Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Solitary Arrow by Mack the Knife

   Part Seven

   Harlen lead Hyandai out the door of his home and into the road again. 
She smiled, and was still curious as to what he was up to.  They walked
clear across town and a little ways out the other side.  People they passed
on the trek waved and smiled and greeted them, and they both returned the
greeting.  A couple of men stopped Harlen and made small talk, fellow
huntsmen of different areas.  Hyandai liked the look of both that she met
and found that it would not have been terribly unfortunate to have crossed
either of the others in the wood, either.  She smiled and kept that thought
to herself, though.

   As they approached a small, but well-kept home, Harlen had her stand
beside the door against the wall, like she was hiding.  She did not
understand, but did as she was bidden.  He knocked upon the door and a few
moments later it opened.  A elderly voice emerged.  "Oh!  My Harlen, back
from the claws of the wild!" It said.  It was a woman's voice.

   "Yes, gramma, I'm back, as always." He said embracing her just inside
the door.  Hyandai smiled, she had grand parents, as well, but they were
simply relatives of some age, not the apparently close bonds that Harlen
and his `gramma' had.  He stood back.  "Gramma, close your eyes, I've a
surprise for you!" He said, excitedly.

   His wizened gramma complied, as he often surprised her with treats from
the baker or confectioner in the village when he visited.  She squinted her
eyes shut and Harlen beckoned Hyandai to come stand before him, right
before his gramma.

   The old lady smiled.  "I think I smell a cinnamon roll!" She said,
giving a broad smile with only a few missing teeth.

   Harlen said.  "Nope, gramma, open your eyes now." Trying not to laugh.
Hyandai was staying silent as well, much as she wanted to giggle.

   Gramma opened her eyes and stood with her jaw hanging open for a long
moment, her eyes as large as silver marks, and just as shiny.  "Oh, my."
She said.  "Aren't you lovely?" She said to Hyandai.

   "Gramma, this is Hyandai." The hunter said.  "Hyandai, this is my
grandmother." He was positively beaming.

   The elf-maiden smiled at her and said.  "I am pleased to meet Harlen's
grand dame." She said, and bowed low, almost touching her chest to her
forward knee.  She stood back up.  "I have heard much of you and your good
influence on him."

   Inside was cool, and the small common room was filled with the collected
brick-a-brack of a long human life.  There were shelves everywhere with
little items.  Stones collected by Harlen, statuettes, small paintings of
people both dead and alive, and many small pressed flowers under sheet
glass.

   However, the centerpiece of the room was a shelf that contained a half
dozen items, items of rather mundane appearance, but were all of elven
manufacture.  Hyandai gasped when she saw them.  And moved to the shelf. 
"May I touch?" She asked, barely able to hold her hands back.

   "Your people made them, my dear." Said his grandmother.  "I would be
honored if you were to examine them.  They're not fragile."

   She picked up the first item.  A flute, carven of ornthal wood.  It was
engraved with many fine traceries and inlaid with silver.  When Hyandai
placed her lips to it a haunting sound filled the room, each note so pure
that one could almost touch it.  She played a short tune on it then
stopped. "It is wondrous.  How came you by a master minstrel's flute?"

   The old woman smiled mysteriously, and said.  "I was much prettier than
I am now in my younger days, lass.  Enough so to turn even a master
minstrel's head, if I took a notion."

   Both the women giggled, and Harlen coughed uncomfortably.  Gramma
smacked him on the shoulder.  "Make yourself useful boy, and split me some
wood, I'm running low, let us women speak without man-ears to hear us."

   Harlen made a totally fake sour face and skulked out the back door of
the room, then there was the sound of another door followed by the sound of
wood being split.

   "You run a tight camp, um?" Hyandai asked the unspoken question.

   "Call me Maggie, if you like, or gramma, either, if you prefer,
Hyandai." She said.

   "Well, you run a tight camp, Lady Maggie." Hyandai said, grinning.

   Maggie smiled.  "Oh, a lady am I?" She said, patting her hair gently
with one hand.

   The elf said.  "When an adult elf comes across a human who bests them in
years, we tend to want to show some respect." She nodded to Maggie.

   The elder lady said.  "Well, I wish it weren't so obvious, but, I would
wager I do best you in that count." She chuckled.

   She turned back to the shelf of elven artifacts, replacing the flute and
picking up a silver chalice.  "Do you know its purpose?" She asked gramma.

   "No, actually, it was found in the wilds many years back, and I bought
it from a traveling merchant." The lady said, looking at the chalice.  "It
was so beautiful, I knew right off it was wrought by elven hands."

   Hyandai said.  "Indeed, it was." She looked at it closely.  "It is a
wedding cup, from whence a couple would drink wine to seal their marriage."
She showed gramma the engraving.  "It was wrought some three thousand years
ago, ere the fall of the Syrisian Empire, see there?  Those are symbols
used by the Syrisians that the elves of the day found comely."

   "Oh, my.  So ancient." The lady said, smiling.

   Hyandai said.  "Very much so.  Some among my people would pay a dear
ransom for that chalice, if they knew of it." She sat it back on the
counter cautiously.  "Even the elves do not live long enough to show little
regard for the passing of three millennia.

   She then turned to the third item, and the largest.  It was a mask,
carven of some white stone, and inset with fine symbols of blue stone. 
Hyandai asked.  "Know you this item, then?" She pointed to the mask.

   "I can't say I know much about them save the flute and the night-orb, on
the right." Gramma said.  "The others I simply desired for their beauty."

   The elf-maid nodded.  "And they are worthy on that regard alone, in mine
eyes also." She looked at the mask.  "That is a soul mask." She said. 
"When an elf dies but needs something done after that death, they have such
crafted.  The wearer is said to channel the spirit of the deceased and can
thence finish their works." She did not touch it.  "I know not how they
work or if they do, but they are rare." She said.  "I will not touch it, as
touching one may be perilous to elvenkind, for you never know if the
mission it was crafted for was completed."

   She looked at the second item from the right, a small box, of intricate
design, and lovely display, wrought of silver with jet inset.  It depicted
men and elves trading goods with one another, and singing and dancing
together.  She laughed.  "I'm afraid not all you have is precious." She
said.  "This is a thing made for trade with humans, a jewelry box, crafted
for trade with the people of the Windy Isles.  Such things still are made
and traded to this day."

   Maggie did not look terribly disappointed.  "Then I am happy just to
know it, and still, it's lovely." She said.

   Lastly was a black stone set on a ring of bronze with three little legs,
that held it off the counter top.  The stone was deepest black and one
might think they could fall into it, or at least reach inside it.  Hyandai
said.  "It is a night-orb, she said.  And have you shared with your
grandson what it's purpose is?" She asked, giving gramma a sideways glance.

   The elder lady said.  "No, I haven't, since he's been a bachelor all his
days." She said.  "But perhaps I might should soon." She smiled at the
elven lady and winked.

   Hyandai picked up the orb and held it in her palm.  "They are still used
in my lands, and I am shocked to find outside as they are so terribly
useful and hard to craft now." The stone pulsed white a moment then settled
to a pulsing red.  Flashing with short quick alternations between flat
black and luminous red.  Her eyes widened quite a lot and she looked at
gramma.  "Oh, dear." She said, trying to keep her face happy.  "Perhaps I
should speak to Harlen." She said, forcing a sheepish grin onto her lovely
face.

   The grand dame said.  "I think perhaps you might." She said, and took
the stone from Hyandai's numb fingers.  She put it back onto the mantle and
said.  "That stone has predicted many an unexpected visitor, and has, I
deem, done so again?"

   "Y...yes, gramma, it probably has." The elf said.

   Gramma led her into the kitchen where she gave her water from the hand
pump, and Hyandai drank heartily of it, taking a second cup.  They both
looked out the window at Harlen's back, muscular and coated in sweat,
cutting wood.

   "There are worse fathers, you know?" Gramma said.

   Hyandai winced.  "Yes, I do." She said, and forced a smile when the
elder lady looked on her.

   "He's quite smitten by you, I deem." Said gramma.

   The elf asked.  "How can one be certain no longer than you saw the two
of us together?"

   "You're the first girl he's brought to my home." the lady said, beaming
at her.

   Hyandai giggled, though to her ears, it sounded strained.

   "And you're smitten as well." Said gramma.

   "Is it so obvious?" Asked the elf.

   The lady looked at her and smiled gently.  "I was a girl and I have
looked at men that way.  A few of them.  One gave me a flute."

   Hyandai giggled again, more naturally this time.  She did need to speak
to Harlen, but it was not the glad tidings that gramma seemed to hold in
her thoughts.

   "I will still my tongue on the night-orb matter, such news should be
yours to tell." She said, and walked to the door, and put her hand on the
pull-handle.  "He will do the honorable thing, if you wish it.  I know he
will."

   "I do as well, gramma." Said Hyandai, her thoughts half a world away.

   The older lady opened the door and said.  "Harlen, I believe your lady
friend is tiring of my old chatter, you two might be thinking of going
home. I've plans, anyway."

   Hyandai marveled at this, he had just done backbreaking work for an hour
and was sweating profusely, but he smiled widely and ran to his gramma to
give her a sweaty hug.  "Very well, then, gramma, I will see you next week
then, though I doubt I will have a gift quite so grand to present to you."

   Gramma judiciously avoided the scars on his back and hugged him, and
handed him his shirt.  "Your smiles are gift enough for an old woman,
grandson of mine." She said.

   Harlen took Hyandai's hand and walked around the house back to the small
front lawn.  She was quiet as they walked home.  Noticeably so.  "Is
something wrong, my love?" He asked.

   Tears started rolling from her eyes but she kept her face placid.  "We
will speak when we get to your home." She said, forcing back a sob.  She
wanted to fall into his arms and be comforted, but had to wait, such news
needed no hearers.

   They finally arrived at the house, and letting themselves in, Hyandai
called out.  "Trevir, are you here?"

   The boy appeared a moment later smiling.  And pleasantly surprised to
see her clad.  "Yes, Miss Hyandai?" He asked, almost bowing to her.

   Harlen blinked at that, but kept still.  She, however, said, "I need you
to go home for tonight, young Trevir." She said, bluntly.  "Harlen and I
have matters to discuss and wish privacy."

   The lad looked a little hurt, but nodded and left quietly.

   "What was that about?" The hunter asked as he closed the door quietly.

   Hyandai collapsed into tears, and fell onto his chest.  He put his arms
about her and held her, and murmured to her, but not knowing the problem,
could say little of meaning.

   She finally stopped bawling long enough to look at him and say.  "I bear
a child." She said, and dissolved into more crying.

   Harlen stopped a moment then his mind fully registered.  "No." He said.
"You...oh by the One." He said, and wept with her.  "It's not fair." He
said.

   She sniffed and looked at him.  "No, but it is so." She said.  "The
night-orb does not lie." She straightened up.  "Which leaves me with no
option but to go home, and soonest as maybe." She hardened her face.  "I
must have this, this THING torn from me, and I only know of elven arts that
can do thus safely."

   Harlen nodded.  "Or a Sorceress." he said.

   She turned and regarded him.  "A Sorceress, here?" She asked.

   "About a half day walk toward Norboro." He said.  "She keeps to herself,
but has been known to do favors for pay."

   Hyandai nodded.  "Sorceresses learned their arts from elves, they would
know the way." She said, some hope gleaming in her golden eyes.

   "So I've heard." Said Harlen.  "But they charge dearly."

   She looked down.  "I have little to give." She said.  "So, again, to
home my path leads me."

   "I have money." Harlen said.  "And would gladly give of it for your
benefit."

   She shook her head.  "The price may be high indeed." She said.

   "I have it, or I deem I do, lest the price be outrageous." He said, and
walked into his work room.  A few moments later he came out with a small
chest, about a foot wide, built with heavy bands of iron around wooden
boards.  He opened it, and within were silver and even gold coins.

   "How?" She said.  "You are a hunter."

   He smiled widely.  "I am a very good hunter." He said.  "I do not shy
always from more dangerous beasts, and the bounty for the more dangerous
ones can be high indeed." He closed the chest.

   "I see." She said, somewhat stunned.  Elves, in general, are not
creatures of avarice, but they do know when something of value is showed
them, and that was a lot of silver and not a small amount of gold.

   "We leave on the morrow, then." He said, nodding.

   She looked at him and cried again.  "What is it now, my love?" He asked,
almost perturbed.

   "I cannot lie with you this night, Harlen, save as we have already." She
said.  "I would not have your seed fall in a unholy womb, cursed with a
foul spawn." She said, vehemently.

   She still blamed herself, and hated herself for it, thought Harlen, but
he simply held her and said.  "I will wait till the end of my days, if you
ask it of me, Hyandai." He said.  "I only wish to be with you, not
necessarily in you." He smiled.  She giggled at that, as well.

   "It seems the world wishes us to never consummate our feelings, my
love." She sniffed.  "It keeps putting obstacles in our path, and thwarts
us every turn."

   "Perhaps it is so." Harlen said.  "But perhaps it is simply bad luck. 
Such does happen." He smiled and kissed her forehead.  "I will, as always,
be honored to hold you this night, and not expect anything of it but
perhaps a kiss on the morn."

   She grinned.  "A kiss you shall have." She said.  "And no few tonight,
as well." She added, and kissed him soundly, and with passion, and for a
long while.

   They laid down and slept later, after making their lips sore with
kisses. But it was wounds they wore happily.

   --

   The next morn, Hyandai awoke early, for her mind was unsettled.  The
doom she had felt was now roosting on her and she thought she could feel
the unholy broodling in her belly.  It burned her, or so she perceived. 
She looked down, and Harlen's absence was clear.  She looked back and he
was lying, facing away from her.  "No more do I need." She said, slipping
form the covers.  "A damned host for foul offspring.  I would seek to not
hold me, either."

   Harlen slept on, oblivious to his misdeed.  She padded down the stairs
and caught sight of young Trevir, stacking wood by the oven in the kitchen.
She padded in, startling him, and causing him to stammer.  "G...good
morrow, Miss Hyandai." He said.

   She brushed his arm in passing with her hair, and took some fruit from
the bowl.  She sat on the high stool, and looked at him.  "Do you find me
comely?" She asked.

   "Well...of course, Miss Hyandai." He said.  "You're the prettiest lady
I've ever seen."

   She nodded, smiling sweetly.  Trevir thought there was something not
quite right about her smile, but he could not place it.  "Were I not
Harlen's woman, Trevir, would you desire me?" She asked, sounding a bit too
innocent.

   He thought a moment.  "Well, yes, I suppose I would." He said.  "I mean,
I desire you now, but know I cannot even think of having you, but that does
not make the want go away."

   She looked at him.  "You are wise beyond your years, Trevir." She said.
"...knowing that you cannot have does not lessen the want."

   She smiled at him and leaned back on the stool.  As her back rested
against the cabinets behind her, she spread her thighs wide, opening her
flower to the lad.  "If I offered it right now, would you take me?" She
said, looking down at him with lidded eyes.

   He stared at her exposed opening, and the delicate folds of her labia
and swallowed.  "I could not, Mrs Hyandai." He said, visibly sweating.  His
eyes hardened like little kernels of gemstone forming around an impurity,
he broke the contact with her private places, and looked her in the eye. 
"I could not because Harlen is my mentor and deserves my respect.  I will
not, even if that were not so, because he is my friend, and I love him."
Trevir said, his face visibly wroth.  "You should not play such games with
his love, Miss Hyandai, for he is a good man, and you should try to deserve
his affection, as he gives it freely." His small fists were balled up and
he was almost yelling at her.  Her eyes widened and she blinked a few
times. Then started crying.

   He folded in upon herself and slid off the stool and sat in the corner
of the kitchen, her body was amazingly tiny when she did this, filling
almost no space.  She covered her face with her hands and sobbed into them.
Trevir moved nervously from foot to foot, unsure how to handle this.  "I
cannot comfort you, Lady, for I don't trust you now." He said.  "Do you
wish me to fetch Harlen?" He asked.  "I will keep still about what just
happened, and say only that you are weeping." She nodded into her hands and
Trevir shot out the door like a bolt of lightning.

   He ran up the stairs three at a time then knocked heavily on Harlen's
door frame.  The hunter sat up slowly and then blinked at the lad.  "What
is it, Trev?" He said groggily.

   "Miss Hyandai is crying and I think she wants you to come to her." The
boy said, shaking with agitation.

   Harlen crawled out of bed and cast a long tunic over himself as he went
out the door.  He moved quickly down the stairs and to the kitchen.  When
he arrived, Hyandai was on the floor, still crying.  "Harlen," she sobbed,
"I am nearly broken."

   He looked down at her and sat beside her on the floor, putting one arm
around her shoulders.  "What do you mean?" He asked.

   She looked at him a brief moment, then said.  "We elves are fey folk. 
You ever wonder at that?  Most other fey are creatures of element and
spirit, yet we are natural and physical?" Harlen had never thought of it,
but then again, he wasn't an elf.  She did not wait for an answer, she
looked at him.  "Well, within us is such a creature, every one of us has
one inside, a small creature of a basic element, or emotion, or idea, or
what have you." She rambled for a moment.  "We keep them in check with our
will." She said.  "When that will is gone, we will no longer contain our
spirits or whatever you would like to call them." She sobbed again.  "And
they will take over our lives and all will have been for naught."

   Harlen thought for a moment.  "All elves have one of these fey spirits
in them?"

   Hyandai nodded.  "Yes.  We all have them.  Some good, some bad, most are
not concerned for good or bad, just their concept."

   "And yours?" He asked.  "What sort is yours?"

   "Mine, if you could not tell, is lust." She said, laughing sourly.  "The
irony, hmm?" She further castigated herself.

   Harlen looked at her intently.  "What brought this about?" He asked.

   "I think finding that I have received this spawn to my belly has come as
a final blow to me, or nearly so." She said.  "We should go and have it
removed from me, before it can cause me to break completely." Then she
stood up, slowly and looked about.  "I must apologize to Trevir, I sorely
tested his patience this morning."

   "He will understand." Harlen said.  "We should move quickly then.  To
the Sorceress?"

   She nodded.  Slowly and her face did not register the relief that Harlen
thought should be there.  "I am afraid the cure will be as bad as the
curse." She said.

   They quickly packed up and got dressed, and left the house.  Harlen told
Trevir to expect them just after sunset.  And they were gone.  Leaving the
poor lad with many thoughts he did not want.

   The road to Norboro was well used and hardened with many wheels over
years.  Travel was quick and without problem.  A few times they had to step
out of the way for a wagon going one way or the other, but the road had no
sharp turns so there were no surprises.  As the wagons trundled past, the
drivers, and passengers, if any, would stare at Hyandai and some would
wave. Her spirits rose as no other bouts of fey hit her, and she waved
back, and smiled prettily, though she really did not feel the mood.  She
was long practiced at such facades and they were fairly easy to construct
and harmless.

   As they neared the cut-off to the Sorceress' home, Harlen said.  "I
don't know much about these Sorceresses, so I will let you do the talking,
if you don't mind."

   She nodded, looking ahead and seeing what might be a small house near a
copse of trees.  As they neared it, the house resolved into being part of
the trees, among them, and intertwined with them.  It was very elven, but
subtly twisted away from elven.  A dark feeling came from the home, and she
shivered with cold she did not feel.

   Harlen said.  "You feel it too, then?"

   Hyandai nodded.  "Yes.  It is not right.  Sorceresses are odd creatures,
and I dread actually meeting one."

   They walked to the front gate enclosing a small yard.  The gate was
open, and the grasses of the yard high and thick.  A large wolf sat on the
porch, growling at them with glistening fangs.  It's eyes were the color of
night, and its fur the dun gray of old abandoned ships on the coast.

   Soon, though a pretty voice rang out.  "Who calls?" It said, through the
door.

   "Hyandai of Clan Yavanaur, and Harlen of Morrovale." Hyandai said,
formally.  "We seek audience to parley for services of your arts."

   The door opened and the wolf ran off around the house.  "Come." The
voice said, it was pretty, but very cold.  Beyond the door lay inky
darkness.

   They walked into the house, and the door closed behind them, sealing off
the light.  They were pitched into the blackness, and they both felt a stir
of something moving nearby.  Her hand sought out his and he held it
tightly.

   A dimness emerged in the black wall before them, then it grew into a
candle light.  A woman was holding a candle, indeed, and the candle holder.
She was slight of build, petite, but well formed, with firm-looking breasts
and long legs.  Her hair was straight as arrow shafts and silky, and flowed
like black water over her shoulders and down her back.  Her face was elfin
fair, slim and narrow, with large black eyes that glittered in the candle
light.  She was beautiful.  Harlen looked at Hyandai's pretty face, and
thought there would be no comparison, until he looked at the dark woman
before him.  She was more lovely, by far, than even gracious Hyandai.  Her
beauty was transcendent and immeasurable.  When she took step forward, she
moved with a grace that made him watch each motion as if it were the only
thing moving on the world.

   "She's lovely." He said in a whisper to Hyandai.

   His elven lady nodded and said.  "She is, is she not."

   "I am Sorcha, I am whom you seek." Each word she spoke carried a
lingering echo, and rebounded around Harlen's head like a rubber ball in a
closed room.  She looked the two up and down.

   "I am Hyandai." She said, looking at the Sorceress with wary eyes.

   Harlen said.  "And I am Harlen." he said, smiling at her.  She smiled
back, giving him a view of her face that made his heart miss a beat.

   "And what would you ask of me?" She said, almost negligently as she
gazed over Harlen again.

   Hyandai swallowed, then said.  "I have an unwanted child growing
within." Tears again flowed down her cheeks.

   Sorcha turned to Harlen.  "The offspring of this fine specimen, no
doubt?" She said, getting very close to the hunter.  She smelled of
cinnamon, just like Hyandai.

   Hyandai coughed, then said.  "No.  Were it his child I would gladly keep
it." She said, an edge of hostility in her voice.  "And I wish that I could
even say it may be his."

   "Ah." The Sorceress said.  "Say no more, there are tales enough that
lead to this place, that I have already heard, yours would not be unique,
nor interesting." She said dismissively.  She turned again to the large
human man.  "Your tale, though would interest me greatly.  Why would a man
seek to help a woman with another man's seed already germinating in her
belly?" She looked back at Hyandai askance.  "Could you not find a woman
not so recently used by another?"

   Harlen clenched his fists and looked at the Sorceress.  "It isn't like
that.  She was raped, and she got pregnant from it." He said through
gritted teeth.

   Sorcha fluttered her hand before her chest.  "Oh, then I apologize, for
she is above reproach then, especially if she was raped." She turned back
to Hyandai.  "Did you do folly that led to your rape?"

   Hyandai nodded.  "Yes, we returned to where we knew orcs were nearby
just to check on a friend's condition."

   The witch nodded.  "But you knew he was dead, didn't you." She said,
smiling all to gleefully.  "You knew well."

   The elf sighed.  "Yes, I knew." looking at the floor.

   "Tell him how you knew, knew so well." She said, now picking viciously.
"He deserves the truth from you if he is willing to accept damaged goods
over it."

   She looked at Harlen, her eyes full of fear and apology.  "I knew
because his plait fell from my hair." She said, crying.  "It fell from my
hair before ever I met you Harlen." She sobbed.  "I knew he was dead within
minutes of my fleeing.  When an elf plaits troth, they plait it truly,
giving each other a swatch of their hair, and wearing it as their own.  The
ritual binds it to you." She cried harder.  "Unless the other dies or stops
caring."

   Harlen looked at her.  "You knew he was dead, yet we went back for him?"
He gaped.  "Why?"

   She shook her head.  "I had to know, I had to know it was his death that
caused it to fall from me, not Eleean's giving up on me."

   The Sorceress laughed coldly.  "You see, young handsome Harlen, she
cared more for Eleean than she said, I am sure, she was willing to risk
your life just to know for sure he didn't quit liking her." She wiped a
mock tear from her eye.  "To feed her little vanity, so insecure as this
homely elf waif is."

   Harlen said.  "Stop it." His voice raised in some anger.  "Stop calling
her names and leave her be." He shook his head.  "I accepted the risk and
didn't ask the reason, so I am not angered at her for that."

   The witch nodded.  "Okay, I see you don't want her hurt, that is
admirable." She looked at the two of them a long moment.  "I will do this
thing you ask, but my price will be high."

   The hunter said.  "I have some silver and a little gold."

   She said.  "I know of your hidden wealth, Harlen of Morrovale." She
said, laughing.  "My powers have shown me what I need to see.  I have the
full sight of the elder race." She looked at Hyandai.  "But that you did.
Things would be different, yes?"

   "Yes." The elf muttered.  "Very much so." The look she gave the
Sorceress was one of molten hate, and rage, and if it had carried weight,
would have crushed the other woman into the ground.

   The Sorceress smiled.  I name my price then.  "You Harlen, will come to
my bed tonight, and we will take pleasure in each other's arms, while your
little waif here is passing her ill-gotten offspring from her womb." She
saw the horror on Harlen's face.  "It is not open to negotiation." She
said.

   Harlen's mouth moved like a fish out of water for a moment, then he shut
it.

   "I will let you two speak alone for a bit." She said and left the candle
and walked off into the darkness.

   Harlen looked at Hyandai.  "The price seems too high to me." He said.

   She looked back at him, but did not meet his eyes.  "It does not to me."
She said.  "You are not the one carrying an orc child in your belly." She
shook her head.  "Bed the witch, then come back to me." She smiled.  "I
know where your heart lies."

   Harlen relented.  "Very well." He said, frowning.  "But it angers me to
have to do so."

   A voice in the darkness said.  "Then ravish me with that anger, and let
her heart do the lying." The witch reappeared and walked back to them. 
"Your pardon, but I couldn't stop listening, the little dramas in life are
just too delicious to pass hearing." The witch said, with unconvincing
sheepishness.

   "Well, if you've not heard.  We agree to your terms." Harlen said.

   She cooed.  "Oh, I've heard, very well." She turned to Hyandai.  "Go
wait over there, I know you can see the door."

   Without a word or even looking back, Hyandai walked to the door and
Harlen heard it slam.  "Now, you, my stallion." The Sorceress said.  "We
will have a splendid night, don't fear." She reached out a delicate hand
and caressed his face.  He felt little sparks from those fingertips, and
despite himself, he moved to strengthen the contact.  "Not yet, Harlen."
She said.  "Soon enough you will know the bliss of my womanhood, and you
may well forget that scrawny waif of an elf."

   Harlen did not want to enrage the Sorceress any more than the anger she
already seemed to possess, so he held his tongue.  She picked up the
candle, and they started walking toward another direction, and soon came to
a black wooden door.  She opened it and he found himself in a huge
marble-walled room with a massive, soft-looking bed, a bathing pond, and a
small waterfall.  She sat him upon the bed and bade him drink from the
salver she set before him on a small table.

   He watched her leave and stood up.  "What is she doing to my love?" He
asked the air.  The trickle of the water was soothing to the nerves, but
Harlen did not want to be soothed, and the moist warm air made him
lethargic, but he did not want to be lazy.  He walked across the floor,
then back.  He picked up the bottle from the salver, it had a green fluid
in it.  He uncorked it and sniffed.  Absinthe, he scented.  It was brewed
in the Eastern Realms, and was very expensive in the Western Realms, where
the duchy was.

   Hyandai found herself in a small room, that looked remarkably like a
public bath, had she ever seen one in a Ghantian city.  The walls were
tiled and slick, and there were rusty chains hanging from various hooks and
loops on the walls and ceilings.  A pair of iron manacles hung over a open
pit in the center.  There was dried blood and other unmentionable fluids
dried about the edge of the hole.  The hole was full of small pointed rods
of metal, that pointed inward and downward.  What went down, never came
back up, she thought.  The door was plated in steel, and very smooth, but
still stained with old blood and feces, and semen, and other stuff that she
did not even recognize.

   Then there was the table.  On the table were four manacles, and it was
oversized, large enough for a human woman to be chained down spread eagle,
she knew this because there was a rough outline in paint on the table,
showing where the body would lie.  From between the outspread legs, a
trough ran, and the trough was covered in filth most foul.  She felt
herself retch as she even got close enough to look at it closely.  Solid
chunks of meats and flesh were pasted to the side by excrement, puss, and
gelled brains.  A finger stuck out of a lump, a tiny finger, with a tiny
nail.  It was pink and fresh.  Hyandai gasped and covered her mouth.  This
foul chamber had ended the lives of many children, both foul and fair, and
Sorcha cared not which.

   The door clanged open and Sorcha stepped in, wearing a long gown of some
slippery material, like eel skin.  Behind her was a man, huge of build,
with a massive belly and a long, swinging phallus.  His eyes were covered
with metal plates, with nails in four corners.  His ears were sewn shut,
and they had bled slightly at some point.  He was clad only in a tight
leather harness, that had little metal loops sewn to it, and there were
various steel items fastened there.  Tiny knives, long probes with
wicked-looking hooks, and pincers that vaguely reminded her of the tweezers
that Trevir had used on her leg.  She stopped the man before he could walk
off the lip and into the one-way pit.  She smiled her beautiful smile at
Hyandai.  "One day I will let him fall in, it will serve him right." The
man moaned forlornly as she pulled a large ring on his chest that caused
some strings or ropes somewhere to squeeze his testicles with great show,
pulling them apart an astounding distance.

   Hyandai winced in sympathy for the wretch.  "Trouble yourself not with
this pitiable man." Sorcha said.  "He tried to renege on a deal with me."
She pointed to his eyes.  " I made him the perfect woman's man, look at
that tackle." She pointed to his massive tumescence.  "But he complained
that it didn't work as before and refused to pay me." She turned and said
"Your man will pay me, won't he?" She asked sweetly.

   "I am sure he will, and you will be quite satisfied with him." Hyandai
said, trying to keep her pride up somewhat.

   The witch laughed, again that cold, heartless thing that only sounded
like laughter.  "I am sure he will perform admirably." She said.  "After
all, it's not like you've given him anything to compare me to, have you?"
She smiled at her.  "You really should have given him your hole that first
night, then perhaps it would have been his worthy seed fattening your gut,
and not some orc's." She paused for a half second.  "Not that I mind orcs
all that much, they can be quite, well, stimulating, no?"

   "I would not know." the elf maid said.  "I was not there for the event."

   "Really?  You jumped out of yourself for that?" She looked incredulous.
"Just to avoid a bit of buggery?" The witch looked at her with eyes full of
pity.  "You really are a weak creature." She laughed again.  "That fine man
in there let you rape his mind to save you getting your body raped." She
said, pointing out the door.  "I spared him that bit of news." She looked
askance at the girl.  "I didn't tell him you had access of all his
memories, should you want them." She smiled.  "Though I can't promise to
keep my tongue still, unless he keeps it busy with worthier pursuits."

   Hyandai said.  "I would never betray his secret knowledge by looking
into it." And held her head up.

   "Not yet you haven't." Sorcha said, and scoffed at her.  "Wait until
he's out too long on a hunt, or he comes home smelling of perfume.  Will
you be able to stay out then?" She nodded.  "I think he really should know
you have the easy access to his thoughts any time you want."

   "Please do not tell him.  I will do so." Hyandai said, breaking.

   "Will you?  Swear it!" The witch said, "Next you see your man, you tell
him."

   "Next time I see Harlen, will tell him that I can read his thoughts at
will.  I swear it." The elf said, tears in her eyes.

   The Sorceress laughed.  "This is such fun.  She said.  I will just gush
forth with excitement as that scene unfolds." She grinned.  "You think he
will meet your eyes afterwards?"

   "I do not know." Hyandai said, honestly.

   Sorcha said.  "Neither do I, young waif of mine, neither do I." Then
said.  "Now, strip and lie upon the table in the outline, lets get that
little pustule from your cock socket." She indicated the filthy table with
its gristly trough.  "Else, poor Harlen may poke you there and get his fat
rod ripped in twain, no?"