Destiny
Sigrid admired the
meteor shower from the bronzy glow of the terrace that opened up, fluid and
oval, from the great crystal paned windows of Yssinel's library. The larger
moon, Sehanine, hovered, huge and silvery, in its full glory, while her younger
sister, Faenya, was at more than three quarters, a strip of her luminescent
surface still blotted out by the bluish darkness of the night sky. Stars
abounded, mingling freely with the falling points of light. The Aasimar sat
back on a gold-satin couch, absentmindedly stroking the elegant, streamlined
form of the pommel of Aravae's sword. Their blades lay sheathed on the low,
circular table where a ceramic pot of spicy tea gave off fragrant steam,
flanked by glazed cups. Further out, in the horizon that stretched mysteriously
beyond Imej, shrouded by icebound peaks and endless coniferous forests,
something beckoned. Wanderlust - a desire for the unknown filled Sigrid. A
desire to leave the madness that formed each passing day in Imej. She could not
live her life fighting Tahllea, or running from the haughty Baldesinger's
stratagems. Sigrid had fled the Order of the Radiant Path because Isobel, her
commander, had given her the freedom to find her own destiny. Now that she had
discovered Imej, seen the endless glories of the world called Queluria, there
was no going back. Still, staying in Imej was little better than languishing at
the Order. Either way, she was subjugated to the power of a force she could
neither understand nor control.
Aravae sensed her
friend's anxiety. She hugged her knees by Sigrid's side, contemplating the
endless expanse of city lights and glowing spheres of magical energy that
gradually gave way to a vast, dark forest. She, too, longed to leave. It would
be all the better with Sigrid by her side.
The balcony was
cool, but a little warmth filtered through the opened library window, emanating
from the brilliant pillar of stylised crystal, in the shape of a roaring flame,
that rose from a tall, slender copper censer by Yssinel's desk. A soft light
flooded over bookshelves and the intricate, woven tapestries depicting Elven myths of yore. A
sea of hardwood, red and gold - all the luxury that surrounded Sigrid was a
gilded trap. Being Yssinel’s Kithela was nothing but an opulent prison.
As long as Sigrid stayed, she was convinced she would remain a pawn in
Yssinel's games, batted back and forth between her mistress and Tahllea like a
doll.
Sigrid reached for
her mug of warm, spiced tea and took a comforting sip. Her long, dark blue
nightshirt was pleasantly cosy, but there was nothing quite like
hot, cinnamon tea with a generous addition of Wood Elven honey to warm one's
belly on such a night.
"How big do you
imagine this world is?" Sigrid mused. Aravae hugged herself closer and let
her silvery gaze wander across the boundless horizon.
"The first time
I ever left Imej was with you." Aravae murmured. Sigrid's presence reassured
her just the way Tahllea had done so many years ago, back when her idol was
still the gallant heroine of her dreams.
"But surely you
must have read about different lands, different forests, or cities to the North
or to the South..."
"Why?"
Aravae teased gently. "Do you not read?"
"Not if I can
help it." The last thing Sigrid enjoyed was dry, monotonous study. Her
sword spoke to her in so many ways that words could never express them all.
"Lady Tahllea
once told me of Eltheless - Dzelha's native city. There snow falls all year
round and the palaces and towers are made of ice and crystals. Star Elves are a
stern people - severe but beautiful. There was a time in which I was quite
infatuated with Dzelha..."
Sigrid chuckled.
"You're joking, right?"
"No...the first time I saw her - I envied her like nothing else.
Every word perfect, every step measured, with her shimmering breastplate and
crystal sabre...then, in time, the illusion fades. She was a girl, frightened
and insecure just like me. It's just that her people cannot show it. Overt
emotion is unbecoming - especially for a Star Elven woman."
"I was thinking
about the South."
"What of
it?"
"There is an
Ocean, or so I'm told, twenty days by caravan or three days by airship south of
Imej. A little further south of Brook-under-Sunshine begins the territory of
the Grey Elven city of
"So you do read."
Aravae smiled and gave Sigrid's bottom a playful caress.
"Sometimes, but
only when I'm pressed," Sigrid turned over onto her belly and leaned her
head on the divan's armrest. "You know...my pretty little Aravae, Min made
my back quite sore today in practice..."
"Nice try, but
not a chance." Aravae interrupted smugly. "Anyway, Mjrina is supposed
to be your masseuse."
"She's busy
with Yssinel again."
"Really? And how long does Yssinel's bedtime routine
last?"
"Sometimes
hours..." Sigrid groaned impatiently. "Once every ten days, she asks
for a full body realignment."
"Hmm?"
"Apparently,
she needs a druid to do it. Yssinel is obsessed with keeping her body in harmony,
so that Mjrina has to summon up spirits and prepare special potions to keep
Yssinel's energy flowing."
"I suppose it
is understandable enough." Aravae said pensively. "An Enchantress
needs to be in perfect synchronism with body."
"All Elves seem
to be," Sigrid said, a little enviously, "an Elven woman knows the
moment she is with child..."
"Correct, and a
little later, she also knows the child's gender...but, Sigrid, you are like us,
in a way, surely you feel more at ease with your body
and mind since you came to live amongst us."
"A
little..." Sigrid conceded - her biorhythm had definitely been stifled
from living among humans, "now I feel that Min has awakened me. It's as if
everything were clearer and better defined, even if I don't see it - I
instinctively know it's there."
"After your
duel with Tahllea...do you want to leave?" Aravae said tentatively. She
had put off broaching the subject of departing from Imej until she was certain
Sigrid was ready to discuss it rationally. “What of your vows to your Order?”
Sigrid shook her
head. ”When I was sent to Imej, I resolved that I would only return home as a
heroine. Now, it appears, I still have much to do before I can live up to that
ambition. The Order of the Radiant Path will welcome me back as a sister who
has passed into legend – or not at all.”
“So South it is…” Aravae pondered the stars.
“Would you come with
me?"
"Of course, you
foolish, foolish girl..." Aravae said tenderly, pouncing on Sigrid to lay
a soft trail of butterfly kisses on the Aasimar's soft, indigo hair.
"Thanks..."
"And I think
Iniila, Dzelha and Erieanal would come, too. Together, we would be more than
capable of travelling throughout even the most forbidding lands of
Queluria..."
"Nice
to hear that you're so enthusiastic."
"I need to
leave." Aravae said with grim determination. She huddled close to Sigrid
and wrapped her arms around the Aasimar's waist. Before their eyes, the meteor
shower gathered pace and, all of a sudden, it was as if the night sky gad been
lit up by a silent procession of streaks of brilliant light. They were like
droplets from the band of milky cosmic matter that arched, like a nighttime
rainbow, across the heavens. "Tahllea rescued me from being yet another
humble pastry cook. She gave me a new name, a new life, a new purpose. But now
it is time for the student to bid her mistress farewell."
Sigrid lay
wordlessly and listened to Aravae breathe. The reason the Grey Elven woman was
so affectionate that evening was clear enough. Distancing herself from Tahllea
meant taking a great leap into the unknown. Sigrid would, inevitably, fill
Tahllea's place. Aravae needed someone to be by her side - to soothe her
vulnerability. First it was Iniila, then Tahllea and now, perhaps, Sigrid.
"It's cold here," Sigrid whispered, carefully skirting the subject of
Tahllea, "I want to see the warm water lap around the sandy shore. I want
to lie under the sun and watch the surf bathe my feet."
"So...you would
have me believe this has nothing to do with that Aquatic Elf shopkeeper
who sold you Mjrina's pendant?" Aravae insinuated slyly, playfully nipping
at Sigrid's pointed ear.
"Ah...right...that,
you saw me?" Sigrid was glad that her back was to Aravae. Her
porcelain-pale skin had flushed a rather deep shade of pink.
"Even if I had
not seen you, I would have known. You love water - one look at an Aquatic Elf
maiden's sea-blue skin and swimmer's build and there would be very little to
stop you..."
"I suppose it's
all in line with those stories they tell about Bladesingers, right...?"
Aravae laughed
gently. "Those are romances, Sigrid...stories for dreamers."
"Speaking of
stories, Aulatha said something about my destiny and that made me
wonder..."
"Aulatha is a
wise warrior and has travelled widely. To the South, you already know, there
are more like you, Aasimar, I mean - but Iniila was struck the first time she
saw you."
"Why?"
Sigrid cocked her head to one side. All of a sudden her curiosity was piqued.
In her mind, she knew that this had something to do with the vision she had
seen in the wine-cup.
"It is not a
good memory for Wood Elves, but she said that the first time she laid eyes on
you, she immediately thought of Utharminalir of Dejir."
"She was an Aasimar
warlord, right?" Something stirred in Sigrid's mind.
"Yes, during
the Wars of the Celestial Tears, she allied with the Pretender-Empress in a bid
to unify the River Plains under a single, High Elven realm. Utharminalir became
one of the Pretender-Empress' finest generals and, perhaps, one of the greatest
military commanders in the last hundred centuries. In the later stages of the
Wars, she became infamous for her destruction of the ancient Wood Elven grove
called the Mother's Cradle and her alliance with Tyxyllethir the Death-Faerie,
proxy of the Queen of Air and Darkness, and herself a general of the wicked fae
who gathered under the Pretender-Empress' banner."
Sigrid's mind
flashed - A camp; burning, lambent violet flames, a starless night overhead -
Aravae continued.
"Tyxyllethir and Utharminalir became lovers..."
Sigrid tensed and
saw the darkness swallow up her vision and give her new sight. - In the night,
a warrior strode: severe, noble, her black-lacquered and amethyst breastplate
streaked with dark blood, her violet-mithril longsword unsheathed and
red-stained by her side. The two death-pale, midnight-haired guards to the
regal tent, shaped like a black lotus, knelt, averted their gaze, and swept the
billowing fabric open for their mistress. Inside, a dew-slick valley of dark
blooms and humming, maddening breezes stretched out. A woman lay
waiting on a bed of dead rose petals - her visage as beautiful as it was cruel.
She wore dark, ethereal armour: black and ominous blue - a breastplate shaped
like spined vines wrapped around a blasphemous flower. She was a cold beauty:
her features were fae, elegant, sharp, her eyes red like burning rubies, her
high, swept cheekbones adorned with tendrils of black calligraphy, her softly
curled lips painted bruise-blue. Short, coal-black hair, spiny and grimly
wonderful rose from her head, like a decaying rose-bush. The warrior approached
and loosened her armour. The woman smiled and allowed her love to fall upon
her. Kisses - wet and bittersweet like forbidden nectar.
"Sigrid..."
Aravae called in the distance
The warrior
looked down at the burning vortex of her lover's eyes and for a moment, she saw
her reflection. Sigrid saw herself - older, her face adorned with sinuous,
violet and deep blue war-paint, her short, indigo hair matted with sweat and
blood of fallen Wood Elven rangers. Sigrid and the warrior, in the vast gulfs of time, space and
existence, had been and still were one.
"Sigrid!" Aravae shook the Aasimar violently.
"I saw her
again..." Sigrid mouthed each word as if still in a trance. "The same
woman who looked back at me when I stared into the goblet Mjrina gave me in
that dream..."
"Who?" Aravae's voice trembled. For an instant,
Sigrid appeared to have stepped sideways into another world.
"Utharminalir,
I think. She looked just like me."
"That was
exactly what Iniila said."
"So why did the
Wood Elves of the village not fear me?"
"The first time
Iniila saw you, it was by night." Aravae explained, a little fearfully.
Could it be that Aulatha had detected something in Sigrid's bloodline?
"What happened
to them? Utharminalir and Tyxyllethir, I mean."
"According to
the histories Tahllea made me read, Utharminalir was slain by Tarefiaantheska,
the Fire Warden at the
Sigrid felt the
darkness once more - Water, singing water. Pain, burning
pain. The warrior fell into the sea of dandelions, her cruel Violet Mithril
sword planted into the ground in front of her. Her vanquisher stood above her,
panting. Coppery skin, bronze breastplate shaped like a starburst - metallic,
golden hair, eyes like molten brass, a fiery scimitar
in each hand. She too was bleeding heavily - a steaming gash, streaming
burgundy blood and violet fumes cut her from breast to hips. The warrior
clutched her breast and saw the lifeblood stream from her. For an instant,
there was no pain - and then the fiery warrior readied the finishing blow...
"...and
Tyxyllethir, maddened with grief and thirst for vengeance, threw herself
fearlessly into the fray and was struck down by the arrow of a nameless
archer."
"Would you take
me for a madwoman if I told you I just saw the event you described?"
Sigrid breathed fearfully.
"No, we believe
that powerful souls - souls too great for a single lifetime, are born again to
live, love and suffer until the end of time."
"Am I to become
another Utharminalir?"
"Only if you so
wish." Aravae said reassuringly. Her heart throbbed in her chest. Fear and
fascination filled her in equal measure. "No destiny is ever repeated
twice."
"That's good to
hear..." Sigrid breathed, though her mind was occupied with distant
thoughts. "Anyway, you see pretty well informed. My Aravae isn't just a
great blademistress, but a scholar, too."
The sun-blonde Grey
Elf nuzzled Sigrid's ear, flicking her tongue out just a fraction for a quick,
playful lick. Sigrid gave a satisfied sigh. "Not a scholar, but Tahllea
drilled us in military history - the legends of Imej and all the stories of the
great Bladesingers of the past. I know this narrative well because Ilmaeria,
the Founding Mistress of House Ahlirian, the mighty warrior after whom I was
named by Tahllea, fought in the
"Governing a
House seems like more trouble than it's worth." Sigrid noted - the amount
of daily administration Elinathanal, Yssinel's mother, had to take care of was
truly daunting. "Still...I do see myself as the mistress of my own
duelling hall..."
"Ah, but
wait!" Aravae pounced. "There is more to the story, for
Tarefiaantheska, vanquisher of Utharminalir, was also Ilmaeria's lover..."
"Impossible!"
Sigrid gasped.
"That was what
Iniila said when I first told her," Aravae continued, "but Fate is
the Mistress of enigmas."
In that instant,
Sigrid realised that Isobel had sent her to Imej not as a random event - a
simple dimple in the fabric of destiny. No, she was in Imej because, all those
centuries ago, on a mighty bridge under which a thundering torrent flowed, two
destinies crossed and set in motion a chain of events that led to the present.
"But what
happened to Tarefiaantheska?"
"She was a fire
genasi - born of Elves who had absorbed the Elemental influence of the
Plane of Fire. Most agree that she had ifrit blood. Her love for
Ilmaeria lasted for the duration of the war, but, in its closing days, she
perished at the hands of Phyrythraxynnoth, the Harbinger of Lamentations - a
mighty Green Dragon who, apparently, still lives, though it is dormant, as
dragons are for centuries between their rampages."
"How...was
she...the fire genasi?" Sigrid asked tentatively. She felt a
connection to that woman who had died thousands of years ago - a link burned
into her soul.
Aravae chuckled and
trailed her deft hand over the pale expanse of Sigrid's long, slim thigh. She
pulled the hem of the Aasimar's nightshirt higher, teasing her way up to the
curve of her friend's taut bottom. "If you go into the library of House
Ahlirian, you will find the love poems Ilmaeria wrote to her - she compared
devouring the slick, swollen petals of Tarefiaantheska's Blossom of Hanali with
drinking hot, spicy wine..." Aravae trailed off and began to lick Sigrid's
sensitive, pointed ear in earnest, her fingers toying with the soft, moist
flesh between the Aasimar's sex and bottom.
"Aravae..."
Sigrid began. She immediately thought of Mjrina.
"Hush..."
Aravae cupped the plump, silky mound of Sigrid's sex. Sigrid felt her heartbeat
quicken, stirred by Aravae's wet licking. Something soft and smooth pressed
against Sigrid. Aravae had hiked up the Aasimar's nightshirt and was pressing
herself, hot and already wet, against the hard, athletic curve of the
indigo-haired girl's bottom.
"Aravae...what
has gotten into you?" Sigrid protested weakly. Her lips were silenced by
Aravae's - moist and soft like ripe fruit.
"I want you...I
truly wanted you the moment I saw the beauty of your style, the ambition in
your eyes...please, Sigrid..." Aravae whispered breathlessly. Her pussy, a
sweet, ripe peach, was spread and juicing against Sigrid's bottom. Hot, slick
trails, redolent of flowers tinged with an elegant, feminine musk, gathered
against the Aasimar's moonlight-white skin.
"Please
what?" Sigrid replied, feeling very foolish and confused.
"Let me love
you." With swift, elegant motions, Aravae unbuttoned Sigrid's nightshirt
and slipped the garment off. With a smile, that Grey Elven Bladesinger cast the
garment off the balcony's ledge and watched it float down onto the street
below.
"You don't seem
to be giving me a choice..." Sigrid's richly pink
nipples pebbled in the cold night air. Her breasts were compact,
beautifully pert little mounds; softly rounded so that they invited Aravae's
caress. Then Aravae was upon her, their kiss renewed. Her lips parted and the
Grey Elven girl's tongue danced with hers. Sigrid surrendered and bunched
Aravae's nightgown under the Elven maiden's breasts, exposing the gorgeous
curve of her thighs, her bottom, the curve of her
back.
"I have
something to confess, Sigrid..." Aravae said huskily between kisses.
"What?"
"I have not
shared Tahllea's bed since we returned to Imej..."
"Goddess,
Aravae..."
"She no longer
inflames me," Aravae hissed passionately, grinding her sopping pussy
against Sigrid's thigh. A richly female, flowery smell began to waft in the
air. Sigrid parted her legs and let Aravae position herself against her sex.
They began to couple, thigh against pussy - thrusting a gentle crescendo.
"But you - you make me sticky with desire, my flower pulses with fresh
nectar..."
"Aravae..."
Aravae pressed her
lips close to Sigrid's ear, cooing gently. She cupped the Aasimar's breasts,
teasing engorged, pliant nipples between her fingers. Then, in a low, breathy
sigh - spoken quietly for the words were new to Aravae's lips, she murmured,
"I want you to fuck me."
"Huh?"
Sigrid was flushed with desire, but Aravae's sudden suggestion was truly
stunning.
"I,"
Aravae said, enunciating each word with wanton relish, "want to writhe on
the couch all night long with your hand in my pussy."
"Hmm..."
Sigrid hummed, finally resolving to play along, "We might just have to
wash your mouth out..."
Aravae smiled
devilishly and dipped two fingers between the velvety, swollen folds of
Sigrid's pussy. Thick, creamy nectar hung in a strand between her middle and
forefinger, glistening obscenely in the moonlight. "Well," Aravae
purred and licked Sigrid's lips, "looks like that can be
arranged."
***
Wingmate
"This one is
discriminating, no?" Erieanal mused and checked the rich porphyry pigment
she had applied to her lips earlier that afternoon for the umpteenth time. She
stood, a little tense, before a tall, oval silver mirror of eldritch energy
that Dzelha had conjured up for her.
"Please stop
fretting, my love, Star Elves are not quite as
rigid as you may have heard." Dzelha reassured. She brushed her fingers
over Erieanal's cheek and planted an affectionate kiss on the Avariel's
honey-blonde hair. Dzelha peered over Erieanal's shoulder and stared at her
lover's reflection. The Avariel maiden was simply entrancing: her features
sharp, almost aquiline, with gorgeous amber eyes framed by soft, golden lashes.
"Your Warden,
your keeper - would she accept an Avariel with no House as your wingmate?"
Erieanal's clipped, staccato intonation revealed a hint of trepidation. She
would never have admitted it so early on in their relationship, but she had
fallen for Dzelha the moment she had laid eyes on that cool, understated Star
Elven smile.
"Of
course. Aulatha only wants
my happiness. She was my tutor, my fencing instructor and an older sister to
Jylzaela and me. I think she has come to trust my judgement." Dzelha
sounded confident, but in her heart, she was unsure. So she dispelled the mirror
and turned to face the quiet lapping of the lake against the shimmering
shoreline of multichrome pebbles. Quite appropriately, they had decided to meet
Aulatha by the Northern Garden of Imej. There, amidst winding alleyways lined
with alpine flowers, thin ornamental conifers grew, shrouded in icy crystals,
as if they were in the frozen tundra that surrounded Dzelha's home city of
"Aulatha - she
is a warrior, correct?" Erieanal inquired. She stretched her wide,
snowy-white wings, luxuriating in the cool, late afternoon sunlight. The
sinuous protective ward that Dzelha had painted on the white feathers that
morning glimmered.
"Indeed
and an excellent one, too.
She taught Lady Tahllea the art of Star Elven Bladesong, so that if Lady
Tahllea's style is unique in Imej, much of the credit belongs to Aulatha."
Dzelha adjusted the
borders of Erieanal's formal blue and silver tunic. It was fine, classically
Avariel garment, cut off at the elbows and knees with a plunging hem at the
back to make room for Erieanal's wings. Silvery calligraphy wound around its
hem, while the neckline was judiciously measured - modest, but tailored to
drape just enough to draw attention to the fine muscle of Erieanal's shoulder
and the roundness of her breasts. A firm, symmetrical breast suggested lean,
strong pectoral muscles, a feature the Avariel found particularly erotic, since
it was associated with strength in flight.
"If she is so
broad-minded, why are you being so fastidious?" Erieanal tensed her wings
with latent irritation.
Dzelha sighed:
Avariel had a tendency to be a little melodramatic. "Form and proper conduct
are very important to us," she explained patiently. "To the Star
Elves, everything has a meaning and, as in nature, all elements of life need to
be in harmony and bear the appropriate ritual significance." There was no
easy way to describe it, but Star Elves ritualised every aspect of their
society in order to ensure harmony which was crucial to their civilisation's
survival in the icebound landscapes of the North.
"You are making
me nervous." Erieanal warned, stretching her wings for emphasis.
"Hush..."
Dzelha whispered and wrapped her arms around Erieanal's waist. She feathered
the Avariel maiden's elegant, pointed ear with teasing little kisses, her
breath warm and moist. "Be patient and tonight I shall show you the best
part of my strict, Star Elven upbringing."
Erieanal smiled and
suppressed a soft chuckle. Dzelha was as good as her word: the only way to
describe the Star Elf maiden's tongue was sublime. Erieanal had never
thought she would betray her pleasure so wantonly, but the previous evening,
she had cried out until her throat was raw and dry while Dzelha had looked up
intermittently from between her thighs, an impudent smirk on her
nectar-streaked lips. She clasped Dzelha's hands and felt the weight of the
world taken from her shoulders. Dzelha was a frustrating and beautiful
contradiction. Her lean, athletically muscular physique and cold, elfin beauty
masked an almost playful intimate side which never failed to make Erieanal feel
adored and at the centre of each one of Dzelha's thoughts. So she closed her
eyes and let herself relish the simple pleasure of Dzelha's strong, but loving
embrace around her. "Hmm..." Erieanal purred, "how strict is strict?"
"Well...let me think,"
Dzelha replied, her violet-painted lips close to Erieanal's ear, "when I
was a child, if I did not sit or kneel down properly, I was sent to bed without
dinner, if I used the wrong form of address or made a mistake in my speech, I
was made to write the sentence out five hundred times or, if my lapse was in
the presence of a guest, one thousand times. If I did not braid my hair
faultlessly, I had to kneel on frozen pebbles until I bled, if Jylzaela and I
failed to keep our room tidy enough for Aulatha, we
were made to sleep outside on the snow..."
"I suppose I
must offer a bunch of fresh-picked flowers to the Blessed Faenya for having
been born an Avariel."
"Do not be so
quick to come to your conclusions," Dzelha said. "My mother and
Aulatha disciplined me because there is no other way to succeed in Star Elven
society. Women are privileged by our people, for only women can become
priestesses of the Pole Star Queen and thus take on the mantle of rulership -
but, precisely for this reason, much more is expected of us."
"I see, so that
must really be why I love you - you're perfect." Erieanal turned to steal
a quick kiss from Dzelha's soft lips.
"Must be,"
Dzelha shot back amiably. The moment they got back home, she was going to ravish
Erieanal. It was becoming an addiction. Each time they had a moment of
intimacy together, their affectionate caresses would turn into frantic
lovemaking.
The first phase
of falling in love - Dzelha
thought wryly to herself. There was something new, forbidden and exciting about
their relationship. They had even made love with urgent need in the Library of
Arcana - Dzelha hoisted up on a bookshelf, her legs obscenely spread, her tunic
hiked up around her waist while Erieanal lapped at her clit, two fingers
winding gently into her pulsing channel.
"I curiously
wonder whether you're wearing that dress just to impress Aulatha...it's hardly
a blademistress' apparel." Erieanal noted.
Dzelha grinned a
little bashfully. It was, indeed, incongruous: Dzelha's taut physique was that
of a fencer, but she was now clad in a long, formal gown that simulated the
pattern of snow falling on a blue sky. Azure silk was crisscrossed with
intricate strands of white gossamer fabric, embroidered to resemble a falling
snow crystal. The dress was streamlined, with the fabric falling off Dzelha's
slender body in a tight, almost starched fashion. Oddly feminine for a warrior,
but flattering, too, so that its precise, formalistic lines drew attention to
the taut hardness of Dzelha's belly and bottom and the subtle curve of her
small, pert breasts.
"My mother
would definitely call me back to Eltheless if she found out her daughter was
wearing breeches."
Dzelha grimaced. She
shuddered at the thought of the immensely complex, baroque gowns - so vast and
coldly studded with pearls and diamonds that they had to be supported by magic
- her mother, a powerful priestess of the Pole Star Queen, always wore.
Dzelha's earliest memories of her were of being surrounded by endless,
fluttering diaphanous fabrics and high, iron-hard collars.
"How
strangely bizarre."
Erieanal remarked. She knew dress was a matter of culture: both male and female
Avariel almost exclusively wore tunics, but surely what a woman wore was a
matter for her own personal taste to decide.
"Not at
all," Dzelha corrected. "Only commoners wear breeches. It was bad
enough that I decided to become a Spellsword - a blademistress - rather than a
priestess or a sorceress. Now, it is expected of me to be a warrior on the
fencing court and a lady in the drawing room. As far as my people are
concerned, I am neither a warrior nor a noblewoman, but I temporarily assume
each role as the situation dictates."
"I
understand," Erieanal said, "I do however feel obliged to exact one
promise from you."
"Oh, and what
would that be?"
"When we settle
down, it won't be in a Star Elven city." Avariel valued their freedom more
than their lives and it occurred to her that if she was going to live amongst
Dzelha's family, she might as well cut her wings off.
"That would
be...negotiable..."
Dzelha cupped
Erieanal's chin and kissed her. Violet and porphyry mingled and Erieanal
eagerly parted her lips for Dzelha's infuriatingly swift tongue to start a wet,
sensual dance.
"Do you think
we have time?" Erieanal murmured, her voice thick
with passion. She took a swift breath and captured Dzelha's lips once more.
This time the kiss was softer, more languid and less urgent. She felt a dull
throbbing between her thighs as her sex tightened in anticipation.
"Patience, my
little dove," Dzelha hissed, even if she yearned for the hot, tartly
floral cream of Erieanal's pussy under her tongue, "and I shall happily
reward you when there will be no-one to interrupt us." Violet painted fingernails
caressed the smooth skin of Erieanal's throat.
Erieanal nodded and
allowed Dzelha to step back to a more respectable distance. Simply looking at
Dzelha made Erieanal's heart ache with affection, just as her blood burned with
need each time she touched the Star Elf maiden's incomparably pale skin, or
felt the silkiness of her long, intricately wound sapphire-blue braids in her
hands. Then, it was as if Dzelha had put on her mask again. Cold, enigmatic
with an almost forbidding beauty - cold like the violet cosmetic dye she
applied in long, curled brush-strokes over her eyes. Yet underneath that mask
lay a fiery passion. Each time they made love, Dzelha's pearl-white skin
flushed an endearing shade of light violet and the most adorable, mewling little
moans issued forth from those impassive lips. Star Elves, Erieanal concluded,
lived double lives.
In the distance,
bootsteps approached, soft and muted against the icy patina of snow that
shimmered in the sunlight. A gentle breeze rustled the ornamental conifers
behind Dzelha and Erieanal. Suddenly, the air felt a little colder, the snow
began to shimmer just a touch brighter. It was as if
the land itself celebrated the arrival of one to which it was profoundly bound.
Erieanal cocked her head to one side and saw Aulatha walking down the path,
approaching with regular, almost metronomic steps. The polar nymph was clad in
a formal white shirt with triangular, silver buttons, a platinum-grey
neckerchief wound around its collar and fixed with a stark, steel-coloured
broach. In contrast, her breeches were coal-black and her dark brown boots were
decorated with a thin line of perfectly oval opals. Aulatha imposed herself on
the landscape. Her silvery gaze was stern, her angular features imbued with a
dangerous beauty, like that of a forbidding, ice-capped mountain. As always, she was armed, her crystal scimitar and punching dagger
by her side. Dzelha hastened to greet her Warden and Aulatha, much to
Erieanal's surprise, smiled and caressed the Star Elf maiden's cheek. Erieanal
approached, her observant eyes noting Dzelha suddenly submissive and demure
posture. The Star Elf maiden stood with her hands clasped in front of her, gaze
respectfully lowered to the ground, as if she were waiting for Aulatha's
permission to speak or look up.
"I - I am
Erieanal, Bladesinger of the School of - " the
Avariel began, a little hesitantly. Aulatha was certainly intimidating. Tall
for an elf, her stark, androgynous build reminded Erieanal of mythical
depictions of the steely-eyed lady warriors of the Unseelie Courts - cruel fae
who took great delight in corrupting virtuous Avariel maidens. Aulatha was
certainly no evil faerie, but Erieanal was most relieved that the northern
nymph was a friend of Dzelha's rather than a lone huntress on the prowl.
Aulatha tilted her
head in silent recognition and then swept forward in a graceful, perfectly
poised bow. "I am Aulatha, Warden of House Tarsellis and servant of its
Revered Matron. I am honoured to meet my Ward's companion." Her tone was
formal, her speech almost archaic. "Dzelha has invited me here so that I
may inform her revered mother of her chosen lover."
Erieanal scrutinised
Aulatha with the attentive gaze of a hunting falcon. "I hope it is no
inconvenient trouble that I am not a Star Elf or that I have no illustrious
name to offer Dzelha."
"You have no
House, Lady Erieanal?" Aulatha said quietly. Her gaze was steely and
utterly emotionless.
"My mother was
a fresco-painter." Erieanal answered. Despite her fierce pride, she could
not help feeling a little inadequate. Doubtless, Aulatha was thinking that
Dzelha deserved better. If only, Erieanal thought, the nymph could know the
sensation of her heart leaping in her breast each time Dzelha drew near.
"And you are a
blademistress, Lady Erieanal?"
Dzelha felt the urge
to speak out, but knew better than to do so without Aulatha's permission.
"My family was
butchered by Hellkites," Erieanal said tersely, "I vowed I would
never be a victim like them - when the Blessed Sehanine decides that my time
has come, I wish for it to be with my sword in hand, rather than cowering in
fear."
"Strong
words," Aulatha noted. Her silver hair was the same colour as the snow
that hung heavy on the branches of the garden. "May I have the privilege
of seeing your blade? I also favour the scimitar, so please indulge my
curiosity."
Wordlessly, Erieanal
reached for the pommel of her scimitar and drew it from its plain, beige
scabbard. A trail of shimmering sparks flew into the air, followed by an
undulating, glowing halo of celestial light. The blade of the sword was a deep
iron-grey, but flecked with innumerable veins of iridescent metal. She turned
the weapon, pommel forward, and handed it to Aulatha. The nymph gripped the
scimitar and drew it forth into the freezing air, carving out an exploratory
cross-attack. Metal whistled through a sparse rain of snowflakes, followed by a
trail of starry motes of eldritch light. Aulatha allowed herself a thin smile.
The scimitar's balance was excellent - a little lighter than what she
preferred, but many Star Elven techniques emphasised striking power, whereas
Avariel blademistresses had the opportunity to use high leaps and diving attack
to augment the strength of their blows. Satisfied, Aulatha returned Erieanal's
blade.
"I see you are
favourably impressed." Erieanal said, a little smugly. "My weapon was
forged from the remains of a dead star. Dzelha is witness to its
magnificence..."
"Hey, I
won!" Dzelha protested before she could stop herself.
Aulatha whipped
around with a withering gaze of reprimand. Dzelha counted herself lucky that
she was too old for Aulatha to slap her. "Forgive my Ward's
impudence," Aulatha said coolly, "I have been remiss in training her.
That, however, is no longer my duty. I see you are a worthy Bladesinger and
that your charms have rightly captured Dzelha's heart. As far as I am concerned,
I could not have wished a better lover for her."
"Thank you,
Lady Aulatha..." Erieanal said gratefully. Even if Aulatha's tone remained
measured, she had been deeply moved by the genuine affection she had detected
in Erieanal. Nymphs instinctively knew the pulse of nature - the secret heart
that beat in the souls of living things.
"Allow me to
finish." Aulatha interrupted. "You must make sure Dzelha behaves as a
daughter of House Tarsellis should - she is not an easy woman to love. She is
fickle and often slovenly," here Dzelha bit her lip - quite simply,
Aulatha was never going to stop treating her like a child, "I trust you
are ready to meet this challenge."
"On my honour,
I am." Erieanal said reverently.
"Good, so I
expect to see you both within two seasons in Eltheless for the blessings of my
Mistress and of the Pole Star Queen." Aulatha concluded. Then, addressing
Dzelha, she finally gave her ward permission to speak, "Do you have
anything to add, child?"
"Yes,"
Dzelha replied with a broad smile, "you could not have made us
happier." Dzelha knew her mother held Aulatha's counsel in the highest
esteem. To have the nymph's seal of approval meant that the difficult part of
convincing her family of Erieanal's suitability was effectively over.
"You have
chosen well, Dzelha," Aulatha said - her breath did not mist in the frigid
mountain air, "you are a strong woman and, in time, you will live up to
your promise. But you must remember discipline - recall that fencing lesson,
when the sky was overcast and thunder stirred in the glacial peaks in the
distance..."
"I would never
forget." Dzelha replied. The memory was seared into her mind. It had been
a bitingly cold night, but Aulatha had forced Dzelha to repeat an exhausting
fencing drill until it had been perfected. Dzelha had been little more than a
girl - tired, angry, with the dull, viscerally painful throb of her cycle
tearing through her insides. Aulatha had never allowed her to take elixirs to
soothe her agony. So, with the well-channelled fury of a Star Elf matriarch,
Dzelha had taken her crystal sabre and lashed out with sublime deadliness. For
an instant, Aulatha had to scramble to deflect the blow, before Dzelha had
collapsed, her muscles burning, her tears freezing on her cheeks, her slip uncomfortably
wet with warm, sticky blood.
"To me, you
became a woman that day. Now, as I see you here with Lady Erieanal, I could not
be more proud of you."
Dzelha felt a knot
of emotion tighten in her throat. She seized Aulatha in a fierce embrace, nestling
her head in the reassuring strength of the polar nymph's shoulder. Much to her
surprise, she felt Aulatha's firm caress on her braids and a soft kiss on her
cheek. Aulatha had rarely shown her such overt affection and never in public.
"You taught me so much," Dzelha murmured, now infinitely grateful for
the lessons she had been forced to endure, "I promise I will make you
prouder still..."
"Do not be
sentimental," Aulatha chided gently.
"I'm not,"
Dzelha sniffed. "You've always been a an elder
sister to Jylzaela and me, there is nothing sentimental about showing my
affection."
Aulatha sighed.
Maybe Dzelha was never going to turn out to be the faultlessly detached matron
her mother was, but she would always be her Dzelha. As a nymph, Aulatha
had been summoned from the frozen earth of House Tarsellis' garden - a spirit
of the land made flesh to serve the House's matron as a Warden for her two
daughters. Dzelha and Jylzaela, with all their infuriating little defects, had
thus become her family.
"Be strong,
remember your vocation as a Spellsword and do Erieanal honour." Aulatha
ordered curtly.
"Is that
all?"
"That is all
you need to know. A good teacher knows when her work is complete."
***
The Nymph and the Bladesinger
Tahllea stretched,
taut and feline, on her armchair and decided to retire for the night. She shut
the satin-bound tome of tawdry, but mildly entertaining Grey Elven erotica she
had borrowed from Yssinel's library. It had been amusing enough, but, by the
time the Grey Elven Sorceress, who was the protagonist of the novel, had
"wantonly submitted" to yet another wildly handsome Sylvan Elf
huntress for the twelfth time, her interest had begun to wane. Out of the
great, panoramic window that occupied an entire wall of Tahllea's chamber, the
distant lights of Imej glimmered, heralded by the spinning orbs of magical
energy that orbited around the various towers of the city's noble Houses.
Tahllea looked out and lost herself in an endless tapestry of stars and fluted
towers. Quiet footsteps approached and Tahllea heard the door of her vast
bedchamber close. She crossed her legs and privately revelled in the sensation
of her succinct, blue satin dressing gown pooling between her thighs. She
preferred to sleep naked, unlike Yssinel's almost obsessive bedtime routine of
perfumed oil-rubs, face-creams, hair-brushing and multi-layered nightgowns.
Thankfully, Yssinel was no longer an issue.
"Are you coming
to bed, Tahllea?" Sigrid called demurely.
"Yes, of
course..." Tahllea replied, a little distracted.
She rose and the marble flooring was cool against her bare feet. Sigrid leaned
coquettishly against a tall post that supported the huge, ornate bed's canopy.
She was lovely in her violet gossamer night-shirt. It matched her eyes and her
hair, whilst bringing out the moonlight-white clarity of her skin.
"Forgive me,
but you seem a little anxious." Sigrid noted. She brushed back her short,
indigo hair with a casual flick of her hand. The lean muscle of her bicep
rolled under her smooth skin. Sigrid, Tahllea had discovered, was very talented
with her hands.
"No, it is I
who should apologise." Tahllea corrected magnanimously. "You are
always quite adept at relieving me of my...worries." It had taken a while
to break Sigrid's willfulness, but the Aasimar had quickly learned her place
and become a most excellent and obedient Bladesinger who, with Ilmaeria, had
contributed immensely towards making Tahllea's duelling hall one of the finest
in Queluria's northern hemisphere.
"I am always
glad to be of service." Sigrid said with a subtle, suggestive smile. With
a flawless dexterity, she loosened the straps of her nightshirt and let it pool
at her feet. Tahllea felt her sex pulse with need. Sigrid's lean, elfin body
was revealed in all its glory. Small, but perfectly formed,
pert breasts, each with a delicious raspberry-pink nipple, already hard and
begging to be suckled. Then, lower still, beneath the flat, muscular
expanse of her belly, was the plump little mound of her sex. Tahllea grinned
wolfishly and padded closer. They kissed, Tahllea's
mouth hard and wet against Sigrid's. The Aasimar followed her mistress' dance
like an obedient student, parting her soft pink lips for Tahllea's glorious
tongue.
"My lovely
Sigrid..." Tahllea purred. She loosened the silken belt of her dressing
gown and allowed the offending garment to slip off her shoulders. Sigrid
wrapped her arms around her mistress' waist, trailing her hands down the hard,
athletic curve of Tahllea's bottom.
"You are too
kind, as ever, my love..." Sigrid replied breathlessly as Tahllea devoured
the hollow of her throat with long, hungry licks.
"And you too
beautiful..."
"Tahllea!" Aulatha called from behind the locked door and
Tahllea almost shattered the crystal goblet of sweet, violet wine she cradled
in her hand. The Bladesinger bit her lip and slumped back into her armchair.
Her room was deserted, silent. The wretched nymph had interrupted one of her
favourite Sigrid fantasies - the happily bonded couple scene.
"I thought you
were practicing your bladecraft in the garden." Tahllea said dryly. She
drained her goblet and set it down on the round cherry-wood credenza by her
armchair.
"Your tone
is...insolent."
Tahllea sighed and
rose, almost reluctantly, to her feet. She padded over to the door and mentally
bade the lock to unlatch. Aulatha stood before her, imperious and commanding as
always. The polar nymph wore only a pair of long, loose blue silk pants that
hung low on her prominent hipbones. Tahllea could not help but steal a quick
glance at the tiny, ripe plums of Aulatha's breasts and the taut, dragon-turtle
shell pattern of muscle on the nymph's belly, seemingly etched from marble.
"If your question is whether you are disturbing me," Tahllea said
sardonically, "the answer is yes."
Aulatha shrugged and
stepped into Tahllea's bedchamber. Not even the High Elven Bladesinger dared
block the nymph's path. She knew from hard experience how much power lay in
Aulatha's wiry musculature. "Really?"
Aulatha said coolly, her voice measured, almost emotionless. She made her way
to Tahllea's desk and gave an almost inaudible chuckle as she read the title of
the crimson-satin bound book. "Travelogue of a
Sorceress in the Lands of the Sylvan Elves?" She turned to face
Tahllea, a smug half-smirk on her lips.
"It's
Yssinel's."
"Oh? Well it
hardly struck me as your sort of entertainment."
"It isn't. Or
rather, I cannot find anything especially fascinating in it. Just a pampered
sorceress who finds herself amongst chiselled, battle-scarred Sylvan Elves.
Dreary adolescent fantasies, if I may say so." Tahllea made a conscious
effort to sound less than defensive.
"We all have
our romantic fascinations." Aulatha remarked.
"Yes,
indeed..."
"Dzelha told me
about your rather clumsy courtship of Sigrid." the nymph interrupted.
Tahllea reflexively
clenched her fist, as if she were gripping a phantom pommel.
"Sigrid..." Tahllea murmured bitterly. "Please, Aulatha, sit
down. Apologies if I have been a little brusque lately, but I
have been vexed."
"Still, that
was no way to greet an old friend." Aulatha noted, settling onto the vast
bed - cool, crisp sheets crinkled under her bottom, so hard and streamlined it
put most men to shame. Tahllea knew the polar nymph well enough to realise that
she was, ever so subtly, being playful.
"I'm unhappy,
Aulatha." Tahllea said quietly. She stood leaning on a fluted copper post
that upheld the canopy of her bed, staring out at the cityscape before her.
"That much I
had gathered."
"What if I told
you that I am in love with Sigrid?"
"Perhaps you
could have told Sigrid, rather than trying to force yourself on
her...your stay on Toril corrupted you with this human vice of wanton
violence." Aulatha noted. She always regretted being harsh in her
judgements, but that was her role and she did it out of love for Tahllea. Mincing
one's words was for weaklings.
"Easy for you
to say," Tahllea snorted. "How many Star Elf girls wake up bruised
and aching from your bed?"
"Countless."
Aulatha retorted. "But they are there by their own choice and I have never
harmed any of my lovers, nor brutalised them with pointless displays of
sadism."
"Dzelha is
quite the tale-teller, isn't she?" the Bladesinger sneered. She paced over
to the credenza and poured herself another glass of wine from a pine-cone
shaped jasper bottle. The smoky aroma of dried berries wafted through the
chamber. Tahllea drank and watched Aulatha's steely gaze observe her every
movement.
"Sigrid is a
foolish, impudent girl who needs neither Aravae nor Mjrina, but a woman to
teach her some manners - still, it is certainly not your place to declare
yourself such a woman against Sigrid's will."
"Ilmaeria!" Tahllea growled sullenly. "The little
slattern's name is Ilmaeria. I really don't see why it has become fashionable
all of a sudden to use that ridiculous child-name of hers."
"I believe she
prefers to be called Aravae."
"Nonsense!" Tahllea thundered. "Ilmaeria was the name
of this House's founding Mother, the sword I bear was her personal
weapon..."
"Tahllea,"
Aulatha interjected and, by force of habit, the Bladesinger fell silent,
"Aravae is no longer a girl. You were right to be hard on her when she was
young, but now I understand she is a fine blademistress in her own right. To
finally treat her as an equal should be the proudest day of your life."
"I am proud of
her, she knows that."
"Good, then it
is time for you to tell her that she must make her way in the world."
Aulatha betrayed just a hint of bittersweet contemplation. She too had
sometimes wanted for Dzelha to remain her mischievous, impertinent but wonderful
younger self. Seeing her with Erieanal, so obviously in love with and ready to
look forward made her feel just a touch nostalgic.
"But...she is mine..."
Tahllea protested.
"A woman is
only her own soul's possession." Aulatha retorted sternly. "You and
Aravae will both suffer if you insist on keeping her as your doll, the toy you
can abuse and cuddle as you see fit."
"I...I shall
consider what you have said." Tahllea peered angrily at the gold-veined
marble floor. Aulatha was right, as usual. But one thing was non-negotiable:
she would have Sigrid.
"Come
here." Aulatha invited and, as if mesmerised, Tahllea complied. She knelt
at the bedside at Aulatha's feet and wrapped her arms around the cool, familiar
skin of the icy nymph's waist. In the hardness of Aulatha's chest, softened
only by the sweet firmness of her elegant little breasts, Tahllea pressed her
ear close to the nymph's dull, rhythmic heartbeat.
"You smell of
Mjrina..." Tahllea purred, pressing a gentle kiss on Aulatha's
breast.
"That hardly
surprises
"Delicious strumpet, isn't she," Tahllea continued, pleased to
detect Aulatha's heart beat just a little faster. "But not quite as
delicious as me, right?"
"I see you are
as haughty as always," Aulatha breathed. Tahllea's lips were hot against
the silky skin of her breast and they left behind just a tiny hint of moisture.
"Which reminds
me...do you recall the first thing you said to me when you caught me observing
your Spellsword technique in House Tarsellis' garden all those years ago?"
the High Elven woman's kiss left a wet trail on Aulatha's pristine skin,
drawing ever closer to the stiff berry of the nymph's light pink nipple.
"Your gaze
is haughty, girl, and your eyes burn with ambition - there are many things I
could teach you."
"Oh and you
did...a season spent in Eltheless and you gave me no respite, neither in on the
training court nor in the bedchamber." Tahllea's
lips wrapped around Aulatha's rubbery nipple, so pale it looked like the bud of
a pale, alpine rose. The nymph was irresistible, especially after hours spent
fantasising about Sigrid's hard, lean body and her insolent mouth put to good
use between Tahllea's thighs. By the time Aulatha had interrupted her, Tahllea
had been creamy with desire, the inside of her thighs wonderfully sticky. Her sex,
though, had raged on all afternoon, hungry and unfulfilled.
Aulatha trailed her
hands around Tahllea's neck and loosened the Bladesinger's dressing gown.
Tahllea rose and cast the garment aside. She stood naked before Aulatha's icy
gaze. It had been too long and now Tahllea found all that
rash, adolescent passion from so many years go flood back into her. Aulatha
knew, she knew it from the flush that had spread on Tahllea's cheeks, the way
the Bladesinger's breath quickened and the spreading
scent of vaguely floral musk. They stared at each other, like two warriors
facing one another down. Aulatha wrapped her arms around Tahllea, almost
tenderly, drawing her close. They kissed, fleetingly at first, for Tahllea
teased, circling her tongue coyly around Aulatha's lips. Aulatha clasped the
High Elven woman’s face and pressed her lips, sweet and demanding, against
Tahllea, forcing her to accept the kiss. A dance - an eager embrace as
Tahllea’s tongue was patiently mastered by Aulatha.
Tahllea slipped her
hands over the granite-hard expanse of Aulatha’s belly, feeling taut muscle
give way to the sweet silk of her pants. She loosened the waistband and they
streamed down around Aulatha’s feet. Tahllea now gripped Aulatha’s bare bottom,
her fingers trailing in between those alabaster globes, nearing the pulsing
warmth of the nymph’s sex. Aulatha parted her thighs and gripped Tahllea's
curled, raven-black hair, drawing her close. The smell of tart, mountain
berries and the residual, leathery smell of Aulatha's breeches filled Tahllea's
nostrils. It was a familiar perfume. Before her, a spread feast: neat,
petal-like nether lips dewy with translucent nectar. Aulatha's clit - a pretty
little flowerbud, now angrily hard and free from its little hood, poked from
between the silken folds. Aulatha smiled conspiratorially and cupped Tahllea's
chin.
"Lick,
girl." she ordered.
"I am not your
girl anymore." Tahllea sneered.
Aulatha's belly tensed - a rippling mosaic of hard muscle. "For tonight,
you will be."
The polar nymph's voice was one of command. Tahllea obediently sank between the
older woman's thighs and began to lap hungrily. Tart, female musk coated her
lips. Aulatha held her head in place, just as she had done when Tahllea had
been a wide-eyed apprentice who needed to learn discipline in pleasuring her
mentor. Something in Tahllea gave way. She surrendered to the trance. Aulatha
allowed herself to be brought to a silent, stoic climax. Then, she eased
Tahllea on the bed, belly down, on her hands and knees.
As if in a daze,
Tahllea buried her face against the pillow, lifted her hips and presented her
wanton pussy to Aulatha. The polar nymph mounted her, doused her aching sex
with oil and entered her. Hard. Tahllea heard herself
gasp in pain, but Aulatha, as always, was unyielding. That hard, warrior's hand
entered her. Knuckles mastered the pliant flesh of her canal. Oil and nectar
mixed. Tahllea steadied herself, rolled her hips and felt her channel contract
desperately around Aulatha's wrist. Aulatha fucked her with relish. Aulatha
fucked her like a girl - firm, pumping strokes so that Tahllea knew exactly who
the mistress was.
The silver-haired nymph smiled to herself. All it took was a fist buried in her
pussy for Tahllea to change. Now, the hard, polished exterior gave way to the
mewling, plaintive little moans that stirred fire in Aulatha's belly. Tahllea,
for her part, lost herself in the swirling ecstasy of their lovemaking. For one
night, she could afford to be another Tahllea. So she rocked herself, small
breasts swaying in rhythm with Tahllea's masterful thrusts, and stopped
counting the jarring spasms of pleasure that poured from her loins.
***
When Tahllea awoke,
she felt the familiar, nostalgic sensation of Aulatha's strong arms wrapped around
her. It was reassuring. There was no safer place in all of Queluria. Aulatha,
of course, was already awake. Tahllea stirred and gazed out into the Imej dawn.
The sun crested behind the snowcapped peaks. Light reflected off mighty,
millennia-old glaciers. Aulatha tenderly kissed her cheek and drew her closer.
A dull, satisfied throb emanated from Tahllea's sex. It had been a long night.
"Thank
you," Tahllea said, pleasantly surprised by the sensation of Aulatha's
long, dextrous fingers toying with the curls of her coal-black hair. "I
shall never forget how much I owe you."
"One thing you
owe me is an explanation."
"Hmm?"
"Why did you
curl your hair?"
"Don't you like
it?"
"No."
Tahllea chuckled and
playfully nudged Aulatha with a jab of her elbow. "Did you ever hear of
Kitiara uth Matar?"
"Never."
"A great
warrior, perhaps the greatest from a distant world called Krynn. I fell in love
with her exploits...and her portrait." Tahllea turned and snuggled closer
to Aulatha. The polar nymph smelled of sweat and fresh alpine flowers. Aulatha
kissed Tahllea's lips and threw off the covers, trailing kisses over the smooth
expanse of the Bladesinger's back. Cold, morning air greeted their naked
bodies, still damp with the moisture of their lovemaking.
"What happened,
Tahllea?" Aulatha inquired pensively, breathing light kisses over the
small of the High Elven woman's back.
"Sorry?"
"You seem
different..."
Tahllea laughed
dismissively. "Oh, by Sehanine no! I am always
the pretty, submissive little Tahllea you remember from many a late-night
training session."
"This is no
joke." Aulatha retorted, resting her cheek on Tahllea's back. That familiar mineral perfume, the distinctive scent - flowery and
earthy at the same time - of the High Elven woman's arousal. The sheets
were redolent of her. "You ought to be an example for Sigrid and Ilmaeria
and you should certainly never conspire against them. You have a duty - as a Bladesinger
and as an Elven woman - to them and this duty is far greater than all of your
desires combined."
Tahllea tensed.
Aulatha had struck a nerve. After all her plotting and deception aimed at
simultaneously humiliating Sigrid and earning her affection, she realised how
ridiculous it was to expect Aravae's devotion. Aulatha, back when Tahllea was
nothing but an inexperienced novice, had been hard and unyielding. But the
nymph's character had been irreproachable. Aulatha was every bit as hardworking
and rigorous as she expected her students to be.
Tahllea smiled bitterly and drew a long, quiet breath. "You always treated
me with dignity," she conceded at length. "Even
when I was disobedient and impudent. Dzelha tells me that you were as
gentle in your love and as harsh in your discipline as the best Star Elven
sister she could imagine."
"Yet, I am not praiseworthy," Aulatha concluded sternly, "no one
deserves praise simply for doing her duty."
"I shall take
what you have said to heart." Tahllea said and stretched out, resting her face on the pillow and looking at the
surging rays of sunlight pierce the lonely clouds that had gathered at the very
summits of the vast mountains that ringed Imej. Aulatha resumed her trail of
kisses, her tongue snaking between her lips to leave a wet path from Tahllea's
sacrum to the cleft of her bottom. Tahllea inhaled sharply the moment she felt
Aulatha's tongue sweep between that hot, tight valley. "Wanton as ever,
dear Aulatha?" Tahllea purred and raised her hips a little to grant
Aulatha better access.
"Your bottom is
exquisite, strumpet," Aulatha snarled with mock menace. The scent of
Tahllea's quickening arousal mingled with the dark, rich aroma of almonds and
wet earth. "Perhaps the finest in Imej."
"Oh...but I
know." Tahllea said smugly.
***
Decisions
Tahllea took her
time to evaluate her options. If she was going to beat Sigrid, she would do it
with dignity. It would be because all of Queluria would soon know Tahllea as
the worthy successor of such epic blademistresses as Tyrithina - the first
Queen acclaimed by all of the Grey Elven city-states - or Ilmaeria - the
Mistress-Founder of House Ahlirian. What Aulatha had said, though, had rung
true. Tahllea had known in that moment that she had been corrupted: warped by
her travels in the senselessly barbaric worlds of humans, manipulated by
Jander's petty, deceiving conspiracies. Now, it was time to reclaim her honour
as a Bladesinger and settle everything on the battlefield without the hollow
satisfaction of victory by intrigue and hollow words. She would not seek to
destroy Sigrid's blade, nor in any way interfere with the conditions of their
duel. It would be her against Sigrid - a personal duel for prestige, fame and
love like those fought in ancient times between blademistresses whose lives and
passions had gone down into legend.
"Lady
Tahllea..." Mjrina whispered, almost inaudibly. "Would you like me to
join you in your bath?"
"Oh...quite,
yes...please." Tahllea said distractedly. She opened her eyes and saw
steam envelope her. Hot water, perfumed with jasmine and sandalwood, swirled
around her breasts. Lone petals from a multitude of richly-coloured blossoms
floated in the rushing, cleansing currents. She had requested Mjrina's
attentions for the afternoon because, put simply,
House Ahlirian lacked a healer and handmaiden of her expertise. Now that
Tahllea considered it, House Ahlirian lacked handmaidens in general, but that
was largely due to her brother's preferences. As charming and submissive as his
boys were, though, Tahllea was mildly put off by being bathed by a male. So,
she lay in the leisurely swirling waters of her colonnaded great bath. The pool
itself was long and rectangular and fed directly with mineral water from a hot
spring channeled through a magical gate which led to a borderland between the
Elemental Planes of Water, Fire and Earth. Above Tahllea, steam wafted up
fluted, silver columns, leaving glistening droplets of fragrant condensation. A
fresco depicting scenes of frolicking sirens and nereids
adorned the barrel-vaulted ceiling. Only two floating, lambent flames provided
a soft, intimate illumination.
Mjrina pulled off
her green shift and eased herself carefully into the bath by Tahllea's side.
The High Elven Bladesinger smiled, her golden gaze predatory - a leopard on the prowl. Mjrina
dipped her hands into a wide-brimmed lacquer-ware bowl full of heated
citrus-oil and positioned herself behind Tahllea. Her breasts, full and firm,
like ripe autumn fruit, pressed against Tahllea's shoulders. Hard,
coffee-in-milk brown nipples thrust temptingly against the Bladesinger's skin.
"Your neck is
tense, Lady Tahllea..." Mjrina chided gently. Her wondrously soothing,
oil-slick hands pressed against Tahllea's shoulders, before moving up in a
firm, energetic motion. Strong thumbs began to knead against the juncture
between Tahllea's neck and her skull. Tahllea gave a moan of satisfaction.
Mjrina was, simply put, magical. Her very touch brought immediate relaxation,
as if every one of her muscles was overcome by a warm wave of limb-loosening
pleasure. Mjrina massaged with hard, firm strokes - a style completely different
from the one she used on Yssinel. Part of the Wood Elf maiden's secret was the
ability to determine how each one of her subjects preferred her massage. Little
details - whether they liked gently teasing, erotic play or a re-invigorating
rub, or whether they preferred floral, mineral or fruity scents - were all
crucial to the experience.
"What has
Yssinel been saying about Sigrid's second challenge?" Tahllea said
casually, as if the thought had spontaneously sprung to mind.
"Mistress is
very pleased that we have such a lively Bladesinger-culture in Imej
again." Mjrina replied amiably. She began to work her thumbs against each
vertebra of Tahllea's neck, coaxing the battle-hardened muscles to a state of
perfect, detached harmony. She found each knot of tension and worked
methodically, her breasts bobbing deliciously against the water's surface.
"Really, and
what has she said of me?"
Mjrina paused. She
knew Tahllea's temper and preferred to measure her answer in the most
diplomatic way possible. "She has been rather busy these last few
days..."
"Just
as I suspected."
"Oh, but Lady
Tahllea, I am certain you are always first in her thoughts..."
"No."
Tahllea interrupted coldly. "Yssinel and I work far better as friends than
as lovers. She knows this and, just in case she has failed to recognise it, I
shall make it clear to her next time we meet. My dear Mjrina, I have been
living in a monotonous, boring dream for far too long. Yssinel has wearied me
with her plotting - she is just like her wretched mother. Enchantresses,
Mjrina, are all the same: they need to control, to subvert until you can no
longer be certain whether the world before you is real,
or just a figment of their imagination..."
"I...I am so
sorry, Lady Tahllea," Mjrina said demurely, never once turning her
attention from Tahllea's massage, "but I am a humble serving girl, there
is very little I could say..."
"Nonsense,"
Tahllea snapped. "You are her handmaiden, correct?"
"Yes, but just
like a Bladesinger, a handmaiden has her duties and her code of honour. I
regret that you are disappointed with Mistress, but I would never speak ill of
her, or her calling."
Tahllea nodded and
angrily plunged her fist into the rushing waters. With an unspoken command, she
activated a long line of motes of faerie fire that traversed the bottom of the
pool. All of a sudden, a dim, blue glow flooded the water, revealing a
wonderfully intricate, abstract floral mosaic at the bottom of the bathing
pool. "Please, Lady Tahllea, do not tense your shoulders." Mjrina
invited gently.
"Are you in a
hurry this evening, my lovely Mjrina?" Tahllea asked,
her tone honey-smooth. Yssinel was baiting her. She knew it and she needed to
work off her frustration. The sensation of being teased and manipulated was
profoundly unpleasant.
"No..."
Mjrina blushed.
"Then perhaps
after the bath we can play a little game..."
"It would be my
pleasure, Lady Tahllea." Mjrina said. There was a part of her that very
much enjoyed Tahllea's hungry, dominant attentions. The truth was, Mjrina missed the vigorous lovemaking of Wood Elven
rangers. In her home village, she had been quite the favourite at fertility
festivals dedicated to the Forest Mother.
"By the way,
Mjrina, I always wanted to ask you something: can you teach those who are not
Wood Elves to come in rivers as you do?"
Mjrina's cheeks went
from pink to deep crimson. "Oh...Lady Tahllea," she reprimanded,
"we prefer to call it Hanali's Libation and...well,
I suppose you could learn it, but it requires good muscle control and
concentration."
"I was not
inquiring on my behalf." Tahllea corrected, tenderly caressing
Mjrina's calf underwater. "Though you are irresistibly erotic when you do
it..."
Mjrina chuckled
softly. Her mother, an important village druid and herbalist, had always told
her that there were certain secrets to a ranger or a blademistress' heart: It
was only after Mjrina had her first cycle that her mother had gone into more
detail. "Why thank you, Lady Tahllea. I know many Grey Elves find
it...primitive."
"Fools..."
Tahllea scoffed. "And just to prove how much I adore my pretty little
Mjrina, I want to drink all that you give me."
Mjrina giggled
wantonly and felt her sex tighten with desire. "We have a ritual, Lady
Tahllea, involving a long, deer-antler spoon, a bowl and a helpful
lady-warrior's nicely oiled hand."
"Sounds
wonderful." Tahllea
purred.
"If I may, Lady
Tahllea, whom would you like me to teach the art of Hanali's Libation?"
"Sigrid." Tahllea said wickedly.
"Oh!"
Mjrina exclaimed. "Are you certain...?"
Tahllea suddenly
raised a hand to silence Mjrina. Footsteps approached over the humid, granite
surface of the bathing chamber. Jander peered between the columns, his white
silk dressing gown casually untied. Tahllea smirked. Her adoptive brother's
phallus lay quietly between his thighs, no doubt just
satiated by an over-eager, silver-haired boy. The Elven man's lithely muscled
torso seemed complemented, rather than covered, by the elaborately woven fabric
that fell of his shoulders.
"My dear
sister," Jander began grandiloquently. He shrugged off his gown and dark
hair fell around his shoulders in an ocean of soft tresses. "What a
coincidence."
"You are
importuning Mjrina." Tahllea replied coolly. That much was true. Mjrina
had shrunk back behind Tahllea, indignantly covering her breasts and scowling
at Jander with accusing eyes.
Jander gave a
musical, mocking laugh. "I thought Wood Elves were unconcerned with
modesty."
"Only when they
so choose," Tahllea retorted. "Your presence here is inconvenient.
You should know better than interrupt my routine."
"Is that so? I
thought we had an agreement." Jander said, feigning boredom. His lips
curled wickedly. There was something in his ethereally handsome countenance
that betrayed a constant world-weariness, as if no physical pleasure was quite
enough to satisfy him anymore. "As promised, I had Sigrid's blade examined
by an alchemist friend of mine and..."
"And such a
contribution is both worthless and undesired." Tahllea interrupted.
"I shall defeat Sigrid by my own hand and thereby make her mine. In any
case, your research is redundant. Lady Elinathanal, Yssinel's revered mother,
has seen fit to squander a fortune on procuring Sigrid an even finer weapon.
Custom made to the wretched little strumpet's specifications, of course and
bound with an enchantment of great power, if my sources are correct."
"Sources?"
"Aulatha
informed me today at lunch. Elinathanal had her work with Sigrid to commission
the blade."
"But how could
that be?" Jander hissed. Although he was loath to show his emotions
openly, he was decidedly irritated. Nothing happened in Imej without him knowing
about it. "A masterwork blade produced on such short notice!"
Tahllea grinned
triumphantly. "As chance would have it - the mistress-artisan in question already
had a weapon which fit all of Sigrid's specifications on hand and
promptly delivered it with much mystical jargon about enchanted swords choosing
their owners and not the other way round."
Jander scowled.
"And what sword would this be?"
"Peach-blossom
curved edge, pure Violet Mithril, amethyst pommel stone, blue adamantium grip, blade inscribed in Old Elven...need I go further?"
"Impossible!"
Jander spat.
"No...my dear brother, the opportunity of a lifetime."
Tahllea rose from the bath, seized a bathing shawl and swiftly wrapped it
around Mjrina's shoulders to preserve the Wood Elf maiden's modesty. Mjrina
immediately slipped defensively behind Tahllea, keeping her furious gaze fixed
on Jander. Tahllea stood unselfconsciously naked, warm water streaming down her
hard, athletic frame. The raven-dark ringlets of her curls dripped with
moisture. "For the first time in many years, I finally have a worthy
opponent. A good blademistress embraces this opportunity. I have had enough of
you forked tongue and poisonous words."
"My dear
sister, you cannot mean..."
"Leave, Jander.
I am tired of you."
Jander shot a
burning glance at Tahllea who stood defiantly, unmoved. Then Mjrina spoke, her
tone cold, yet polite, "Lord Jander, perhaps it would be better if you
postponed your bath. Lady Tahllea is in need of my attentions and I require
perfect concentration for my massages."
Jander grimaced. A
servant giving him orders? Tahllea simply shrugged and said calmly,
"You heard her: disappear, or I may compelled to
find other ways to defend Mjrina's honour."
Muttering darkly,
Jander gathered his dressing gown and made his way out of the bathing chamber.
He knew from bitter experience that Tahllea was stronger and faster than
virtually all his male comrades at the Griffon Knight barracks. That and his
sister was more stubborn than a Dragon Turtle. Once
Tahllea set her mind on something, she almost never let go.
***
Mjrina’s Game
Yssinel glanced at
her reflection in the clear, green tea, still steaming, which lapped around the
edges of her thin, ceramic cup. Cool, fresh scents of cleansing herbs filled
the air. Mjrina stirred an earthenware pot full of the restorative infusion.
The pot was balanced on a censer of burning coals. The coals conferred a smoky
quality to the tea which Yssinel had grown quite fond of. Lazy evenings before
her mother's endless formal dinners were always spent in her study. Mjrina had
meticulously tidied up her mistress' desk, folded up all the great drawings and
endless pages of painstakingly scribed calligraphy, and replaced each tome of
arcana in its appropriate place on the high, oval hardwood shelves that ringed
the Enchantress' desk. A great window opened out onto the garden below, where
Yssinel could observe Sigrid and Min running through some improvised
coordination drills on the carefully-tended grass. The duel would be the next
day, so Sigrid had been tense and Min uncharacteristically distracted.
Those
considerations, though, were far from Yssinel's mind. Soon Aerylle would be
hers. She could not help but feel sorry for Min, but the tiefling could almost
certainly be compensated with all the Elven girls she wanted. Yssinel was,
after all, generous. Once Ljra's enchantment took effect and Aerylle found
space in her heart for Yssinel alone, the Enchantress planned to console Min
with her choice of high-born Elves. Yssinel knew the class she taught the
"Did Tahllea
keep you long?" Yssinel queried, purring in satisfied pleasure as she
stretched herself out on her vast, plush armchair.
"Just a little
while," Mjrina nodded. She finished stirring the brew, refreshed Yssinel's
cup and knelt at her mistress' feet. Yssinel, Mjrina noted, was in a pensive
mood. It would only be a couple of hours before dinner began and Yssinel was
still in the thin, white and gold silk gown she wore as an undergarment. It
would take at least an hour to prepare her hair, hands, feet and cosmetics and
another hour still to dress her. Ever since Mjrina had met her, it appeared
that Yssinel's vanity grew by the day. This, to an extent, pleased the Wood Elf
maiden. It was flattering to think she had such a flawlessly elegant,
influential mistress. If a handmaiden's image reflected on her mistress, then,
so too did a mistress' status reflect on her handmaiden.
"My poor little
Mjrina...was she rough?" Yssinel cooed, trailing an impeccably manicured
toenail up Mjrina's soft throat.
"A little, but
her passion honours me." Mjrina felt her heartbeat quicken. She knew she
was being wanton, but she was frustrated. Sigrid always came home tired from
training and Yssinel thought only of Aerylle.
"It may as well,"
Yssinel said dismissively, "Tahllea shall always remain my best friend and
a sister, but now that I shall soon have Aerylle, she can be free to
dedicate all her attention to Sigrid. And that would be good for you too, my
dear..."
"I am sorry
mistress, but I do not agree." Mjrina said in a clear, melodious voice.
"Hmm?" Yssinel took a sip of her tea and looked down
at Mjrina. There was a touch of defiance in those leaf-green eyes.
"Two nights
ago, I summoned Ljra again -"
"Oh, dear, you
should have invited me, not even Tahllea makes my Blossom of Hanali bloom so
wonderfully..."
"I told her
that she should not bring your love-wish for Aerylle to fruition. I told her
that Aerylle was already bonded to another and, as you know, the Blessed Ljra
is a dryad and she is honour-bound not to disrupt was has been consecrated in
the presence of the Blessed Hanali."
Yssinel sat bolt
upright in her armchair. "You did what?"
"Precisely
what I just said, Mistress." Mjrina replied, her gaze still respectfully
lowered.
Yssinel struck like
a snake. "You impudent, little savage!" She
slapped Mjrina so hard her hand hurt. The Wood Elf maiden crumpled to the
floor. Yssinel towered above her, sapphire-blue eyes ablaze with fury. When
Mjrina tried to crawl back up to her knees, Yssinel seized her by her verdant
green hair and struck her again with such force that the Enchantress' wrist
went numb. Mjrina whimpered and crawled across the carpeted floor, sobbing
softly. "I could kill you with but a word," Yssinel spat - her voice
was hideous in Mjrina's ears, a twisted distortion of the usually soft,
cultured tone the Enchantress always used, "you worthless,
treacherous..."
"I did it for
you mistress," Mjrina cried, cowering plaintively on the floor. "An
oath was sworn when I entered your service, and I followed it with all my
heart!"
Yssinel paused. With
slow breaths, she began to master her anger. Mjrina sat up on the floor, her
cheeks streaked with tears, a trickle of blood flowing from a cut on her lip.
"What have I done?" Yssinel wailed all of a sudden and fell upon
Mjrina, covering the Wood Elf maiden's pine-scented hair with kisses.
"No, Mistress,
please - I know you are angry, but understand that whatever I do, it is only
for your sake." Mjrina whispered and cradled Yssinel close.
"My poor,
faithful Mjrina, forgive me..." Yssinel sighed and began to frantically
kiss away her handmaiden's tears. "I should have known better...forgive
me, I am the savage, I should never have raised
a hand against you..."
"Hush,
Mistress, hush," Mjrina hummed, rocking Yssinel in her arms. A thin,
triumphant smile spread on her lips. "I know what is best for you,
Mistress, I have always known."
"I know you
do...I know." Yssinel whimpered and huddled closer to the comforting
tenderness of Mjrina's breasts. Those same breasts where she could bury her
face and feel all her woes evaporate after a long, troubling day while Mjrina
hummed a lyrical Wood Elven lullaby.
"We are going
to be together always Mistress, right? I swore an oath that I would be your
handmaiden until Time and Death part us." Mjrina soothingly caressed
Yssinel's long, gold and silver hair, smoothing it in long, luxuriant motions.
"Forever,
Mjrina...my faithful Mjrina will always be by my side..."
"I swore
Mistress, swore by the Forest Mother. Forever means forever. One day, Mistress,
you will find the right lover, but she is not to be Aerylle."
Yssinel nodded
obediently and pressed her lips against Mjrina to lick the blood from the
handmaiden's lips. She tasted warm, salty iron. Mjrina smiled sweetly,
"Good, a handmaiden always does her best for her Mistress."
"I know,"
Yssinel said, urgently sinking into a deep, wet kiss with Mjrina. "You
always know best."
Mjrina nodded
contentedly. Yssinel was on top of her. Long, dexterous fingers roughly hiked
up the hem of her gown. Mjrina parted her thighs. She was soaked. A pink
hothouse flower, dewy with milky juice, spread out under the green fabric of
the Wood Elf maiden's shift. Yssinel pressed herself closer against Mjrina, her
nipples pebbling in her gown, hard against her handmaiden's larger, rounder
breasts. Mjrina mewled in pleasure and hooked her legs around Yssinel's waist.
Thick, sticky nectar gathered around Yssinel's fingers as she cupped the plump
mound of Mjrina's pussy. Her clit was desperately hard, like a pearl buried in
silk. Mjrina bucked her hips and a stray droplet of nectar fell onto the
carpet. Yssinel could not remember feeling Mjrina so deliciously fertile in her
life.
"By the Blessed
Hanali, Mjrina, this is so...wicked." Yssinel said lasciviously
between kisses.
"If Mistress
would like to explore something different..."
"Tell me."
Yssinel ordered breathlessly.
Mjrina curled her
soft, lush lips into a playful smile and drew Yssinel close so she could
whisper into her ear.
"Oh!"
Yssinel gasped. Mjrina began to lick her ear in long, wet, strokes. "How awful." No Grey Elven lady would ever even
consider doing that. "Perhaps we should go to the
"An
excellent idea, Mistress."
Mjrina's eyes
sparkled with delight as she rose and led an entranced Yssinel by the hand
downstairs, moving with the subtle sway of her hips that only a devotee of a
fertility Goddess could truly execute. After losing Aerylle as a mistress,
there was no chance Mjrina was going to lose Yssinel. It would be Yssinel and
her faithful, perfect handmaiden Mjrina - the envy of all of Imej - until their
souls found one another again in the next world. Mjrina never considered herself to be especially intelligent or learned. She was a
simple handmaiden - intuitive and hardworking rather than brilliant. One thing
she knew better than Yssinel, though, was how to conduct a drudic ritual. The
Enchantress would never know just how well Mjrina knew Ljra and that the
frantic, sensual ritual they had performed together had never really been about
winning Aerylle's heart at all.
***
Forgiveness
The night before
Sigrid's fateful rematch against Tahllea was a tense one. Aravae almost
regretted having to leave Sigrid at Yssinel's tower, but Elinathanal, the
mistress of the House, had invited her and Iniila to do so in the kindest
possible terms. Aravae knew Elinathanal well enough to realise that the wily
Enchantress was plotting something and that whatever scheme she had in mind
required only Sigrid and Min to be present. Though it pained her not to be with
Sigrid the night before the duel that would no doubt shape her destiny, she had
left with the sensation that at least her friend was in good hands. Min struck
Aravae as eccentric. But the tiefling was lively and Sigrid seemed to like her
well enough. There was something about language barriers, though, that unnerved
Aravae. Whenever Min spoke with that rich, sensual drawl, Aravae felt as though
the tiefling were casting a spell - saying powerful, forbidden things.
Sigrid was precisely
the thought that had occupied Aravae's mind over the last few days. A thought
she could not quite banish. Iniila had sensed this. So, they sat quietly in the
kitchen of House Ahlirian's tower, by a long table normally used for herb and
vegetable preparations. Aravae picked at her rosehip flan and refused to touch
her chestnut pie. Iniila, as always, ate heartily, taking occasional sips from
her cup full of icy spring water. The kitchen was dark. A single row of softly
lit lamps stretched over the ceiling and illuminated the counter, the wine
racks, the spice racks and the simple wooden door scribed with functional
calligraphy that led to the pantry.
"You are
worried for Sigrid." Iniila said, more as a statement of fact than a
question. She set down her cup. She felt awkward. The shirt Aravae had loaned
her felt tight and the fabric irritated her. She had brought her own breeches
and that was a relief, though their falling leaf-pattern seemed quaint and
exotic to the average citizen of Imej, who looked upon her with a mixture of
fascination and barely-disguised condescension. As far as they were concerned,
she would always be something less than civilised.
"Yes..."
Aravae said and turned away from Iniila to face the kitchen wall. The
silver-domed water-clock trickled its rhythmic counting of each minute.
"I found
something for you." Iniila said, forcing herself to break the ice. She
disliked useless talk, but Aravae's silence worried her. So she rose and
produced a white satin pouch and presented it to Aravae.
"Thanks,"
Aravae said weakly. Her silvery eyes seemed distant, as if she were on an another plane.
"Here, try,"
Iniila insisted. She loosened the straps of the pouch and let a platinum
bracelet fall into the palm of her hand. It coiled beautifully - minimalist,
but elegant, and articulated so as to resemble a needle-thin serpent. She took
Aravae's slender wrist in her hand and slipped on the bracelet. The fit was
perfect, for Iniila had a huntress' eye.
Aravae's countenance
softened. "No-one ever bought me jewellery."
"It follows
your eyes." Iniila said, smiling.
"You mean it matches
my eyes." Aravae corrected gently and Iniila's smile broadened.
"Like when we
were younger - always correcting me." Grey Elven words still felt
unfamiliar and overly flowery on Iniila's tongue.
"Iniila - why
did you leave me?"
"Be truthful -
are you still angry?"
"Yes,"
Aravae breathed. "The more I think about it, the more it hurts."
"I had no
future in this place." Iniila murmured. Aravae caught her wrist. The Grey
Elven Bladesinger's grip was surprisingly strong for her elfin build.
"You had me."
Aravae said between gritted teeth. Her grip tightened on Iniila's wrist.
"How many times
should I say that I am sorry?"
"As many as you
want, but it simply would not be good enough!" Aravae sprang to her feet
and strode off down the corridor into her tiny room.
Iniila followed
swiftly, soundlessly. "Aravae...!" she called and the Grey Elf maiden
simply ignored her. The room was dark. Aravae commanded a floating sphere of
golden light to glow. A tranquil radiance spread across the modest, but perfectly
orderly chamber. Aravae's formal tunic for the next day's duel was already laid
out, perfectly ironed and folded, on her clothes chest.
"When you
needed me," Aravae said, her measured voice betraying little of the
bitterness she felt, "when you were made to sleep on the floor, weeping
silently by the dying embers of the fire - I gave you everything. Everything I
had was yours: my bed, my food, my heart and, eventually, one wonderful
evening, my body. When you left, in the middle of the night, without even
saying good-bye..."
"I could not
have." Iniila interrupted indignantly. "If you had told me to stay, I
could not have done otherwise."
Aravae was seized by the sudden, furious need to throw something at Iniila. But
she mastered herself and drew a deep breath. "Do you know what my mother
said when you left?"
"No..."
"She said not
to worry, after all, you were just a Wood Elf."
"She was right, I am not ashamed of it." Iniila said defiantly.
"Neither was
I."
"Aravae - if
you can forgive me, I will never disappoint you again. I swear this by the
Forest Mother."
Aravae relented. "Apologies if I sound cruel, but I am tired of being
disappointed, of waiting for others to change. I waited for you to
return, for Tahllea to treat me better and I am still lost."
"We can start
once more." Iniila suggested tentatively. She finally resolved to step
into the room and close the door behind her.
"It is not that
easy." Aravae smiled bitterly. Now, there was Sigrid to consider, too.
Iniila nodded.
"I know. Whatever you decide, I am by your side. I have a debt to repay.
And you, Aravae, you are my sister."
"We...we can
work with that." Aravae concluded. She began to loosen her sky-blue
fencing tunic. "Now get ready for bed, we must awake by first light
tomorrow."
Iniila gingerly took
off her boots and began to loosen the unfamiliar buttons of her shirt.
"You like the bracelet, no?"
"Of
course," Aravae answered softly. "It's lovely."
"You are like
me then, such things are not important to you." Iniila noted wryly.
"No, they
aren't. But the fact that you thought about me is."
"Always. I do not think I could depart from your side
again." Iniila said reverently. Aravae was as beautiful as she had
remembered her. Now, the Grey Elven Bladesinger had the body of a woman, not a
girl: lithe with long, supple limbs, each movement infinitely graceful as she
changed in the dull magical light. Aravae slipped on her simple white nightgown
and paused by the dresser, staring at the reflected light on the cool stone
walls of her bedchamber. She had yet to turn around and meet Iniila's gaze.
"When I first
met you, it was the Season of the Mother's Renewal." Aravae said, as if
she were reciting a litany. "Mother complained that the tavern's head cook
had saddled her with a Wood Elf maid to train. I spied you from between the
posts of the staircase that leads up to the dining hall. You were angry,
humiliated. I immediately realized that I understood you. I saw the firelight
from the bread oven play over your hair - golden, red, oak-brown. Those
colours, they reminded me of the forest just before the gathering chills of the
Season of the Mother's Sleep. Your skin smelled of apples, of fresh cider and
pear-blossom wine."
Though she would
never show it, Iniila was moved. The memory clearly burned vividly in Aravae's
mind. "You became a Bladesinger to escape that kitchen. So, too, I became
a ranger. You could not be a pastry cook, so too I could never be a scullery
maid."
"I suppose,
then, that our destiny is not in Imej." Aravae finally turned to face
Iniila.
"No,"
Iniila nodded sagely. "It never was."
***
Lady Sigrid
Elinathanal,
mistress of House Ceilanith, entered the garden of her tower with her usual
pomp. The garden gates were thrown open for her to appear on a floating disk of
energy, wreathed in a flurry of diaphanous moonlight-silver fabrics. When the
disk settled onto the snow-covered surface of the garden, it had magically
transformed into a vast, opulent couch, shaped like a lily. With an unspoken command,
Elinathanal made the lily bloom and petal after petal of fabric gave way to
reveal her, sensuously clad in a virtually transparent garment that seemed to
be made from starlight and celestial ether. Long, infinitely thin chains of
silver, gold and platinum, wreathed her frame like strands of spidersilk. For
the first time since Sigrid had seen her, Elinathanal was unaccompanied. All
she had by her side was a simple, black Sandbar Alligator leather scabbard in
which a curved sword was sheathed, its magnificent, dark-adamantine pommel
inlaid with spherical amethysts.
Sigrid and Min had
been expecting her. With a brisk notice for them to wrap up their last day of
practice and have a quick wash, they had been summoned up in the courtyard to
await the mistress of the House's presence. Sigrid bowed at Elinathanal's
arrival. Min simply stretched with feline disinterest and gazed first at the
darkening evening sky and then at Elinathanal's wondrous presence. The tiefling
felt an electric pang between her thighs. There was something about Elven
matrons of a certain age that excited her. They seemed to serenely perfect,
mature, but with a beauty that only motherhood and experience could confer.
"Lady
Sigrid," Elinathanal said, speaking in flawless Common for Min's benefit.
"Your exertions are to be rewarded."
"You are too
kind, Lady Elinathanal." Sigrid said. She was already eyeing the sword.
Elinathanal laughed
and the sound was like silver bells in a crystal chamber. "Such
brash spirits, such intemperance. When I was a girl, I could hardly
master my desire for blademistresses such as you."
Sigrid blushed while
Min gave a soft chuckle. The tiefling, who never had much time for Elven
protocol, swept back her ember red hair and spoke with her usual irreverence,
"Are you going to give her the sword or what?" Her lush, sensually
red lips curled.
Elinathanal sat up
in her divan, clasping the sheathed sword in both hands. "Come, Lady
Sigrid," she invited. The Aasimar complied, almost fearfully. She was in
awe of Elinathanal and of the mystical aura that seemed to emanate from the
Grey Elven woman's very soul. "Kneel." As if charmed, Sigrid obeyed
and fell to one knee. Her bare skin did not even feel the cold from the snow.
"This blade, Lady Sigrid," Elinathanal spoke, "was destined for
you since the very moment its mother-metal came into existence. Lady Tahllea
has treated you cruelly, but I grant you my favour not because I would rejoice
in your revenge, but because I, like others, have seen that you conceal great
potential. Many thousands of years ago, in an age of wonder, one such as you
walked these lands and many feared her - feared her power, her lust for power,
her consuming ambition. In time, as is the destiny of all created things, she
too passed into history, but, though her body perished, her soul and the fear
she had incited in lesser beings lived on. So, you know the history of
Utharminalir was written not by the Aasimar war-mistress herself, but by her
enemies..."
"I
have...dreamed of her, seen her on the battlefield, in the bedchamber..."
Sigrid interjected. Min cocked her head curiously to one side. Despite Elinathanal's
impenetrable, archaic speech, the plot was indeed thickening.
"So you will
know that she was no demoness. History privileges the victors, Lady
Sigrid." Elinathanal explained. "Take this blade and make your own
history. Utharminalir is remembered as a butcher of Wood Elves, a cruel and
dark lover of darker fae - but she too had her genuine loves and ambitions. A
soul like hers is unique as yours is too. Take this blade, Lady Sigrid, and be
victorious. That is, after all, the meaning of your name.
In the tongue of your ancestors, Sigel is the rune of victory. Do this
blade honour." With that, Elinathanal lay the
sword into Sigrid's outstretched hands.
The contact was
electric. As if something from deep within the blade were calling directly at
Sigrid's very soul. Warmth flooded the Aasimar's body, followed by a distant
voice. A voice that commanded her to unsheathe the blade.
Sigrid's hand trembled as she clasped the pommel. A surge of
power - a heartbeat. Something pulsed from the amethysts in the pommel
of the sword: a pulse of awakening. Slowly, almost as if it were a ritual,
Sigrid drew her new weapon. The sound was perfect, a sublime musical note whose
pure ring filled the air. Before Sigrid's eyes, the blade itself was revealed
to the dying light of the day. Violet like the deepest glint of an amethyst,
the blade was shaped like a lick of Soulfire, ornate and awe-inspiring in its
clean, winding form. Upon the blade's surface, in sublime Elven calligraphy,
words of power glowed: "I am the Undoing - curse of all created things".
For the briefest instant, Sigrid thought she heard Utharminalir's ominous voice
traverse the centuries and echo into her ear.
"We are
sisters..." the voice called and, in the shining surface of the blade,
Sigrid saw not her reflection but that of Utharminalir. Cruel,
haughty, and coldly beautiful as she had been in Sigrid's dream. "This
blade I wielded the day my mortal flesh faltered. This blade I named Tehkhathyrm,
which in a lost tongue means 'the darkness at twilight' - she will answer to no
other name."
"Tehkkhathyrm,"
Sigrid mouthed silently and the amethysts began to glow with a dull, faerie
light. The blade hummed on a frequency so subtle that only Sigrid herself could
hear it. The mithril-spirit bound into the very essence of the weapon had
spoken to her. It was well pleased.
***
Dolls
"Well, here we
are, my beloved Min." Aerylle said at length. The winding network of
tunnels and storage chambers under Aerylle's tower contained all manner of
supplies for her father's bookbinding business. Leather, paper, fabrics of all
varieties, inks, brushes and assorted magical copystones were neatly stacked in
their appropriate alcoves under vaulted ceilings illuminated by radiant
streamers of azure light.
"Something
tells me this day is just going to get stranger." Min mused.
"Why? What
happened during practice?" Aerylle pushed past a few neatly stacked crates
of tissue-thin lythari paper and muttered an incantation before a small,
leaf-shaped door.
"Nothing much,
but Yssinel's mother gave Sigrid a new sword and there was this...mystical
moment. It's hard to describe, but Sigrid was staring at that sword for what
seemed like ages, like she saw something reflected in it." Min shrugged.
It was not her place to broach the intricacies of Elven magic.
"All the
romances state that a Bladesinger has a sacred bond with her weapon. The spirit
bound to the sword must been in perfect synchronism with its wielder..."
Aerylle said distractedly. The leaf-shaped portal stirred, glowed green and
spread open. "Come in," Aerylle invited with a certain trepidation in
her voice. Min obeyed and followed her bonded lover into a small but high stone
chamber. With a wave of her elegant, dove-like hand, Aerylle summoned up five
spheres of floating, golden energy.
"Right..."
Min said, not quite knowing how to metabolise what she saw under the piercing
glare of the lights. "Y'know, princess, I've met lots of strange creatures
in my life, but Elves are beginning to top my list."
"Oh, hush
Min!" Aerylle scolded, before turning to take a fawning glance at her
immense doll collection. She was always filled with a profound sense of
contentment whenever she contemplated those perfectly preserved ranks of
masterfully crafted silk, porcelain and satin dolls. Unlike their human
equivalent, Elven dolls were rather large and usually a fifth of the life size equivalent, and based on historical or legendary characters,
all rendered in exquisite and precise detail. "When I was younger...these
were my treasures." Aerylle said and she felt her throat tightening with
emotion.
Min tried very hard
not to roll her eyes. "I s'pose it's pretty and…uhm...how d'you say...comprehensive."
"Oh, look
Min," Aerylle squealed excitedly, seizing a magnificent doll made in the
image of a stern, but protective Grey Elven woman wearing an ornate Bladesinger's
tunic, "this is Tyrithina - from one of the finest artisans in Imej.
Mother bought it for me when I won a young sorceress' competition at the
"Yeah,"
Min sighed, reluctantly taking the doll into her hands. It was the perfect
likeness of a heroine, she had to admit, but if the doll was anything to go by,
Min would have been far more interested in meeting Tyrithina in person.
"You really do have quite a collection..."
"Sixty-four,
to be precise," Aerylle noted in her punctilious schoolmistress tone. "Even Yssinel," she said with
relish, "envied my collection. Many of these are unique. The only ones of
their kind ever made."
"Not to be
insensitive or anything, but why d'you bring me here?" Min inquired,
leaning against a wall, arms crossed, staring dully at the rows of perfectly -
perhaps unnervingly - composed Elven faces.
"Min...do you really expect me to believe that you never
desperately wanted a doll -"
"I think I can
pretty honestly say no."
"Very
well," Aerylle concluded wearily - it was no use. Insofar as such matters
were concerned, Min was a lost cause. "The reason I brought you here is
that I wanted to show you this mildly embarrassing element of my
childhood. Embarrassing or not, though, I had a happy childhood and this is
exactly why I think family is important. Even though she made some misguided
decisions, I have nothing but gratitude for my mother's example and admiration
for her fortitude. My father spoiled me, but he is a quiet, distant man. My
mother ran our family business and raised me."
"Wonderful job
she did too."
"So wonderful, dear
Min," Aerylle said with a hint of vitriol, "that I shall pretend
I did not see you trying to flirt with her yesterday in the drawing room."
"That wasn't
flirting, I swear..." Min lied.
"In any case, I
thought this would be a good place to discuss our future."
"Aerylle,
princess," Min said plaintively - the dreaded argument had resurfaced
again. "Isn't it a bit early - I mean, can't we enjoy life a little?"
"The way I see
it, life is best enjoyed with those whom we can love and depend upon. Having a
child need not be an imposition - it draws us all together and strengthens our
love. I know your experience has been difficult, but amongst Elves, motherhood
is sacred and a communal bond. Yssinel, Tahllea, Shesayne
– they will help us and so we will forge new and permanent bonds. Elven
families are small, so my friends will help raise our child as we shall help
raise theirs..."
"Great."
Min sounded far from convinced. The idea of Tahllea raising a child sent a
shiver down her spine.
"Will you take
my word on this, Min?" Aerylle said softly.
"Yeah, I
guess..."
"Because,"
Aerylle smiled nervously and tried not to blush, "I went to the
"Ah-ha!" Min pounced triumphantly. "I thought you
prim and proper Elven girls didn't use..."
"It is not that
ghastly thing you insist on using on me," Aerylle corrected, "though
there are cosmetic similarities, this is strictly for procreation."
Min did not see the
difference. But it was useless to argue with Aerylle. "All right, I'll
trust you on this."
Aerylle smiled
demurely and stepped forward to embrace Min, burying her face in the tiefling's
breast. A warm aroma of incense rose from Min's red-tinted skin. "Well, my
prince," she purred, "your princess awaits your pleasure."
"What, you mean
now?" For the first time in Min's life, she found herself
questioning time and place.
"Oh, but my
prince, today is a good day. An Elven woman knows when she is most
fertile and this afternoon I was positively dripping."
Min felt a shudder
of pleasure run down her spine. It was indescribably arousing to hear Aerylle
adopt that low, sensual tone. "You sure?"
"It was so
thick...so rich, like pearly honey..." Aerylle
continued. She began to undo Min's shirt, one button at the time, freeing those
compact, firm breasts from their silky cage. Hard, ruby-red nipples finally
stood proudly in the cool cellar air. "I had to change my culottes...and
then...."
"Then
what?" Min felt the
dull, wel throb between her thighs echo with the quickening heartbeat in her
breast.
"Then I decided
not to wear any and I played with my Hanali's Jewel all afternoon watching you
practice with Sigrid and still that brought no relief." Min hastily hiked
up Aerylle's cherry-blossom patterned robe and drew her caress up against the
inside of the librarian's smooth, slim thighs. Aerylle was not lying. Her
feminine nexus was molten, like a dew and nectar sodden flower in an early
jungle morning.
"That's not
very royal-like of you, now is it princess?"
"Every princess
needs to feel a little wanton for her prince."
Later that night,
when both moons were full and looming high over the cloudless Imej sky, Min lay
naked, panting and covered in cooling perspiration on Aerylle's bed. The sheets
were soaked with mingled juice, oil and sweat. In front of her, reclining on
the pillows was Aerylle, her small, conical breasts rising and falling with her
frantic breaths. She had yet to recover from her last climax, yet she was
already lying on her back, with her knees pressed against her breasts, hips
raised and arms hooked around her thighs. Her nether lips lay stretched open, a
blooming flower, freshly fucked and already begging for more..
"You're hungry
tonight." Min said between ragged breaths. The tulip-bulb dildo still
jutted obscenely from her red-furred sex, slick with Aerylle's gooey nectar.
"No,
silly," Aerylle chuckled. "Elven women often have difficulty
conceiving. I am only trying to increase my chances."
"How will you
know, d'you have to miss your cycle or something?" Min inquired, suddenly
curious.
"No, I should
know almost immediately, or so Senythina and my mother say. But I have been
living away from Imej so long, I fear my mind-body
link may have been weakened."
"Another
one, just to be sure?"
Min suggested expectantly.
"Hmm...why not?"
Aerylle spread her
thighs and yelped as she felt the cool evening air rush over her inflamed pussy.
She rested her calves on Min's shoulders and let the tiefling's dildo enter
her. There was no resistance, her sex was loose, spread and pouting, like an
overripe flower. Inside her, rich nectar stirred with the clear, fertile fluid
Min had sprayed into her countless times that evening. Still, she wanted more.
Min began to fuck her with hard, methodic determination. Aerylle grunted and
braced herself. The act was raw, needy. Aerylle's delicate toes curled as she
felt Min bring her into full bloom with each thrust. Her defeated channel
expanded deliciously around the invading rod. The olisbos' enchantment had
allowed it to curve and bend to ram against Aerylle's sweet spot, deep in her
canal with frightening accuracy. Each thrust was a jolt of raw, carnal pleasure
that seeped into her loins and made her heart echo angrily between her temples.
Min's sultry lips covered Aerylle's with wet kisses. Aerylle's mouth still
tasted of cinnamon, musk, salt and spice. The residue of the
endless licking to which she had treated Min after a particularly vigorous bout
of lovemaking.
Min cradled
Aerylle's breasts in her hands, her burgundy-red fingernails scraping
deliciously against her bonded lover's berry-pink nipples, stiff and rubbery
from delightful arousal. The tiefling's endurance was incredible. Her hips
thrust with the same energy as the first time they had consummated that night.
Each time, the thrust was total, filling Aerylle up completely so that the
petite Elven librarian could feel Min's ember-red down press against her pussy,
the dildo sheathed to the hilt inside of her. That same hair tickled her clit
with jarring friction, each thrust harder, wet, swollen flesh slapping against
Aerylle's split, submissive pussy. It became a flurry, Min fucking, her breasts
heaving, her lips moist and parted as she felt Aerylle's pussy envelope her.
The sensation
transmitted by the dildo was sublime, like a warm, wet vice wrapped around
Min's clit and pressing against her Hanali's Heart. Aerylle tightened her
calves around Min's neck and braced herself, hips raised as high as possible.
"Princess..."
Min cooed possessively as she felt the knot of tension in her loins reach an agonising
breaking point. Aerylle whimpered as the dildo pulsed inside of her. Her sex
contracted desperately around the invading shaft. It was time. A hot, fine
spray, like an autumn drizzle, issued forth from the dildo, flowing down
Aerylle's canal. "How's that?" Min gasped,
smothering Aerylle's pointed ear with wet kisses.
"By
Hanali," Aerylle cried, "give me a moment." She focused her mind
and sought to concentrate on the fertile ocean of her womb. Something was
beginning to stir - just the first hint, a subtle sign like an inaudible
disturbance in the air, or in the clouds. Aerylle took a deep breath of relief.
That was done, but she had not yet come. "Again," Aerylle ordered.
"Make me yours."
Min was only too
happy to obey.
***
Duel
"Dzelha!" Aravae called through the heavy, ornate door
that led to the guest room in Tahllea's tower, now occupied by Dzelha and
Erieanal. "Dzelha!" She rapped against the
door while Iniila waited impatiently, arms crossed, her falling-leaf patterned
leather armour shining with fresh walnut oil. A special occasion warranted a
faultless appearance and Iniila was certain that Sigrid's rematch against
Tahllea would be an epic confrontation. But spending the morning trying to
rouse Dzelha and her newfound lover was decidedly anticlimactic.
"They appear to
have a problem getting up." Aravae complained fussily.
Iniila shrugged. She
was convinced that it was the same 'problem' that kept Dzelha's tongue in
Erieanal's mouth all day. She had nothing against passionate relationships, but
Dzelha and Erieanal's open displays of sugar-sweet affection and starry-eyed
cuddling were beginning to become tiresome. So Iniila simply forced the portal
open. A frantic flutter of wings greeted them. Erieanal, who had been on top of
an ecstatic Dzelha, scrambled to a sitting position and drew her lover into her
arms, snow-white wings wrapped around her so as to preserve their modesty.
"Do you
mind?" Erieanal snapped so quickly that it all came out as one word.
"We are going
to be late." Aravae chided.
Dzelha giggled.
Erieanal's feathers tickled her breasts. "Do you hear that, my lovely
little dove, Sigrid needs our support."
"As
you wishfully desire."
Erieanal hummed, nuzzling Dzelha's braids. The Star Elf maiden's sweat smelled
mineral, like freshly-fallen snow.
"You can let me
go, then." Dzelha invited. Erieanal dramatically spread her wings and
Dzelha rose to fetch her dressing gown. "Give us a little while - I have
to paint Erieanal's protective wards and she has to help me with my braids."
By the time the last
painstaking application of mulberry and lapis-lazuli Star Elven cosmetic had
been applied to Dzelha's lips and eyelids, the sun was high in the sky. They
made their way up to the very summit of Tahllea's tower, where, in a vast open
balcony surrounded by summoned clouds, a disk of levitating force padded with
silk cushions was waiting for them. This time, though, the journey did not take
them to Tahllea's duelling hall, but down, deep into the forest. At the very
last moment, Tahllea and Sigrid had decided to change venue. This particular
choice had unnerved Aravae, who was wary of her mentor's stratagems. Still, the
fact that Sigrid had reassured her was comforting. She had come to trust the Aasimar's
judgement implicitly. Predictably, and much to Iniila's displeasure, Dzelha and
Erieanal lost no time in exchanging lascivious, knowing little smiles. So the
Wood Elven ranger simply resolved to ignore them and pretended not to notice
the hand Dzelha had surreptitiously slipped under Erieanal's tunic.
When they finally
landed, it was in a distant forest clearing. Imej was nothing but a set of
distant towers, straddling a chain of low mountains immediately below the
majestic, glacier covered peaks that dominated the horizon. High conifer trees
ringed the clearing which had evidently been used as a place of military
training since ancient times. Moss-covered ruins surrounded the surprisingly
well-tended grass, no doubt kept in perfect condition by an immortal dryad
whose mistress had long ago passed into history. A wide, rectangular arena had
been set out, ringed by spiraling, elegantly carved stones with ancient Elven
calligraphy warped onto their very surface. No sculptor's chisel had touched
those stones, but they had been shaped directly by the fanciful mind of a long
forgotten sorceress. The sun was heavy in the sky, a great golden orb that had
begun to dry the dew from the fragrant grass and the sharp, limitless sea of
fallen pine needles.
"You flatter me
with your presence." Tahllea called, making a suitably theatrical entry
from a vast, monolithic stone lotus blossom which opened to reveal the High
Elven Bladesinger. Aravae subconsciously clenched her fist. Tahllea was in full
battle armour. She bore the elaborate, adamantine and platinum embossed
breastplate of her House, complete with the underlying suit of mithril
chainmail and the intricately-lacquered arm and leg guards scribed with
protective wards. A gleaming constellation, rendered with diamonds and veins of
platinum, shimmered on Tahllea's breastplate - the symbol of her distant
predecessor, Ilmaeria.
"Mistress, what
is the meaning of this?" Aravae inquired nervously.
"Sigrid and I
decided to step back in time, as it were," Tahllea crowed, "this
time, there will be no protective broaches. This time, we shall duel until one
of us yields. Am I not correct, Sigrid?" She exaggerated the Aasimar's
name, affecting a Grey Elven poetess' over-formal pronunciation of a heroine's
name.
"Soon we shall
see who is correct." Sigrid challenged. Aravae turned and saw her
friend step forth from the front rank of pine trees. She was clad in a lighter,
adamantine breastplate over her formal white and golden fencer's tunic. Sigrid
preferred mobility and had chosen only a matching set of breastplate and
spidersilk-thin Elven chainmail for basic protection. The skills she had
learned with Min were mobility-based, which meant that she needed as much speed
and timing advantage of Tahllea as possible. Naturally, Tahllea had deduced
this and re-calibrated the terms of the encounter in her favour. Sigrid, who
had challenged for the second time, was duty-bound to accept any condition
Tahllea proposed.
"Indeed we
shall." Tahllea sneered. "In case any of you girls were thinking of
trying this out at home, be aware that I have Mjrina and Senythina on hand to
provide rapid and comprehensive healing should an artery or two be cut."
"What?"
Sigrid met Tahllea's golden gaze with a mixture of perplexity and defiance.
"It's called
inspirational motivation, Sigrid," Tahllea said, this time in
Common. "Senythina is here because she adds to the scenery and, let's face it, she should be a living encouragement to you, my
dear girl, because if a Grey Elf girl can have tits that big, anything
is possible. Why, you may even defeat me." Tahllea smiled coquettishly,
took a dramatic bow and drew the shimmering Blue Mithril edge known as Ilmaeria's
Sorrow - a scintillating aura of light followed the blade wherever it cut
the air. Tahllea pointed the awe-inspiring weapon at a
Sigrid turned and
saw Yssinel and Aerylle seated on a great, floating, silken divan, with Mjrina
and Senythina kneeling patiently by their side. The buxom Grey Elven priestess
smiled in acknowledgement while Aerylle did her best not to laugh too loudly.
Min sidled up soundlessly
behind Sigrid. "It's all clear in the area," she whispered, "no traps, no
hidden archers - she seems pretty straight and narrow for this one. Good luck
and go get her."
"Thanks,"
Sigrid murmured. She drew her sword. A dangerous, humming sound filled the
arena. The Violet Mithril gave off an otherworldly, eldritch glow.
Tahllea contemplated Sigrid for a long, agonising moment, almost without
breathing. She had known that the sword was powerful, but she could feel the
weapon-spirit's aura. It would be a fine match for Ilmaeria's Sorrow. In
such times of peace, it was rare for two weapons of such antiquity and power to
come into contact. There would be no formalisms this time. This would be a duel
like those of old, pure and simple. Tahllea assumed a forward stance, bringing
her blade in parallel with her outstretched free arm, her gait wide to lower
her centre of gravity. She put all of her tension in her thighs and calves, as
if she were a hunting cat preparing to pounce. She raised the edge of her blade
haughtily to Sigrid. That was the sign: it had begun.
This time, Sigrid
was determined to take the offensive. Awash with the fiery bravado that seemed
to emanate from the shimmering sword, Sigrid dashed forward, low to the ground
and opened with a wide, slicing attack at Tahllea's legs. Aravae gasped.
Sigrid's attack left a trail of searing, violet light which fell in a sharp
rain of crackling energy after a few instants of exposure to the sun's rays.
Aravae had only seen such brilliance in Tahllea's own sword. The attack was
clever, but Tahllea was quick on her feet. She drew back, parried and
countered, deploying her overwhelming strength against Sigrid in a rain of
high, vicious blows. Multichrome sparks flew, the sword-auras clashing and burning,
melding and fading into one another like two lambent flames. Tahllea pushed
Sigrid back and the Aasimar backpedaled. A lunge followed, and, for the
briefest instant, Tahllea assumed the appearance of a shooting star. Her blade
glimmered like a comet's tail, enveloping her in a mist of blue light. Sigrid's
guard gave way. The attack was too swift and, before she could react, she was
pinned against the tree, a wide gash opened up on her side. Fresh blood began to
flow, staining her chainmail and the sundered breastplate above it.
Tahllea smiled sadistically, withdrew her blade from the conifer's trunk and
kicked Sigrid hard in the belly. The Aasimar crumpled to the ground, too
stunned to even gasp in pain. "Do you yield?" Tahllea hissed.
"Fuck
you!" Sigrid rolled, ignoring the searing pain from her side, and struck
out at Tahllea's knee.
The High Elven Bladesinger sidestepped just in time to avoid her leg being
sliced clean off. Blood trickled from a flesh wound Sigrid had opened up just
above Tahllea's shin guard. The elaborately-bordered white tabard Tahllea wore
around her thighs and knees was shredded, its pristine white fabric streaked
with blood. Tahllea snarled like a wounded tigress and Sigrid scampered out of
the way, withdrawing into the forest. Tahllea followed. Sigrid was quicker, the
Aasimar's speed was truly impressive as she ducked expertly in and around trees
until Tahllea was uncertain as to whether Sigrid had slipped off to the left or
the right.
So she slowed her
pace and took the time to recover her breath. She knew she could hear and smell
Sigrid if she put her mind to it. "Only children play hide-and-seek, Sigrid."
Tahllea called maliciously. "Come out, little fox, the she-wolf is
waiting." Tahllea's boots were light on the undergrowth. She knew her
armour would be an inconvenience, as it made her step more evident, but Sigrid
would suffer for daring to wound her. "Here, little foxy," Tahllea
hummed in Common, before affecting a low, guttural howl. "The she-wolf is
ever so hungry."
Sigrid plunged out
of the lower branches of a pine tree, shrouded in a nimbus of violet light. She
was glory descending, starry motes of energy sparkling from her sword, her eyes
aflame with righteous anger. Tahllea parried Sigrid's leaping strike. The
vibration of their swords disturbed a flock of birds which flew off overhead.
Tahllea threw Sigrid off onto the forest floor and closed in. Sigrid ducked,
rolled out of the way, and leapt back, lunging at Tahllea's side with a series
of winding, circling strikes. Tahllea intercepted with ease, her sword singing
menacingly with each mounting parry. She was building momentum. When Sigrid had
exhausted her attack, Tahllea stepped forward and unleashed a savage, rising strike
that tore through Sigrid's breastplate, leaving a trail of shimmering sparks.
Underneath, the chainmail was merely scratched. Sigrid had withdrawn just in
time.
"Come on,
little foxy, come see what big fangs I have..."
Tahllea taunted.
Sigrid felt
something hot and metallic in her mouth. Her wound kept bleeding. If she had
the time, she would have attended to it with her healing skills, but Tahllea's
attacks were merciless. Tahllea was much stronger. Sigrid could not hope to
match her on brute force and her technique was still lacking. At least her
blade had somewhat evened the score, for both warriors could tell that Tekkhathyrm
was the equal of Ilmaeria's Sorrow. It was now all up to the
blademistress herself.
Sigrid circled
Tahllea cautiously, assuming a low, defensive stance, ready to counterattack.
Tahllea's golden eyes gleamed with arrogant confidence. She struck. The rush of
power was immediate as she brought her sword, humming threateningly, in a long,
thrusting lunge of devastating precision. Sigrid struggled to divert Tahllea's
blade. The Aasimar turned, swivelled on her right leg and tried to attack
Tahllea's flank. It was to no avail. Tahllea's arm was lightning-quick as she
brought up Ilmaeria's Sorrow to parry Sigrid's blow. The strength of the
block was such that Sigrid was thrown off balance and forced to recover. She
swiftly withdrew to a safer distance to try to stop Tahllea from pressing her
advantage. Tahllea did not fall for it. She brought a series of blindingly powerful
strikes from all directions and it was only Sigrid's excellent battlefield
sense that stopped her from being ripped to the shreds.
Maddened with
frustration at the skill of Sigrid's seemingly effortless parries, Tahllea
broughr her armoured knee to Sigrid's belly and sent the Aasimar stumbling
back. With an imperious gesture, she swung her sword in Sigrid's direction and
an arching bolt of incandescent, bluish light hissed forth, like a vast phantom
blade. Hot, razor-sharp air pressure tore a gash in Sigrid's right arm. She
would not last long. She was bleeding profusely from two places and Tahllea
grew more confident with each stroke. So Sigrid decided to put her hands in her
weapon's spirit. In that instant, she became Utharminalir. Even Tahllea, taken
aback by the sudden shift in space and form, struggled to reach for an
effective parry. Sigrid had, for a split instant, become the ferocious
war-mistress of legend. In that moment, Tahllea did not see the angry, pain-twisted
visage of Sigrid, but the icy, sadistic smile of a woman who, on all accounts,
had died millennia ago. Sigrid's rising attack was sublime. From her crouching
position, she brought her blade up through the air and cut through armour, skin
and flesh in a strike of epic power. Tahllea saw the sword crackle and shatter
her breastplate and chainmail. A deep, pulsing wound was slit into her from hip
to breast. Fresh, red blood poured out, steaming and coppery in the sunlight.
Tahllea took a
moment to mentally disappear into her soul-refuge, an ice-cave in a distant
world where she could gather her thoughts. Rationally she was bleeding heavily.
At her current rate of exertion, she could afford perhaps two or three more
attack routines. If she managed to disable or distract Sigrid, she would even
have time to cast a healing surge enchantment. Blood bubbled from her lips.
Tahllea ignored it, the pain was immaterial. With supreme calm, she sank back
into an attacking posture.
Sigrid backed away
timidly from Tahllea. "Do...do you want to yield." she called. She,
too, had begun to feel faint from blood loss.
"I should give
you the same answer you gave me." Tahllea sneered. Her vision faltered for
a moment. She desperately hoped her adrenalin would kick in as quickly as
possible.
"Tahllea,
that's a really serious wound..." Sigrid warned. "We should just
leave this be. We can call it a draw, all right...? Tahllea?"
"Never!" Tahllea roared, her
furious attack was that of a dying leopard. Sigrid was thrown off balance and
fell to the forest floor where Tahllea struck down with massive force, causing
Sigrid's blade to crackle with eldritch energy as she parried her adversary's
descending slash. Sigrid took the opportunity to lash out with her foot against
Tahllea's belly. More blood spurted out, covering Sigrid in a crimson mist.
Tahllea gagged and withdrew, doubled over in pain.
Sigrid turned and made a dash into the forest. Hopefully, Tahllea would realise
that she was in no condition to pursue in her weakened state. Tahllea rose
menacingly, blood trickling down her chin. She grinned wolfishly. She began to
advance on Sigrid who had backed up against a vast tree trunk, surrounded by a
coiled, moss-covered mound that resembled a huge serpent. "Here, my little
fox-kit, this old she-wolf is not quite ready to surrender..."
"Tahllea, we
have both had enough," Sigrid pleaded. At this rate, they would both die.
"Please, this is ridiculous..."
"Stop!" Tahllea commanded as she spied the mound into
which Sigrid was retreating.
"What?"
Sigrid paused.
"Don't
move..." Tahllea breathed. Hot blood streamed from her lips.
"This better
not be a game..." Something shifted behind Sigrid.
Tahllea ran. A
great, moss-covered Wurm, its cruel, dragon-like head wracked with fury at the
sudden interruption of its slumber, reared up from behind Sigrid. Its maw
dripped venomous ichor, ready to strike, its slitted, reptilian eyes blazed
with hatred. Sigrid tensed as she felt the air shift around her. Before she
could move, Tahllea had pushed her out of the way. The Wurm struck, catching
Tahllea's thigh in its tooth-filled snout. Blood splattered on the grass.
Sigrid stared incredulously at Tahllea, one arm wrapped around the Wurm's neck,
the other scrambling to position her sword under the creature's throat. If she had
not been moved in that split second, Sigrid realised that her head would most
likely have been torn off.
Then, by well-honed
battle instinct, Sigrid whipped around and buried her sword into the Wurm's
unblinking eye. A howl of agony echoed throughout the forest. Fast bootsteps
approached. Iniila, Min, perhaps Dzelha. Sigrid was not certain. The Wurm
loosened its grip on Tahllea's thigh, black ichor spewing from its wounded eye.
Big, foul-smelling droplets of oily blood spurted on the ground. Tahllea readied
her blade and thrust it at the juncture between the Wurm's jaws and its throat,
expertly severing its carotid artery. A single jet of blood crossed fifteen
feet of forest, splattering against a tree trunk, the second only managed ten,
and by the third, the Wurm was dead.
***
Jelen
The first thing
Tahllea wanted to do when she woke up was vomit. Something stirred inside her,
so slick and slimy in her belly that it was nauseating. She opened her eyes and
early morning sunshine flooded through her window. Her throat was dry. Her
thigh and belly felt like they were being torn up inside by thousands of invisible
scissors. She stirred, understood she was naked under the covers, and finally
decided to throw up. It was only when she realised that her belly was empty
that she turned and faced the light again.
"Close the fucking
curtains." she snarled weakly. Soft footsteps scrambled. Tahllea
blinked against the blinding light. The silhouette was Sigrid's. Sigrid clad in
a white, high-necked fencer's shirt, the style Tahllea herself preferred, and
form-fitting blue leather breeches. The first thing Tahllea thought was that,
for the very first time since she had met Sigrid, the Aasimar looked like a
woman, not a girl.
"How are you
feeling?" Sigrid inquired gently. She closed the vast, ornate, ivy-shaped
curtains that shrouded the wall-long panoramic window of Tahllea's bedchamber.
"Fucking
terrible." Tahllea
growled, this time in Common.
"Water?"
"Water."
Tahllea struggled to
sit up in bed. Sigrid knelt by her side and offered her a large, ceramic cup
full of cool, rose-scented water. Tahllea swallowed it in one gulp. The covers
fell down into the High Elven Bladesinger's lap. A huge, angry welt ran from
her breasts to her muscled belly, just above her smooth sex. Tahllea imagined
her thigh looked worse.
"Senythina says
that you will need some bed rest before the healing enchantment can have full
effect." Sigrid noted. Tahllea had been in a critical state when healers
were finally brought on the scene. Min had even commented, quite dispassionately,
that she had seen others die of much less.
"That imbecile has
more tits than brains." Tahllea's head was, and the metaphor had never
been more appropriate, killing her. At least her throat was no longer parched.
The rosewater had been sweetened, so that Tahllea felt a little surge of
strength building in her sore muscles.
"I told them
you won..." Sigrid said, a little ruefully. It had seemed like the right
thing to do at the time.
"You are a
foolish girl." she said, not at all unkindly. "Elves are not dwarves
or humans, we do not put pride or reputation above our
lives. In battle, our duty is to our fellow blademistresses. The duel lost all
significance the moment I realised that there were important things to deal
with."
"Yeah, about
that..." Sigrid began tentatively, "thanks."
"Do you want to
know how you can show your gratitude?"
"Uhm…sure."
"Help me
up." Tahllea pulled off the covers and stumbled out of bed, leaning on her
bedside table. Her thigh was still numb, and badly bruised.
"Tahllea,
really, Senythina said you have to rest." Sigrid insisted.
"Quite. You
really do want to humiliate me, don't you."
Tahllea said sardonically.
Sigrid caught her
drift. She wrapped an arm around Tahllea's waist and supported the High Elven
woman as she moved, carefully, but with surprisingly dignified grace, towards
the bathing chamber. Sigrid pushed the ornate, gold-inlaid door open. Black
marble and fine, floral-shaped crystals greeted them. A low, circular bath tub
was cut into an elevated surface. Tahllea shrugged Sigrid's arm off and moved,
leaning on the virtually empty cosmetics counter, to the latrine.
"So there you
have it," Tahllea said, easing herself onto the
copper pot. "The mighty Tahllea needs to empty her bladder, too."
Sigrid ignored her
and poured her a pitcher of cold water from a phoenix-shaped spout atop a
silver sink.
Tahllea grimaced.
"Fuck..." she mouthed, her urine was bloody
and stung like acid. Sigrid handed her the pitcher of water. Tahllea rinsed
herself clean and let Sigrid help her to her feet.
Back inside her
bedchamber, Tahllea settled on her enormous, canopied bed and watched Sigrid
pour her another cup of rosewater. "What now?" Sigrid asked,
proffering the cup.
"Sit
down." Tahllea instructed. She drained the sweet liquid and set the cup
down. Very hesitantly, Sigrid settled onto the very edge of the mattress by
Tahllea's side. "Closer girl, I won't bite...unless you ask me to."
she flashed a crooked smile. Sigrid obeyed and, much to her surprise, Tahllea
took her hand and brought it to her lips to kiss.
"Aulatha told
me," Sigrid began, clearing her throat nervously, "about your...uhm,
feelings for me."
Tahllea chuckled
ironically. "Do not presume to act so surprised, you are a very striking
woman. I am not the first and I shall not be the last."
"Tahllea, I'm
no expert when it comes to matters of courtship, but you most definitely went
the wrong way about it."
"We all love in
different ways, my little fox-kit. My brother loves in his way and
demands nothing of his feckless boys but that they please him when required. I
love in my way and demand everything from my lovers."
"Out there, in
the forest, we could have died." Sigrid said indignantly.
Tahllea tightened
her grip on the Aasimar's hand and brought it to her heart. "I am very far
from being perfect. When I first saw you duel against Ilmaeria or, let's call
her Aravae, if you prefer, I understood that you had greater raw talent
than I ever possessed at your age. As a matter of fact, I was left with little
doubt that, in time, you would eclipse me. If love, envy and resentment were to
mingle freely, that is what I felt for you. Know that I would have ended the
bout when I felt my strength at an end and you would have doubtless won, had
the Wurm not interrupted us."
"Then why...why
are you so..."
"Callous?"
Tahllea laughed. "Do you know a world named Toril?"
"I have heard
of it." Sigrid noted, not quite sure of where Tahllea was going with that
remark.
"When I was
about your age, I took a long excursion to the world of Toril. Like most Elves
from off-world, my destination was the Elven
"Is that where
you learned Common?" Sigrid interjected curiously.
"Yes, amongst
other things. Now you, my dear Sigrid, have lived in a great, cosmopolitan
city, so perhaps you do not know that I went to villages and hamlets and even
cities where most humans had never seen an Elf and, often enough, had barbaric,
close-minded ways that had little sympathy for my preferences. In my journeys,
I encountered a half-elf, a pretty little thing who called herself a rogue and
an adventurer. There, in a region known as the
"Did they..."
"Sigrid,"
Tahllea interrupted quietly, "there is a point in every blademistress'
career when Bladesong ceases to be a game and becomes something that will
change you, challenge you, perhaps even consume you.
What I saw that afternoon made me go cold inside for weeks. The ranger, who had
lived all her life amongst the cruelties of the wild, said she had never seen
such a thing...such madness."
The body was
bent, foetal. Mouth, broken, eyes gouged, ears cut off. Pelvis was a bloody
morass, all gore and drying human semen. Belly had been slit open, intestines
wrapped around the body's neck, like a noose. Breasts had been split open, like
gourds. Tahllea was sick twice. The green-haired ranger looked on sadly. When
Tahllea had overcome her sobs, they buried her. Tahllea prayed for her until
nightfall, when the ranger said it was time for justice. They intercepted the
cart and buried the humans. Just to show that, even in their vengeance, Elves
had sense of decency.
"Tahllea..."
"Apologies. I am cursed with a good memory." Tahllea
said wryly.
"I'm
sorry..."
"Come
here." Tahllea took Sigrid into her arms and pressed the stunned Aasimar's
face close to her heart, holding her tight. Sigrid felt soft kisses on her
cheek. Tahllea's voice, still a little hoarse, whispered into her ear.
"Swear by your Goddess that you will never let that happen to you or to
Aravae, or to anyone you love."
"I swear. I
would sooner die." Sigrid said fervently. Tahllea smoothed her indigo hair
with a loving tenderness. A tenderness Sigrid had never imagined Tahllea was
capable of expressing.
"There are many
from whom I need to ask forgiveness, beginning with you, Sigrid and -"
Tahllea turned to face the door, "you too, Ilmaeria. You know it is
utterly useless to try to hide from me."
Slowly, the door
swung open and Aravae stepped inside. "Mistress..." she whispered,
not quite certain what to make of the knot of emotion and relief that flooded
her heart. Her eyes were dull - she had spent most of the previous night at the
Bladesinger's Shrine in Sehanine's
"Ilmaeria,"
Tahllea said, allowing Sigrid to compose herself, "I have nothing more to
teach you. If you wish to depart with Sigrid, then you have my blessing...and
my old Bladesong sword, the very one that captivated your eye when you came to
me, asking to become my apprentice. I shall have Jander work in a little
upgrade, but it is a sound weapon, as you will know - Spellwoven platinum in a
True Edge."
"Mistress,"
Aravae murmured, too struck by Tahllea's sudden generosity to formulate a more
coherent response, "infinite thanks, but that is of little consequence,
all I really wanted was..."
"By Corellon's
Grace you are sentimental, girl," Tahllea sighed. "You know
how proud I am of you, do you really need for me to
repeat daily, like an idiot? Well, if it makes a difference: I am proud of you
Ilmaeria, I have always been. If we had not been mistress and apprentice, rest
assured that I would have treated you like my little sister - for that is what you have always been in my heart. But, as you and
Sigrid will soon find out, you will thank me one day for my merciless
training."
"It makes all
the difference when you say it, Mistress." Aravae nodded and tried to keep
her composure for Tahllea's sake. All she really wanted to do, though, was
throw herself into her mentor's arms.
"Good,"
Tahllea concluded. "So it is agreed. As a token of my goodwill, I shall
arrange appropriate transport for you."
"Really?" Sigrid chimed excitedly. She immediately
thought of the sleek, majestic airships she had seen ply their trade from
Imej's commercial district.
"Of course, the
airship is property of House Ahlirian, so you will have to work some trade
routes as well to support your expeditions - but, if anything, that will ensure
that Ilmaeria will come visit me from time to time." said Tahllea.
"You know I
would always come back to you, Mistress." Aravae said, more as a
profession of faith than a simple reassurance.
"Good,"
Tahllea nodded, "because when you have seen enough of the world and decide
to return, you will become the new mistress of my duelling hall."
***
“Hey,
Tal!” A chirping,
pleasantly impish voice called from the void-like darkness.
“You?” Tahllea squinted. The darkness shifted and a
few shafts of light formed in front of her, coalescing into starry points of
energy. Those points took shape. The form of a young woman began to
materialise, an outline of starlight. “Jelen?”
“Hey, Tal, what’s
wrong? I thought you’d be pleased to see me.” She was as striking as Tahllea
remembered her. Not beautiful, but irrepressibly cute, with short, auburn hair
and sparkling amber eyes.
“I…I am.” Tahllea
said. She reached out to clutch the starlight and, all of a sudden, the
half-elf took shape. The girl was in her arms again, the same scent of wafting
scent of bombastic perfume Tahllea remembered from so long ago. “But am I
dreaming?”
“Of course you
are, silly. But, hey, things could be worse, you could be dead.”
“That is simply
not funny.” Tahllea snapped.
“Look, Tal, I
know this is long overdue, but I just thought you should know that I knew what
you felt for me and, I suppose the best I can do right now is thank you for
making the last two days of my life the best.”
“I- I am so
sorry, I should have been there to protect you…” Tahllea cleared her throat and
took a deep breath.
“How boring…I
knew you’d say that, anyway, it doesn’t matter now. What does matter is how you
treat others, including that poor half-elf kid you met in Sigil.” Jelen said, a
little accusingly.
“I shall make
amends to her, that’s a promise.” Tahllea said reverently.
“Now you almost
got sent my way prematurely yourself, so, I guess this is just a message from
the other side to tell you that it’s not your time yet. You take care of
yourself, Tal, there’s lots of good you can still do. I know you’d have died
for me and if you’re ready to die for a half-breed girl you’ve barely met, that
says a lot about you.” Jelen’s singsong voice and irreverent tone were the same
- carefree and optimistic just as Tahllea remembered her.
“You should not
have died like that…” Tahllea ran her fingers lovingly through the half-elf’s
flaxen hair. She may have been a ghost, but to Tahllea, she was very real.
“If you stop that
happening to someone else, we’ll call it even, all right?” Jelen’s form and
definition began to fade. Musical laughter wafted through the air.
“Wait...” Tahllea
called desperately, reaching out into the shapeless void. “I want to see you
again.”
“Don’t be so
dramatic, Tal, you will. When it’s time, I’ll be the first one waiting for you
on the Other
The starlight
dispersed and the shafts of brilliance dimmed. Instead of feeling melancholy,
Tahllea felt the burden of her soul lightened. She finally knew that Jelen was
at peace.
***
Escape
It only took a day
of carefully monitored rest for Tahllea to be back on her feet. Mjrina, Yssinel
and Aerylle doted over her, catering to her every whim and, as much Tahllea
scowled and pretended to be offended, she enjoyed the company and, for the
first time in years, was visibly relaxed and spontaneous. So it was that, on a
cool evening, Tahllea led Sigrid and Aravae up to the very summit of House
Ahlirian's tower. The air was fresh, humid from the distant rains that beckoned
for the Season of the Mother's Renewal. The rebirth of the land would soon be
on its way and with it, the wet season. There, before them on the great balcony
that overlooked the city of
"She is the Dawn-Seeker."
Tahllea explained. She still limped a little on her injured leg, though the
bruising had all but disappeared. "I managed to convince my father to
grant you this vessel. Naturally, you will be required to undertake regular
trade runs on this House's behalf, but if you wish to explore Queluria, this,
my dears, is very much the solution to all your logistical problems."
Sigrid stood in awe
and watched the two great silver rings rotate - one clockwise and the other in
the opposite direction - while vessel's hull pulsed, as if it were a living,
breathing creature. Coruscating energy coursed through the metallic circuitry
that bound the ship in its current form - a sleek, verdant island, miraculously
floating in mid-air. "May we see inside?" Sigrid inquired, barely
containing her excitement.
"If you must,"
Tahllea said, affecting indifference.
In response to
Sigrid's request, a leaf-shaped stoma opened in the ship's hull, from which a
wooden staircase projected, leading the party deep into the bowels of the ship.
Inside, it was cool, but pleasantly dry, despite the humidity the ship seemed
to exude. Sigrid's eyes swiftly adjusted to the penumbra of the ship's
interior, all organic and wooden and lit with glowing silvery motes of faerie
fire, all arranged in long, lamp-like strings. Tahllea led Sigrid and Aravae
through the modest communal quarters into the ship's control centre. There, a
circular cabin surrounded a Storm Well: a magical shaft of air and fire and
electricity that crackled in a crystal containment cylinder that spanned the
room from top to bottom. In front to the cylinder and just before the viewing
screen, was the helm: a great, platinum astrolabe and pathfinding mechanism
constructed from innumerable floating spheres of metal and precious gems, all
held in position by the ship's enchantment. By the helm, a vast map of Queluria
was projected into the air from a console by means of an illusion enchantment,
so that the navigator knew exactly where her destination lay and what weather
conditions would have to be traversed to reach it.
"She is one of
the finest merchant ships in Imej," Tahllea noted proudly, leading the
awestruck Sigrid and Aravae around the control room with its numerous maps,
complex measuring devices and an intricate, crystal and adamantine sighting
mechanism that dominated the viewing screen.
"Odd that you
should say that," Sigrid remarked, "humans, too, refer to their ships
as female."
"Is that so?
Well, I have good reason to: she is a she." Tahllea raised a hand
to the Storm Well. The air and electricity within it began to spark and gather
intensity. "Serafina, you may introduce yourself."
"How magnanimous
of you, Milady Tahllea," A bored, cultivated voice came from the helm.
Where there had once only been arcane machinery, a strange woman now stood,
reclining nonchalantly against the viewing screen. She seemed human to Sigrid,
with gorgeous iodine-tan, dusky skin. Her frame was lithe, like that of a
dancer, her sculpted face and lush, pomegranate-red lips were framed by
straight, shoulder-length coal-black hair, dark, deep brown eyes, ringed with
darker kohl. She was clad in a pair of loose, white, airy silk pants and
an oddly exotic, bordeaux-red blouse that left her shoulders and muscular belly
bare, and drew attention to the understated curve of her breasts, ripe and
tapered like autumn pears. "So these would be my new wards?" She gave
a gently mocking laugh. In an instant, she had dematerialised, stepping through
an unseen dimension door in space and re-appearing directly behind Sigrid. A
scent of jasmine and orange-blossom water filled the air. "This one is an Aasimar,
am I not correct?" Serafina noted. The question was rhetorical.
"Yes and you
are..." Sigrid whipped around. Serafina's teleportation trick had caught
her sharp senses unaware.
"Al-Sharafina
- the 'the angelic one' in the tongue of some humans, but Serafina will do.
My true name is, as always, my own." The strange woman dipped forth in a
short, ironic bow. Golden bracelets ringed her slender wrists.
Tahllea, who had
never been especially tolerant of theatrics, interjected, "She is a djinn. An air-spirit bound to this ship. She will be
your helmswoman, pilot and navigator - provided you can muster the patience to
put up with her."
"Your lack of grace
betrays the vulgarity of your soul." Serafina said, her voice dripping
with arrogance. She circled Sigrid, her bare feet seemingly gliding over the
strangely soft, wooden floor. Her silver anklets jingled melodically. "But
this one," she said, manipulating the air currents around her to whisper
through Sigrid's hair, "this one is interesting."
"My name is
-"
"Sigrid,"
Serafina concluded triumphantly. "And the quiet one is Aravae...but Aravae
is not so quiet when night falls, but, as my people say - by night, even the
God of Fate is blind."
"Fascinating,"
Sigrid challenged, irritated that only patronising contempt seemed to pour from
the endless, coffee-brown depths of Serafina's eyes, "Do you have any
other djinn tricks you would like to share? Perhaps you could grant me a
wish..."
Serafina snorted.
"Not on your life, my dear." She stretched and floated up into the
air. Sigrid's gaze was drawn to the play of light against Serafina's pants.
There, nestled between her long, elegant thighs, Sigrid was certain she caught
a glance of a sea of raven-dark curls. Serafina smiled and demurely crossed her
legs, sitting on an invisible chair of air and wind. She had most certainly
detected Sigrid's curious glance. "Though, now that I consider it, my
dear, it all depends on the kind of wish you were planning on making."
Sigrid blushed and
looked away. Aravae helpfully seized the initiative. "Mistress, you are
certain this arrangement is...appropriate?" The idea of flying across
Queluria, supported only by the seductive djinn's enchantments and
control of the air currents was as fascinating as it was daunting.
Tahllea nodded, her pensive gaze staring out through the viewing screen into the
clouds on the horizon. "Serafina is an experienced pilot, but the ship is
yours to command. If you wish to see the world, in all its beauty and cruelty,
you have to be ready to take a leap into the unknown."
***
Epilogue
The Dawn Seeker had
been in flight for five days and Sigrid had already visited two different Grey
Elven cities, further to the South of Imej. Both were rest and maintenance
stops before they crossed the Storm Forests of Ucchalathal, where heat and
humidity combined to shroud the endless forest canopy in an endless layer of
steamy mist. From thence, after a brief stop in a Sylvan Elf village, they
would proceed to the South and East, until they reached the great Aquatic Elf
trading city of
In the end, it was
not so much the journey that was important, but the fact that she was flying
not only with Aravae, but with Iniila, Dzelha and Erieanal. There was safety
and comfort in numbers. Despite Aravae's obsession with perfect tidiness;
despite Erieanal's infuriating habit to have Serafina slow the airship down so
that she could 'stretch her wings' each morning; despite Dzelha's proclivity to
occupy the ship's only bathing chamber for hours at a time while she fastidiously
applied her cosmetics with no Star Elves in sight to criticise her appearance.
In truth, though, Sigrid was left with only one regret:
Mjrina.
So it was that an
early morning, as the sun peaked in the horizon, Sigrid took the opportunity to
have a private chat with Iniila, who stared longingly at the forests below. On
the other side of the deck, Dzelha knelt on a pillow, worshipfully watching
Erieanal swoop and cavort around the airship, her pristine white wings arching
and beating with wondrous grace.
"Iniila,"
Sigrid began. It was just after breakfast and Iniila still clutched her
earthenware cup of spicy ginger tea. "You know Wood Elven women,
right?"
"That I
do." Inilla nodded. Her athletically muscled frame was confined tightly
under Aravae's shirt. Iniila refused new clothes unless they were absolutely
necessary.
"I must confess
that I am disappointed that Mjrina declined to join us..."
Iniila took a
contemplative sip of her tea. "She has her duty. She is bound to Yssinel.
I do not know why Grey Elves need our people to be their servants, but if that
is the life-path that Mjrina has chosen, may the Forest Mother bless her."
"That is what
she told me: that it was her duty." Sigrid said regretfully. She peered
down at the forest, as if trying to see whatever great beauty Iniila was
contemplating.
"Mjrina is a
druid. Her mother, too, was a priestess of the Forest Mother. For her, family
is everything. Her new family is Yssinel. I do not share her feelings. But I
honour her decision."
"About decisions,
have you given much thought to where you stand with Aravae?" Sigrid did
not mean to sound threatening, but she knew that whatever depth she gave to her
relationship with the High Elf maiden would most probably be at Iniila's
expense.
"Only that we
will never be like those two," Iniila quipped sardonically, motioning to
Dzelha, whose hyperbolic cooing at every single one of Erieanal's aerial
maneuvers was becoming more than a little tiresome.
"What about a
certain djinn?" Sigrid insinuated.
Iniila remained
unfazed. "What about her?" she retorted, betraying just a hint of a
grin.
They laughed softly and watched the cloud banks skate against the ship's hull.
***
Iniila crept
silently into the navigation room. The containment crystal crackled with the
force of a thousand tempests. Those same winds propelled the airship forward
into space. They skimmed the dark night-clouds silently,
the great silver rings that revolved around the ship’s hull provided a magical
field in which the slipstream of conjured winds could be focused. Serafina was
at the helm, carefully evaluating the evolving weather conditions and keeping a
wary eye on the viewing screen for potential disturbances.
Iniila slipped up
behind her, clad only in her form-fitting, beige leather breeches. It was like
hunting. Serafina pretended to be caught unaware when Iniila slipped her arms
around the djinn’s waist. The Wood Elf ranger’s caress was urgent,
trailing down the taut muscle of Serafina’s bared belly to the loose waistband
of her silk pants, lovely as they rode low over the djinn’s hips. Iniila
kissed Serafina’s jasmine scented hair and slipped her strong, rough fingers
under the djinn’s pants.
Serafina drew a soft
sigh and tilted her head to meet Iniila’s hungry, wet lips. Iniila kissed with
combative ferocity. Her tongue hot, demanding as it mastered the djinn’s
mouth. Serafina felt big, rubbery nipples stiffen against her back. Iniila’s
skin was warm, already flushed. The Wood Elf ranger’s touch grew more
insistent. She was inside Serafina’s clothes, one hand
relishing the soft, raven-dark curls atop the djinn’s moistening sex,
the other moving sensuously in the tight, musky valley between the darker
woman’s taut bottom. A little lower down that magical cleft and Iniila felt
wispy, soft hairs. How different from an Elven woman – how wondrous.
Serafina spoke, her
voice hoarse with desire. “Now, my barbarian conqueror, you shall earn your
keep.” Blood throbbed in her veins, that burning sensation that overwhelmed her
whenever she chose to take a material form.
Iniila growled and
licked Serafina’s lips. She tasted of sweet citrus-water. Iniila ground the
heel of her hand against the velvety inner lips of Serafina’s pussy. The djinn
arched her back and stood on tiptoe, rocking herself against Iniila’s hand.
Iniila slicked a thumb in the pouting well of Serafina’s sex and with gentle,
yet firm force, thrust it into the djinn’s bottom. Serafina grunted and
bit down hard on Iniila’s lip, drawing blood. Her tight little rosebud bloomed
open under Iniila’s wet digit.
They both knew what
happened next. Serafina whipped around, hoisted herself up on the command
console of the helm and let Iniila slip her pants off. The Wood Elf ranger
knelt before her dark-haired captive and parted the juicing folds of her
fragrant pussy. Her scent was unknown to an Elf: earthy, powerful, rich with
salt and female essence. Those rough, ranger’s hands opened up silky lips,
drooling moonlight-cloudy essence. Iniila pressed her lips against the lustrous
jewel of Serafina’s clit and began to lick. Salty, thick musk coated her
tongue. Serafina dug her toes into Iniila’s back and drew her in closer.
Behind Serafina,
unperturbed by her mounting cries of passion, the pathfinding sphere hummed on,
meticulously charting the programmed route.
***
The Sylvan Elf
huntress stirred from her rest. A silent, painted shamaness brought the daily
offering of water scented with irises and fresh jeth-tree sap. The deep
bowl was proffered through the leaf-shaped flap to the huntress' simple abode,
high in the mist-shrouded trees. The huntress rose, powerful and dusky-skinned,
her belly muscles and biceps stretching to the morning sunlight. She tasted the
air. Humid - a foreign scent - perhaps a Winged Serpent had passed close by. If
she found it, it would make a good meal and secure feathers to trade with the
Grey Elves. The huntress sat up from her mattress of stuffed rattan-work that
lay close to the floor. She was naked. Sweat, not from heat, but from exertion,
trickled, slick and lustrous, between her full breasts. It was the second time
she awakened that morning. The Wood Elven ranger slept on beside her. The
ranger was lithe, taller and more slender than the huntress. Long-limbed, with
swept, alert features and a cool, detached beauty, she seemed haughty. Her
emerald-green eyes and high cheekbones had been the first thing the huntress
had admired when they had met by chance at the foot of a dormant volcano. Now
the ranger slept at her side, her long, satin-soft, verdant-green hair free
flowing down her back, ending just a little above the hard, athletic curve of
her bottom. She was paler than the Sylvan Elf, but hard. Hard
like a wilderness hunter ought to be. Strong biceps to draw a bow, swing a scimitar and make love. The huntress was
fortunate. The ranger was quite a find.
The dusky huntress
rose and slipped on a corded loincloth. Around it was her fang-dagger, adorned
with an intricately twisted lock of ember-red hair. It was shameful for a
huntress to be awake unarmed. She knelt and took the offering of scented water.
Dipping her fingers in the cool liquid, she brought some to the ranger's pale,
berry-pink lips. The ranger stirred. She tapped the huntress' thigh with her
foot. The huntress drew closer. Rich, musky aromas hung densely in the air.
Sweat, nectar, fresh hathal-nut oil. The ranger moaned softly and turned
on her back. Her belly was still covered in the residue of the huntress' creamy
juice - the earthy, powerful elixir of the dusky Sylvan Elf's passion. The
ranger's eyes fluttered open - sharp, alert, observant. She rose to her knees.
The huntress took a great draught of water in her mouth and kissed the ranger.
Sweet water poured between their lips. The ranger swallowed gratefully and lay
back against the abode's pliant, wooden walls. Hunting trophies and painted
tapestries adorned the simple one room habitation.
The huntress drank a
little and scrutinised the ranger's equipment. Soft, exquisitely
fashioned leather leggings and jerkin, a sturdy cloak made from a giant leaf
that had been hardened by druidic magic, and a fine longbow and wickedly curved
sword. The huntress had been sceptical at first. No metal should enter
the village in the Forest Mother's presence. But the ranger's scimitar, inlaid
with strange, complex calligraphy, was adamantine. Forged, not refined, from
the depths of the earth. The ranger's grandfather was a High Elf, who had
insisted she take the family's heirloom with her. The huntress watched the
ranger. The Wood Elf woman's breathing was soft, her taut, sculpted belly
rising and falling almost complete silence. The huntress' gaze worshipped the
fat, smooth mound of the ranger's sex. Deep pink nether lips, ever so slightly
parted, still slick and inviting with their irresistible scent of female and
musk. That same pussy had sheathed the huntress' hand many times the previous
night. That morning, it had been the ranger's turn. So the huntress had let the
ranger mount her, spread her, fuck her until she sprayed out her passion all
over the Wood Elf's belly. Her Hanali's Libation. The
ranger had been well pleased.
They waited, taking
turns drinking from the bowl of water. Only after hunting would they eat.
Finally, the huntress spoke. "Do you wish to bathe?" Her voice was
rich, rhythmic.
The Wood Elf nodded.
The huntress went to her armour stand and retrieved a white cotton loincloth
and handed it to the ranger. The ranger slipped it on and the huntress felt a
pang of regret. Now the ranger's fertile sex was obscured. The ranger knew the
huntress' longing. The ranger knew the ways of the forest. In the wild, there was
no time or need for long discussions on the aesthetics or propriety of
intimacy. A huntress, like a ranger, was expected to be always available for
her hunting partner's desire or comfort.
The ranger rose and
the Sylvan Elf huntress led her out. She took her ancestral scimitar with her.
If she left a huntress' abode unarmed, some might mistake her for the huntress'
girl. A platform had been built around the huntress' tree. A flock of rainbow-coloured birds
streamed in front of them. In the distance, the other Sylvan Elf abodes
beckoned with their tremulous, wispy, spirit-lights. A great circle of trees
ringed the Mother Tree - a gnarled, immense matriarch that hung over the
forest, at least five hundred feet high with a trunk so broad it struck many casual
observers as the base of a hill. There was the temple of the Forest Mother. The
ranger had discovered many things since coming South.
She was a traveller by profession and by vocation. Her bow and her scimitar had
never betrayed her, even during her travels on other worlds. The more she
travelled, the more she realised there was much she had to learn. It was a boon
that she had encountered the huntress in her first excursion into the Storm
Forests. Not only because she had found a companion, but because the huntress
knew the place like her own soul.
The huntress was a
stern teacher. The ranger had been mortified by her lack of knowledge of the
local fauna and flora: the honey of giant termites was only good for a day
before it became poisonous; when your cycle bleeds, you must wash your sex with
camphor-balm, otherwise Arrow-Lizards will follow your scent. But she was
learning. The ranger looked up into the misty sky and, in the distance, saw two
shimmering metallic circles reflect the sunlight.
"Airship."
the huntress said. The word was alien on her tongue.
"Will it stop
here?"
"Yes."
"To
buy?"
"Yes."
"Should we go
meet them?" the ranger inquired.
The huntress thought
for a moment. Her last visit to Imej had opened her horizons. The strange, fire-headed
woman she had met there had been the first truly interesting encounter outside
her own lands. Now, perhaps the time was ripe to see other realms. "Perhaps. First we bathe, then we shall hunt, eat what
we have taken and pray to the Forest Mother."
"Couple?"
the ranger smirked suggestively, patting the huntress' iron-hard bottom.
"Of
course." the huntress smiled. A cutting, predatory smile
that befitted her feral, indomitable beauty. "You ought to take me
with more vigour. Remember, by day I am yours just as by night you are
mine."
"That is what
we agreed. Our pact." the ranger nodded.
"Long may it last."
***
When Fia awoke and
inhaled the aroma of hot herbal tea and fried cinnamon dough, she was
immediately convinced that she had died during the night and passed on to some
more pleasant place. Still, the abandoned doorway where she had curled up for
the night was as cold, stiff and damp as ever. She shifted on the stony surface,
rubbed her eyes and turned towards the emerging light that flooded the deserted
Sigil alleyway.
"Morning,
morning, morning!" A
high, musical voice chimed. It was familiar.
Fia sighed and her
fiery red gaze turned to meet Shesayne's waifish, elfin form, wreathed in a
battered old overcoat. "Ah...the lost one," Fia mused.
"Name's
Shesayne. Sorry I didn't
introduce myself properly last time." the half-elf corrected, settling by
Fia's side. "And here's breakfast."
Fia blinked once:
earthenware mug full of steaming, boiling hot tea, freshly fried dough balls
still sizzling in oil. She drained the steaming mug in a single draught and
began devouring the dough balls.
Shesayne stared in
wonder, for the copper-skinned girl seemed impervious to heat. "You're a
fire genasi, right?" Fia nodded, still far too busy reveling in the
hot, syrupy oil flowing down her throat. "Y'know," the half-elf
continued, her voice tinged with bitterness, "there are far too many
halfbreeds like me or you on the streets of this city. It's like no-one wants
us, which is strange, 'cause, if they didn't want us, the decent thing to do
would be to just stop fucking people from other races."
Fia paused.
"People are selfish, Shesayne. They desire. And when their desire fades,
the child is unfortunately still there." She wiped some of the soot off
her face, if only to make herself more presentable. By night, she tended
magical fires she conjured up herself and charged small fees to passers-by who
needed a moment of warmth. But the fire burned the decaying wood and streaming
dust on Sigil's streets. Not that soot and ash bothered Fia. They comforted
her, for they were the children of her element. Her only
refuge.
"I'll agree
people are selfish. I was selfish with Astrid and that's why I'm here. I've got
to thank you for reminding me that she's waiting for me to become a better
lover and that as long as she's around, I can't afford to be selfish. It just
wouldn't be right to wallow in your own misery when those you love need
you."
"Well, I take
it we are even then...thank you for breakfast. It isn't usually the best meal
of the day for me." Fia forced herself to smile.
"Hey, Fia, I've
been thinking...we have this couch and..."
Fia shook her head.
"No charity. I can take care of myself." She spread her fingers and a
sheet of flame manifested around her hand.
"Figured you
might say that, but since you probably know a thing or two 'bout magic, maybe
you could see if you can give Astrid a hand with her work...y'know, make sure
she repairs stuff faster which means more money for the rent which would mean
you'd be making yourself useful, so you'd kind of be earning a roof of
your head."
Something lit up in
Fia's normally cold, sharply pretty countenance. "Magic, you say..."
the prospect of actually dedicating her mastery of flame to something organised
and creative was tempting in the extreme. She had sometimes dreamed of training
at a mage's academy, but in most such places, the fact that she was genasi was
enough to disbar her, let alone her financial straits. Her long fingers played
trailed wishfully in the air, simulating the motions of an enchantment. Fiery
motes and trails of smoke and radiant energy sparkled in the air. Fia allowed
herself to dream: if only she could put order to her raw magical talent.
"Yep, so what
d'you say?" Shesayne rubbed her hands together.
Her breath misted in the cold air. It was still freezing.
"As long as
you're certain I won't be an inconvenience..."
"'Course
not." Shesayne replied, dragging Fia to her feet. As always, the half-elf
had not exactly thought the plan through, or even consulted Astrid. But she had
always taken pride in being a spontaneous girl. "Now c'mon, you need
a bath. Ever been to the Great Gymnasium?"
"No...is the water hot?" Fia asked, not
quite certain why she was letting herself be pulled through the streets by a
hyperactive half-elf.
"Yeah, they
have this pool where the water is near boiling and infused with
sulphur..."
Fia's heart skipped
a beat. That was a bath worth running for.
***
It was only thirty
days after she had tried to conceive, and only after she was absolutely certain
she had missed her cycle, that Aerylle informed her friends and family of her
pregnancy. The reaction was immediate, but, in Aerylle’s mind, predictable. It
was a rare occasion for members of a long-lived race who, at most, had one or
two children in their entire lives. By the time the chattering gossip about
Sigrid’s sudden departure and Tahllea’s injuries had faded into the background,
Aerylle had effectively become the centre of attention. Yssinel and Mjrina
fawned over her day and night. Senythina was brought in to offer advice and
promptly requested that Aerylle spend as much time in possible in bed, exercise
in water, and completely reform her diet. Even Tahllea struggled to contain her
joy upon hearing the news, so much so that she swiftly reverted to being the
fiercely protective, but generally good-natured Bladesinger Aerylle remembered.
Although she reprimanded Min for saying it, Aerylle agreed that hovering on
death’s door had been a positive experience for Tahllea. By making her peace
with Sigrid, the Bladesinger seemed to have decided to chart a new course for
herself in life and, as a consequence, spent much time with Aulatha. Indeed,
she had actually begun to treat her many students at the duelling hall with
something approaching respect and affection.
Min did not bother
to disguise her pride, even if Almuril, Aerylle’s mother, sometimes muttered
darkly about whether the child would emerge with wings, fangs or a tail. Demonic
blood was, after all, unpredictable. The complexities Aerylle’s condition only
began to strike Min when she was informed that first, Elven pregnancies lasted
four hundred days and, second, Senythina had sternly advised against any overly
vigorous intimate activity. For buoyancy’s sake, Min’s sensual life now
revolved around the pool.
Even if Min did not
quite know what to make of a child, she had begun to genuinely feel that, for
the first time in her life, she had created something tangible. Perhaps, this
was universal atonement for the lives she had taken. At least, Min reflected as
she sauntered, her gait feline, through the ornate hallways of Aerylle’s tower,
she was beginning to become accustomed to Imej. She and Tahllea shared stories
and long walks around Imej, while Jander, oddly enough, struck Min as something
of a kindred spirit. When he was not overly foppish, the man had a sense of
humour and an effortless manner with other men. In a perverse way, they
understood each other perfectly.
Min mulled over the
intricacies of fate while Aerylle lay quietly in the bed beside her. The Elven
librarian was leaning on her side, leafing through an elegantly-bound,
illuminated book on motherhood. The bedchamber was silent. Only a cool breeze
filtered through from the window and caused the flowers and artistically cut
shrubs that had been brought as presents to rustle.
Min turned over and
nuzzled Aerylle’s ear. She ran her hand down her bonded lover’s leaf-patterned
green robe and caressed her belly. It was still flat and soft, as it always had
been. “There still isn’t anything there,” Min peered over Aerylle’s shoulder
and caught a glimpse of precise illustrations interspersed with text in fluid
Elven calligraphy.
“It takes time to
show, Min,” Aerylle explained patiently, “but I can feel her.”
“Her?” Min
exclaimed.
“This is our
cherished secret,” Aerylle whispered, “an Elf knows almost immediately. She
speaks to me and I speak to her. Still, it is poor form to ask before the
mother volunteers the information.”
“You sure
everything’s going to be fine – with her being half-tiefling and all?” Min was
feared and respected in Imej. None dared say what they thought of her to her
face. But Min knew Elves – all Elves, from Grey Elves to Drow. Her daughter
would have to fight to be accepted – fight harder than would ever be expected
from any of her full-blooded peers. At least, her tiefling blood would provide
her drive and a will to survive.
“Have faith,”
Aerylle scolded gently, “I know myself and every day, I come to know her
better.” Min nodded and watched Aerylle leaf through the pages. “Have you considered
what my mother suggested?”
Min groaned and
rolled over onto her back. “Now that’s just never going to work, I don’t
care what sort of chant you put on it.”
“It is generally
agreed, Min,” Aerylle lectured, “that nursing is the
single most important way one can form a bond with one’s child.”
“Don’t push your
luck, princess,” Min growled, sliding a playful hand into the low neckline of
Aerylle’s robe. “But I guess now I guess I’ll be trading peaches for melons.”
“How tiresome of
you, Min,” Aerylle snapped. “They should become a little larger, but
certainly nothing so…grotesque.”
“D’you reckon we’re doing the right thing?” Min queried,
her tone more serious.
“Aside from your
crude sense of humour, there is not a doubt in my mind.”
“And who d’you imagine she’d be like: me or you?”
“I suspect a bit of
both, my love,” Aerylle purred, closing the book to snuggle closer to Min. “But
she is going to be an Elven lady, a great sorceress and have her place at an
Academy or at a great library of learning.”
Min stared at the
frescoed ceiling and watched flowers bloom from the swirling ether of creation.
Aryll, the first flower - the divine source of life after which Aerylle
was named - occupied pride of place, its cosmic pistils and petals pervading
all of existence. Aerylle would never understand what it was like to be a
halfbreed. Min wished fervently that her daughter would have an easier life.
So, in that instant, she resolved to do two things. Firstly, she swore she
would never abandon her child as her own parents had abandoned her. Secondly,
that, since a half-tiefling child could not survive insisting she was an Elf
like everyone else, she would teach her daughter everything she knew. To hide
in darkness, walk undetected, wield a dagger, scale walls and know exactly
where to hit to make it hurt. The way of the tiefling had served Min well – so
too, she swore, it would serve her daughter.
***
The airship
traversed a long strip of grassland that swept down from the rain-drenched
hills of Queluria’s mist-covered equatorial forests. It was hotter, but less
humid and the sun beat down on the Dawn Seeker, causing its mighty
silver rings to shine with blinding brightness. In the distance, before
Sigrid’s overawed eyes, a vast city began to loom in the horizon. Towers and
domes made from bleached coral jutted out from the beach, flowing all the way
down into the sea, where the half-submerged spires, colourful marketplaces and
endless canals emerged from the mighty reefs. The water was pristine blue,
transparent so that Sigrid could make out the silhouettes of countless Aquatic
Elves, swimming amongst long canoes and catamarans with elaborately decorated
sails.
A familiar, sweet
scent of aloes drifted behind Sigrid. It was Dzelha, standing miserably under a
magically conjured parasol. Her face and arms had been treated earlier that
morning for severe sunburn by one of Iniila’s herbal concoctions. Sigrid smiled
and bit down on her lip to stop herself from chuckling. After only an hour or
so in the sun, Dzelha had turned the colour of a cooked crayfish. Iniila
guaranteed that her balm would have Dzelha healed by midday, but that was
scarce comfort.
“I detest this
place.” Dzelha said between gritted teeth. Speaking hurt because it forced her
to move her cheeks.
“Come now, don’t you
want to swim in the sea?” Sigrid said amiably.
Dzelha briefly
fantasized about pushing Sigrid overboard before peering over the edge of the
deck and coming to the grudging conclusion that the ocean was indeed an
impressive sight. Aside from that, she could only imagine what the salt air
would do to her braids.
Aravae sauntered
over, the wind ruffling her short, sun-blonde hair. The airship burst through a
cloud bank and an ocean of light flooded the deck. Dzelha groaned and covered
her eyes. Aravae was radiant in the sunlight, for it exalted her pale skin, her
silver eyes and her fluttering white shirt.
“Come, look, we are
beginning our descent.” Sigrid instructed and Aravae observed the glimmering
spires of the city grow closer. “Oh, and by the way, those two we picked up in
the Sylvan Elf lands are pretty strange for a pair of travelers.”
Aravae leaned over
the balustrade and cupped her chin in thought. “I suppose we appear strange to
them. Still, the tall Wood Elf says she knows Tahllea. They were very good
friends, apparently.”
“It looks like
wherever I go, a piece of Tahllea will be with me.”
Sigrid said sardonically.
“Well, here I am.”
Aravae quipped and lovingly patted the hilt of her new, platinum sword. She had
promised Tahllea she would honour it.
On the surface, by
the great shop-front at the centre of the Aquatic Elf city of
Sigrid would be
tired from her journey and Neraisa was determined to give her the warmest of
welcomes.
Author’s Note: Here ends the epic of the Wandering Bladesinger. Many
thanks to those who have read thus far. As always, I can be reached at [email protected] for any
comments or reactions.