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 Heartpierced - Part Three - Mack the Knife

   Harlen had never attended an event like this in his life.  There were at
least two hundreds of people, all their eyes were upon him and his wives.
It was as if he could feel the weight of their appraising eyes upon him. 
He was unaware of the fact that for the time being, and for a few days
hence, he and his were the center of all the social attention in Rikken.

   The low murmur stayed at a discreet, tasteful level, not enough to be
considered a noisy gathering, but there were hushed words being exchanged.
It was the first volley of a constant barrage of gossip that began now. 
The women's clothes were being analyzed, as Hyandai's ears discerned
quickly, and Harlen's muscular build, even the color of Hyandai's eyes were
being discussed among those who knew of elves.

   This was the first impression, visual, of the trio who formed the
embassy from Morrovale.  While that nation was just one of many in the
Western Realms, it was one of the more powerful of them, and one of the
most influential, as well.  Many smaller nations of the realms imitated
Morrovale's policies and standards.  The duke was a relative unknown among
the others of Feldare's national leaders, and his chosen ambassadors even
less so.

   That, Harlen decided, was what this party was for.  He was being scouted
out.  No one missed this gathering, as they would miss their chance to
discover some critical information about him, perhaps, even, something no
one else had noticed.  In the rarified airs the huntsman now found himself,
information of your fellows was a commodity, and, right now, he was an
unknown quotient.  Harlen vowed to himself to keep as much of that equation
blank as he could.

   "Watch yourself, beloved," whispered Wendy as they reached the ballroom
floor.  "I've seen this look on powerful folks' faces before.  They are
taking your measure."

   Harlen let the tiniest of lopsided grins form on his lips.  "With these
tights, I've no doubt they are," he retorted.

   The crowd was mystified by the enigmatic smiles both women donned at the
moment that they reached the floor.  Their simple elven-style gowns were
commented upon, favorably, though it required a `elfin' figure to don them
properly, commented many women who were more `full figured' than the wives
of Harlen.

   Immediately great debate began as to the heredity of Wendy.  Was she
Westron or Ghantian?  Some knowledge of her past was already circulating in
the social circles.  Her father owned properties in Vilders, linking the
ambassador to the very city that was hosting this event.  However, it was
said that her grandfather on her mother's side owned properties in
Morrovale, as well, marking her as a potential heiress to two land's
dynasties.  Details were sketchy at best, though.  Another persistent rumor
was that she was a highly placed member of some sort of warrior guild in
Ghant, and had slain dangerous monsters in her past, which intrigued many
of the lords and ladies present.

   Much more was known of Hyandai, as a figure of almost legendary
proportions in Rikken and the rest of the Isles.  She was host to the
military knowledge of Verus, a national hero of two nations, both here and
his homeland of Abia.  Her being an elf, naturally, led to other
speculation among the crowd.  Most humans of the Isles knew well of fey, as
most knew elves personally, or at least had met many and spoken at length
with some.  Her fey seemed shrouded in mystery, which, in turn, led to
guessing as to which of the `dark fey' she might possess that would lead it
to being secreted.

   Harlen, though, was an enigma to most of these folk.  Word had come of
the Battle of Embalis, and the part played by the Rangers of Morrovale.  A
secretive and mysterious element.  None claimed even to know of them until
they showed themselves at that opportune moment.  He was a commander within
that regiment, and this marked him with pride, for the rangers still
enjoyed high honor in the Isles, and were often leaders and other important
figures.  Further, he was impressive in and of himself, his height and
massive build cut an intimidating figure in his ranger doublet.  No doubt
this man was a force to be reckoned with in a fight, but how much so in a
negotiation?

   Lastly, and possibly the most titillating, from the viewpoint of the
true gossip mongers, was the nature of their marriage.  The word that had
circulated was that it was a fully tri-directional marriage, and that the
women were equally wed to one another as to him.  This led to much
discussion of the sexual possibilities that this arrangement would lead to.
Some folk were mildly scandalized, others greatly so, still others were
simply intrigued and curious.  Many men had a touch of envy for the
handsome ranger and his two quite attractive brides.  Others, likewise,
felt pity for a man forced to deal with two wives.  These opinions were
likely based upon their pleasure or lack thereof at their own choice of
mates.

   Over four hundred eyes watched them stop at the bottom of the stairs and
took in the Vilderian merchants' approach.  Some spoken greetings were
uttered between the trio and the three leading merchants.  The noise level
increased, and a moment later, the music began again.  The leadmost
merchant, a fellow named Imvagelli, spoke to Harlen in earnest for a
moment, praising his stunning entrance and begging leave to bend his ear in
private - later of course.

   People approached the trio in small groups or individuals, and soon, as
Harlen noted occurred at parties, the three were far separated as differing
factions wished to exchange pleasantries with them and introduce
themselves.

   Hyandai was in a quite animated conversation with a diminutive man with
slanted eyes and a head of silver hair.  He also had a long, slender
moustache that actually drooped off his face on either end.  When the
little man spoke, Harlen watched to see if the moustache's wispy ends ever
got inhaled, which did not seem to happen.  They seemed awfully comfortable
together, and Harlen decided to find out who he was - when it was
convenient.

   That though had barely gelled when another man, tall and lean, like a
fence post, walked up and presented his hand.  Harlen took it and shook the
offered limb.  "I am Helmut Gleiss, ambassador of Sudhof in the Southern
Realms," he said in a accented, booming voice.  Harlen smiled, filling the
gentleman in on the redundant information of his own title.  "We are far
from Morrovale, but we welcome a fellow Realmsman to the shark infested
waters."

   "Aren't we a ways from the coast now?" asked Harlen, blinking.

   Helmut laughed loudly, enough so that several nearby folk peered over to
see what this source of joviality might be.  "Indeed we are, Master Harlen,
but these sharks, they have legs." He looked around, giving each dignitary
at the event a short, judging stare.

   Harlen chuckled at that.  "I see," he said.  "Well, I will keep an eye
out for their teeth then."

   Both Harlen and Hyandai had rather worried over Wendy's reaction to this
gathering, but their fears were groundless.  She moved into the crowd like
a practiced huntsman through underbrush.  All three of them were in demand
as partners for conversation, and they were accosted again just as soon as
one discussion ended, or even just before.

   A half hour after their arrival, the lights were dimmed by drawing a
screen of finely-etched wood over the chandelier.  This cued everyone to
clear the polished marble of the dance floor.  A moment later, music began.
It was unfamiliar to Harlen or Hyandai, but Wendy recognized it right off,
grabbing Hyandai's arm and dragging her onto the floor.  After they began
to dance, a feminine voice came from his right.

   "They dance marvelously, you must be very proud," she said.  Harlen
turned to regard a woman who stood every inch as tall as he.  She was also
ten or more years his senior, though still a very lovely woman.  She had
hair, plaited into a rope down her spine which reached past her well-shaped
backside that was both auburn and gray.

   "I am," said Harlen, "but I would be remiss if I didn't ask such a
lovely woman as you to dance when she is not already doing so."

   She turned a bright smile onto him, straightening a row of dark freckles
across her upper cheeks and the bridge of her nose.  "I see how you managed
to garner two wives," she said, appreciatively.  She held out her hand and
Harlen escorted her onto the floor.

   "They had as much to do with that as I," said Harlen as they began the
slow, close waltz.

   "So I have heard," said the tall Coghlandish woman.  "It's very -
interesting."

   Harlen raised an eyebrow.  "I've wondered how much of our business is
known by the people of the Isles," he said.

   "Not so much as we would like to think," she said, again giving him a
another wide smile.

   Her gown, like the ones worn by most women at this event, was
form-fitting and sheer.  Her body was quite athletic and showed little sign
of her age, he discovered as they danced.

   "I'm rather surprised to find Coghlandish representation here," said
Harlen, eyeing her red and blue tartan.  "What clan are you part of?" he
asked.

   She looked at it.  "Clan McEllis," she replied.  "We are a sept of the
MacEwan." Harlen knew little of the Coghlanders and the structure of their
clans and septs, but decided to learn more at the soonest.  "My name is
Mairead, by the way," she said, as if just remembering to introduce
herself. "Everyone here knows your name." She broke into a more florid,
natural smile.  "I was quite happy to see a tall man descend those stairs,"
she said, "dancing with a man of small stature is rather trying for both
parties."

   As she said this, her thigh crept between his on the next step, and slid
along his inner leg slowly as they flowed into the next motion.  His organ
pressed firmly to her leg, then slid over it.  It reacted almost instantly,
already stiffening as the contact broke.

   Harlen swallowed and tried to pull back a bit.  "You flatter me, Harlen
of Morrovale," she said in a quiet voice, and only smiling enough to
register pleasure, not ridicule.

   Still, Harlen felt heat rise in his cheeks and he tried to don a smile
himself.  "These tights are rather revealing," he replied.

   Mairead slid against him again on the next downbeat and Harlen would
have sworn there was a hand involved in what passed over his thigh were
both not on his shoulders.  He was fully roused now and mercifully, the
tall, muscular Coghlander seemed determined to keep herself in contact with
that warm patch of his tights, else all others at the event would have
known as well.

   "You've done it now, we'll have to dance until it subsides," he said,
whispering into her ear.

   "I can do a dance that will make it subside in mere moments, though I
fear your tights would suffer for it," she said, her nails dragging on his
own neck.

   Neither eventuality came to pass, however, as Hyandai somehow managed to
cut in for the final third of the song.  Harlen was unsure how it had been
done, but he was suddenly facing his elven bride and she smiled up at him,
raising an eyebrow at his obvious erection.

   "I'm glad you're here," he said.  "I got rather overexcited and feared
that Mairead would take advantage of it."

   She giggled, a sound that elicited glances from several nearby couples.
"It was she who gestured for me to come over," said Hyandai, pressing
firmly to his middle and moving her body in a way that surely would have
gained comment, had it been noted.  "I think she was as fearful of her own
reactions to you as you to yours."

   Harlen glanced over to the wall, were the middle-aged Coghlandish woman
was fanning herself with a large lacy fan and seemed a bit redder than her
normal complexion.

   The two of them were not precisely dancing as most of the couples were.
Hyandai seemed to add flourishes to the movements, while Harlen moved with
somewhat fewer.  It seemed, however, that it was proper, as they did it,
and mostly it just raised the crowd's estimation of Hyandai, and marked
Harlen as slightly, and charmingly nervous.

   A few, however, smelled blood in the water already.

   "Perhaps I should let the ambassador handle his own negotiations from
now on?" asked Hyandai, grinning at him.  "I'm certain Morrovale and
Coghland could come to some sort of mutual and satisfactory - position -
with little debate."

   Harlen felt his ears turn bright red and gaped at her.  "Ten minutes at
a gathering of dignitaries and already you would toss me aside," he said
with a grin.  "Where is the cad who has caught your emerald eyes?  Might it
be that charming man from Niliwan?"

   Hyandai giggled again, and the crowd was now used to the sound, it only
garnered shared smiles from the other dancers.  "He is almost old enough to
be my father and that says much."

   "I'll say it is," said Harlen, turning to look at the wizened, miniature
figure near the doors to the veranda.  "He must be over a hundred."

   "One hundred and eight," said Hyandai, nodding.  "Even elves would
regard him as more than mature.  I met him when I was here before, during
the Abian Wars."

   Harlen kept forgetting that she had clear memory of those events, even
if he were only eight.  He reminded himself that she was, in elven terms,
older than Trevir then.

   "Did you have a crush on this Verus?" asked Harlen.

   "A crush?" asked Hyandai, lifting that analytical eyebrow.  "An
infatuation?"

   "Yes," replied Harlen.

   Hyandai chewed her cheek a bit, a habit picked up from Wendy, then said,
"I suppose I did," she said.  "He fascinated me and made me feel safe."
Then she hastily added, "He was a good man, Harlen, and never would have
done anything improper, even if my fey had been active then."

   Those last words came out in a rush that sounded, to Harlen's ears, a
bit too quickly said.

   "Was your fey active then?" he asked.

   Hyandai flushed so thoroughly that even her bared shoulders turned
slightly pink.  "It became so while I lived in Verus and Imogene's home."

   Harlen pulled her close.  "Sorry, I should not pry into your life before
we ever met, about things that embarrass you," he said.

   His elven bride clung to him.  "I have no secrets from you, beloved,"
she said.  "I would not marry a man who could not hear all of my tales."

   The song ended and the dancers gave a quick round of applause to the
orchestra, who were leaving the alcove for a short intermission.  "They
have acquired a virtuosa violinist this night," said Hyandai.  "I have
heard even elves weep at the sound of her playing."

   Harlen raised his own eyebrow this time.  "Elves admitting a human can
move them musically?" he asked.  "Cereandel once said most human music
gives elves headaches."

   "Cereandel would not admit humans stronger than elves had you not bested
father in arm wrestling at our wedding feast," said Hyandai curtly.  Her
brother was a touchy subject and one Harlen loved to poke her with.  "I
have watched him dance a jig to human fifers just as enthusiastically as to
elven harps."

   The image of her brother, a blade dancer, one of the elves most elite of
warriors, dancing a peasant's jig to a fife rather amused Harlen and he
smiled.

   As it turned out, the sidestepping conversation the two just finished
had thoroughly placated his swollen excitement and he was comfortable once
again, though the tights still felt tight.

   Harlen was startled to see three elves standing on the side, each
dressed in gowns very similar to Hyandai's own, but in green and gold.  Men
near these three women seemed obviously discomfitted.  Where Hyandai had
somewhat softened features, almost human in proportions, these three were
all elven, classically so.  Their faces were sharp, with slim noses and
nearly pointed chins.  It made them look somewhat like birds of prey,
lovely and dangerous at the same time.  The inward and downward angles were
even translated to their eyes, which sloped down almost half as far as they
were wide, and elves had large eyes.

   All three were silver eyed, as was most common among their kind.  For
elves to have golden eyes, like Hyandai, was considered most unappealing in
elves, by elves.

   The fact that Hyandai's eyes were currently emerald green was commented
upon by the people in the crowd, as it marked her as having been recently
very excited and sated.

   They would have been scandalized to know Hyandai often went months with
green eyes, so much so that golden was the rarer color for her.

   Their own eyes would turn blue in such a situation, yet their eyes were
silver.

   "Who are they?" asked Harlen, indicating the knot of elven women with
his drink, trying to not stare.

   Hyandai gave them an edgewise glance.  "I know only one," she said. 
"They wear the royal colors, though, so I would think representatives of
the Windirii Crown."

   "Wives of the ambassador?" asked Harlen.

   "Three wives is exceedingly rare, beloved," said Hyandai.  "Two is rare
enough to merit comment, three would be a scandal, even among elves."

   As they spoke, the three separated, almost as if engaging in a scouting
mission.  One moved left, one right, and the last moved ahead, into the
crowd.  The looks on their faces, though smiling, were earnest.

   People of the Windy Isles were used to elves behaving in unusual ways,
to human eyes, and paid no heed, beyond that given any attractive woman
moving through a crowd.

   Wendy sidled up to the two of them.  "Lords save me," she said.  "Word
has gotten around that I'm some sort of dragon slayer or something."

   Harlen barked a laugh, then smiled at the glare Wendy gave him. 
"Dragons are a myth," he said.

   Hyandai looked at him with wide eyes.  "You, married to an elven woman,
can say that?" she asked.  "You thought us a myth until you ran into me in
the forest."

   He blinked.  "Well, aren't they?"

   It was Wendy's turn to laugh.  "Myths don't burn down villages,
husband," she said.  "In northern Ghant, about three years gone, a dragon
came down out of the Sawtooth Mountains.  It took three regiments of the
Vilderean army to force him out and back into the mountains."

   Harlen blinked again.  "Oh," he said, then his eyes focused.  "Ran into
you?" he asked, looking at Hyandai with a grin.

   Hyandai shrugged.  "We might discuss all night who ran into whom, and
still never know the truth of it," she said, a look of innocence on her
face.

   At that point, a huge man, wearing some sort of silken sash, approached
and Harlen found himself very much alone with the ambassador of Murder
Isle. He rather found the name disturbing, but the man was interesting to
speak with.  Murder Isle, he discovered, was an independent city state in
the Crystern Isles, the only such actual nation.  As such, it saw itself as
the rightful inheritor of the isles themselves and those three factions,
the Coghlanders, the Theocracy, and the Rojando, as interlopers on their
lands.

   Ambassador Talask was a short man, and very round.  Even his face seemed
to be painted upon a sphere that sat atop another that was he torso. 
Despite his fat, he seemed a fine fellow.

   Harlen rather liked the Coghlandish and Rojando ambassadors, and found
himself wanting to like the Islander ambassador, as well.  He now saw one
of the many traps of politics and diplomacy.  The enemy of your friend is
what to you?

   He did see the man's point, though.  There were people already living on
the islands, and had been since it had been a Ghantian penal colony. 
Before that there were native folks, though they never lived on more than a
handful of islands.  They were not simply desert isles to be fought over
like a chess board.

   "Alas, were it not for the Coghlanders and Rojando, we would be under
Theocracy rule," said the man.  "Though I don't think Rojando rule would
serve us much better, in truth."

   Harlen thought of telling him to speak to Mairead, who, representing at
least some of the Coghlanders, might be the least of three evils.  "How is
it you've not fallen to one of the three?"

   "We maintain strict neutrality in Tressen, Lord Harlen," said the
governor.  "All ships are welcome to dock and trade in the city."

   "Even the theocracy?" asked Harlen, rather stunned.

   "Even the theocracy," said Ambassador Talask.  "Did we not, they would
likely descend upon us and raze it to the ground and put many to the
spear."

   Harlen shook his head in amazement.  "I never would have thought the
Theocracy would stand even for what you do," he said.  "I hear they are
ruthless."

   "We are not truly worth their trouble," said Talask.  "The blue robes
would make an open attack very pricy for them, and they don't wish to pay
such a price to take a place they can dock at freely."

   Harlen blinked after him.  "Blue robes?" he asked.  "A sect of the
church?"

   "No, no," said Talask.  "Wizards.  The blue robes are a organized group
of wizards who have their home in Tressen."

   Harlen thought of wizards, organized into a fighting unit, like a
battalion of archers.  The thought of such men, in numbers, working
together, rather made him queasy.  "I can see why it would give them
pause," he said.

   "Indeed," said Talask.  "We're not even sure we trust the blue robes,
but don't dare weaken them even a whit."

   A small man, who had been standing nearby, listening, obviously, spoke
up.  "Did you know there is an animal on the Minean Isles called a whit? 
It is the source of that saying, many believe."

   Harlen and Talask both regarded the small man.  He had the look of a
scribe about him, or so Harlen thought.  He was balding with a fringe of
black hair around the sides and back of his skull.  "I am Ambassador
Lurmas, of the Grand Duchy of Westenford," he said.

   "Ah!" exclaimed Talask.  "I remember you arriving, was it a month ago?"
he asked.

   "Yes," said Lurmas.  "The Grand Duke, Geldan, sent me to ensure that
Morrovale was not securing any advantages too great."

   Harlen blinked at the little man.  He had heard of the Duchy of
Westenford, but the Grand Duchy?

   Harlen bowed nonetheless.  "It is fine to meet another Realmsman, then,
Lord Lurmas," Harlen said.

   The little man bowed in return.  "And to you, Lord Harlen," he replied.
"Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Morrovale had yet to even
dispatch their embassy after I arrived."

   "Your arrival was rather a shock to us all," said Talask.  "We hardly
knew what was happening when you were amid us."

   "That explains the less than opulent welcome I received," he said,
looking at the ornate ballroom and the hundreds of guests.

   Harlen wondered if it explained it, in truth, but let it go for now.  No
point in starting a war in the Western Realms way off here in the Windy
Isles.  From what he recalled, Westenford was a Duchy in title only, and
little larger than one of the two Baronies that were part of the Duchy of
Morrovale.  And now it was a Grand Duchy?  He would have Wennan look into
this and was somewhat annoyed to have not been told already.

   First night as an ambassador, and I'm annoyed at the staff for not
knowing something, thought Harlen to himself.

   He looked about during a lull in the conversation to see Hyandai and
Wendy were separated as well, Hyandai speaking to one of the three elven
women who had arrived late, and Wendy being accosted by three men wearing
golden braids on their shoulders, military men, from the look of them.

   He thought to rescue Wendy, when two of the overdressed and overpadded
Vilderean merchants approached him with obvious intent.  He decided she was
on her own for now.  She could always fight her way clear, if need be.

   "Lord Harlen. . ." the first began, his voice booming with practiced
joviality.

   - -

   "Why are there three of the Sisters of Secrets here?" asked Hyandai in
an accusing tone, eyeing the pendant on the elven woman's belt, a silver
cluster of leaves that formed a circle.

   The woman almost did not deign to look at her, but spoke.  "We do not
desire to answer questions from the uninitiated," she replied in a cool
tone.

   "Jhentiel, I know you, we grew up together in Embalis," hissed Hyandai.
"Do not act as if we are strangers."

   Jhentiel turned an eye upon Hyandai, the silver glittering with
something like distaste.  "You knew me," she said.  "And you were my best
of friends, Hyandai of clan Yavanaur, but you ended that when you declined
the Laure."

   "I could not accept the Laure and you know it," said Hyandai, her voice
tinging with anger.

   Jhentiel's eyes darkened, ever so slightly, to the color of wrought
iron. "You did not even try, Hyandai, you just turned your back on your
people and cleaved to these - humans." She gazed over the milling crowd. 
"Do not mistake me, I do not dislike men as did the traitors, may their
souls rot, but I would not be one of your `warwolves', as you call
yourselves." She shuddered and paused before she could go on.  "Our numbers
are dwindling, as they have for millenia, but you seek to weaken our blood
further by intermingling with humans.  You've born a child, or so I hear,
and blessed is that, even if he is a half human."

   Hyandai's eyes flashed to golden, in an instant and Jhentiel stepped
back half a step, noting the massive and sudden shift in color.  "I am
gratified you acknowledge my child at all!" hissed the auburn-haired elf.
"Had I left it to an elven lad to give me a child, I would still be seeking
my first lover."

   "Hyandai, you blame, still, your golden eyes for too many things," said
Jhentiel.  "It was your distance that drove away the young men, the way you
held to yourself, not you eyes of gold or your soft features.  You simply
dislike being an elf, and you should admit that, you will be happier."

   Hyandai seethed under the calm speech of the elven woman.  "This is all
beside the point," she finally said.  "Why are you here?"

   "And I said the Sisters are not beholden to answer the questions of one
who betrayed them and her own blood," said Jhentiel.

   "There is a problem, beloved?" asked a voice from behind Hyandai in
slightly accented elven.  She felt a strong, cool hand on the bare small of
her back and an immense sense of joy at the presence of Wendy.

   Wendy fastened her deep sapphire eyes upon Jhentiel.  "It sounded almost
like this woman here said you were some sort of traitor, though my elven is
not quite up to understanding the subtleties." The smile Wendy donned at
that point was alarmingly placid.  "I know one of your sister elves would
never speak to you like that, though, so obviously I am mistaken.  None
would call the one who found such help to defend an entire town of elven
folk a traitor to her people, would they?"

   Hyandai's human wife's mastery of elven was quite obviously good enough
to have understood every word spoken.  What Jhentiel did not know was how
good her hearing might be.

   She looked away, breaking contact with those damning blue eyes, to gaze
toward her companions who stood some ten paces away, looking worriedly at
her.

   "Of course not, Lady Wendy," said Jhentiel, giving the human a slight
curtsy.  "Hyandai and I are old friends, and we sometimes speak too frankly
to one another.  My pardon, but my companions are ready to leave.  Good
evening."

   Wendy watched them go.  "Bitch," she hissed between clenched teeth.  "Is
there an elven word for that?"

   Hyandai thought for a moment.  "There is, though it does not translate
well," she said, though her voice sounded distant.

   "I expect a full explanation of this later," said Wendy.  "I need to
know if that woman will walk away from our next meeting or need to be
carried."

   "Do not toy with her," said Hyandai.  "The sisters are not to be trifled
with."

   "Neither am I," said Wendy.  "Nor are mine."

   Hyandai kissed her cheek.  "My heroine," she said, smiling.  "I could
not have better defenders than you and Harlen."

   Wendy blushed and gave Hyandai a smile that made her dimpled cheeks
rise. "I just don't like seeing you upset, beloved," she said.  "It seems
whenever other elves are about, you're upset."

   The two moved off the main walkway around the dance floor and Hyandai
said, "It is mostly my own doing, Wendy.  I have made some choices that are
very unpopular with other elves, above and beyond choosing human spouses.
This goes back many years, and has nothing to do with you and Harlen."

   "If it has to do with you, I doubt Harlen will see it that way, nor will
I," said Wendy, glowering at the trio of elven women as they ducked out the
main entry.

   "We will speak further of it later," said Hyandai.

   Wendy nodded and saw the men with the golden braids on their shoulders
approaching again.  "More military talk, I fear," said Wendy, a look of
dread in her eyes.  "They think I am some sort of captain in the Morrovale
army, for some reason."

   "Why would they think that?" asked Hyandai.

   Wendy gave her a weak smile.  "Perhaps I said something like `I'm a
captain in the army of Morrovale," she said.  "It sort of just slipped
out."

   Hyandai gave her a shocked look and stepped back a pace.  "I'll not
rescue you from your own pit, then," she said.  "Enjoy your talk of armies
and battles." She disappeared behind a small knot of Windy Islander
merchants who seemed intent to wait until Harlen had finished speaking to
the Vilderean merchants to make their introductions to him.

   - -

   Renna closed the door gently on the slumbering Templar.  She felt naked
without her armor and sword at her side, only a long dagger decorated her
slender belt of silver links.  "Only three times, and you must sleep?" she
asked in a whisper, grinning.  "Perhaps I should not have drunk so deeply
of you that last time."

   She could barely silence the little giggle that tried to escape her. 
All men fed her needs, though some willingly, some less so.  She regarded
herself in a mirror at the end of the hall.  The innkeeper was not wealthy
enough for a mirror in each room, so one large one had to make do for all
tenants.  Her hands moved over her dress, Islander cut, with a low cleavage
and knee-length hem.  She liked the feel of the cotton against her flesh,
it was soft without sliding so sinfully as silk did.

   Renna often forgot herself in silks, growing so excited by the touch of
a man by the silk alone that she barely remembered to take a bit of him as
payment for the pleasures she provided.  The cotton felt good, but not
quite that good.

   Rikken was full of heretics and in this place she could feed to her
heart's content, only doing service to the One.  She smiled as she gazed
down the stairs at the crowded common room, then let her hair fall over her
shoulders.  By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked
ten years younger, barely a girl of sixteen, with rich chestnut hair.  She
had seen the girl earlier, who she wore now.  A pretty girl, and very
innocent looking.  These heretics would not be able to resist the draw of
this pretty oval face and the unknowing, but eager expression.

   True to her suspicions, she was soon regarding a young man, obviously
fresh from the farmsteads outside the city, and scrubbed pink.  No doubt
scrubbed by his own mother's hand just prior to his journey into the big
city.

   She noted his tapping another young man and they both followed with
their eyes as she crossed the common room, giving them a last glance before
going out the door.  Before taking ten steps outside, they were on the
street behind her.

   Renna feigned a bit of fear and ducked into the nearest alley, shuffling
her feet but not moving terribly fast.  They followed, murmuring to one
another, and picking up their pace.

   She was not sure if these young men would be aggressive, but hoped to
make them so.  Stopping with a suddenness, like she finally realized her
error, she turned.  "Please don't hurt me, I'll do whatever you want," she
said, in a frightened flutter.

   The two needed little more goading than that.  The first young man, a
good-looking lad walked up to her and touched her bare arm.  "We won't hurt
you," he said.  "I think you'll enjoy it as much as we do."

   The other young man chuckled deeply, a sinister sound that seemed very
out of place opposite the innocent farmboy face.

   Renna forced herself to swallow, as if in fear, and put what she hoped
was a forced smile into place, though it might seem predatory to the wary.
These lads had some alcohol in them, though, and they were far from wary.
"Just don't hurt me, I have no money, but I'll do what you want."

   He pulled her toward him, though not forcefully.  The young heretic was
not confident of what he was doing and she decided to make him at least
earn the prize he was about to claim.

   With a quick tug, she tried to pull away, managing to dislodge one of
his hands, the other tightened on her upper arm and she started bolting for
the alley mouth.  The other youngling, the one who had chuckled, did not
seem as hesitant, and slapped her, backhanded.

   This wrenched her remaining arm loose from the first boy and she slumped
to the wall.  "Please, I'm sorry, I won't try to run," she said.  She
tasted the blood in her mouth from the quick backhanding.  Farmboy or no,
he had a strong arm and she found herself not needing to feign timidity.

   With shaking hands, she unbuttoned her blouse.  "Let me do it," she
said, "please." The forceful one had been reaching for her buttons but
pulled back to watch her strip by the dim light that managed to penetrate
this far into the alley.

   Even before the blouse was off her, she felt four hands groping her
breasts and shoulders, their calloused palms scratching and gripping too
forcefully, with the eagerness of both inexperience and some measure of
fear at what they were doing.  These men were not experienced rapists.

   Renna stood, eyes downcast and untied her skirt, letting it fall to the
ground, wearing now only a thin cotton slip.  Both they young men's eyes
were drawn to her bare legs now and she turned her eyes up slowly and
hesitantly.  The eagerness in their eyes disgusted her, even as she took
pleasure from knowing she was causing it to be there.  The rough hands were
on her again, pushing down the loose slip and groping her butt and pubic
mound.  Fingers pushed into her front and back and she whimpered as if
pained.

   All she could hear now was the excited, rapid breathing of the two young
men and their frantic groping at thier own clothes.  She closed her eyes,
forcing herself to not take an active role in the act.  She was supposed to
be being raped, after all.

   She felt herself lifted and laid upon some rough, burlap-covered
surface, some crates, maybe.  Decent of them, to at least spread the burlap
for her.

   If they were not experienced, they seemed a bit creative.  With some
scuffling and moving of her about like a sack of potatoes, she was put into
a position on her side where both had access to her.  The gentler lad
pushed his prick into her cunt, and she wondered if he noted how moist and
slick it was, considering she was supposed to be frightened, not aroused.
He seemed to take little notice, ramming himself to the hilt in her and
grunting with pleasure.  The other lad, the one with more spine and less
reserve, spit on his prick, a long strand of slick bile, then shoved it,
with equal force, into her ass.

   Renna did not have to fake a pained expression, the lad was well endowed
and was holding little back.  She would bleed a bit from this rough use to
her backside.  While the two thrust into her, grunting and grinning at one
another, she made pitiable whimpering noises, but began to mix begrudged
moans among them.  The two were quite enthusiastic, if lacking in style or
skill.

   She slowly gave herself over to enjoying the lusty penetration of the
men and even encouraging them with her hands.  She put one on each man's
backside, pulling them into her with more force.  The crueler one chuckled
again, bending to bite her neck, thinking he was in control of this event.

   Renna began to focus her mind, reaching out and touching the spirits of
these two young men even as they took pleasure in her body.  The hesitant
lad, she would spare, but would still punish for his trespass.  The cruel
one, the one so casually using her anus for his pleasure, and who had
slapped her down, he would feed her well.

   The boy in her cunt came, spending himself.  It was beyond his
imaginings though, and pleasure and pain tore through him as he kept
climaxing and spending.  She wondered if the other man would note the lad's
oddly overwhelming orgasm, but he seemed oblivious, concentrating on the
pleasure he felt.  All for the better.

   He began to grunt more earnestly and she coaxed him while still the
first boy cried out in the odd mix of sensations.  She even screamed in
pleasure, not as he thought, her pleasure was originating more deeply, from
the place they fed.

   The young man in her backside spent and she cried out again.

   The first youth collapsed atop her, panting shallowly and covered in a
sheen of cool sweat.  He was unconscious, and would stay that way for some
days.  He would awaken to find himself with some gray hairs and a fear of
taking a woman that he may or may not be able to explain.  She merely
sipped a tithe of him, maybe seven years of his young life.

   The other man, the cruel one, with the heart blacker than the first, she
had no such restraint for.  As she felt his semen fill her bowels, she
pulled with her mind, touching the place in him where his life pulsed.  He
did not stop.

   It did not take long for his grunts of ecstasy to turn into whimpers of
agony and fear.  He could not force his body to stop thrusting into her,
nor prevent himself from continually spending.  She owned him now, and
would consume him.

   Not that she could truly use so much energy, far from it.  She had to
bleed it off, letting it flow into the air about her in a shower of arcing
lightning.  His eyes widened as he saw this, even in his pain.  "One save
me!" he cried out between moans.

   "Too late for that, heretic," she hissed.  She could see his skin
growing tight over his bones and his eyes sinking into his skull, like a
man starving in mere seconds.  He gasped a hoarse, dry rattle, then
collapsed, falling back and pulling from her.  She held the energy he had
just fed into her and felt it course through her body, curling up and
caressing herself with pleasure.

   Great was her joy at feeling his soul tear free of his body even as the
last of his seed went into her and she cooed, like a child with a new
kitten.

   Slowly, she rose, hesitantly, humming quietly to herself.  She used her
mind to lift the soundly sleeping youth onto the rough boxes they had
thrown her upon and let him lie.  The corpse, a dried, wasted husk, she
kicked aside, ribs crumbling like plaster and the skull tumbling from a
withered neck.

   She dressed, still humming, buttoning her blouse and looking toward the
street.  If it would not be an utter waste of livestock, she would feed
more this night, in this generous larder of heretics.  However, she could
consume her fill again, when she was ready.

   Her own appearance, tall and dark and regal, was back in place before
she strode from the alley, smiling at those around her who were stumbling
out of the inn and smiling at her and gauging her with appraising eyes.

   Renna toyed with the idea of just bedding a man or two, there were some
handsome men among the crowd.  The very idea of letting a heretic take her
and not charging a fee for it made her shudder.  She had to give herself a
stiff reminder that she was among the forsaken folk, and not to enjoy her
part in exacting the One's vengeance too much.

   That was the twist of it, was it not?  Should it not be a joy enacting
the will of the One?  As one, doubly chosen by the One, could she not do
nearly any act, and it be, by his Grand Design, enforcing his will?

   Still, she thought, much still needs doing, and I must rest some time,
despite the deep draft I drank this night.

   She rebuffed a man attempting to engage her in talk at the bar as she
sipped a glass of wine before returning to her room, though again the
temptation was there to take up the whim with him.  Slipping into bed
beside Pharen, still sleeping soundly from the very shallow sip she had
taken even from him.

   Perhaps I will stop drinking from Pharen, for now at least, while among
such a rich source of more, she thought.

   - -

   It seemed interminable.

   From one dignitary to another, Harlen felt as if he were being bounced
around the room.  In truth, he stayed stationary while others moved away
and approached.  Had he yet spoken to everyone here?  He felt sure that he
had spoken to this man before him, and embassy from Shield Island, and
therefore a puppet of Costa Roja, if the rumors be true.

   Hyandai and Wendy were both equally being spoken to, though they, at
least, gained the respite of the dance floor.  Almost any man present would
be eager to dance with an elven maiden, if they danced at all, and Hyandai
found her hand passed from one to another as they kept her on the floor for
long stretches, until the Orchestra took a pause.

   Wendy, like himself, found a ever-moving conversation, equally divided
among men of a military bearing and socialites, who sought to discover
exactly who she was, in the scheme of things.  Some of the conversations
seemed to hold her interest, others she seemed forced to endure, like an
odious chore in the middens.

   Harlen looked up from the Shield Islander, who had been born in Costa
Roja, and spoke with the distinct Rojando accent, but denied any connection
between his lands and the Costa, and scanned for Hyandai.  Wendy he could
see across the room, cornered by three Windy Islander rangers wearing
officer sashes.

   Hyandai, however, was not to be seen.  This worried him until he crossed
gazes with the tiny Niliwander ambassador, who pointed at the bank of wide
double doors that let out onto the veranda.  The ambassador walked over and
said, "She is well, I saw her speaking with a young man a few minutes ago."

   A moment's thought went into pursuing her into the less crowded air
outside when the Vilderean merchant representatives approached again.  No
doubt they sought to clear up some minor point they had thought of while
scheming with their heads together.

   He turned to feign conversation with the Niliwander, but he was gone.

   - -

   "I am amazed at how huge this party is," said Hyandai to the young man,
who had said he was Kristoff, a visiting nobleman from the Southern Realms.
His father was a baron or some such, and he was seeing the world prior to
entering service to the king's armies.

   "Which king?" asked Hyandai, blinking.

   Kristoff stared blankly at her.  "The only true king, milady Hyandai,"
he said.  "Ludwig."

   "Ah," said Hyandai, nodding and smiling.  "I see."

   She pointedly avoided pointing out that, currently, two men claimed the
crown of the Southern Realms.  Ludwig and Gerhard, and both had, almost
exactly, the same right to claim the kingship.

   The resulting civil unrest caused by this had yet to flash over to open
warfare, as both sides continued to negotiate.  However, it was obvious
neither would abdicate to the other, despite promises of high office and
privileges being given to the one who flinched first.

   It may not yet be open warfare, but both sides were girding for it, and
there had probably been enough deaths by creeping shadows and from hidden
knives than in many wars, especially among the nobles.

   Kristoff seemed slightly out of sorts about her question, as if his
allegiance had an obvious and deserving party.  However, she was spared the
necessity of trying to smooth over this by the appearance beside the tall,
blond Southron, of a strikingly handsome man, wearing the tunic of the
rangers.

   "Milady Hyandai, I apologize for not seeking you out earlier, but I had
pressing duty," he said, bowing low, elven fashion, with one leg forward
and pressing his upper body to that leg.  She echoed the bow, smiling.

   "As I knew not who would be here, I cannot be offended," she said.

   "Everyone knows it is the honor and right of the guests of highest place
to be the most fashionably late," he retorted, smiling.  "I have other
reasons to wish to meet with you, though, milady, I am Tanverus Drusus."

   Hyandai stared for a long moment, her mouth open slightly.  All
expression had drained from her features.  "You were so young," she said,
reaching out a hand to touch fingertips to the stubble on his chin.  "Only
a small child."

   Drusus grinned at her.  "Even you have grown in those years, lady," he
said.  "You looked to be a girl of twelve then, only smaller."

   She returned the grin.  "You look like the drawings Emogen showed me of
Verus," said Hyandai.  "When he was first made an officer."

   Her gaze lowered to the silver baldric across his chest, upon which a
ceremonial saber hung.  She giggled, almost like a younger girl.  "As you
are, I see, as well."

   The longer she looked at him, the more he looked like the man she had
known twenty years before.  The warrior and hero of the Windy Isles,
Tanverus Crusus.  Known to most as simply Verus.  He had, in less than ten
days, put an end to a war that had raged for years, and given the Windy
Isles its peace for the first of long years.

   That was before the Ghantian Wars, but still, it had been a respite.

   "Grandmother would be offended if you did not visit at some point, while
you are on the Isles," he said, in mock tones of chiding.

   Hyandai felt a rush of emotion toward the young man, misplaced, perhaps,
in that her feelings were for Verus himself.  However, in her mind, for a
moment, he was Verus and she embraced him fiercely, tears running down her
cheeks.  During a time when a young woman needed someone beside her, Verus
had been there, and her own parent could not have been.

   Her mother died in those months, and her father made captive by the
Abians.  Verus had been a kind, gentle hand in those trying times and she
had latched onto the strength in the hands of a huge and invulnerable
human, at least in her view.

   She pulled back, sniffing.  "I apologize," she said.

   The young man smiled.  "We miss him, also, milady," he said, stifling a
glitter in his eyes and donning a bittersweet smile.

   Hyandai craned her neck back to look upon the man's face.  Elves,
whether by desire or design, saw people differently from humans.  Their own
long lives and seeming everlasting blush of health made them see humans
with a viewpoint not like the eyes of men.  She had looked upon Verus, a
man of many years, those twenty years before, and seen the man as he had
been in the prime of his days, as this lad looked now, as Harlen and Wendy
would forever look to her.

   It was something difficult to explain to her spouses, who sometimes
fretted that they would grow old long before her.  She smiled and assured
them, as best she could, that she would still love them, that it would not
fade, even a little, as their bodies aged.

   So, by the elven eyes of Hyandai, Verus had looked as this young man
looked, and the two were nearly the same, like brothers.

   Shaking her head, she pulled back, "You look just like he did," she
said. "Now that I see you clearly."

   Drusus blinked.  "Surely he was old when you first met him," he said.

   "Still, he and you share a visage," she said, then smiled wryly.  "Not
an unappealing one, mind," she hastily added.

   A light blush rose to the lad's cheeks.  "We boys, the grandsons, had
hoped you would stay to womanhood," he said.  "We often competed, races and
wrestling, to think we would claim the right of your affections when we
were of age.  You were beauty personified to us lads.  You and the lady
Emogen, that is."

   It was Hyandai's turn to blush.  "I never knew it," she said.  "You lads
hid it well."

   "We resented you, too," he said, the smile turning bittersweet again. 
"We knew of all the hours that you spent hearing grandfather speak, telling
all his stories for you to scribe.  We envied you those hours, though we
knew, deep down, that it was necessary."

   Hyandai blinked at him.  "You envied me?" she asked, then shook her
head, sending her plaited hair waving.  "I envied that you got the true
comfort from him, the hugs and the kisses.  You were his blood, and it was
obvious, to me, the differences."

   "A fine lot we were, no?" asked Drusus.  "Both envying the other and not
simply enjoying what we did have."

   "We did that, as well, at least I did," said Hyandai.  "I was asked by
elves if I ever felt my days wasted penning the book of his lore, but I
said it was maybe the most important thing I will ever write."

   A long pause followed.  The crowds on the veranda had gone back inside,
leaving only a few stragglers.  The music flowed out through the open
doors, and dancing had commenced again on the wide marble floor.

   "So you thought I was pretty?" asked Hyandai, giving Drusus a shy smile.
"Why was this not told to me?"

   The young officer shrugged.  "We felt it would be like telling the sky
it was blue," he said, "we feared you would laugh at us as fools."

   Hyandai's face took on a look of assumed wisdom.  "Always tell a woman
you think she is pretty, no matter how pretty she may think she is," she
said.  "Trust me when I say what you see and what she thinks may well not
be in agreement."

   "Well, in my defense, I was only eight," said Drusus, grinning
mischievously.  "I didn't even like most girls, though you were an
exception."

   "You did have one cousin, Valian, who was older," said Hyandai with
newfound consideration marking her features.  "What did he think?"

   Drusus gave her another embarrassed grin.  "He agrees, right down the
line," he said.  "Emogen caught him more than once trying to sneak peeks of
you bathing."

   Hyandai's eyes widened.  "I never knew!" she said excitedly.  She had
found the tall, muscular lad handsome, if somewhat intimidating in his
size. Like her husband now.  "He tried to spy on my baths?"

   "Tried?" asked Drusus with a playful shrug.  "He succeeded on at least
two occasions, so far as I know.

   She stared off into space, wondering if she could recall any sign of
Valian's peeping, but came up blank.

   "The things one learns of after all the years," mused Hyandai.  "Things
that would have served better to have been known long before." She walked a
few paces down the wide stairs toward the huge gardens, lit by intermittent
torches.  The stairs were marble, like the rest of the palace, and so deep
as to require two steps for her to descend one.

   Drusus followed her slowly.  "Would you have stayed?" he asked, "For
Valian or another?"

   "Perhaps," said Hyandai.  "The distance you lads held yourself at simply
confirmed what elves had said all my days, that I was plain to look upon,
and odd."

   "You?  Plain?" his voice rose with incredulity.  "You were, and still
are, the prettiest elf I've met."

   She looked at the officer's baldric crossing his chest, his saber with a
silver hilt hanging from it.  He had lived in the capital of Windir for two
years, training to earn that sash.  He had seen many elves, hundreds. 
Perhaps humans, she decided, found some features of all elves appealing,
but she seemed to have somewhat more human features, less sharp and
angular. The reactions of men in Morrovale confirmed that they, in truth,
found her pretty.  Heads turned and men murmured appreciatively when she
passed.  She found it flattering and her pride in herself soared at those
times.

   However, when other elves were about, she found herself wilting in on
herself, as always.  This night was no exception.  Jhentiel was pretty, far
prettier than she, an order of magnitude.  She sometimes wondered if elves
thought she had taken a human mate only because no elf would have her.

   It could be so, she supposed.  Not that she was ever displeased with her
spouses.  Wendy was lovely, spirited, smart, and fearless, things that made
her a marvel, and a wondrous lover, eager and talented both.  Harlen was
kind, generous, tactful, and gentle with her and everyone, from what she
had seen, and his skilled hands, so adept at craftwork, were no less
talented in private.

   Unthinking, she had wandered to a fountain and found herself gazing at
her reflection in the rippling waters.  She saw an elf with rounded
features gazing back with golden eyes.  Entirely the wrong coloration
there, she thought.  Those were the source of most of the askance looks
from other elves, those eyes, whether golden or green.  Many saw her eyes
at green to be an oddity, as to who would impassion a girl with golden
eyes?

   She had seen a elf lad once with eyes of gold.  He had come to Embalis
with a trader, his father.  Initially, she had been excited at the sight of
him, thinking them kindred spirits.  However, when the lad had looked at
her, she had seen the same expression of slight distaste mar his features
as she saw on other elven youths.  Worse, she had felt the revulsion that
others felt at the sight of golden eyes up close.  It shamed her to know
that their prejudice against her had infected her so deeply.

   It had taken her father two days to find her, perched on a lookout's
platform near the village, crying steadily.  He had comforted her, as best
he could, assuring her that love would find her, one way or another.  Had
he not been right, in his own fashion?

   Hyandai stopped this reverie, knowing it was not wise to prod old
wounds, and turned to Drusus, who stood quietly at arm's length.  "You
delve deeply into your mind," he said plainly, not accusing and not asking
what distracted her thoughts.

   She walked up to Drusus, closing the arm's length to inches and reached
up with a tiny hand, cupping the back of his broad neck with long, cool
fingers.  With the gentlest of tugs, she pulled him down and kissed him. 
It was a long, slow, lover's kiss and she pulled back, to leave the young
officer gaping and wide eyed, his face deep crimson with shock.  "You have
something, now, to lord over Valian," she said in a gently teasing tone.

   It was a long moment before Drusus spoke.  "I hope that your spouses are
not the jealous sorts," he murmured.

   "Not at all," said Hyandai donning a sly grin.  "Wendy might insist upon
kissing you, herself, but Harlen probably would not be interested." She
turned toward the mansion and began walking and Drusus was forced to jog to
catch up to her.

   "Why did you do that?" he asked.  His tone was not one of accusation,
but of intense curiosity.

   "Because it feels good to be beautiful again," she said, simply, holding
out her arm and he formed a loop for her with his own.  "Sometimes a woman
needs a kind reminder."

   "People will talk, Lord Harlen will hear of it," said Drusus, a tinge of
nervousness entering his voice.

   "I shall deal with him, fear not," she said, patting his hand in a
soothing manner.  "I daresay he will think nothing of it."

   - - "Ten Templars?" asked Wendy, her eyes widening.  "They say that?"

   The young officer nodded, his own eyes wide with amazement.

   "No, no, no, there were but three," said Wendy, "thought it is true that
I was unarmed and naked."

   The three officers forming a cordon between her and the open floor all
murmured in impressed tones, each voicing some question or another.  Of
them, only one had even seen a Templar in combat, and he described the
frightening skill of the man all too well.  One of the officers, the
youngest, from the look of him, a man barely shaving, seemed most impressed
with the naked aspect, and she found that refreshingly naive and naughty.

   All three were rangers, first and foremost, though, and despite the
younger officer's age, he was a skilled warrior, as she could tell by his
motions and even how he stood still.  The older ones made Wendy think of
old, grizzled wolves, canny and dangerous.  The young officer was like a
wolf pup, just after his first winter.  A danger, to be sure, but still
playful and, in his own way, inexperienced in many things.

   However, before any of them could begin plying her with further
questions regarding the three Templars, the orchestra had taken its place
again and was starting another session of dances.

   Wendy grabbed the young one, who would be most eager to dance with her.
"Let's dance," she said, dragging him and pushing past the other two.  "I
love dancing."

   Free of the trio, and only the young, easily impressed, one in tow, she
pulled him to her and they danced.  He was a good dancer, light on his
feet, as most skilled swordsmen were.  "I'm amazed that one so pretty could
be such a fine warrior," he said.

   She noted the distinction these men drew between warriors and soldiers.
A warrior was a fighting individual, a soldier fought in an army.  The two
could be one person, but one could certainly have the skills of one without
the other.

   "In the streets of Vilders, being pretty just means you have to defend
yourself more often," she said, quietly.  "But I like being called pretty
far more than homely and safe."

   The young officer was not nearly as broadly built as Harlen, but what
there was of him was solid enough to please any woman's touch.  He had
strong arms and muscled shoulders.  Both, no doubt, honed by many hours
with a sword.

   Often, at moments where she held another man in dance, she thought of
what it would be like to be allowed to indulge her curiosities.  That
thought passed quickly though, and she was happy, as she should be, in her
mind, with how her life worked out.

   "I've heard only a true warrior can bring himself, or herself, to fight
when stripped naked," he said, still fascinated by the whole naked aspect.

   Wendy, still playing at being a bit of a trouble maker, pulled him tight
to her, smiling.  "They say that of a man," she said, "a woman fighting a
man has all the advantages when nude, especially his lack of
concentration."

   She could feel the young soldier stiffening against her, in more ways
than one, and smiled sweetly.  Wendy truly could get used to these tights
men seemed to wear in these parts, on their parts.  While it was true she
was not allowed to truly sample the goods, to see them, and even, maybe,
feel their ripeness on occasion, was not too objectionable, was it?

   The young soldier seemed embarrassed, blushing slightly as she made it
quite evident that she knew of his condition by pressing against just that
portion of his body for a moment, then pulling back slightly.  "I know you
carry a sword, but is a knife truly necessary?" she asked.

   The blush deepened, but he held his silence, she pressed to him again,
grinning and letting one of her hands on his shoulder tickle the nape of
his neck.  "My mistake, that hilt is far too thick for any knife," she
said. "A spare glow-rod, perhaps?"

   A glow-rod was an alchemical device, used by those seeking a reliable
light source and could not afford light stones.  Saying that he felt like
one was a bit of a overstatement, but not far from wrong, overall, and
Wendy knew flattery in this part of a man would carry far.

   The dance ended and he bowed gracefully.  Wendy observed the obvious
shape in his tights and bit her lip to keep from laughing.  He claimed
pressing need to speak to his companion officers and moved off the floor in
a rushed shuffle.

   "You'll drive men insane doing that to them," said Harlen from behind
her, finally escaped from the Vildereans again.  "Especially young,
impressionable ones.  They hear tales of diplomats' wives."

   "I'm only upholding long-held traditions," said Wendy taking Harlen's
offered arm and looking about the room.

   Harlen chuckled.  "Traditions weren't all that were long when that poor
lad walked off," he said.

   "Jealousy?" she asked, stroking his cheek.  "It's cute on you."

   Harlen flushed a little.  "Maybe a touch of it, I suppose," he said.  "I
thought Hyandai was the one who would be unable to resist flirting."

   "Like that Coghlandish giantess was not taking her feel of your worth,"
she said, still smiling prettily.  "I think we should not worry about
casual contact, else we will drive one another insane, no?"

   "Probably so," said Harlen, shrugging but still blushing.

   The party wore on, and guests thinned.  There was a certain level, Wendy
assured them both, at which they were free, themselves, to go.  Almost to
the moment she declared it time, they left.  It took almost half an hour to
actually make good their escape.  People kept accosting them at the last
moment with one conversational gambit or another until they finally cast
themselves into their carriage and trundled off, bouncing toward the
Morrovalian embassy.