid' dress and accent did not match. "I understand," Yssinel
began, graciously motioning for Sigrid to sit down once more, "that I have
you to thank for rescuing my handmaiden from certain danger. We are both most
grateful for your heroism and would bid you to stay for a meal so that we may
show our gratitude."
"With pleasure!" Sigrid chimed, before she
could contain her enthusiasm. She almost felt her belly rumble at the thought
of a substantial meal. Yssinel betrayed no sign of anything but generous
hospitality, even as her swift mind registered every one of Sigrid's movements
and inflections.
"Mjrina, set the table for us. I'm certain Milady
Sigrid and I have much to discuss." Yssinel ordered.
They ate on the veranda overlooking the garden. Mjrina
had set out a table by a circle of sinuously-trimmed shrubs and laid out a meal
of fresh alpine berries in jelly and exotic, multichrome salads of wild herbs
and mountain blossom petals. Clear, spicy wine was poured from a glittering,
cut-crystal carafe into fluted, tinted glass goblets while Sigrid was careful
to follow Yssinel's lead. A lapse in table manners would have done her
'knight-errant' deception little good.
Yssinel, much to Sigrid's relief, turned out to be
outwardly charming, erudite and very gracious. They exchanged pleasantries,
even as Yssinel noted that Sigrid had failed to hand her rapier and dagger over
to Mjrina before sitting down at the table. Then, the Enchantress was doubly
disappointed by the lack of compliments filtering in her direction: all Sigrid
could produce was a slightly clumsy expression of admiration. Not quite what
Yssinel had expected, but even blunt instruments had their use.
"If you don't mind me asking," Yssinel said,
reclining languidly into her armchair. "What sort of adventure would an
expert warrior such as yourself seek in this rather staid corner of the
world?"
"Nothing in particular." Sigrid replied
cautiously. "I follow the stars, hoping that they will bring me to dark
corners of the world where the justice of my blade is needed." She had
always wanted to say that last part.
Yssinel pretended to be impressed. "What a pity,
just when I thought I'd find an outstanding duellist, widely travelled, but
perhaps willing to settle down in the service of a lady of standing."
Mjrina flinched. Surely Yssinel already had Tahllea.
What was she playing at? "Mjrina." Yssinel said, never once shifting
her observant gaze from Sigrid's.
"Yes, Mistress." the Wood Elf approached the
table from her usual position behind Yssinel's armchair.
"Go down to the market and fetch some Arborean
Elixir and don't forget to tell Daesnen that I'm still waiting for my order of
pearls."
"At once, Mistress. I hope to see you later, Lady
Sigrid." Mjrina curtsied and left. Yssinel was always gracious enough to
give her a chore to perform when she wanted to discuss private matters.
"She has taken a liking for you." Yssinel
noted wryly, taking a sip of her spiced wine. "I understand why, we are in
sore need of heroines here in Imej. Life has become so tame, so quiet. We
suffocate our boredom with art, poetry and magic, but, the truth is, there is
no dynamism here, just aesthetics for its own sake."
Sigrid nodded and did her best to look like she had
the slightest clue as to what Yssinel was talking about. "Uh...Miss...I
mean, Milady," Sigrid corrected herself, "you said there was some
service I could perform?"
"Of course, we are always in need of artists
here, especially artists who carry the fire of passion and, from how Mjrina
described your skill with the blade, I think that I would be in very capable
hands if you became my personal guardswoman. But since such a modest post is no
doubt unappealing to a fine blademistress such as yourself..."
"No!" Sigrid interjected hastily with a
nervous smile. "What I mean is, I would be honoured to be at your service,
Madam." In one stroke, Sigrid realised that she would solve all her
problems: a few months protecting an elven noblewoman would be more than enough
to convince Isobel of her worth.
"In which case, let us dispense with the
formalities. Just Yssinel will do." the Enchantress said warmly. "I
dabble in sorcery, though I also like to consider myself a patron of the arts.
And as for you, my dear Sigrid, which order or school of fencing has the
pleasure of your allegiance?" Yssinel knew full well that Sigrid's answer
would almost certainly be a lie, but it would have sounded suspicious if she had
not asked.
"The Order of the Radiant Path." Sigrid
intoned dramatically.
"From offworld, then?" Yssinel noted.
"My travels brought me here," Sigrid
boasted, pleased at the admiring expression on Yssinel's lovely features.
"I am an aasimar, celestial blood flows through my veins, and so I'm
constantly in search for a just and worthwhile cause for which to fight."
Privately, Yssinel had grown bored with Sigrid's
clumsy bravado, but the girl had mettle and that, in the end, was what the
Enchantress had been looking for. "An aasimar? No wonder your beauty is so
captivating. Doubtless, you have eladrin blood. That is why your
features are so fine, so gloriously elven."
Sigrid blushed fiercely and looked away. Yssinel had
to do her utmost to restrain a quietly mocking laugh - a swashbuckling heroine
indeed! "Your duties as my Kithela - my personal guardswoman - will
require you not only to defend my person, but reflect my standing and
reputation." Yssinel continued, "I shall commission an appropriate
uniform and weapon for you..."
"But...I'm accustomed to my rapier." Sigrid
protested, instinctively clasping the cool, metallic pommel of her weapon.
"If my intuition is correct - and, my lovely
Sigrid, it almost always is - you will have much more to gain from a sword of
elven make and, since you are to be my Kithela, you will have nothing
short of the best. Now, come." the Enchantress invited, motioning for
Sigrid to stand.
The aasimar complied and approached Yssinel's
armchair. "Please, sit." Yssinel purred, her tone softly seductive,
like fluid honey. Long, slender fingers caressed the surface of her armrest.
Sigrid gingerly lowered herself on the armrest.
Yssinel's voice was hypnotic, as were her movements. Each glance from those
turquoise-blue eyes, each movement of those pale fingers and the novice felt
ever more pliant to the Enchantress' every whim.
Yssinel sat up in her chair, admiring Sigrid's form.
She could see strength and athletic tension in the thin expanse of thigh
between Sigrid's tunic and her boots. Yssinel's fingers glided across the white
fabric of Sigrid's tunic, starting from her waist, up across her abdomen and
over her biceps. The girl had the lithe, taut musculature of a Bladesinger. She
would do very well indeed.
"I hope this isn't making you
uncomfortable." Yssinel whispered, lovingly running her fingers through
Sigrid's soft, indigo hair. - A nice, boyish cut - Yssinel thought - the bases
are all in order, now all my darling Sigrid needs is a little polish. -
"No...it's just that I'm not used to..."
"Hush." Yssinel said, almost imperceptibly
sweeping aside a few silky strands of hair to reveal Sigrid's pointed ear to
her satisfied gaze. "It's only right that I treat you as a dear
friend." Sigrid shuddered as she felt Yssinel's thumb graze the sensitive
surface of her ear. "There is much that you must learn about Imej, but I
can see that your bloodline ties you to this place. Maybe you'll learn faster
than you ever imagined."
***
Welcome
"I'm so glad you decided to stay!" Mjrina
said, masking her enthusiasm as best she could. She busied herself with the
finishing touches to the small, but impeccably furnished guest room which was
being prepared for Sigrid.
"Thanks." Sigrid muttered. Yssinel had given
her a brief tour of the tower, before withdrawing mysteriously to her library
and leaving Sigrid with a pot of tea and a tray of pastries by the garden. It
was only as twilight crept across the clear, azure sky that Mjrina returned
from the market and attended to Sigrid's needs: a light dinner followed by a
bath in a marble and limestone chamber full of bubbling, scented water. Sigrid
remembered the way Mjrina's gown had clung to her woodland tan skin, the way
she made the sponge, slick with scented oils, glide over her weary muscles.
"Do you think you'll be cold tonight,
Sigrid?" Mjrina inquired, deftly turning out the bed before ensuring that
two enchanted lamps that projected a warm, reddish glow, were properly
positioned to maximise the aesthetic effect of light and shadow.
"No...I mean, we're in the mountains. You tell
me." She felt foolish. The blue satin nightgown Mjrina had brought her was
sensual, yet awkwardly unfamiliar on her skin.
"I'll activate the heating stone for you, just in
case." Mjrina ran a hand over a small, red glass sphere that lay on a
stand by the bedside table. The sphere leapt into the air, floating suspended
halfway between the ceiling and floor, emanating a dry, pleasant warmth.
"All done. Is there any other way I can serve you?" Mjrina smiled
warmly, her green eyes more vivid than ever in the warm lamplight.
"Thanks, you've been very kind, but I should
really be fine from..."
"A massage, maybe?" Mjrina volunteered.
"Some other time, I'm pretty tired..."
"Freshly brewed herbal tea? I baked a new batch
of blackberry tarts just for you..."
"I'm sure they'll be lovely tomorrow for
breakfast." Sigrid interrupted, as kindly as possible. The plush bed with
its crisp, cotton sheets looked tempting, but the prospect of a long night's
sleep could not silence the voices inside her that said that the day had been
surreal, that everything had been just a little too easy and convenient for
comfort.
"Well, just ring the silver bell at your bedside
if you need anything." Mjrina said, a little disappointed. "With your
permission, I'll take my leave."
Sigrid sighed. Maybe if she made an effort to spend
some time with Mjrina, the situation would seem less awkward and she would feel
less insecure. "If you want to have a nice, friendly chat, I suppose
that's the least I owe you since you've been so welcoming." she conceded.
One look at Mjrina's delighted expression was more than enough to raise
Sigrid's spirits.
"Wonderful! That would be splendid." Mjrina
enthused.
Sigrid eased herself between the sheets. The bed
seemed to sink and mould itself around her frame. Cool, perfumed fabric
enveloped her as she lay back, propped up on plush, embroidered cushions.
Mjrina closed the door behind her, dimmed the lamps until they faded into a
dull, violet glow, mirroring the suffused starlight that poured through the
room's oval window. Then, before Sigrid's incredulous eyes, the Wood Elven
maiden tugged off her gown, folded it neatly, and set it on the ground next to
the bed. Naked in the starlight, she was radiant. Sigrid felt her heart quicken
as she admired Mjrina's form, the feminine perfection of her firm thighs, the
sleek hill of her bottom, the elegant roundness of her breasts and the light
brown nipples - perfect as acorns from the World Oak - that stiffened ever so
slightly in the cool night air.
She then climbed soundlessly into bed by Sigrid's
side. The aasimar felt warm, soft skin next to her and a smooth, flowery
fragrance. Mjrina snuggled close, laying her head on Sigrid's breasts.
"What was is it you wanted to talk about?"
Mjrina inquired dreamily, reverently listening to the comforting rhythm of
Sigrid's heartbeat.
"This...this isn't exactly what I had in
mind." Sigrid whispered, even as she tentatively wrapped her arms around
Mjrina.
"No. This isn't what you said, but it's exactly
what you had in mind."
***
Starlight flooded the garden as Yssinel writhed on the
divan, sighing huskily at the sensation of Tahllea's tongue licking warm, wet
trails down the sensitive surface of her pointed ear. The Bladesinger knelt
behind Yssinel, gently pulling down the fine gossamer of her lover's dress to
reveal small, elegant breasts, seemingly carved out of purest marble and capped
with stiff, raspberry-red nipples.
Yssinel arched her back, parting her thighs, eager to
feel the cool night air against her inflamed sex. Tahllea's touch was sublime.
The Bladesinger cupped her lover's breasts, just grazing the maddeningly
sensitive peak of each nipple with an impudent fingernail. Yssinel's dress fell
further to pool around her waist. Tahllea's hands trailed lower - so maddeningly
close. Yssinel's sex tightened in anticipation. It was nights like those that
she felt so wet she wanted her lover's hand inside her as soon as possible,
scented oils be damned.
Tahllea's breath was hot against her ear. Yssinel
tilted her head to catch the fair Bladesinger's lips with her own. Their kiss
was furiously passionate. Tahllea's tongue was an unquenchable fire, as
dextrous and lethally seductive as her sword. Yssinel allowed herself to be
mastered, demurely parting her lips to encourage Tahllea to kiss the sweet
lifebreath from her lungs. Tahllea's hands gathered the hem of the Enchantress'
dress and slowly drew the soft fabric back over her thighs. Yssinel gasped, a
rush of cool air met her swollen, juicing sex.
Tahllea languidly ran her fingers against her lover's
sex, pressing just hard enough to part the outer lips and glide through the
silky folds. Yssinel bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. She thrust
her hips forward, aching for yet more intimate penetration. Tahllea was in no
rush. She pressed her thumb once against tiny, stiff pearl of Yssinel's clit,
before raising her hand, glistening in the starlight with gooey, milky nectar,
to her lips.
"When both moons are new, you're always at the
high point of your cycle." Tahllea whispered, tracing the outline of her
lips with rich, flowery nectar. Yssinel needed no invitation to meet her
lover's mouth for another searing kiss, this time to lick her own arousal from
the Bladesinger's lips.
"Observant as ever, my sweet Tahllea." Yssinel
hissed. She felt stiff nipples pebbling against her back. "Now come, bring
my flower to full bloom - I want you inside me."
"And I want to taste you." Tahllea replied.
She rose from the divan and, very matter-of-factly, tugged off her shirt, boots
and breeches. Yssinel sat back and admired her lover's lithe musculature. There
was something exquisite in the way Tahllea's taut, athletic belly gave way to
soft, compact breasts - cherry red nipples stiff and rubbery - like berries
waiting to be plucked from the thorn.
Yssinel lay back on the divan, parted her thighs, and
brought a delicate hand to spread the inner petals of her pussy to Tahllea's
hungry gaze. The Bladesinger positioned herself on the divan, gently running
her fingers down the inside of Yssinel's pale thighs - her skin was as soft as
finest silk. She crouched atop her lover, like a thirsty leopard preparing to
drink, and kissed the plump, hairless mound of the Enchantress' sex. With the
utmost delicacy, Tahllea spread the glistening inner petals of Yssinel's
sex.
The perfume of Yssinel's arousal was intoxicating: like
fresh flowers mingled with the lightest hint of sea-spray. There was no holding
back. Tahllea began to lap hungrily at the velvety, rosebud-pink folds of the
Enchantress' drenched pussy. There was no poetry that could describe the
sweet-salty taste of Grey Elven womanhood, so light on the tongue, like flower
nectar. Yssinel let a soft moan escape her lips. Her loins boiled with need as
she felt the knot of desire deep in her belly tighten. Tahllea's tongue was
aflame as it lapped against the stiff jewel of her clit, now free from its tiny
hood and glistening with fragrant juice.
Tahllea fixed her lips over the engorged bud of
Yssinel's clit and began to lick ravenously. She thrust two fingers into the
yielding depths of her lover's canal, drawing a long, wanton sigh from the
Enchantress. Yssinel's nipples pierced the night, stiff in arousal, as she
thrust her sopping sex forward, feeling the building tension surge in her loins.
Then came the slow, deliberate thrusting of Tahllea's fingers, devilishly
precise as they parted the velvety canal of the Enchantress' sodden pussy to
press, long and hard, against the sensitive inner walls. The Bladesinger eased
her fingers back and forth, fucking Yssinel at a leisurely pace, her tongue
flicking mercilessly against the Enchantress' gorgeous little clit.
Yssinel ran her fingers savagely through Tahllea's
curled, coal-black hair as she felt the first spasm of her relief, hot like a
wave of molten pleasure deep in her sex. Her ecstatic contractions clamped down
gently on Tahllea's fingers as her soft, musical cries filled the air. Then
there was only a relief, a profound visceral satisfaction as the last sparks of
pleasure shot up her spine.
"Such a wanton girl..." Tahllea sighed,
rising to share the sweetness of Yssinel's ecstasy with a deep, passionate
kiss.
"My lovely Tahllea," Yssinel replied with
affected coyness. "If you think me wanton now, you should have shared my
room at the Academy of Enchantment."
"Perhaps that will always be my greatest
regret." Tahllea sighed. She settled atop Yssinel, allowing the
Enchantress to hook her leg around her shoulder, so that they lay sex to sex,
locked in an intimate nether kiss. The sensation was indescribable. Tahllea
felt soft, wet, sticky folds against her lust-inflamed sex. Her abdomen tensed
in anticipation as she shifted to ensure that Yssinel was as comfortable as
possible.
The Enchantress wrapped her arms around Tahllea's neck
and drew her lover closer. "Show me that you desire me." she
whispered. Tahllea nodded and thrust her hips forward, grinding her sex long
and hard against her lover's. They made love that way, pussy pressed against
pussy, slick inner lips grinding, thrusting building friction with each
movement as Tahllea flowed into Yssinel. The Bladesinger's thighs tensed with
each gloriously slick thrust, pulled taut under soft, white skin. Yssinel
submitted with demure, yielding moans, allowing Tahllea's magical lips to range
wherever they would - kissing wetly against the sensitive, moon-white skin of
her throat, or capturing a stiff, stray nipple and suckling hungrily.
As their passion mounted, Yssinel manifested a ball of
shimmering light at the lusty, nectar-soaked juncture between her sex and
Tahllea's. At the Enchantress' command, the tiny magical sphere pressed between
their perals and began to vibrate. Tahllea gasped, her back tensing under the
sudden rush of pleasure. It was useless to resist, the friction on the silky
folds of her pussy and the humming on her clit were irresistible. There was
heat and wetness and sensual pressure between her thighs mingled with the
electrical buzzing of the sphere that linked Yssinel's clit to hers in a bridge
of agonising pleasure. She thrust twice more, hard, just to milk the delectable
sensation of Yssinel's flowering pussy against her innermost folds once more.
Then her hands tightened on the soft upholstery of the divan as she came, her
cries suffocated in a hungry kiss against her lover's soft lips.
The Enchantress smiled, eager to greet her lover's
tongue. Yssinels hands ran lovingly over her lover's taut flanks to caress the
Bladesinger's pale breasts, firm and rounded like ripe apples. She allowed her
second climax to build more slowly under the sphere's relentless trilling as
she relished in Tahllea's languid post-coital thrusts, until she felt the wave
of sublime pleasure wash over her once more. Melodic sighs flooded the garden.
"How intensely do you burn for me?" Yssinel
whispered huskily, as Tahllea playfully grazed one of her lover's nipples
between her teeth.
"You little strumpet," Tahllea retorted
amiably. "I never knew my desire for you could be so overwhelming."
"Good..." Yssinel sighed. "Tomorrow, I
have a surprise for you."
"Is that so?" Tahllea said, far more
interested in leaving warm, slick trails on the small, graceful mounds of
Yssinel's breasts with her kisses. Soft, crisp, jet black hair tickled the
Enchantress' lust-fevered skin.
"Yes, my beloved Moon Huntress, a lovely, lovely
surprise."
***
The Adamantine Blade
When Sigrid awoke the next morning, more rested than
she had been in all her life, Mjrina was already hovering over her, a silver
tray full of freshly-baked smells in hand. Sigrid ate, was swiftly and
efficiently bathed by Mjrina's expert hands, and was then quickly conveyed to
the library, clad only in a white dressing gown. Yssinel was waiting for her,
already perfectly dressed and coiffed for the occasion, a goblet of warm mulled
wine in hand.
"The Sun greets you. I trust you slept
well." Yssinel said graciously, subtly catching Mjrina's gaze with a
knowing smile.
"Thanks, and yes, I slept very well. I don't
usually have the luxury of such a soft bed when I'm out adventuring."
Sigrid replied, doing her best to affect world-weariness. The library was
luminous, with a great crystal skylight that flooded the tall bookshelves and
long, hardwood scroll racks with fresh morning light. Yssinel sat by a circular
desk, immediately beneath the skylight, upon which a gold-embossed cedarwood
chest had been placed.
"As promised, Sigrid, I have made provisions for
your arms and apparel." With a silent command from the Enchantress, the
chest sprung open. "Mjrina, if you would do the honours."
"Yes, Mistress." the Wood Elf maiden said
enthusiastically. From the chest she extracted an exquisitely woven,
high-collared fine silk tunic with gold-thread borders at the sleeves and
polished, silver buttons, accompanied by a pair of light brown, doeskin
knee-high boots. Mjrina set the clothing on the table and padded over to
Sigrid, tugging off the aasimar's dressing gown in a swift, but gentle motion.
Sigrid tensed, blushing a deep crimson at being
suddenly naked in front of Yssinel. "I...I can dress myself..." she
protested weakly. She disliked being so exposed and vulnerable. Back at the
Order of the Radiant Path, the human novices had teased her cruelly at the
communal baths for not having any hair on her sex. At least, now that she was
amongst elves, that was the norm.
Yssinel smiled. Sigrid was lovely: long limbed,
slender, with small, but beautifully proportioned breasts. "Please, my
sweet Sigrid, consider this one the privileges of your new position." the
Enchantress replied with a subtly lascivious glance.
Sigrid took a deep breath and let Mjrina ease the
clothing on with feather-light touches. The tunic was perfectly conceived,
reaching down to the knees and allowing free movement, just as Sigrid's fencing
style required. It had a certain coquettish cut to it, so that it flattered
Sigrid's elegant physique and emphasised the paleness of her skin and flowed
down the elfin, but undeniably female lines of her hips and breasts.
"Perfect - I don't think I have ever seen a more
stunning blademistress." Yssinel enthused. She very much looked forward to
seeing Sigrid in a breastplate or, better still, the matching formal jacket and
breeches she had prepared for her.
"Thanks..."
"Now," Yssinel said with relish. "Come
receive your weapon, my fair Kithela."
Sigrid stepped forward. Her boots were sinfully
comfortable. Yssinel reached into the chest and extracted a curved, slender
sword with a platinum hilt, its guard shaped like a lotus blossom. Grasping the
simple, white leather scabbard, Yssinel presented it to Sigrid. The moment the
young aasimar set hands on the pommel, she felt a rush of wonder. The metal was
cold and hard, but light - lighter than she could ever have imagined. There was
no ostentation to the sword, just simple, elegant beauty.
"Unsheathe it." Yssinel ordered. She could
sense Sigrid's excitement.
Clutching the leather of the scabbard in her right
hand, Sigrid clasped the pommel and reverently drew the sword. The first thing
she saw was her own reflection in the blade. Adamantine - hard as diamonds and
dreadfully sharp, shaped into a perfectly balanced sword, half-way between a
scimitar and sabre. Sigrid felt a welling gratitude in her chest.
"This...it must have cost a fortune! Thank you...Madam...I mean, Yssinel.
I'm certain I'll honour it."
"I know you will," Yssinel said, pleased at
the girl's brash confidence. "Otherwise I wouldn't have had it made for
you..."
"Made?" a quietly dangerous voice snapped
from the library's entrance. Sigrid whipped around, only to see Tahllea with a
look of palpable irritation marring her fine, aristocratic features.
"Ah, finally, my dashing Tahllea joins us."
Yssinel said with relish, rising to greet her lover with a chaste kiss on the
lips. "Tahllea, this is Sigrid, an adventurer of renown and my new Kithela."
"What?" Tahllea said dryly. "What need
do you have for a personal guard when you have me, the finest blademistress in
Imej, as your lover?"
"Precisely my point, Kyrithi."
Yssinel said innocently. "Since you are my sweet and devoted lover, it
would be demeaning for you to take up the duties of my Kithela as well.
A guardswoman has a bond with her mistress that is like the bond of a
handmaiden - a role that is not meant to be confused with any other."
"Quite." Tahllea said coolly. She turned to
appraise Sigrid. "Greetings, Sigrid, excuse my abruptness, but Yssinel has
a habit of surprising me. I am Tahllea of the House of Ahlirian."
"Sigrid of the Order of the Radiant Path."
the aasimar replied.
"Forgive my ignorance," Tahllea said
snidely. "But I never heard of it."
"From off-world, my dear, she is new to these
lands" Yssinel interjected. "And I really think you should greet her
properly, you are, after all, united in your common bond to me."
"But...she is not much more than a girl - hardly
a seasoned blademistress capable of defending you." Tahllea noted
dismissively.
"Please Tahllea, be hospitable." Yssinel
insisted. The Bladesinger conceded and reluctantly placed the lightest of
possible kisses on a stunned Sigrid's lips.
"That..." Tahllea began, doing her utmost to
swallow her welling sense of frustration. "Is a magnificent sword, child.
Perhaps you would allow me to give you a lesson or two to refine your
technique..."
"Or I could give you a lesson or
two, how does that sound? And, should it please you, I prefer to be called
Sigrid." the aasimar snapped back. She detested being treated like a girl.
Tahllea winced: impudent slattern. "Some would
say that it is better to hold one's tongue in front of Imej's finest
Bladesinger."
"Really?" Sigrid replied. The sensation of
the masterwork sword in her hand flushed her with confidence. "Last time I
checked, reputations didn't win fencing bouts."
"So you wish to humble me with your art?"
Tahllea provoked, much to Mjrina's consternation and Yssinel's private
satisfaction.
"Try me." Sigrid replied defiantly.
"Then with Yssinel's permission, we'll go up to
the duelling hall on the Glassflow Glacier."
***
They took great levitating disks of force, fancifully
shaped like orchids, to the Glacier. Sigrid could barely contain her wonder as
the city of Imej grew ever smaller, its tall spires fading into the icy mist,
as they floated through the bracing mountain air. Below, the ice had carved
thick canyons into the living rock and, lower still, a thin valley ran through
thick coniferous forests, like green veins in an ocean of white and blue.
The Glassflow Glacier was a vast sheet of ice that
spanned the entire face of two conjoined mountains. Deep blue primeval ice
wreathed itself on grey rock. The disk set down by a garden seemingly carved
out of ice and frost. Tall crystal reeds and canes surrounded a stream that had
been frozen over. Flowers bloomed like gems, hard and glassy under the mountain
sun. An enchantment had regulated the temperature of the duelling hall's
garden, keeping the air pleasantly cool.
At the centre of the garden was a circular expanse of
snow that had been carefully tended to with brooms, so that the fine icicles
became like grains of sand in a desert. Behind the garden was an entrance that
Sigrid presumed led to the duelling hall itself. That suspicion was confirmed
when a group of five, fresh-faced Grey Elven girls came rushing out to greet
Tahllea.
They were all clad in sky-blue cloaks and tunics and
did not look much older than Sigrid herself. Each in turn came forward to bow
and kiss Tahllea's hand, before filing up to stand patiently, awaiting further
instruction. Sigrid noted that they were somehow less ethereally feminine than
Yssinel. They moved with powerful grace and determination, their hairstyles and
clothing were more functional, yet defined by the profound beauty of the elven
aesthetic.
"This, Sigrid, is where my fame as a
blademistress has brought me. It is still a small school, to be sure, but I am
the youngest Bladesinger in Imej to have her own recognised style."
Tahllea crowed, hoping that the display had put the upstart girl in her place.
"So what are we waiting for?" the aasimar
challenged. I hope your actions are ready to give your boasts a
backbone!
"As you wish." Tahllea said tersely.
"Ilmaeria, prepare yourself to duel." A pretty apprentice with
shoulder-length light blonde hair and a determined, steely look in her grey
eyes stepped forward.
"Hey!" Sigrid protested. "I thought
this would be between us."
"Be at ease, my treasure," Yssinel
interrupted calmly. "You must respect the customs of this art. Only those
who have shown themselves worthy by vanquishing the finest student can ever
hope to take on the mistress of the duelling hall."
"Is that so?" Sigrid said, a wry smile on
her lips. "Either way, I can't see myself losing."
Sigrid took her place on the duelling court while
Ilmaeria received a few whispered pointers from Tahllea, before being handed
her sword by a silver-haired apprentice. Yssinel and Mjrina observed a few
paces back.
"So what do you think, Mjrina? Who will emerge
victorious?" Yssinel whispered.
"Sigrid was masterful when she defended me from
that ankheg, Mistress." Mjrina replied confidently. "She
should have no trouble at all."
"Oh? And, pray tell, did you make sure she was
comfortable last night?"
Mjrina blushed furiously. "Mistress..." she
chided. "It would be most inappropriate for a humble serving girl to court
her. Though if she wanted to make love and share the joys of her caress, I
could hardly see myself refusing."
Yssinel chuckled softly. "You're not just a
humble serving girl, my dear, you're my Handmaiden, understood?"
"Yes, Mistress." Mjrina nodded. The Forest
Mother had, in spite of everything, blessed her. Yssinel was almost as perfect
a mistress as Aerylle had been.
On the duelling court, Tahllea handed a silver
star-shaped broach in which an amethyst had been mounted to Ilmaeria and Sigrid
in turn. "This, Sigrid, is a duelling broach. As long as your opponent
wears one, neither will come to harm by the other's weapon. The broach has an
enchantment that will deflect the blade fractions of an inch from the target.
However, the moment a clean, vital hit is scored, the amethyst will begin to
glow brightly. That signals the end of the bout. Understood?"
"Perfectly." said Sigrid.
"Very well." Tahllea said, silently
confident of Ilmaeria's already impressive skills. "Be on your
guard."
Sigrid drew her shimmering adamantine blade and the
assembled apprentices gasped in wonder as one at the sight of the metal
gleaming in the sun. Ilmaeria was not fazed, but drew her own exquisitely
wrought silver sword and stood motionless, her arms outstretched. At rest,
just as she had been taught: the complex dance of the Bladesinger always began
from a neutral position that allowed as much flexibility and improvisation as
possible.
Sigrid sank into the classical, offensive fencing pose she had been drilled in
at the Order. This time, however, the weapon was light and the elements were
with her. There was something reassuring about her boots crunching in the snow
and the cold mountain air running through her indigo hair. For once, she was at
peace.
"May the Blessed Sehanine shield you both."
Tahllea intoned, as ritual dictated. "To you!"
Sigrid lunged, capitalising on the tension she had
built in her forward leg, sweeping her blade forward in a cutting stroke at
Ilmaeria's knees. The blade hummed musically through the air and the
apprentices sighed in wonder once more as the sunlight danced on its flawless
surface. Ilmaeria wheeled out of the way. Her footwork was deft, so that even Sigrid's
eye had trouble keeping up with it. The counter-attack came suddenly, a
sweeping blow to the aasimar's side that could only be parried a few inches
from her flank.
The preliminaries over, both fighters withdrew to a
safe distance to size one another up. Sigrid saw blind ambition in those
poetic, grey eyes before her. She would have to be careful. Perhaps she and
Ilmaeria were more alike than she had thought possible. Ilmaeria dived forward
and it was almost as if she were dancing. Her blade hummed in a complex,
arching pattern so as to confuse Sigrid's guard. Blades clashed, white sparks
flew and it was then that Sigrid realised why the elves called their finest
warriors Bladesingers. Their duelling blades sliced and pierced the air like
sharp flutes locked in a deadly symphony. Ilmaeria was swift, but Sigrid fought
as if her hand her sword were bonded. They circled one another, Ilmaeria's
thighs and biceps taut with tension, her breath misting in clouds around her
lips as she scrutinised Sigrid. The aasimar's fighting style was unorthodox -
far more direct and aggressive than what she had been used to.
Ilmaeria spun forward, vainly seeking an opening in
Sigrid's defence as she brought a series of sudden high-low strikes to bear. It
was no use, Sigrid's eye was as swift as her hand. The aasimar began to
counter, feeling her confidence build as she began to discern cracks in
Ilmaeria's style. She was too focused on peripheral attacks aimed at disabling
or disarming. The weak point was in the torso. Sigrid took a gamble and closed
her target, temporarily assuming a defensive position, one foot in front of the
other, her right hand behind her waist.
Ilmaeria withdrew five paces and sprung forward into
the air, aiming at Sigrid's shoulder in a descending, cutting slash. Sigrid
simply crouched, rolled and countered with a tight slash against Ilmaeria's
exposed abdomen before the Grey Elf could even find purchase in the snow
beneath her. A musical tinkling, like a silver bell being rung, echoed out throughout
the empty glacier. Sigrid saw the reflection of a rich, violet light in the
snow beneath her.
"Yes! Sigrid!" Mjrina cried, hands clasped
together in wonder. Yssinel smiled and lovingly ran her fingers through her
handmaiden's hair. Sigrid may have been a deceitful little thing, but she would
most definitely come in useful.
Ilmaeria remained immobile, still crouched on one knee
from her landing, sword clasped tightly in her hand. Sigrid turned to face
Tahllea, a smug, satisfied smile on her lips. The Bladesinger met the aasimar's
gaze. Next time, it would be up to her to put Sigrid in her place. Ilmaeria had
shown all her inexperience by proving herself unable to adapt to a new fencing
style.
"What are you waiting for?" Tahllea snapped,
whipping around to address her apprentices. "Accompany Lady Yssinel inside
and warm up some wine for her." The apprentices scrambled to comply,
ushering Yssinel and Mjrina into the ice-carved cavern behind the garden.
Tahllea quietly drew up to Ilmaeria's side. The apprentice
was the first to speak, "I'm sorry, Mistress," she whispered almost
inaudibly, her voice choked with emotion. "I know you put much faith in me
and..."
"Hush." Tahllea said softly. She knelt by
Ilmaeria's side and cupped the girl's chin. "It was my mistake." the
Bladesinger said, pressing her lips against Ilmaeria's. The apprentice kissed
back with fiery passion, only to still her lips and demurely submit as soon as
Tahllea's tongue unhurriedly met its playmate and led in a wet, intimate dance.
"It was my mistake - I should never have let a girl do a woman's
job." With that Tahllea abruptly broke the kiss and rose to her feet,
casually leaving Ilmaeria sobbing in the snow.
Cautiously, Sigrid approached Ilmaeria's prone form.
She sheathed her sword and peered down, only to see warm droplets fall from the
apprentice's cheeks and melt into the snow. "Hey...are you all right? If
it makes you feel any better, you were beaten by the best..."
"Fool!" Ilmaeria snarled, pouncing to her
feet and thrusting her sword violently into the snow in front of her.
"Still your tongue if you have nothing of any importance to say."
"Well," Sigrid replied, a little indignant,
"I hardly think it's anything to cry about."
Ilmaeria clenched her fists so hard she thought she
might draw blood. Sigrid's arrogance only seemed to add insult to injury.
"What do you know? What do you live for? Whom would you die for?" she
whispered savagely. Ilmaeria bit her lip to restrain a wracking sob as the
thought of disappointing Tahllea surfaced like a fresh wound in her mind.
"I don't understand." Sigrid said, a little
frightened by the burning intensity in Ilmaeria's eyes.
"Imagine having nothing and then being taught
that you have worth, that you can become something, that you can hold your head
up high. Wouldn't the person who taught you that become your all?"
Ilmaeria sniffed. She felt doubly vulnerable now that Sigrids form was blurred
through her tears.
"Sorry. You're pretty good yourself...look, I
wish I could offer you a handkerchief or something, because..." Sigrid
ventured.
"Never mind." Ilmaeria growled, angrily
wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I just need to wash my face
and have something to drink."
"Do...do you want me to come with...?"
Sigrid volunteered, feeling stupid.
"I'd rather be alone now." Ilmaeria tore her
sword out of the snow and sheathed it.
"I...I don't know what to say...I'm sorry."
Sigrid shrugged. Elves were obviously highly strung indeed.
"Don't be. I lost." Ilmaeria conceded.
"I'm Sigrid." the aasimar said.
"Ilmaeria. May Sehanine favour you." With
that, the apprentice turned and left.
The moment she saw Ilmaeria approach the entrance to
the duelling hall, Mjrina, her curiosity assuaged, withdrew to return to her
mistress' side.
***
The Source of Life
Night had fallen and Sigrid stared out of the open
window of her room, contemplating a vast, stony horizon of snow-capped peaks.
The air was cold on her skin, but she felt no discomfort. She was still flushed
with the elation of victory. Tahllea had kept a low profile for the rest of the
day, leaving Sigrid to dine at her leisure with Yssinel in the comfortable,
wood-panelled social area the duelling hall had reclaimed from the ice. Yet,
there remained a nagging feeling that there was something not quite right with
Imej.
A soft, melodious singing interrupted Sigrid's
thoughts. She turned to see Mjrina setting out a ceramic pitcher full of fresh
water by the bedside. It did not seem to make sense at first, because the words
flowed into a gentle hum, but Sigrid realised she could make out the song's
meaning. Something about memories flowing like teardrops.
"You have a lovely voice." Sigrid said
admiringly. She shut the window and observed Mjrina set out a fresh night-gown
for her next to her pillow.
"It's nothing." Mjrina smiled modestly.
"I sometimes miss my native language. Wood Elven can be so beautiful - so
much more musical and less formal. But, I suppose that's why some Grey Elves
don't like us speaking it."
"I..." the fact that somehow Wood Elven,
too, made sense to her crept over Sigrid like a shiver of trepidation.
"Grey Elves built a beautiful city here, so high in the mountains - like a
fairyland a child would dream of. But somehow, I don't think it'll ever be as
beautiful as that stream where we first met." Mjrina paused, lowering her
gaze and hoping that her hair would cover her embarrassment.
"No!" Sigrid retracted hastily. "What I
meant was...uh, well, they're beautiful in different ways and...you know, since
I'm an adventurer and all, I prefer the more natural stuff. I mean, a city's a
city anywhere you go, but only nature manages to...ah, well, surprise you every
time."
"What you did today was wonderful." Mjrina
said, swiftly changing the subject. She had finished turning out the sheets and
stood shyly by the bedpost. She could not quite bring herself to meet the gaze
of such an alluring blademistress as Sigrid.
"Oh, well, I've fought my way out of quite a few
scrapes, so I guess that was just..."
"No, I meant afterwards. With Ilmaeria. You have
a good heart to comfort that poor girl." Mjrina interrupted gently,
nervously caressing the finely carved pinewood of the bedpost.
"Couldn't exactly have left her there, right? I
just thought Tahllea should have been nicer to her."
"Lady Tahllea is...complicated." Mjrina said
evasively.
"Good one," Sigrid noted jokingly.
"'Complicated' sounds a whole lot better than bitch."
Mjrina quickly turned to one side, hand raised to her
mouth to suppress a guilty laugh. "That's terrible!" the Wood Elf
admonished. "I only hear such language at the market."
"Pardon me, then, but I'm a woman of the
world." Sigrid replied, smiling broadly.
"Oh?" Mjrina said, feeling her pulse quicken
ever so slightly. "Maybe one day you'll show me a little of what you've
learned on your travels."
"Yeah, definitely some day."
"Maybe...tonight." Mjrina whispered,
stealing a quick glance at Sigrid's enchanting, violet eyes, before lowering
her gaze once more.
- She can't mean... - Sigrid thought - Goddess, where
would I start? - In her fevered mind, Sigrid knew that Mjrina expected her to
take the initiative, but se was dreadfully afraid of making a fool of herself.
Then it came to her: she was meant to be a swashbuckling swordswoman. It was
time to be gallant.
"My lovely Mjrina," Sigrid whispered
reverently, tentatively caressing the Wood Elf's cheek. "I...I..."
- I am lost for words, because I'm a fucking stupid
novice who doesn't know when to stop pushing her luck - Sigrid thought
dejectedly as her mind scrambled for the romantic line Mjrina deserved.
Before Sigrid could think of anything else, Mjrina had
pounced, wrapping her arms around Sigrid's neck and drawing the aasimar in
close for a burning kiss. Sigrid stood stunned for an instant. Rosy lips, soft
as ripe plums pressed against hers, then moisture and the soothing warmth of
Mjrina's sweet breath.
Sigrid felt her heart leap into her throat. She
clasped Mjrina's waist. The fabric of the elven maiden's gown was flimsy. Soft,
flushed skin beckoned beneath. So Sigrid let her desire guide her. She kissed
back hungrily, hands trailing up Mjrina's abdomen to feel the delectable weight
and heft of the Wood Elf's breasts.
Kissing Mjrina was like making love to spring, the
forest, and the fresh dew on the glade. Tahlleas
lips, when they had touched Sigrids were soft, like a womans,
but full of the blood-quickening scent of steel and mineral salt, but Mjrina
was moist, yielding like an overripe fruit, ready to be split open to release
all its juice.
Mjrina tightened her grip around Sigrid's neck, gently
trailing her thumbs under the aasimar's silky, indigo hair to brush teasingly
against the surface of her pointed ears. Sigrid gasped, feeling her sex tighten
as sensual tension built in her loins.
"That...feels wonderful." Sigrid whispered
between kisses as Mjrina traced the outline of her ears with feather-light
touches.
"Of course it does." the Wood Elf replied,
as if Sigrid were stating the obvious. "Now, my brave Sigrid, you're free
to take me as you like. My body and soul are yours for tonight, if you would do
me the honour of offering your caress."
"We could simply do what comes naturally."
Sigrid suggested - ritualised elven lovemaking was certainly not something in
which she had any firsthand experience.
"Really?" Mjrina said happily. "I...I
must warn you, Wood Elves are quite passionate."
"Show me..." Sigrid whispered. Mjrina did
not need to be asked twice. Her kisses were fierce this time as she began to
briskly unbutton Sigrid's tunic. The aasimar gasped her breasts were revealed
to the cool night air. Mjrina's lips trailed down Sigrid's throat, hot and wet,
leaving a glistening valley between her lover's breasts. Then, with the utmost
delicacy, Mjrina swept Sigrid's tunic off, letting it pool at the aasimar's
feet.
Mjrina playfully licked each of Sigrid's turgid
nipples in turn, leaving covered in just enough moisture to give Sigrid the
sensation of coldness against her lust-fevered skin. The aasimar whimpered and
backed up against the hardwood dresser for support. Mjrina smiled lasciviously
and casually took one of Sigrid's nipples between her lips and began to suckle,
her teeth grazing ever so teasingly on the rubbery peak. Then, Sigrid felt a
gentle but firm pressure of Mjrina clamping down on her nipple and drawing it
taut. Sigrid sensed fiery passion building in her belly. Mjrina's mouth was
exquisite.
Mjrina knelt in front of Sigrid. Her tongue licked
down Sigrid's taut belly and the aasimar instinctively parted her thighs, back
arched as she leaned back on the dresser. Her heart hammered in her breast in
anticipation. Gentle hands caressed the surface of Sigrid's inner thighs, then
came Mjrina's tongue, soft and teasing, on the smooth, fleshy mound of her sex.
"Goddess!" Sigrid whimpered. Mjrina plied
the silky inner lips of Sigrid's sex apart, revealing a wet, fragrant heaven,
like a pink tulip in full bloom. The Wood Elf drew her tongue long and hard
over the nectar-rich inner folds, just pausing to press teasingly against the
entrance to Sigrid's channel. The viscous nectar of the aasimar's arousal
coated her tongue - like nothing she had ever tasted before. Slightly sweet and
soft, like an elf, but mingled with a rich, feminine muskiness. Mjrina began
lapping passionately, revelling in Sigrid's soft, husky moans and sheer
sensuality of those velvety inner petals against her lips and tongue. Sigrid
tensed, thrusting her hips forward to meet Mjrina's hungry mouth. Her lithely
muscular thighs and belly were pulled taut, tense with sweet sensual desire.
Mjrina clasped the firm globes of Sigrid's bottom for
support with one hand as her tongue worked diligently, lapping at the musky
blossom of her lover's sex. With the other, she hiked up the hem of her gown
and slipped two fingers into the moist well of her own sex, grinding the heel
of her palm against her engorged clit in rhythm with her licking of Sigrid's
pussy. She traced the contours of velvety, nectar-drenched inner petals, before
focusing a flurry of lusty licks on the hard jewel of Sigrid's clit. Mjrina
wanted to sink into the hot, juicing blossom of Sigrid's pussy forever. The
silky sensation on her lips, the richness of the copious juice that coated her
tongue - the Forest Mother had truly blessed her.
Sigrid knew she could not last long. The knot of
passion in her loins unfolded, flooding her sex with hot, pulsing relief. She
came in ragged, gasping breaths, hands frantically clasping Mjrina's head,
desperate for just one more electrifying lick from the elven maiden's expert
tongue. Sigrid rode the wave of her climax grinding her juicing sex against
Mjrina's mouth. That was the first time, properly speaking, that she had made
love and she would never forget it.
"Mjrina, that was delightful..." Sigrid
gasped.
"Hush," Mjrina said huskily, rising to her
feet. "Have you ever been with a Wood Elf girl before?"
"No..."
"Here, taste." Mjrina withdrew her fingers
from her sex and brought them, glistening in fragrant, gooey nectar, to
Sigrid's lips.
Sigrid tentatively licked the outstretched fingers.
Mjrina's nectar was subtly sweet and floral, with a hint of feminine saltiness
and an edge of tartness, like wild berries. She suckled Mjrina's fingers clean.
"I want more." Sigrid sighed wantonly.
She quickly undressed Mjrina and cast aside the elven
maiden's gown, leaving her gloriously naked in the dim lamplight. They fell
together on the bed, kissing passionately, Sigrid's inexpert, but lusty hands
tracing each delightful curve of Mjrina's body. The Wood Elven girl submitted,
wishing only to be ravished by the beautiful, mysterious swashbuckler who
filled her loins with liquid heat with just a glance.
Sigrid lay atop Mjrina, reverently caressing the elven
maiden's rounded breasts, fingers trailing curiously over turgid, oak-brown
nipples which just begged to be suckled. Sigrid was happy to oblige. She
enveloped a stiff, brown peak between her lips and let her tongue lay its wet
caress over the passion-swollen flesh. Mjrina writhed on the bed, her sex
pulsed with need. Sigrid trailed further down and Mjrina parted her thighs in
welcoming, revealing the rich, juicing core of her womanhood - dark pink nether
lips, neat and pretty as petals glistened in invitation.
The aroma of forest berries and feminine musk flooded
Sigrid's nostrils. So she threw caution to the wind and parted the fat,
hairless mound of Mjrina's sex with her trembling hands and began licking with
youthful enthusiasm. It was a little clumsy, but Sigrid kept herself lovingly
focused on the hard pearl of Mjrina's clit, while tentatively tracing the
entrance to the Wood Elven maiden's canal with two fingers.
"Sigrid...my love, wait." Mjrina said
gently, running her fingers through the aasimar's hair.
"Oh fuck...I mean, Goddess!" Sigrid sprang
up tensely. Her inexperience had betrayed, she just knew it. "I'm so
sorry, maybe you could just show me how you like..."
"Shh..." Mjrina smiled warmly, pressing two
fingers against Sigrid's lips to silence her. "I want to show you a Wood
Elven art that I'm just certain you will adore."
Sigrid nodded and watched in wonder as Mjrina propped
herself up on the pillows, thighs spread wide, and motioned for the aasimar to
come closer. "There is some cinnamon oil on the bedside table. Make sure
your hand is well coated in it and then ease it into my Temple of Hanali - but
be gentle, I have to be perfectly relaxed."
The vial of oil was unstoppered. A rich cinnamon scent
filled the air as Sigrid poured the dense, brown fluid onto her hand. It had a
warming effect, increasing the sensitivity of the skin. Sigrid could feel her
desire welling in her chest and hammering between her temples. Mjrina lay with
a coy, infuriatingly innocent smile on her lips, her hard, coffee-in-milk
nipples drilling the air, her sex ripe and richly juicing, so that a single
stray drop trailed down her inner thigh and stained the sheets below.
Deep down, Sigrid thought, Mjrina was a playful little
strumpet. She knelt between Mjrina's thighs and gently pressed two fingers
against the entrance of the Wood Elven maiden's channel. Mjrina nodded and
Sigrid thrust in. She met with no resistance. Mjrina drew a sharp gasp and bit
her lip, thighs tensing. The heat and pressure around Sigrid's fingers was
simply divine. So she added a third and fourth finger, parting the velvety
flesh of the canal and bringing the steaming hothouse flower of Mjrina's sex
into full bloom.
Mjrina's breaths were laboured but controlled as she
concentrated on relaxing to accommodate Sigrid's hand. She let the aasimar apply
a little more oil. The spicy fluid felt like delectable pinpricks on the
engorged surface of her clit. Then, ever so gently, Sigrid withdrew her fingers
to the second knuckle, bunched them together with her thumb, and began to
thrust gently against Mjrina's velvety channel. The elven maiden gasped, but
mastered herself, forcing her sex to relax to finally let Sigrid's hand slip
in.
"Now slowly," Mjrina said, her voice thick
with passion. She absentmindedly caressed her own stiff nipples, rolling the turgid
peaks between her fingers. They were still slick with the residue of Sigrid's
suckling. "Move your hand inside of me, soon you should feel my Hanali's
Heart."
Sigrid wound her hand into Mjrina's sex, agonising
fractions of an inch at the time, until she felt the elven maiden give a sharp
cry. "There!" Mjrina mewled, her toes digging into the sheets. The
aasimar had found her sweet spot, that magical ball of pleasure deep in her
sex. Sigrid began to press and roll the pads of her fingers against Mjrina's
feminine nexus. Mjrina's breaths grew faster, her breasts rising and falling
frantically as she bucked her hips, thrusting herself against the agonising
pleasure of Sigrid's intrusion until the aasimars hand was buried wrist-deep
and as far as it would go into her pussy. It hurt in the most delicious way
imaginable.
"Look my love, look." Mjrina cooed huskily
as Sigrids fingers set off a spasm of pleasure deep in her canal. "This
is the joining of our passion." Mjrina bit her lip and felt the roiling
wave of her climax spread through her loins. Her hips jerked, her overstuffed
sex contracted around Sigrid's hand. A thick spurt of fragrant liquid, lovely
and clear, issued forth from her pussy, coating the aasimar's forearm in
viscous passion. Fluid, dense like liquid honey, poured copiously around
Sigrid's hand, trailing down the woodland-tan skin of Mjrina's inner thighs and
pouring, in thin rivulets, onto the sheets. Mjrina continued to spasm around
Sigrid's hand, her mewling, strangled cries filled the chamber.
"Beautiful...just beautiful." Sigrid said in
awe. Even as she gently withdrew her hand from the velvety paradise of Mjrina's
sex, another rush of rich fluid slipped out. Instinctively, Sigrid cupped her
hands to catch it. Hot with the fire of Mjrina's passion and thick, the
abundant nectar glistened white, like pearls in the dim light, full with the
fragrant scent of womanhood. It would have been a sin to let it drip onto the
sheets. So Sigrid drank. Her lips and tongue were cloyed with rich, floral
elven musk - the essence of Mjrina, heady and viscous as it poured down her
throat.
"Hmm...you did the right thing." Mjrina
purred as Sigrid drew her into her arms.
"Huh?"
"That is a precious offering to the Blessed
Hanali or the Forest Mother. Some priestesses use a wooden implement, like a
spoon to share the nectar of the Well of Hanali with their lovers. All living
things spring from the nectar of the Aryll - the first flower - and a
drop of that nectar exists in each woman - her womb." Mjrina explained
between kisses. "It's a pity many Grey Elves don't see it that way."
"You mean, what you just did?" Sigrid
inquired incredulously.
"They say it's unladylike." Mjrina answered
ruefully. At least Yssinel had been more tolerant than most.
"It doesn't matter what they say, I think this
has been the most wonderful night of my life." Sigrid said, placing a soft
kiss on Mjrina's nose. "So thanks...and sorry."
"For what?"
"I...I think I wasn't as experienced as you had
expected." Sigrid confessed sheepishly, burying her face in Mjrina's soft,
perfumed hair to escape further embarrassment.
"It must be difficult for a traveller such as
yourself to find lovers - I understand and I think that I should be honoured
that I'm one of the few people you chose to share your bed with."
A pang of guilt swept Sigrid's heart. Mjrina was so
sweet and endearingly naive, yet she kept lying to the beautiful Wood Elf.
"I only wish I had met you sooner on my journeys."
"Tell me a story." Mjrina proposed, all of a
sudden. "Did you ever slay a dragon, tame a griffon, make love to a
princess...?"
"Once," Sigrid began in a conspiratorial
whisper, "I was trapped in a dragon's lair. But this was a strange dragon.
She did not have a hoard, nor did she kidnap princesses, or despoil the
countryside. Her lair had doors and windows and, to the rest of the world, she
seemed to be a very friendly dragon indeed. While I was her prisoner, she fed
me and clothed me, but demanded a terrible tribute in return - a part of my
soul. Each day, I was made to learn that all the evils in the world were my
fault, that I had to be ashamed of who I was, that I had to hide in her lair,
because the world outside would revile me."
"How terrible." Mjrina said softly,
wondering what such a strange and wicked dragon would look like. "So what
did you do?"
"One day I decided that I would rather die on my
feet than live on my knees. That day, I simply walked out."
***
Apologies
"What are you playing at Yssinel?"
Tahllea said tersely. The last few days had occupied her mind, so much so that
even the view of the gilded dome of Corellon Larethian's temple seemed trivial.
They sat in a plush, private dining room at the Spring Brook under Sunlight.
A popular gathering place for Imej's leisured classes that offered excellent
cuisine, restrained luxury and discreet, nubile waitresses and serving-boys.
Tahllea reclined pensively on the divan, while Yssinel lay sprawled languidly
on her lover's lap. The top of her sunlight-golden dress was open, her small,
sculptural breasts shimmering with tiny flecks of honey dust, which, much to
Yssinel's disappointment, Tahllea was making no effort to lick off. "Why
are you so overcome by suspicion, Kyrithii?" Yssinel protested.
"I merely think it appropriate to have a good, faithful Kithela,
like the elven ladies of old. You know I have always had classical
tastes."
"Yes...but that insolent girl. Shes hardly what
elven decorum calls for. Grey Elven decorum, that is. Your mother still
despises me for being a High Elf, doesn't she?" Tahllea snapped bitterly.
Whenever she was angry, her sharp, golden eyes seemed to burn with the fire of
her soul.
"No, my love," Yssinel replied wearily.
"She looks down on you for being a Bladesinger. You know ladies of
breeding ought to become mages or priestesses. That, my dear, is the quickest
way to the Gathering of Sages and thus to real influence in Imej."
"Yet you evade my question!" Tahllea said
coldly. She cast her glance out onto the glimmering gold and marble of the
temple in front of her, not daring to meet Yssinel's gaze, for fear that those
gorgeous tourqoise eyes would melt her into submission.
"Are you by any chance jealous of Sigrid? Or
perhaps upset that she vanquished your most promising student?" Yssinel
probed, feigning innocence.
"Not at all." Tahllea muttered indignantly.
"But she should know her place."
"Just like Ilmaeria knows hers?" Yssinel
insinuated.
"Perhaps." the Bladesinger said with some
relish.
"Your attention seems to be elsewhere."
Yssinel said. Her rosy nipples stood thick and turgid in the air. She already
felt damp between her thighs, yet Tahllea was doing nothing to relieve her
need. "Is my beauty somehow lacking today?"
"Not in the least. I do not, however, find
mind-games and subterfuge to be particularly erotic." Tahllea replied
dryly.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Yssinel relented in a
sweet, conciliatory voice. "You are quite right, I have been most
inconsiderate. You have so much on your mind - the duelling hall and your
apprentices to deal with. Please, accept my apologies."
The moment Tahllea felt Yssinel's pale, graceful hands
caress her throat and trace the outline of her jaw, she knew there was no
resisting her lover's charms. "I am a woman of actions, not words."
Tahllea said with teasing sternness. "Maybe I would be swayed by a
convincing show of contrition."
"Excellent idea." Yssinel purred. She
slipped off the couch and knelt at Tahllea's feet. "I know this is usually
Ilmaeria's task, but I, too, need to be reminded of my place." The
Enchantress pulled off Tahllea's soft, high boots, before hooking long,
dextrous fingers in the waistband of her lover's doeskin breeches and tugging
them down with exquisite delicacy.
Tahllea smiled and reclined back on the divan,
admiring the sea of gold and silver tresses that poured down Yssinel's shoulders.
The Enchantress cast the breeches aside and parted Tahllea's lithe, muscular
thighs, revealing the ripe, juicy folds beneath the plump, hairless mound of
the Bladesinger's sex. Yssinel tugged the nectar-slick inner petals of
Tahllea's pussy apart and kissed the gorgeous jewel of her clit, before
beginning to lick with languid abandon. The Bladesinger moaned, lovingly
drawing Yssinel's face closer to her lust-drenched sex. She was creamy with
arousal, long strands of delicious milky nectar clung to glistening, velvety
folds. Tahllea's nectar was muskier and fruitier than most Grey Elves, but the
leather of her breeches add a raw, primal note that Yssinel privately adored.
As Yssinel lapped expertly at Tahllea's sex, she
pressed a thumb at the entrance of the Bladesinger's velvety channel, before
slipping the digit inside with one, swift thrust. She moved her finger back and
forth in rhythm with her licks. Tahllea gasped as she felt need and tension
building in her loins. Her sex instinctively tightened around the intrusion.
She felt her nipples stiffen and scrape deliciously against the fabric of her
shirt.
Yssinel decided to be merciful. She seized Tahllea's
hard clit between her lips and began to trill her tongue against the inflamed
little bud, driving her lover mad with lust. Tahllea growled in hungry passion
and thrust herself forward, balancing on tiptoe to grind her sex against
Yssinel's tongue. Pressure in her loins built with each malicious lick, until
Tahllea drew a deep, satisfied breath and finally surrendered to ecstatic wave
of relief that radiated from deep in her sex. Tahllea rolled her hips on the
divan, her thighs and abdomen tautening with exertion as she came in sharp,
barking gasps.
"Consider yourself forgiven." Tahllea
sighed. "And my apprentices should thank you. You put me in a good mood
for this afternoon's training."
"Now that you mention, my treasure, would you
like me to ask Mjrina to attend to you with a steam bath and massage upon your
return?" Yssinel inquired sweetly, absentmindedly licking the hard surface
of Tahlleas belly.
"Why yes," Tahllea said with a triumphant
smile. "That sounds like an outstanding idea."
***
Sigrid skipped lightly down the winding staircase that
led to the library. She could not remember feeling happier. By day she attended
to the charming, erudite and beautiful Yssinel, drawing the admiring stares of
males and females alike as she accompanied her mistress through the streets of
Imej, while by night Mjrina opened up new worlds of sensuality. Elven
lovemaking lasted for hours on end, each climax perfectly spaced like a motif
in a symphony - and Mjrina was an excellent conductor.
That day had been typical. She stood guard over
Yssinel while the Enchantress read in the library, until just before sunset. It
was then that Yssinel decided that Sigrid was probably uncomfortable in her
formal tunic and bade her to change into her nightgown. What other mistress
would have curled up in Sigrid's arms under a gold embroidered blanket with a
cup of spiced wine and a tray of biscuits? Yssinel was almost as affectionate
as Mjrina.
So Sigrid revelled in the indulgence of padding
barefoot over the softly carpeted halls in her satin nightgown, feeling very
much at home. Yssinel had asked her to fetch some tea from the kitchen to
counter the effects of the wine. Strange, because that was normally Mjrina's
task, but Sigrid was certainly in no position to object.
The sky darkened, flooding the corridors with shadows.
Yet a warm, orange light gleamed on the second floor. Sigrid paused. It came
from Yssinel's beauty-chamber, where Mjrina would attend to all her Mistress'
health and aesthetic treatments after her frequent baths. Sigrid decided to
take a detour to the kitchen. She moved stealthily over the carpet and crossed
the corridor. The door to the beauty chamber was ajar.
Sigrid placed her ear to the cool wood of the door and
heard soft, plaintive moans. Very slowly, she inched towards the crack in the
doorway and peered inside. It took all her self control to keep herself from
gasping out loud.
Mjrina was spread out on the massage table, holding
her thighs open, hips raised while Tahllea lavishing long, hungry licks on the
Wood Elf maiden's sex. The Bladesinger was naked, too, her body still slick
with massage oil and glistening in the firelight. Mjrina's cries were sharp and
wanton, her toes pointed in the air, calves taut. Two copper flasks, fancifully
shaped like tulip blossoms hung from gold chains on the ceiling, their tips
positioned perhaps a foot above Mjrina's breasts. Richly scented, hot spicy oil
dripped like a light drizzle from the flasks, tapping rhythmically against
Mjrina's arrowhead-stiff nipples and trailing in long, down the Wood Elven
girl's flat belly.
"Lady Tahllea!" Mjrina mewled, a look of
pure ecstasy on her face. "I beg you, take me!"
Wordlessly, Tahllea mounted onto the bed and drew
Mjrina into a deep, lusty kiss. She slipped a hand between Mjrina's thighs and
thrust two fingers into the drenched well of her sex. Mjrina whimpered, and
lasciviously ran her tongue down the length of Tahllea's ear.
Sigrid ran. She dashed into the kitchen and plunged
her face in a basin of freezing water the cook used to wash fruit. Her
reflection peered back at her from the bottom of the silver basin. When she
finally emerged, Sigrid could only hear her heartbeat like a distant echo in
her mind. She did not know whether to feel anger, shame or confusion. How could
everything be so outwardly beautiful yet so painfully confusing? Sigrid thought
to herself. She knew that elven romance was uninhibited, but she had wanted
Mjrina to be hers and certainly not Tahllea's. Revenge would come in due
time. Tahllea had accepted Sigrid's challenge and fixed the date of their duel
at the next Celestial Sisters Festival when both moons would be full.
With thoughts of vengeance in her mind, Sigrid stormed
back up the stairs, the pot of herbal tea shaking in her hand.
"Is something the matter, my dear?" Yssinel
inquired the moment Sigrid marched glumly into the library.
"No." Sigrid lied. She filled an enamelled
cup with tea and passed it to Yssinel, before sitting down stiffly on the couch
by her mistress' side.
"Come now, Sigrid," Yssinel reprimanded
gently, taking a sip of the tea and setting it on the table "There should
be no secrets between us."
"There is so much I have yet to learn about life
in this city...I'm afraid, now, afraid of being sure of anything." Sigrid
said, her mind roiling with the image of Mjrina squirming in pleasure under
Tahllea's tongue.
"Come now, be at ease." Yssinel whispered in
a soft, seductive tone, sweet like fresh honey. Sigrid felt herself drawn to
return to the divan by her mistress' side. With nightfall, the library was
flooded with a warm, opalescent glow from enchanted motes of light which flowed
in quiet procession over the tops of the shelves. At night, everything in Imej
seemed to become hypnotic.
"Now tell me, Sigrid, what is the matter?"
the Enchantress inquired. Sigrid reclined on the couch as the silver and
leather-bound book Yssinel had been leafing through slammed shut and drifted
back towards the reading table. Yssinel stroked the young aasimar's neck and
shoulders, almost like an anxious mother trying to soothe her daughter.
"If..." Sigrid paused, before deciding that
she could confide in Yssinel. Her mistress had been nothing but kind to her.
"If I said that I liked Mjrina - a lot. Would that surprise you?"
Yssinel chuckled softly and kissed Sigrid's hair. It
was scented with essence of lilacs. "Only if I were blind. It is often
difficult to explain the differences in the various schools of magic to the
uninitiated, but just as Illusionists control light and sound, or Diviners
direction and probability, or Transmuters form and appearance, an Enchantress
knows the workings of the mind, the heart and the soul." Yssinel's voice
was like a fluid song, each syllable pronounced as if she were at a poetry
reading. "I think Mjrina is a rare beauty and very right for you. She even
managed to teach me to explore uncharted corners of the realm of the
senses."
"Y-You?" Sigrid stammered.
"I take it you have never lived amongst
elves." Yssinel said, tugging back a few strands of indigo hair to plant a
soft kiss on the aasimar's sensitive ear.
"Not...not as such." Sigrid relented.
Hopefully that confession would not lead to further probing questions.
"Odd - since your Grey Elven is perfect. But for clarity's
sake, know that we consider lovemaking to be an expression of close friendship
and not a promise of bondage. We are bonded to those whom we think our souls
cannot exist without, but we love all our most intimate friends - both in the
flesh and in the heart." Yssinel explained, casually drawing her tongue
wetly over the length of Sigrid's ear. The aasimar whimpered and shuddered, her
toes curling into the soft carpet beneath her.
"But, doesn't that lead to jealousy and
resentment?"
"No - only lesser races are possessive in the
physical expression of love. I love Tahllea dearly, but I also yearn for Mjrina
and take pleasure in her company as my flower blooms under her caress. So, too,
does Tahllea love her apprentices - especially Ilmaeria, though I am certainly
not jealous of her."
"I think I understand." Sigrid said. It was
cold comfort.
"Good. So take pride that Mjrina told me this
morning how much she adores you." Yssinel breathed. Her hands brushed
against the hem of Sigrid's nightgown, tugging the satin higher until the
fabric lay bunched up at the aasimar's waist. Sigrid's pale thighs were lovely:
long and taut, like a good fencer's.
"She did?" Sigrid said with palpable relief.
She had no idea what Yssinel intended to do next, but the touch of the
Enchantress' hands was magnificently erotic.
"I have never seen her so enthusiastic."
With that, Yssinel gently parted Sigrid's thighs and dipped a finger against
the plump mound of her Well of Hanali. Sigrid blushed. She felt her sex begin
to pulse in desire under Yssinel's touch - she knew she was becoming wet.
Yssinel smiled and brought a long, elegant finger, glistening in Sigrid's
pearly arousal, to her lips to lick it clean. "Just as Mjrina described
you." Yssinel said with a satisfied sigh. "I may well be the only
mage in Imej to boast an aasimar as my Kithela. You have so much
potential, my dear. One day, there will be no finer Bladesinger than you in
this city."
***
Your move
"You're angry with me." Mjrina pouted. She
knelt in front of Sigrid, who sat pensively cross-legged on her bed,
scrutinising the Fherthaala playing board that lay between them.
"No." Sigrid replied distantly. She picked
up the octagonal dice and cast them on the silver mirror and glumly extracted
the requisite number of lozenge-shaped seeds from the World Tree. These she
predisposed on empty terrain spaces. She badly needed to reveal a Fire Orchid
card to counter Mjrina's lead.
"You are." the Wood Elf sulked. She
was happy when everyone around her was, too, and it troubled her to no end that
she was the cause of Sigrid's sullen silence.
"Your move." Sigrid retorted.
Mjrina rolled. "Twenty-five. The seeds on the
Mist Islands have germinated." She flipped the card. "Black
Lotus." the Wood Elf maiden said, taking no pleasure in her victory.
"Too complicated..." Sigrid complained under
her breath, trying to stare at the game board. Mjrina was too unbearably sweet
to be angry at for long.
"Like you." Mjrina chided gently. "Now
please tell me what troubles you."
"Why did it have to be with Tahllea?" Sigrid
blurted out, all of a sudden, feeling a massive weight lifted from her heart
the moment the words escaped her lips.
"Oh, my treasure!" Mjrina sighed, taking
Sigrid's hand into her own. "Please, I beg you, don't take it as a
personal affront. Lady Tahllea can be difficult, but she is Mistress' lover. It
is only right that I submit to her affections, especially since she has been so
good to me..."
"Her?" Sigrid snarled. "She treats you
like a servant..."
"Sigrid." Mjrina said softly but firmly.
"I am a servant. Yssinel thinks much of me, but that is why I thank
the Forest Mother every dawn for granting me such a loving Mistress."
"Then why? Why aren't you running in the forest,
living in your treetop village and dancing in some wooded glade instead of
being a servant of people who have no respect for you?" Sigrid asked
indignantly.
"In my village," Mjrina explained patiently,
"I had to awake before dawn to fetch water from the river. As soon as I
was old enough to hold a needle, I had to sow my own dresses. When I went out
to play as a child, I had to remember to avoid the wyverns overhead and the
purple wurms below. Here I have fine clothes, all I want to eat and I am more
fortunate than most of my people who come to the city. My mother was a village
elder and a herbalist. What she taught me made certain that I became a
Handmaiden and not a scullery maid or a gardener."
"So does that mean that you have to surrender
yourself to all of Yssinel's friends?"
"Blessed Forest Mother, no!" Mjrina said,
swiftly clasping her amber bracelet to make sure that Sigrid's comment did not
become a curse. "Tahllea is most chivalrous. It was my pleasure and hers
that we be intimate."
"And what about me? Where do we stand?"
Sigrid challenged.
"Sigrid..." Mjrina whispered. She edged
closer to her lover and lay her head in her lap. "What Tahllea is to Yssinel,
I hope you will be to me. As the Sun dawns, my first thought is of you and, as
sleep claims me, it is you who warms me with your embrace and no-one else.
Whenever you look at me, I see fire in your eyes and that fire makes me feel
like I have a hummingbird in my breast."
Sigrid relented and drew the elven girl closer,
admiring the effect of her green and oak-brown hair spread out over her lap
like a forest floor. Mjrina sighed and snuggled closer, feeling very safe in
Sigrid's arms.
- Isobel be damned. - Sigrid thought to
herself. - If anyone asks me to choose between being a paladin of the Order
or staying with Mjrina, she will get her answer without me ever giving it a
second thought. -
***
Swimming
As the Season of the Mother's Sleep progressed, the
days grew shorter and colder, and Yssinel, always attuned to the aesthetics of
the passage of time, threw a lavish party to celebrate the coming of the first
snows. The garden had already been prepared, with hardy perennials, elegant
conifers and rare blue alpine flowers which grew even in the darkest winters
all sharing pride of place. Tall, fluted bronze braziers shaped like blooming
orchids provided heating, while floating disks of force - covered in
newly-woven cloths after the seasons newest fashions - bore a vast and artistic
assortment of cakes, crystallised fruit and flowers and a dozen types of wine
and mead.
Guests poured through the vine-grown entrance and
stared in wonder at the effect of vegetation growing from snow and ice. Some of
Yssinel's friends at the Academy of Transmutation had provided flawless ice
sculptures of fanciful beasts, making the garden look like some frozen
menagerie.
Sigrid was, for the very start of the party,
overwhelmed. Elven women clad in enchanted fabrics whispered behind shimmering
veils which their handmaidens extended whenever they required privacy. Rakishly
clad, handsome elven men strutted imperiously with fine-featured boys, clad
only in tunics, attending to their every whim. She had no idea of how to even
begin melding into the poetic greetings and complex body language that
dominated each interaction. Yssinel was far too busy greeting her lady friends
and circulating to pay her Kithela anything but passing attention.
Mjrina, whose ceremonial role was always at her Mistress' side, offered a few,
shy smiles, but not much else.
So Sigrid withdrew as discreetly as possible to the
garden's entrance, hoping to slink away and go for a swim in the heated
artificial lake near the frescoed temple of Hanali Celanil. It was by the
garden gate, near a table bearing brightly coloured winter berries, that she
ran into Ilmaeria. The apprentice stood stiffly, clearly selfconscious of the
modesty of her simple blue fencer's tunic compared to the profusion of gems,
silks and feathers on the other guests. Sigrid was almost relieved to see her.
"Hey! Ilmaeria, remember me? Goddess, I hate to
say it, but I'm glad to see you." Sigrid called.
"The day illuminates you, Sigrid." Ilmaeria
replied dryly.
"Yeah, thanks...so, how has your day been?"
"Spent training." the apprentice Bladesinger
replied, staring out in the distance.
"Do you want to go swimming? Though I must warn
you, you'll have to be quick to keep up with me." Sigrid offered. She
sensed Ilmaeria was not being rude. Perhaps the Grey Elven girl felt profoundly
awkward.
"I...I really should stay with Mistress
Tahllea." Ilmaeria said ruefully. She was loath to admit it, but a swim
with Sigrid would probably be far more amusing than the party.
"I won't tell." Sigrid insisted with a
smile.
For the first time, Ilmaeria smiled back. Her
silver-grey almond eyes were glorious when she was happy. "If I outpace
you over two lengths of the lake, will you offer me a second duel?"
"Yes." Sigrid replied amiably. "But
don't set your heart on it. You have to beat me first."
Ilmaeria turned to follow Sigrid through the garden
gate, when another guest crossed her path. It was a short, thin woman, with
sharp, aristocratic features and silver hair, clad in a white gown with
shimmering pearls woven into its fabric. "Pray, girl, fetch me a goblet of
Irlenmeyer Mead." she ordered in a haughtily measured tone. Ilmaeria
tensed. How dare this woman, not much older than she was, treat her with such contempt.
"I am no servant. I would gladly defend you,
sword in hand, should you ever find yourself in danger, but I have not sworn
myself to the way of the blade to bring you a drink." Ilmaeria retorted,
before realising she should probably have demurely complied.
"Servant or not, you should know your
place." the woman hissed. "I see you bear the pendant of Lady
Tahllea's duelling hall. How would she react to such insolence from an
apprentice?"
"Didn't you hear her?" Sigrid interjected.
"She's a swordswoman and not a servant."
Alerted to the commotion, Tahllea hastened over to the
scene. "What, may I ask, is the matter?" she said sternly, her fiery
gaze already fixed accusingly on Ilmaeria.
"Your apprentice ought to know better than to
answer back with impudence, Lady Tahllea." the woman replied. I expect
you will discipline her for this intolerable lapse in protocol.
"But..." Sigrid began, before being cut off
by Tahllea's withering gaze.
"Excuse us, Lady Labelasa, allow me to settle
this." Tahllea said firmly. She had no intention of being told how to
discipline her novices by some soft sorceress.
"With your permission, Lady Tahllea."
Labelasa said coldly, before withdrawing.
Sigrid spoke up first. "Tahllea, I can explain, I
don't know much about your customs here..."
"Precisely, so remain silent!" Tahllea
snapped with such quiet ferocity that even Sigrid backed down. "Now,
you." the Bladesinger said, turning to Ilmaeria who still stood defiant.
"Explain yourself, girl."
"Forgive me if I implicated you in this
situation, Mistress, but she had no right to speak to me like that."
Ilmaeria said, though she did not dare meet Tahllea's gaze.
"Listen well, child." Tahllea whispered
savagely. Even when angry, she was impeccably graceful. Her posture never once
suggested that she was reprimanding Ilmaeria. "Embarrass me in such a
manner once - just once more and I promise you will be washing dishes and
rolling pastry just like your mother, understood?"
Ilmaeria tensed and clenched her fists. She felt a
knot of emotion forming in her throat. The most humiliating thing, of course,
was that Tahllea had chosen to scold her in front of Sigrid.
"Understood, you wretched slattern?" Tahllea
repeated, her voice soft but venomously dangerous.
"Yes, Mistress. I beg your forgiveness,
Mistress." Ilmaeria said between gritted teeth. Her knees felt like lead.
She desperately hoped a purple wurm would suddenly emerge from the ground and
swallow her. Or, better still, swallow the whole godsforsaken party.
"Good girl. You always were the stubborn
one." With that Tahllea, swept around majestically and rejoined the party.
"Maybe..." Sigrid said, pausing to find
something comforting to say. Ilmaeria, though, looked inconsolable. "How
about something warm to drink somewhere quiet? Away from here, it looks like if
you run into that woman again, you'll run her through, so I really think we
should keep our distance - for her safety at least."
"All right." Ilmaeria replied faintly. The
knot of tears in her throat was growing thicker by the second.
They retreated upstairs to Sigrid's room. Ilmaeria
paused to remove her boots at the entrance and trudged miserably inside. A pot
of hot tea had been left, as usual, by Mjrina on the bedside table. Sigrid
poured a cup of the aromatic, red liquid, deciding that it was for the best.
The party was clearly no more to Ilmaeria's taste than it was to hers.
"Here." Sigrid said, handing Ilmaeria the
gold-rimmed ceramic cup with a reassuring smile. "Sit down, make yourself
comfortable - you really should try and relax."
Ilmaeria gingerly mounted onto the bed. She hugged her
knees miserably, thinking of the maddening masochism of the reasons of the
heart. Hot tears of impotent rage began to fall slowly, painfully down her
cheeks.
"Come on, there's no need for that." Sigrid
said softly, taking a seat by Ilmaeria's side. She tentatively raised a hand to
the Grey Elf girl's shoulder.
"No!" Ilmaeria snapped, biting her lip and
shrugging Sigrid's hand off.
"Easy...Goddess, at least I'm trying to
help." Sigrid protested.
"How?"
"Look, you're angry, you feel lost, you want to
cut the whole world to pieces because you don't know what to do with your
frustration. I know what you feel, because I used to be the same. The only
difference is that you're not crying your eyes out hugging a pillow and begging
the Goddess that your bunkmate doesn't notice and tell everyone you're a
weakling." Sigrid said, trying to be wry, even as she felt a pang from old
wounds that had yet to heal.
"Would you believe that I love my Mistress with
such ardour that I sometimes frighten myself?" Ilmaeria whispered. She
drained her tea in one mouthful, hoping it would calm her nerves.
"Why?"
"Unless you have a talent for magic or religious
doctrine, the only thing you can do in Imej, even if you're a Grey Elf, is
follow a family member's profession. My father is an orchard keeper and my
mother works in the kitchen of a third-rate tavern. Tahllea had faith in me.
She taught me pride. She never laughed at my ambitions."
"Does she love you?" Sigrid pressed.
All of a sudden, she felt guilty about maintaining her deception while Ilmaeria
opened her heart.
"Absolutely." Ilmaeria replied with grim
determination. "When she scolds and disciplines me, it's for my own good.
But when I please her, she is loving and generous. My silver sword was a gift
from her. I could never dream of affording such a fine blade."
"We could see each other more often." Sigrid
offered. She needed to change the subject - she was sick of hearing how
wonderful Tahllea was. "We have the same interests and since
our...Mistresses spend so much time together, you could show me around Imej or
we could go swimming. Whatever you like. I think I'll go mad if I'm stuck
playing another impossible game with Mjrina."
"Oh, is she your lover?" Ilmaeria said
admiringly.
"Yes. It must be my aasimar charm." Sigrid
said, halfway between a joke and a boast.
"Mjrina is achingly lovely. Like a wild flower
you desperately want to press to your breast." the Grey Elf maiden
whispered. Perhaps Sigrid was not quite the arrogant, uncouth upstart Tahllea
had made her out to be.
"Are you a poetess?"
"No, I never read much. But I feel things deeply.
I sense the beautiful sadness that the passage of time brings. So, in my time,
I want to do everything with passion."
"It shows. But keep practicing your bladecraft,
because passion alone won't defeat me." Sigrid crowed. For the first time,
she could proclaim her fencing skills as the very best.
Ilmaeria smiled, almost ironically, and gently laid
her hand on Sigrid's. "I'm sorry I rebuffed your affection. I don't have
many friends, so even my fellow apprentices think of me as cold."
"It's nothing." Sigrid gave Ilmaeria's hand
a reassuring squeeze.
"What was your child-name?" the apprentice
breathed. She feared she was being rude by being so direct. But Sigrid was one
of the few people, elves or otherwise, who had ever shown genuine interest in
her.
"Huh? I never really had one? I guess it's always
been Sigrid." Of course, there were the barbed little nicknames from the
Order, but it was best to leave those well alone.
"Aravae. My name was Aravae. I liked it so
much better than Ilmaeria."
"Aravae it is, then." Sigrid nodded.
"But if you don't like the name Ilmaeria, why did you choose it?"
"My Mistress chose it for me. A fine name for a
beautiful young woman, she said, and who was I to disagree?"
"Aravae..." Sigrid began tentatively.
"Hmm?"
"Shall we go swimming?"
"Yes."
***
Advice
Jander of House Ahlirian shrugged off his silk
dressing gown. His cock sprang free, slender but steel-hard and glistening in
sandalwood oil. The blond boy, whose name Jander always forgot, lay
submissively on the bed, thighs parted to reveal the dimpled pink rosebud
between the alabaster mounds of his bottom. Jander mounted on the bed and
entered the boy with a long, elegant thrust. His smooth, lithely muscled body tensed
at the tightness enveloping his phallus. The boy grunted and squirmed - his
cock pressed hard against the pillow supporting his belly.
Running his hands possessively over the boy's smooth
back, Jander took deep, languid thrusts, his long, chestnut-brown hair sweeping
around his shoulders with each graceful motion. The boy began to grunt as he
felt his master's long, hard shaft master his pliant sheath. Each thrust rubbed
Jander's cock against the nexus of pleasure deep inside the boy. The blond bucked
his hips, building delicious friction between his phallus and the silken
cushion. It would not be long.
"Master..." the boy whimpered. His cock felt
aflame with hard, tense need. "I'm going to spend."
Jander was not surprised. Even as coquettish elven
boys went, this one was wanton. So he parted the boy's bottom and withdrew his
greased phallus, so that the boy's rosebud clamped down around the very tip of
his cock. He paused, letting the boy squirm and beg for release. Then he thrust
in, long and hard, burying himself to the hilt. The boy gasped and thrust
spasmodically against the cushion. His seed flooded out of his convulsing cock,
covering the silk in long, milky trails. Jander groaned as he felt the boy's
anus clamp down hard on his phallus. He mastered the boy's orgasm with two more
sharp thrusts in rapid succession, before firing his seed deep into his lover's
moist, tight depths. A knock on the door interrupted the slow savouring of his
climax.
"What?" Jander growled. He withdrew from the
boy, leaving a long trail of sticky seed between the glistening, pink tulip
bulb of his cock and his lover's quivering bottom.
"Should I come another time?" Tahllea called
from the other side of the door.
"No...enter." Jander said with a sigh. He
pulled on his golden silk dressing gown and rose majestically to his feet.
Taller than most Grey Elves, his serenely handsome presence always inspired awe
and envy in equal measure.
Tahllea stepped into Jander's vast, luxurious
bedchamber. Silken tapestries hung from the walls and a massive, floating
crystal prism provided a rich, silver-tinted illumination. "Apologies if I
interrupt," Tahllea began, noting the boy lying spread out on the bed, a
dreamy look in his sapphire-blue eyes.
"Not at all, my dear sister, not at all. How may
I be of service?" Jander inquired. He poured a goblet full of pink,
rose-petal infused wine from a gilded pitcher and proffered it to Tahllea.
"Have you seen Yssinels new toy?" the
Bladesinger said with a grimace.
"Forgive me, I'm terrible at remembering names.
Are you referring to the blue-haired girl with the adamantine sword?"
"Yes, regrettably."
"An aasimar apparently, with the blood of the
servants of the Gods in her veins. Yssinel always had exotic tastes."
Jander said, his tone jaded.
"You're always well informed," Tahllea said,
swirling the wine in her goblet and taking a symbolic sip. "But my
problems are far more pressing than Yssinel's tastes. That girl...that
insolent, irreverent girl has not only secured Yssinel's favour, but the
affection of Ilmaeria as well. When I went to fetch my foolish apprentice after
Yssinel's ice-party, I was told they had gone swimming together in the lake
next to the temple of Hanali."
"Understandable, perhaps?" Jander mused.
"You have always had a fine taste in women, can you blame this aasimar for
having a similar aesthetic sensibility?"
"She may be plotting to usurp what I have
built." Tahllea said darkly. "Now that Aerylle is returning, matters
can only become more complicated. I need your counsel. You always had a mind
for politics and deception and, if I have to be honest, have always been
especially sympathetic to me."
"Now, now, sister." Jander said with a
dismissive laugh. "There is no need to play the victim. No one in this
House ever cared that you were adopted, or, indeed, that you are a High
Elf."
"You certainly never did and for that I will be
eternally grateful, just as I would be for your aid in this matter."
"Then why not settle this between
Bladesingers?" Jander suggested. Sometimes the simplest solutions were the
most effective. "Defeat her in a duel and you will re-confirm Ilmaeria's
undying devotion and Yssinel's admiration. There would be no statement more
eloquent than the poetry of your blade." He affectionately ran his hand
down Tahllea's raven-black curls to caress her cheek.
"Is that all?" Tahllea said, a little
perplexed. She could have thought of that herself.
"Find out what Yssinel intends to do with her. In
these days of peace, having a Kithela is anachronistic, to say the
least. She must have an ulterior motive and, knowing Yssinel, that may not be
easy to extract. So you must circumvent her."
"How?" Tahllea asked. Jander's propositions
were sounding more interesting by the second.
"A lady's Handmaiden is usually the best place to
start." Jander said airily, gently cupping Tahllea's chin.
"Aren't your boys sufficient?" Tahllea said
coolly. She knew Jander had been lusting after her for some time. Inexplicably,
because, like many Grey Elven noblemen, he preferred the social and erotic
company of other males. Tahllea, of course, would never assent. She had made
her preference clear since early adolescence, but Jander nevertheless felt free
to dream.
"I, too, sometimes have a taste for the
exotic." Jander said, his voice as smooth as rose oil. His green eyes were
piercing, like lances into Tahllea's mind.
"Really? And I expect that, were I ever to offer
you my bed, you would take me like a boy." the Bladesinger retorted with
contempt.
"Naturally." Jander shrugged. The dressing
gown slid down his shoulders, revealing the slim, yet perfectly defined muscles
of his smooth chest and belly. "Is my darling Tahllea still uninitiated to
such pleasures?"
"In the way you imagine it, yes," Tahllea
snapped impatiently. She had no intention of discussing the intimate details of
her erotic life in the presence of her brother's newest kept boy. "We can
continue this conversation at a better time for both of us. My thanks for your
advice. By Sehanine, I will certainly not be outdone by this vulgar
upstart of a girl."
***
Sisterly love
Steam wafted through the artificial cavern, carved
from the living rock to serve as a thermal bath. The cult of Hanali placed
great emphasis on physical as well as spiritual wellbeing, so many of Her
temples doubled as spas. It was late afternoon and, as it was the Season of the
Mother's Sleep, the sky had just dimmed to a dull, red glow that poured through
the cavern's skylight. Sigrid sat on the warm, sandy stone by the heated lake's
side, absentmindedly dipping her feet into the water. Aravae kicked the current
sullenly by the aasimar's side.
"You must have some Aquatic Elf blood in
you." Aravae said ruefully, watching the current foam and bubble around
her feet. Sigrid had simply been too quick for her in the water yet again. They
had made it a habit of meeting for a recreational swim each late afternoon
after Yssinel retired to her beauty room and Tahllea dismissed her apprentices
at the duelling hall.
"I don't know what's in me." Sigrid replied
softly. "I was just born this way. Both my parents were human, but the
aasimar blessing can lie dormant in the bloodline, only to be awakened at the
right time."
"So you were raised by humans? What was that
like?" Aravae asked incredulously. It had never occurred to her that
something of such fae-like beauty as Sigrid could have been raised by humans,
who, in the eyes of most Grey Elves, were nothing but brutish warmongers.
"Terrible." Sigrid replied curtly. "My
father left us because he thought my mother had eloped with someone else.
Whenever we had any guests, they made me cover up my ears. Once, they even dyed
my hair blonde so I'd look more normal."
"They?"
"My mother and my stepsister." Sigrid said,
biting her lip as the memories flowed back into her mind. Her family had not
been wealthy, but she had never gone cold or hungry. So why had she cried
herself to sleep without anyone holding her, asking her what was wrong, telling
her that, in spite of everything, she was loved?
"Is that why you became a knight-errant?"
Aravae could just imagine the scene - something out of legend. She hoped to cut
her own destiny from the same fabric.
"Yes." Sigrid nodded with an ironic smile.
"I realised I had a talent for the blade, so the Order of the Radiant
Path, dedicated to the Vigilant Maiden, trained me. When the time came for me
to choose whether to remain in the Order as a paladin or go out into the world,
I chose the latter. I hoped to find a place where I would be just one of many
like me and, on this world, that's exactly what I found." Lying, Sigrid
decided, was much easier and felt far less guilty when half-truths were
involved.
"Tell me - what have you fought, what wonders
have you seen on your many adventures?" Aravae pressed. Adventure and
bladecraft were the only two subjects that aroused any interest in her.
"Some very fine fighters - and each taught me
something new. Which is why I hope to duel and vanquish your mistress."
Sigrid replied quickly, hoping she had succeeded in evading Aravae's question.
"Beware, then. Lady Tahllea is the finest
Bladesinger in Imej and, perhaps the whole of the Dragonspine Mountains. Her
reputation precedes her. Some say she has the blood of a famous ranger flowing
in her veins - a ranger who died in battling a great, Green Dragon. That's why
a noble family of Imej adopted her, because they knew she was destined to be a
heroine of legendary fame." Aravae could as well have been a bard singing
of Tahllea's praises.
"What do you mean 'some say', you could as well
be her little sister. Don't you know for sure?" Sigrid interjected. There
was far too much mystery around Tahllea. The more she thought about it, the
more Imej looked like an illusion with something strange and terrible hidden
beneath.
"Of course not." Aravae replied. "Lady
Tahllea always says that the past is irrelevant. Every acorn has to wallow in
soil before it becomes a mighty oak..."
"But what do you think, Aravae?" Sigrid
interrupted.
"I think that Tahllea is a wonderful teacher and
a generous mistress. But she, too, is mortal, and occasionally makes mistakes.
She told me that you were a lowly adventurer, little better than a mercenary,
but...I disagree with that. You've been kind to me - maybe because we
understand each other's pain. An oak tree's dryad can never love the dryad of a
cypress. An evergreen tree's dryad will never know what it's like to shed
leaves each Season of the Mother's Birthing."
"I'm glad I met you." Sigrid whispered,
tentatively wrapping her arm around Aravae's waist. "You won't push me
away this time, will you?"
"No..." Aravae replied, turning to meet
Sigrid's gaze. "But please...I'm not accustomed to anyone but Lady
Tahllea..."
"Hush." Sigrid breathed. "It's very
simple. Im going to hug you and youll
hug back."
Aravae closed her eyes and allowed herself to be drawn
into Sigrid's embrace. In that instant, she knew the aasimar was not only a
rival, but a kindred spirit. So she clasped Sigrid tightly - just close enough
so she could hear the steady flow of her breathing and the soothing pulse of
her heartbeat.
"You can have that second duel anytime."
Sigrid said, trailing her fingers through the moist strands of Aravaes
sun-blonde hair. Just get ready to lose again.
Aravae clasped Sigrid tighter. It
grows late and I dont wish for anyone to worry about me. she
said with a hint of reluctance. She would have much rather stayed for another
race with Sigrid and, perhaps, a stroll together down the night market for some
fried honeycomb and waybread. Tahllea, however, insisted on an informal curfew.
Ill
come with you
Sigrid suggested enthusiastically. I
can walk you home and maybe you can show me around Tahlleas
lair.
Aravae contemplated the swirling water around her feet
and let her gaze trail up Sigrids lithely muscular leg. If you wish
but I
warn you that I dont have much to offer and
well, Im not strictly speaking
allowed into the upper floors of the house without invitation. Normally,
Aravae thought wryly, those invitations led straight to Tahlleas bed.
It
doesnt matter. Sigrid said, gently tickling
the soft skin of Aravaes thigh. Im
curious.
Tahlleas home lay only a few moments
walk from Yssinels. The style of the tower was more determined,
with a greater emphasis on vine-grown granite and stern, polished marble than
gilding or magical enhancements. A single prism of red energy floated around
the topmost floor of the tower, radiating heat and light throughout the night.
Aravae, however, had not been modest in describing her quarters. Her room was a
few paces from the kitchen on the lower ground floor near the servants
quarters. The bedchamber itself was cramped, with a small bed pressed against
the wall, a modest, plain wooden clothes chest, a single lamp for illumination
and a washbasin and pitcher. That was all.
Since
you were curious, Aravae said with some resentment, here
it is.
Its
not too bad. Sigrid replied truthfully. When
I was a novice, we lived in small rooms like these - only that there were four
to a room, sleeping in bunk beds. So
the aasimar continued,
swiftly discarding her boots and leaping onto the bed, much to Aravaes
dismay. What do you want to do?
Do? the
Grey Elven girl said in disbelief.
Yes,
like grab some wine and pastries from the kitchen and have a nice sisterly chat,
hopefully not involving Tahllea, but, since youre
the host, I think Im up for just about anything.
Sigrid chimed. It was almost like being at the Order again, but this time, her
room-mate was someone who appreciated her.
I
I
think its late.
Late?
The sun has barely set
Sigrid protested.
Go
home, Sigrid. Now! Aravae snapped. The aasimar may have had time
for frivolities, but she certainly did not.
Fine!
Sigrid retorted, hurt by Aravaes abruptness. I
suppose Im not going to find many friends here, either. She
rose briskly and turned to leave, a leaden disappointment gathering in her
chest.
Stay.
Aravae whispered the moment Sigrid reached for the door. She felt torn between
accepting Sigrids friendship and the fear of rejection and contempt.
Make
up your mind.
Forgive
me. Aravae said, her voice heavy with emotion. Today
I looked at you and saw someone who understood me, who could even love me like
a sister. Forgive me if I cannot master my emotions, so that what I say is
confused and meaningless. Forgive me, because I know that youre a good soul
and that you deserve much better
Sigrids
arms drowned out the rest of Aravaes whispered apologies.
Thanks, Sigrid said into Aravaes
ear as she held the Grey Elf maiden tight to her breast. I
would have been far too embarrassed and tongue-tied to say all that, but thats
exactly how I feel too.