Author’s 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. Yssinel’s 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 Sigrid’s 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. Tahllea’s lips, when they had touched Sigrid’s were soft, like a woman’s, 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 aasimar’s 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 Sigrid’s 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. She’s 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 Tahllea’s 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 Yssinel’s 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. I’m going to hug you and you’ll 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 Aravae’s sun-blonde hair. “Just get ready to lose again.”

 

Aravae clasped Sigrid tighter. “It grows late and I don’t 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.

 

“I’ll come with you…” Sigrid suggested enthusiastically. “I can walk you home and maybe you can show me around Tahllea’s lair.”

 

Aravae contemplated the swirling water around her feet and let her gaze trail up Sigrid’s lithely muscular leg. “If you wish…but I warn you that I don’t have much to offer and…well, I‘m not strictly speaking allowed into the upper floors of the house without invitation.” Normally, Aravae thought wryly, those invitations led straight to Tahllea’s bed.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Sigrid said, gently tickling the soft skin of Aravae’s thigh. “I’m curious.”

 

Tahllea’s home lay only a few moments’ walk from Yssinel’s. 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.”

 

“It’s 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 Aravae’s 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 you’re the host, I think I’m 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 it’s 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 Aravae’s abruptness. “I suppose I’m 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 Sigrid’s 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 you’re a good soul and that you deserve much better…” Sigrid’s arms drowned out the rest of Aravae’s whispered apologies.

 

“Thanks,” Sigrid said into Aravae’s 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 that’s exactly how I feel too.”