Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Harlen pulled Hyandai close to him and leaned back against the mossy trunk
of the tree.  She peered up at him with her large emerald eyes.

   He thought about what the duke had said and smiled grimly as he turned
to look on Wendy, leaning against another similarly mossy tree trunk.  She
flicked her eyes toward him and lifted two fingers.  Harlen and Hyandai
nodded back at her.

   They both spun around the trunk, in opposite directions, their bows
rising in their grips as they moved.  By the time the two Ghantian soldiers
realized their peril, the arrows were on their way.  One fell back, a long
arrow sunk into his chest dead center.  The other gripped at his shoulder,
screaming.  The scream was cut off, however, when Wendy brought the butt of
her spear around and jabbed it into the middle of his forehead, sending him
sprawling into unconsciousness.

   More Ghantian voices sounded in the mist-shrouded rainforest, alarm and
threats mixed with screams.  A pair of green-clad rangers ran past the
trio, swords drawn, and then another walked up, right behind Trevir, who
was carrying Morlani in his arms.

   "This is your idea of a safe path?" asked Harlen, turning on the young
ranger who had followed Trevir.

   "Lord Ambassador, we had no idea that they would try to stop your
arrival," he said defensively.  "They have spies everywhere."

   Harlen nodded, picking up one of the Ghantian's crossbows and handing it
to Wendy.  "New toy!" she exclaimed, grabbing it with both hands and
immediately discharging it into the sky.  They all five looked up where the
bolt had just thwacked its way through the canopy of thick leaves overhead.
Wendy giggled and grabbed up the bolt case on the Ghantian's hip and the
windlass hanging from his belt.  "I've always wanted one of these; I stink
at archery."

   Hyandai was already halfway back to the small train of wagons, where
Young Tammer was still with the nanny, hiding among the massive chests that
the duke had provided them.  Half a dozen Ghantian soldiers lay scattered
on the ground, in various states of dead.  Most were killed by arrows,
though two had deep puncture wounds in their chests and one had his throat
cut.

   As the trio mounted the wagons, the rangers started trickling back from
the woods.  There were six of them as escort.  They carried one of their
own among them, wounded, but still alive.  Hyandai knelt over him; he had
been sliced across his chest and stomach.  She leaned down, and with a
grimace, pushed a bit of exposed gut back into place as the man screamed.
Then she began breathing on the wound.  A process Harlen never tired of
watching followed; the wounds began to mend, knitting themselves closed and
the skin rapidly growing before his eyes.  Five minutes after she began,
the man was on his feet, looking at the long, jagged pink line that ran
from his nipple to his belly button, then thanking Hyandai profuselly.

   She was washing her hands off with water from a canteen being held by
one ranger as Wendy kissed her shoulder.  "You're a miracle, beloved," said
Wendy into her elegant ear.

   Hyandai smiled at her wife and kissed her brow.  "I am simply me, bride
of mine," she said.  "I do what I am able, as do you."

   "I can't do anything like that, though," said Wendy, pointing at the
healed ranger, now talking among the others animatedly, and showing off his
pink scar.

   Hyandai looked down at the two pierced men and the one with a slashed
throat.  "And I cannot defend us like that," she said.  "That is a
fierceness I do not possess in a fight, and I am gladdened that you do."

   When the ambush had started, Wendy's rapid and surprising onset had
thrown the Ghantians into confusion.  Her warcry and appearance, wielding a
heavy warspear and wearing an evening gown had caused them no small amount
of panic.  They had stood dazed for several moments, while the rangers had
gotten their bows out and then sent them into a rout with a hail of arrows.

   Wendy smiled.  "It's what I do," she said, in the same tone Hyandai had
said it.

   The elven woman's emerald eyes noted a small cut on Wendy's shoulder. 
She kissed Wendy again, gently, then kissed her way down her slender neck
and over her shoulder, breathing upon the small cut, healing it in seconds.

   Wendy smiled.  "I like it when you heal me like that," she said.

   Taking Wendy's hand, Hyandai led her back to the wagons.  "Try to get
wounded in the thigh, it would be of great interest."

   Wendy giggled and said, "For that, I'll cut my own thigh!"

   Everything was back in order and the wagons set off again for Marved,
the captial of the Windy Isles, still two hours away.  The rangers, now
back upon their horses rode beside and ahead of the three lumbering wagons,
two laden only with massive chests.

   The road was a good one; reed mats lay over a packed earth of gravel and
sand.  Harlen was impressed with how solid it felt after being in the
jungle a ways on foot and still picking mud chunks from inside his boot
where he had sunk to his knees in places.

   One of the rangers, a youth named Gharus rode near the wagon, now
keeping his bow in hand across the saddle horn.  "How is it you've carved a
nation from this rainforest?" asked Harlen.

   The young man said, "This is the rainy season, in addition, but we do
always get a great deal." He smiled.  "Mostly we build things that are
light enough to float atop the mud and we try to stay dry."

   They had slowly been gaining elevation as they traveled, and slowly, the
mists of the jungle were lightening.  Then it was gone.  "We're above the
rain-line, now," said the young ranger.  "This is why the capital is up
here, so we can actually keep records without them rotting, it's said." The
young ranger spoke passable Westron, though Harlen and Wendy did not need
him to, the duke had generously provided enchanted earrings that would
translate anything they heard in almost every language to Westron. 
However, he had not been able to acquire any of the `speaking stones' and
they would have to rely upon a translator to make themselves understood to
others.  Luckily, Hyandai spoke twelve languages well.

   The jungle rapidly gave way to more recognizable dense forest, similar
to parts of Morrovale and much of Windir, though still warmer.  Ahead of
them loomed the walls of, it seemed to Harlen and Trevir, a great city.  To
Hyandai, it seemed that her heart would fail her from sheer terror.  To
Wendy, it seemed a sizable town, but nothing like Vilders.  To Young
Tammer, it seemed time to spit up, much to Trevir's discomfort.

   As they neared the city of Rondall, the road widened and became actually
paved, with cobbles.  More traffic joined their little caravan, in the way
of laden wagons with produce and people aboard them.  Soon they were
bracketed ahead and behind by the stream of wagons and forced to slow to a
snails pace.

   "I already don't like it," said Harlen.  "First the ambush, now a logjam
on the road."

   "Stop following that mead wagon so close, Harlen," said Hyandai.  "If he
stops you shall run him down."

   Harlen gave her a long look and then laughed.  "You wish to take the
reigns, beloved?" he asked.

   Hyandai shook her head, holding both of her tiny hands out in denial. 
"No, I am terrified even being among this many folk, much less driving the
wagon."

   Wendy piped in, "I'll drive!" and clambered over the buckboard to sit
between Harlen and Hyandai.  Harlen handed her the reigns and sat back,
putting his hands behind his head.  He grinned when he noticed that the
distance between the nose of their horses and the rear of the wagon ahead
shortened to half its former length.

   The buildings of the city grew closer together and they passed through
the large gate by way of a stone archway.  Guards watched them pass and
raised eyebrows at the purple and gold standards on little masts mounted to
each wagon.

   The streets bustled with folk, and the noise grew to a din that caused
Hyandai to cover her delicate ears.  "Spirits help me," she said, looking
worriedly at Harlen.  "This will drive me mad."

   Soon, though, they had passed the market quarter and entered a quieter
neighborhood of large estates with high stone fences about them, topped
with wrought iron spikes.  They trundled down this street, also free of the
press of other wagons.  Great elms and oaks loomed over the road from
behind the fences and Hyandai relaxed visibly.

   The young ranger beside the wagon, on his horse, said, "The next estate
is the Morrovale Embassy."

   They came around a bend in the road and saw ahead a shining standard
snapping in the evening breezes, purple and gold with the dragon rampant.
Two guards, wearing matching livery stood beside the gate.  The guards
seemed to awaken at the last moment, sallying to the gate and opening it
with haste to allow the wagons to enter.  The rangers all stopped at the
road before the smaller road into the estate.

   "Aren't you coming?" asked Harlen, as Wendy stopped the wagon and peered
over her shoulder, too.

   "Lord Harlen, this is sovereign Morrovale land," said one of the guards.
"They cannot enter without official leave."

   Harlen blinked.  "And where do they get that?" he asked.

   "From you, milord," said the guard, trying to stifle a grin.

   "Come on, you lot, then, come have a look about," said Harlen, waving
the rangers inward.

   The six rangers spurred their horses and followed the three wagons onto
the property.  At first Harlen wondered where the houses might be, and then
they rounded yet another bend in the long road through the estate and a
large mansion heaved into view.  They stopped before it.  "Our place must
be about the back," said Harlen, eyeing the beautiful marble and granite
manor house as he hopped off the wagon.

   Wendy stared at the home.  "No, uh, Harlen," she said, stammering and
pointing at the massive oaken doors of the mansion.

   Harlen peered at them, and saw a brass plaque upon one.  He walked
closer and began reading, for he had never mastered reading silently. 
"Embassy of Morrovale to the Windy Isles, Master Harlen, Ambassador." He
leaned back and looked straight up at the three-story structure, and then
left and right down the long wings.  "Oh," he said.

   The door opened before him and a man in a sharp purple vest stepped out
onto the porch.  "Lord Ambassador Harlen, welcome back to Morrovale," he
said in a formal tone.  "I am Wennan, your aide."

   Harlen blinked at the man.  "Wennan?" he asked.  "As in Wennan, the
duke's personal assistant?"

   "I was, milord, but I will be serving you until such time as you are
ready to allow me to return to Morrovale and take on a new aide," said
Wennan.  He was an older gentleman, with a balding head and a nose that
hooked severely downward.  From his vantage point of almost a foot higher,
it seemed to Harlen his nose hung to his chin.

   Wendy leaped from the wagon and looked about.  "Where's all the
household staff?" she asked.  She had been to nobles' homes in Vilders, and
there was supposed to be staff all over the place, she told them.

   Wennan smiled appeasingly.  "You seem to have outpaced them madam
Wendy," he said.  "They are scheduled to arrive on the morrow."

   She `huh'ed' and walked past him into the house.  Hyandai was sitting
with Young Tammer in her arms and let one of the rangers help her down from
the wagon.  Another ranger helped the nanny with Morlani.  Trevir was still
staring at the building.

   "Wow, Harlen, you're a big muck about now!" he said, smiling broadly and
springing down from the back of the wagon.  The drivers took the wagons and
the massive chests toward a small building beside the mansion, with large
swinging doors, a stable, Harlen guessed.

   Wennan coughed and said, "You must officially lay claim to your
position, milord."

   Harlen said, "Ok," then stood there, staring blankly at his aide.

   The aide stood expectantly and watched him for a long moment before
saying, "You must state that you are accepting the Embassy, and that you
are the Ambassador."

   "Oh!" exclaimed Harlen as Hyandai passed behind him and into the house,
Young Tammer burbling happily and playing with her hair.  "I, Harlen,
Ambassador from Morrovale to the Windy Isles, accept this Embassy and take
up my office."

   "Very good, sir," said Wennan, pulling a thick ledger from somewhere
mysterious and jotting a note in it with a stylus.  Harlen attempted to see
what he was writing, but the book snapped shut with a clap of finality and
left the huntsman blinking at the little gust of wind it produced.  "I am
certain you will find the accommodations to your liking, sir." With those
words, Wennan moved into the house on the heels of Trevir who was slowly
walking and trying to take everything in at once.

   Harlen shrugged and followed his aide in, peering about almost as much
as Trevir.  As he entered, he was first struck by the size of the
antechamber.  It was larger than the duke's own, though not quite so finely
appointed.  A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling three stories up and
looked to hold a thousand candles.  Harlen sighed at how much it would cost
just to light the damn thing.

   Wennan moved off to a door to the left and Harlen followed him.  Beyond
that was a small office, stacked high with papers and books.  Every
horizontal surface was covered with parchment, in one form or another.  As
Harlen followed him in, Wennan turned.  "Milord, you are scheduled to
attend a banquet this very night, to honor your arrival.  It is being
hosted by the Consortium of Vilderian Guilds."

   Harlen blinked.  "Who?" he asked.

   "It is a group of all the major trading guilds in Vilders, the only
Ghantian city that still has relations with the Windy Isles," said Wennan.
"They are keen to make trade agreements with Morrovale, and each guild, I
fear, will try to secure a monopoly from you."

   "And that's bad?" asked Harlen.

   Wennan shrugged.  "Bad or good, it is what they will attempt."

   Harlen picked up what looked to be a map of Abia off of a desk and
looked at it.  "Do you think that I should resist that?" he asked.

   "I think, milord, you should do what is best for Morrovale, naturally,
that is your job," he looked down.  "Sorry milord, I should not presume. .
. .  "

   "No," said Harlen, "it's quite okay, I am very new to this, and will be
relying heavily on you to tell me what needs doing, if you will."

   "Of course, milord, that is my job," said Wennan with a small grin.

   Harlen chuckled and laid down the Abian map and picked up a piece of
parchment that said it was a receipt for twelve thousand candles.  He
whistled, "That's a lot of candles."

   The aide walked up beside him and peered at the paper.  "Indeed, sir,
quite a lot."

   "Who else will be at this banquet?" asked Harlen, noting the scent of
cologne coming off the aide.

   "Sir, everyone will be there," said the aide, "ambassadors from other
nations, dignitaries from the Windy Isles, themselves, as well as various
other concerns, such as powerful merchant houses and even, I believe, a
representative of the Green Order."

   "Huh," said Harlen, laying down the receipt and looking about the
cluttered office.  "Is this my office?"

   The aide chuckled in a way that said he was not really laughing. 
"Milord jests, of course," he said, walking to the door, Harlen followed
him across the wide foyer, where there were no longer any other people in
evidence, and to a more ornate, larger door.  The aide opened it and led
Harlen into a huge room with a vast desk at the far side, beneath five huge
windows that let a massive quantity of sunlight.  On the desk was a single
sheet of parchment.  No other paper was to be seen.  Behind the vast desk
was a leather chair stuffed to ridiculous proportions.  Two
comfortable-looking chairs sat before the desk.

   "Wow," said Harlen, his voice echoing off the far walls of the giant
office.  He moved to the desk and looked down at the parchment.  It was
filled with flowing script, which, though Harlen could read after a
fashion, looked like it would take four hours to read.  The headline on it
said: `Household procedures and staffing requirements'.

   "What's this?" asked Harlen, picking up the parchment.

   "Sir, it delineates the routine requirements of the household and the
staffing needs," said Wennan.  "It is basically the laws of the house, for
the Master of the Estate to tend."

   "Who's that?" asked Harlen.

   Wennan sighed.  "He will be arriving with the remainder of the staff on
the morrow." Then he opened a drawer of the big desk and produced a quill
and ink vial.  "It will require your signature, milord."

   Harlen looked at the quill a long moment, then pulled it from the ink
and scratched his name upon the parchment, next to Wennan's finger.  With a
broad smile, he replaced the quill and stood back up.

   "Well done, sir," said Wennan, blowing on the ink, then rolling the
parchment into a tight scroll and tying a ribbon about it.

   Trevir's voice came from the antechamber calling for Harlen.  "Excuse
me," said the huntsman and walked to the door.

   "What?" asked Harlen

   "Miss Wendy and Miss Hyandai asked me to come fetch you," said Trevir.
"They're trying to figure out what's what upstairs."

   "I will be in my office, milord," said the aide, washing his hands of
the situation quite efficiently and brushing past Harlen in a gait that
looked slow but seemed to cover ground with remarkable speed.

   Harlen sighed and followed Trevir up the wide marble stairs to the
second floor.  The boy led him down a broad hallway and finally to where he
could hear Wendy and Hyandai's voices inside.

   "It's a bedroom," said Wendy.

   "I will not perform bedroom activities before such a bay of windows,"
said Hyandai.

   Harlen looked into the room.  It was nearly circular and the outer wall
consisted of mostly of wide, tall windows that reached nearly from floor to
ceiling.  Only the portion of the wall that the door was on lacked massive
glass panes.

   "Also, there is no bed," pointed out Hyandai.

   "We could move one into here," said Wendy reasonably.  "I love this
room."

   Hyandai sighed.  "Only if we make curtains," she conceded.

   "Done," said Wendy.

   "See, you two didn't need me," said Harlen, leaning on the doorframe.

   Hyandai walked up to him and kissed his cheek.  "That woman, there,
wants to perform personal acts before a wall of glass," she said, pointing
an accusing finger at Wendy.

   Wendy giggled.  "No, but I do like being able to see the outside from my
bedroom."

   A broad smile came to Harlen's face.  "I don't know, personal acts for
an audience, sounds kind of fun," he said.

   Hyandai poked him in the ribs with a long finger.  "You two are
incorrigible," she said and Wendy giggled some more.  Hyandai walked to one
of the open windows and leaned out.  "Please be prepared for viewings of
Harlen and Wendy in personal acts, shows begin in two hours!" she screamed
out the window, with Wendy pulling on her hips trying to yank her back into
the room.  One of the guards, passing below rested his spear on his
shoulder and tilted his helmeted head toward the screaming woman in the
upper window.

   The nanny came in with Morlani and presented her to Wendy.  "It is time
for her feeding, Miss Wendy," she said.

   "Thank you Trish," said Wendy, taking her daughter up in her arms, she
nuzzled with her five-month-old daughter for a moment, kissing her little
face all over.  "How's our little girl, hmm?" Morlani grinned and grabbed
for her dangling trothplait and cooed.  Still smiling, Hyandai moved up
beside Wendy and cooed and tickled the baby with her.

   Trevir, with a look of mild panic, moved out of the room.  "Harlen,
could you show me where I am to be?" he asked after he got into the hall
before breasts started being bared.

   Harlen chuckled and followed Trevir out.  "I don't know, Trev," said
Harlen, peering down the long line of doors on both sides of the hallway.
"Just pick a room."

   Trevir moved down the hall, peering at each door as either an
opportunity or a threat.  He stopped, pointing at one door.  "This one!" he
said, smiling back at Harlen.

   Harlen nodded.  "Okay, that room is yours," he said.

   Trevir opened the door and stood in the doorway, frozen.  "Wow," he
said.

   Harlen moved down beside him and looked in, it was impressive.  The room
was about ten paces to a side, and had massive curtained windows on the far
wall.  A high bed stood against one wall and a couch and two chairs were
near the opposite wall.  Two large wardrobes stood beside the door to the
left and right.

   "Wow is right," said Harlen.  "Quite a room you've chosen."

   Trevir went inside and tossed his little burlap sack of belongings on
the bed.  It looked tiny and forlorn, as did Trevir when he jumped up on
the bed beside it, sitting and looking about the ornately carven woodwork
and gilding on the walls.

   - - - - - - - - -

   Renna washed the blood from her body as Pharen looked on.  Her nude form
was stunning, with its tightly corded muscles and taut skin.  Coated in
blood as she was, he longed to take her like she was now, but she said it
was heretical blood and she would not partake of love play coated in such.

   Slaves worked hurriedly in the room behind them as she used a sponge to
clean herself.  They were picking up the bodies and carrying them from the
room.  Two more waited nearby with mops and buckets of steaming water.

   "That was amazing," said Pharen.

   She smiled.  "Arouse you, did it?" asked Renna, smiling sweetly as she
lifted a leg and ran the sponge down it.

   He nodded.  "I've never seen anyone die even as they climax," he said,
"They linger longer that way, don't they?"

   "The body produces powerful essences as it climaxes, and can ignore and
overcome great pain and discomfort as it does so," she said.  "It gave them
the strength they needed to linger and let me see beyond the veil of life
to the future."

   "And what did you see, milady?" asked Pharen, his lusts finally
subsiding enough to think beyond what he had just witnessed.

   She finished with her legs and handed him the sponge after wringing it
out and soaking it with clean water again.  "After I am cleansed, we will
speak of it," she said, turning her back to him.

   He washed her corded back reverentially, running the sponge over her
soft skin and the hard muscles beneath it.  She sighed and smiled, propping
her hands against the wall and spreading her legs for him.  He knelt behind
her and cleaned her backside and her long thighs.  He watched in awe as she
clenched her stomach tight and the heretics' spend spilled from her tight
entrance, and he slowly and with infinite care, washed it away.

   Soon, she was clean, the last of the heretics' blood washed from her
skin and hair.  She rinsed herself again with a hot bucket of water then
started drying off.  "Much better, though your idea has merit," she said.
"Perhaps if we purify a slave first, before sending him to his judgement."

   She slipped on a silken robe of white and led him back to their
quarters. Dismissing the slaves in her apartment, she poured them wine and
took seat in one well-padded chair.

   "The augury was successful, thanks to your kind assistance," she said,
nodding toward Pharen.  "You handle your Reaper masterfully, I might add."

   Pharen's expression grew animated.  "It was like it guided itself, like
it knew what to do," he said, his voice rising in excitement.

   She smiled gently.  "It is probably so, actually," she said.  "You
cannot forge a weapon of that power without something coming into it, a bit
of a spirit of an angel, perhaps."

   He nodded, realizing he had interrupted her.

   "As I was saying, I saw a piece of our future," she said.  "And it is
bright indeed." Renna took a long sip of the wine.  "You will command this
vessel in a great victory, I saw you standing tall at the helm and leading
it over many insignificant foes."

   His eyes widened.  "What of your feeling of ill portent?" asked Pharen,
his blue eyes growing still further.

   "Worry over the elf.  It speaks of warning, she is dangerous, and not to
be underestimated," said the witch.  "Despite their harmless looks and
frailty, they have minds of power and cunning."

   "I will be wary of her," said Pharen, nodding.  "What of your own fate?"

   She giggled.  "I was beside you as you crushed the enemy, and we were
holding hands, lover," said the witch.  "I think, perhaps, we will long
ally together."

   Pharen walked up to her side and put a hand upon her shoulder.  She
kissed it and then turned it over to kiss the palm.  "I can live with you
as a partner, handsome Pharen," she said.

   Kneeling before her now, he placed his head in her lap.  "As can I," he
said as she stroked his hair, soothing him.  She pulled him up to kiss her.

   When their lips broke contact, she said, "I would have your holy seed
this night, Templar, for I must cleanse my insides."

   He smiled.  "With pleasure," he said, standing and untying the strings
that held his long tunic closed at the chest.

   As the tunic fell to the floor, Renna sat down her wine and leaned
toward him, licking the growing head of his organ, causing it to twitch and
grow rapidly to full erection.  Grasping it about the base, she took part
of it into her mouth.

   Pharen groaned at the pleasure his cock felt, and the sensation of her
warm lips and cool fingers.  Her other hand rubbed his testicles and ran
fingers over his puckered anus.  He came in a twitching of her tongue, and
his hips bucked as he sent the first thick strand of semen into her warm
mouth.  It was followed by several more before she pulled the fingers that
she had probed his backside with from him.  He had not even felt them enter
him.  It was a demonstration of how the body ignores things while climaxing
and he understood it better now for that.

   Swallowing, she looked up.  "That cleanses this end, lover, now for the
nether," she purred as she lay upon her belly, lifted her backside, and
spread her legs enticingly.  He loved being between those muscular and
lovely thighs.  He lay atop her and kissed her.

   Lady Renna filled his mouth with her breath, then his lungs.  His cock
responded again by surging back to a painfully full erection, with the
veins seeming to glow with energy.  "Bury that thing in me, lover, take
me," she invited, pushing up with her hips.

   He drove the entirety of his massive organ into her with one hard
thrust. She cried out and then screamed to the One for the pleasure he was
giving to her.  She climaxed with a screech that sounded far more animal
than human, then collapsed, grunting in time with his continued thrusts
into her tight cunt.

   Then Pharen spent, driving his cock to its deepest, then holding his
back arched as he felt it twitch inside her and felt the semen being
propelled forth into her welcoming entrance.

   A faint blue nimbus was coruscating over her skin and he felt himself
spending more and more, a torrent of semen spilled forth, filling her
insides, and then running out over his shaft and onto his balls.  She
groaned as this happened and a smile of unsurpassed loveliness came to her
face, almost angelic.

   The light slowly faded, and the flow of semen abated, but he felt
drained.  He collapsed atop her then rolled to the side, almost unable to
move.  "That was very nice," he murmured as she bent down to clean his
balls and cock with her fast, clever tongue.

   He looked down at her cunt, now visible to him, and not a drop of the
vast amount of his spend spilled forth, even that which was on her crotch
and thighs seemed to be soaking into her supple skin as he watched.

   Lady Renna smiled as she turned back around.  "Rest, now, lover, you
have done very well," she said.  Whether he wished it or not, he fell
asleep.

   The lady rose from the bed, walked to the chair, and picked up the
glass. Closing the door gently to the bedroom, she turned and rang the
little bell for a slave.

   - - - - - - - - -

   With much labor, a bed was moved to the large round room and the women
were busily putting things to rights.  Guards had been drafted to drag the
massive chests into the house and many items were already unpacked.

   Wennan had apparently expected them to be poorly equipped for social
events and had brought up several items of clothing: A military-style suit
for Harlen with double breasted buttons of brass and epaulets, complete
with a ranger green sash.  There were several ornate medals pinned to the
sash and he asked the aide about them.

   "Sir, those are your campaign medallions," he said.  "This was for your
part in the Battle of Trommen Field, and this for Ulbor Pass." He pointed
to two of the medallions, "This one is for Embalis, awarded by the elves
and delivered to the duke in your name." Harlen eyed them dubiously, but
would wear them for now.

   For the women, he laid out matching, but different color gowns of satin
and silk.  They were narrow at the waist, to accentuate the ladies'
figures, but flowed out from there to form long, pleated dresses that moved
sensually as they walked.  The addition of high-heeled shoes, the fashion
this year from Ghant, made them noticeably taller than normal by three
inches.  The tops constricted their chests, and revealed a tight cleavage
down the center.  Hyandai looked at her breasts in the gown.

   "I have never had such a pronounced cleavage before," she said, and then
giggled.  "I could store coins in there."

   Wendy looked at the line between her breasts then at her own.  "That's
so true.  If I breathe deeply, I'll embarrass everyone."

   Harlen looked down at the tights he was supposed to wear under the
doublet that formed his shirt.  "I swear, you can see through these," he
complained.  Wendy looked at him a moment, then smiled.

   "You can," she said, "and a fine view it is." Hyandai nodded agreement.

   "You should get a lot of attention from the ladies with that kind of
display," said his elven bride, running a finger over the obvious bulge. 
"I will certainly be tempted."

   His organ swelled slightly, much to the girls' delight as it further
stretched the semi-transparent weave of the tights.  The thick shaft and
swollen head were quite easily identified among the general lump.

   Wennan poked his head in after they had opened the door, meaning the
women were decent.  "Is this supposed to show off my, well, my me like
this?" asked Harlen in a somewhat squeaky voice.

   The aide looked down impassively at Harlen's noteworthy bulge and the
tumescence extending from it.  "Milord seeks to impress the ladies this
evening, no?" Then he looked at Harlen's wide eyes and chuckled.  "Yes,
sir, it is considered normal for a man to display his," he coughed,
"`wares' thus these days.  Perhaps more modesty will come into style next
year." He turned and left, confident that they had matters in hand.

   With a sigh of infinite patience, Harlen let the girls goad him into
keeping the green tights on and put on his doublet, which partially hid the
more obvious lines of the bulge in its shadow.

   Wendy put her hand boldly upon the bulge and said, "I think it's sexy."
Her smile was wide and predatory as she massaged his organ through the very
thin cloth.  "You best prepare to be well bedded after this dance."

   Harlen looked toward Hyandai for support and protection from the
aggressive Wendy.  "Do not look to me for help.  It is not my fault you
have a manhood that invites touching," she said.  "Perhaps if you were
smaller, we would not harass you so."

   His pole was now fully erect and lay pressed to his thigh obscenely at
its full length and girth.  Hyandai giggled at it.  "You surely will be
called upon for dances sporting that tail," she said.

   Wendy looked at her askance.  "Other women rubbing on our man?" she
asked.  "I think not." She grinned up at Harlen.  "I believe I will revoke
that oversized invitation."

   She knelt before him and pulled down the tights.  Harlen watched with
interest as she took his stiff pole into her mouth and began to move back
and forth.

   Hyandai giggled and said, "Simple, but effective."

   With the soft, warm lips of his human bride engulfing him and her
motions to stimulate, he did not take long to respond, not that he tried at
all to put it off.  His legs twitched slightly, then his hips pushed
forward, and he climaxed.

   He groaned loudly as Wendy squeezed his shaft in her strong grip and
milked the semen from it with her hand, mouth, and throat.

   "That should curb your sausage for a while, mister," she said, patting
his already shrinking cock.

   Harlen sighed and finished dressing.  Lastly he strapped his broadsword
onto his hip, and Hyandai donned her hyandai.  Wendy carried no weapons,
though she also least needed them, as she had proven more than once.

   Hyandai leaned close to Harlen's ear and whispered, "If a problem arises
at the party, let me know, I will eliminate it, since Wendy did the first."

   Wendy said, "We can alternate if it comes up more than once." Suddenly,
Harlen hoped he would get an erection every five minutes.  Hyandai giggled
at her wife's naughty double meaning.

   - - - - - - - - -

   When they emerged from the house, they found an ornately decorated
carriage parked upon the cobbled drive before them.  It was mostly black
but had finely carven woodwork in purple and gold, the colors of Morrovale.

   "The official carriage?" asked Harlen of the footman standing with the
door in his hand, also wearing livery of purple and gold.

   The footman bowed.  "Of course, milord ambassador," the footman said. 
"This is a state function, sir."

   "Is it?" asked Wendy.  "I think I know why the duke chose our man Harlen
now, Hyandai: He gets three diplomats for the price of one."

   Hyandai giggled.  "Well, two diplomats and one particularly nasty
barroom negotiator," she said, peering at Wendy.  "I have heard tales from
Tammer of your exploits in the area of tavern brawling."

   "It's not a proper night of carousing until you've smashed some
crockery, hmm?" asked Wendy, primly stepping up into the carriage.  The
tight corset of the dress forced her to sit upright, which annoyed her, as
she was given to slouching a bit.

   Harlen smiled at the footman, who looked rather stunned by what he had
just heard.  "Aren't you from Norboro?" he asked.

   The footman nodded.  "Yes, milord ambassador," he said.

   "Nice," said Harlen, "then you understand bar brawls.  I gather its
something of a sport in those parts."

   The footman chuckled as he closed the door of the carriage and climbed
atop the back deck, taking up a seat next to a guard.  Another guard sat
beside the driver and they were moving, the driver clucking at the horses
and carrying them down the drive at a canter.

   - - - - - - - - -

   "It's certainly a big place,"said Wendy as she stepped from the carriage
and stared up at the palace looming over them.  "It looks more like a
cathedral."

   "Given it is Ghantian, it probably serves much the same function," said
Hyandai.  Her neck craned back at the high spires of masonry with gargoyles
peeking over the edges of the roof.

   A footman came from the palace and escorted them up the long red carpet
to the massive doors that led into the foyer.  Other people milled about
the foyer, all dressed in their finery.  As they walked in, eyes turned to
take in the trio, Harlen with his two lovely escorts, one on each side. 
Some murmurs could be heard, suddenly, and he knew he was now a topic of
discussion among the various functionaries he saw.

   "This way, please, milord Ambassador," said the footman in flawless
Westron.  Obviously, he had been chosen to escort Harlen and his company
specifically.  The young man led them to the right and through a single
door, away from the main double doors that seemed to lead into the
ballroom.

   Harlen grinned as they entered a plushly decorated sitting room. 
"Shutting us away are you?" he asked.  "Don't want us riff-raff mucking
about with the nobles?"

   The lad looked stunned, and blinked several times before he could speak.
"Milord, no, certainly.  This is a sitting room reserved for the more
valued guests of the League of Tradesmen." He smiled winningly.  "As you
are, milord Harlen." As a kindness, or simply to ensure Harlen understood.
"The less valued guests will be introduced first, working up to persons of
such importance as yourself."

   The huntsman nodded, then sat upon one of the large, padded armchairs.
He sank into it several inches and sighed.  "I could get used to this
armchair," he said.  "Just bring the people who wish to meet me here for an
audience."

   Hyandai giggled.  "And would milord like a scepter or a stein?"

   "Both!" said Harlen, grinning and pulling Hyandai into his lap and
kissing her neck.  "Yet, I would settle for a beautiful woman to hide my
lumpiness."

   The elven woman wriggled delightfully against him as she shifted to kiss
him back.  "Milord shall cause unsightly lumps to grow, if he maintains
this course of action."

   Getting a rather concerned look on his face, Harlen said, "Too late."

   Hyandai moved her backside and smiled.  "Far too late, I fear, milord,"
she said, feeling his organ stiff beneath her.

   "Don't look to me," said Wendy, "it's your turn." She crossed her arms
and regarded a painting upon the wall.

   - - - - - - - - -

   "What a abysmal jungle." said Renna as the coaster deposited them upon
the shore.  She wore now nondescript leathers under her long, black cloak.
Pharen was dressed much the same.  Their swords were concealed beneath the
cloaks.  Fifty men had landed with them, among them the `specialists' that
the captain had referred to.

   One of these specialists was Merren, an assassin of the Ordo Primum.  He
was easily picked out of the crowd of men on the sandy beach of the shore,
as he had a clear ring about himself more than ten feet wide.

   Few folk of the Black Theocracy would abide the company of an assassin,
and fewer still did so twice.  Right now, though, he was at the service of
the Templars.  "Merren, I need you to go to the city and find out where
they live, and locate their places within their home," said Lord Pharen. 
"You are to take no action, understood?"

   "Of course, milord," said Merren, grinning at him.

   "Fear not, Merren," said Renna.  "You will have ample time to wet your
blade, whichever you choose, when we make our move.  Her wife will need to
be eliminated, as well as her husband." The sorceress chuckled.  "I cannot
abide their three-way marriage, it so complicates the issue, don't you
think?"

   Merren flicked his dark eyes toward Lady Renna.  "Not particularly
complicated, milady, just another heretical heart to be stilled," he said.

   He moved away from them and then disappeared into the nearly solid wall
of foliage that marked the edge of the beach.  To look at them, they were a
coaster crew, one and all, though not Ghantian in appearance; they could
easily be Southern Realmsmen, or perhaps Rojando.  This was exactly what
they hoped to appear as.  Ten men were busily hacking holes into the hull,
one particularly large one.  They dragged the ship onto the beach and set
up a camp.

   Renna surveyed the little encampment.  "Now we are simple merchants who
got our ship damaged on the reefs and are only here to make repairs and
trade what we can," she said, to Lord Pharen.  "That should allay their
suspicions for several days, at the least, assuming anyone comes out of
that Oneforsaken jungle to find us.

   The mist was thickening as the day wore on, and Pharen knew that it
would rain, come noon.  So the captain said happened every day, or near
enough.  His flagship had moved off south, over the horizon, and the
captain missed his command already.  There was nothing for it, though, he
had a mission, and in this mission, few might succeed where many would
fail.

   "You truly dislike the rainforest so much?" he asked of Renna.

   Renna nodded.  "I cannot see my enemy even just before my eyes," she
replied.  "I have served many campaigns in the Crystern Chain, and these
isles are near enough in kind to them to make me uneasy.  "I fear at any
moment some of those blasted Coghlanders will burst through that wall and
charge at us, else a trimaran will appear and begin raining spears upon our
camp.  I have seen both happen, and they are things even a Templar cannot
easily dismiss from her mind."

   "The heretics are strong," said Pharen.  "It is the will of the One that
they be so, to make our victory both a challenge to our souls and to make
the winning of the prize the more valuable for it."

   She reached out a long, slender hand and stroked his cheek with her
sharp and pointed nails.  "You are, as always, Lord Pharen, wise," said
Renna.  "Well-chosen words are hard to come by, sometimes, yet your tongue
seems to spill them at will."

   "Truth is easily spoken," said Pharen.

   "Did you know they think we are the heretics?" said Renna, looking at
him with mock dismay.  "Their bedeviled clergy fills their heads with such
untruths, and guides them to resist our efforts to show them the Way."

   Pharen laughed.  "I know they do, for they must," he said, "else why
would they resist the natural way of things?"

   She gripped the hilt of her Reaper and looked off into the distance
across the waves lapping upon the shore.  "We will show them the Way, by
one means or another."

   The lord held out his hand to Renna.  "Shall we go see the city of
Heretics, then?" he asked.

   She grinned.  "I've always wondered what they were like, the more
civilized cities," she replied, and took his hand.

   "This is the Windy Isles," said Pharen, "I fear you shall still wonder
after visiting Marved.  For it is rather primitive, even by the loose
standards of the heretics."

   The two walked along the beach toward the port village of Pigwillow,
from there, they could walk the road to Marved.

   - - - - - - - - -

   "It's good you two are done," said Wendy as the footsteps outside the
door stopped and the long lever of a handle began to move down.  "It's hard
to look ladylike with your dress flipped over your back and yourself folded
over the back of a couch."

   Hyandai flipped her long red hair over her shoulder, he cheeks still
flush with the pleasure she had just received, and even glistening a little
from perspiration.  Harlen looked like the cat that had just cleared out
the birdbath.  As the large door swung open, he stood forth from behind the
chair, his lumpiness now quite under control.

   Wendy leaned toward Hyandai.  "I would have paid to see the look on
these guys' faces if you two had still been at it," she whispered.

   Hyandai giggled at her.  "You are a vicious creature, Wendy, I love
you," she whispered in return.

   A footman entered with two people in tow, an elderly man and a
middle-aged woman, both dressed in finery similar to their own, the man in
a military cut coat and tights and the woman in a corseted dress.

   The page cleared his throat as the trio regarded them.  "The Lord and
Lady Hernandez de la Verda," said the page, introducing them.  He then
turned toward the lord and lady.  "The ambassador of Morrovale, Harlen, and
his wives, the Ladies Hyandai and Wendy."

   At the mention of `wives' the elderly man's eyes lit up, and the woman's
narrowed.  Harlen decided he would rather speak to the man, and leave the
women to speak to the lady.

   "Ah, I have heard of your coming, sir," said the regal-looking
gentleman. His salt and pepper hair simply added to his dignified looks. 
He extended a hand to Harlen.  His Rojando accent was thick and made his
voice sound warm and friendly.  When Harlen took his hand, the man gripped
his elbow with his other hand; something the huntsman took to be a good
thing.

   "I'm honored to meet the representative of Costa Roja," said Harlen,
smiling.  His eyes flicked to where Hyandai and Wendy were bracketing the
lady, speaking to her in quiet voices.

   The Rojando looked at Harlen seriously.  "You may not know this, but we
have some dealings with your folk in Morrovale," he said, as if confessing
something.

   "Do you?" asked Harlen.

   "Indeed," replied Lord Hernandez, "we have been recently been finding
wondrous hair tinting creams that hail, it is said, from Morrovale.  The
women-folk are mad for them.  Even my wife has tinted her hair with one"

   Harlen blinked a few times, then looked toward the lord's wife.  She was
wearing a complex headpiece, but he did see pastel blue hair beneath.  "I
see," said Harlen, his mind reeling at the cleverness of the merchants who
had been buying Wendy's poultices.  "Yes, we pride ourselves on our
coloring creams."

   A young woman entered the room, from a different door, this one nearly
concealed in design; a servant's door.  She bore a large platter with
long-stemmed glasses upon it.  She moved through the room and offered a
drink to each guest, then quietly moved to the corner of the room and
stood, silently staring into space.

   It was a very fruity wine, elven, or very much like elven.  "I
understand that you were instrumental in some sort of civil war among the
elves?" asked Lord Hernandez.

   "A war of a sort, in truth, though far from civil, like all wars," said
Harlen.

   "Well said," said the lord, beaming at Harlen.  "I believe diplomacy
should always try to overcome hostility.  But, then again, being a diplomat
is likely to have that effect on my outlook." Hernandez laughed.

   Wendy or Hyandai, or both, seemed to have disarmed the mild hostility
Harlen had seen in the Lady Hernandez's eyes as the trio had been
introduced.  She had her headdress off and was showing his wives her blue
hair.  Wendy's expression was one of sheer shock and delight, mixed
equally.

   Hernandez noted his gaze at the women and said, "Tell me, Sir, how is it
you can keep the peace in your home, with two lovely young women in it?"

   Harlen turned back to face the Rojando.  "Despite the way that
introduction sounded, they are not simply married to me, sir," Harlen said.
"They are also married to one another."

   The old Rojando thought on that a long moment, then his face lit up with
realization.  "Then they also . . .  " He stopped and looked at Wendy and
Hyandai again.  "May I speak frankly?"

   Nodding, Harlen said, "I always prefer that you do, sir."

   "You, sir are perhaps the most fortunate man I have ever met," said
Hernandez.  "I wonder if Linda knows it?" He indicated his wife.

   Harlen shrugged.  "They do not always display outwardly their affection
toward one another.  At least in company."

   Another footman came into the room and bid the lord and lady leave with
him to be introduced, and the trio found themselves alone again.  Wendy
walked over to Harlen, with Hyandai right behind her.

   "Did you know they're selling my poultices as hair tints in Costa Roja?"
she asked harlen, her face florid with excitement.

   Harlen nodded.  "So I just heard, congratulations."

   Hyandai kissed Wendy's neck and said, "imagine what you might do if
trying to make a hair tint?"

   This sent both women into fits of giggles and they were only just
starting to cease when the door opened again.  "Milord ambassador, it is
time," said the footman.

   He escorted them through the massive foyer, which was now empty, save a
couple of servants.  The double doors opened into the grand ballroom as
they approached it, two silver and green liveried guards opened them.

   As Harlen passed them and prepared to descend the two steps to the
ballroom floor, a voice boomed into the chamber.  "The Lord Harlen, Ladies
and Gentlemen, Master Huntsman, Commander of the Rangers of Morrovale, Lord
Ambassador of Morrovale, accompanied by his wives, the Lady Hyandai of clan
yavanaur and the Lady Wendy Distammer."

   There was a murmur through the crowd as the trio descended the two steps
to the ballroom floor.

   - - - - - - - - -

   It was well after dark when Renna and Pharen walked into the outskirts
of Marved.  They got a room at the inn and sat in the commons.

   "I see what you mean about civilized," Said Lady Renna.  "They hardly
have any guards."

   Pharen nodded.  "They barely maintain control of the cities, much less
of the countryside about them," he replied, setting down the ale he was
drinking.  They looked about with hostile eyes at the heretics surrounding
them.  "It takes restraint not to simply purge this barroom."

   She giggled at him.  "I see that in your eyes, Pharen," she said,
stroking his hand.  "When we go to our room, you can take your righteous
vengeance upon my body."

   He chuckled.  "You are so very, very crude," said Pharen.  "I like that
in a woman."

   A man wearing a green robe walked in and went to the bar, sitting and
accepting a beer.

   Pharen's eyes flashed with unabashed hatred.  "A unholy man of the
cloth," he said, his hand involuntarily going to the hilt of his sword. 
"The One has forsaken them, and they know not the blessing of his divine
grace."

   The Greenrobe looked up, then turned, casting his eyes about the common
room.  Lady Renna grabbed Pharen's head, leaned across the table, and gave
him a long, passionate kiss.  He gasped in surprise, but was soon actively
participating in the kiss.  When she pulled back, she said, "Curb your
mind, Pharen, else you will reveal us to them." She still had the carefree
smile on her full lips, but her eyes burned with barely controlled anger.
"The Dark One gives them the power to see some things - including us,
should we not be wary." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her
muscular arms.  "I will give you a piece of advice, one that may keep you
alive a bit longer: Do not underestimate the heretic, there is good reason
that we fear them and their victory."

   The Templar looked at her a long moment, then nodded slowly.  "I see,"
he said.

   She smiled sweetly and took his hand.  "I think it's time for us to
retire, and let's hope that you've not lost all your fury before we can get
our clothes off."