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Subject: Wulf: Nemesis 4/5 (m/f, m/f/f/f, f/f, cons. s&m)
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The Elven Isles
	Lord Feanor thrust smoothly into the soft, welcoming depths of
Lady Vaenetha, triggering a deep moan of desire. With strong hands, he
grasped the soft roundness of her buttocks, pulling her to him with a
demanding passion that even surprised him.
	Sex among elves was normally a drawn-out affair, rife with
symbolism and ceremony, and its culmination was often a brief,
passionless thing. Vaenetha, returned now to her homeland and Feanor’s
ward, had brought with her a new perspective, a hot passion that the
ancient elf lord had not seen in thousands of years. Perhaps it was
her time with the rebels that had taught her such things -- Feanor,
enthralled by her singular desire for pleasure, and her endless
capacity to please him, did not care.
	"Oh, My Lord!" she cried, blonde hair flying, buttocks shaking
violently from each of his masterful, domineering thrusts. "You’re
making me... Oh, please, fuck me harder. Please fuck me..."
	Such words were never uttered by elvish lips. They were crude,
meaningless syllables more suited to short-lived humans or filthy
dwarves. Before Vaenetha came into his life, Feanor would never have
considered speaking in such a manner. Now, however, it created a rush
of burning desire, sending his heart hammering like a war drum, his
limbs trembling, a wave of desire that Feanor realized was much like
what he felt in battle.
	"I’ll fuck you," he growled, holding her soft buttocks even
harder and redoubling the strength of his thrusts. "I’ll fuck you as
hard as I want."
	"I’m coming, Lord... Oh, Gods... I’m coming..." Vaenetha
tensed, then collapsed down onto the bed, crying out with a voice
filled with the agony of sudden release. "Ahhhhhhhh..."
	The passion still raced through Feanor’s veins. He wanted her
all the more, now, and even as the body-wracking waves of orgasm
continued to pass through Lady Vaenetha, he seized her by the
shoulders, turning her roughly onto her back.
	"Oh, please..." she cried. Her face was flushed, her nipples
hard and swollen, straining against the silver rings and the chain
which bound them. She had told him that she’d kept the rings as a
symbol of her old foolishness, of the bondage in which she had given
her self up to the Stormking, but they excited Feanor for different
reasons. The sight of her nipples swelling, drawing the short chain
tight, stimulating her all the more, and driving her toward the
crashing release of orgasm made the elf lord want to take her as
savagely as he could, and to thrust into her wherever he wished.
	Her legs were wrapped round his shoulders now, and his cock
was at the gates of her cunt. Her moans, never stilled from the last
orgasm, rose to new heights when Feanor thrust into her again. He felt
her muscles tighten against him as a new round of climaxes gripped
her.
	This is what he liked, what he wanted... The female was like a
conquered enemy to him, reduced to utter servitude by the power of his
cock, as an enemy was taken by the sword. Never before had a woman
done this to Feanor, the greatest warrior in elf lands...
	Her last climax, a shattering explosion that made her seize
the sheets in a death-grip, and rise up to meet him, belly straining,
pierced nipples pulled tight by their chain, came moments before
Feanor’s. Finally ready, he released into her, cock spurting forth,
sending shocks through his entire body.
	Spent, the two elves fell together in a sweaty heap.
	"Gods, My Lord," she whispered. "I love how you fuck me."
	"I love to fuck you," Feanor replied, the new words sounding
strangely natural. "I love to fuck you more than anything. Besides
perhaps battle with our enemies."
	"Perhaps," Vaenetha sighed, pulling herself close, blonde hair
covering them, "I can help you to do both."

*****

	The Elven Dragon Princes sat in solemn contemplation as the
realm’s nobles debated and argued below. In their center, her beauty
even more radiant and unearthly than the loveliest of her subjects,
the Silver Lady sat, watching the proceedings in silence. Since the
defeat of the Stormking and the disappearance of her daughter,
Theanna, the Lady had grown withdrawn and distant, speaking to her
subjects only rarely, and leaving the day to day running of her realm
to the Dragon Princes. All knew that she was deeply saddened, and a
few suggested that after countless centuries of rule, the Lady was at
last preparing to leave the mortal realm, and go beyond. Most
discounted such rumors, but each day they grew louder and more
plausible.
	Lord Feanor, the Silver Lady’s Master of Arms and Supreme
Marshal of all Elven Armed Forces, addressed the gathering, his voice
ringing like the battle challenge of an ancient hero confronting the
demon hordes. He wore a suit of blindingly bright godsteel, and beside
him, quiet and subservient, sat his mistress, Lady Vanethae. Though
condemned as a traitor for supporting the Stormking, Feanor had
extended his protection to her, and now she dwelled in the safety of
his stronghold.
	"It is well known," Feanor said, armored fist clutched before
him, "that the upstart younger races of the world covet our wealth and
knowledge, and would crush us if they had the chance! Now, Lady
Vaenetha comes before us with news that they plan to do just that!"
	"Why," complained Lady Durenna Snowtree, "should we take the
word of a traitress like her? She freely admits that she fought for
the Stormking against the Lady, and were it not for your protection,
would even now be condemned and imprisoned or worse! She has nothing
to lose by lying!"
	"Nothing to gain, either," Feanor shot back. "As you said, she
admits to her misdeeds, and begs forgiveness for them. She was misled
by a conspiracy of the Dark Ones, aided, we have since learned, by the
human masters of Litharna, Xesh and the White Empire! She has asked to
live once more with her brethren and once more obey the word of the
Lady. I have agreed, and she now lives as a full member of our
society."
	"You trust her words, Lord Feanor? Why? All know what she is
to you, My Lord! Is your trust bought by simply climbing into your
bed?"
	A brief flash of rage flashed in the warrior’s eyes, but he
stilled it. "You know better than that, Lady. My loyalty is to these
princes, and to the Lady who watches over us all. And I have taken
time to verify all that this woman has told me. The humans are
creating an alliance that will take our lands from us and reduce us to
pitiful servitude! I say that we should not let them do this! We must
strike now while we still can. We will defeat our enemies and at the
same time renew ourselves! Bring back our ancient days of glory when
we rode upon dragons and none stood against us!"
	"Bah!" shouted Lord Heldamar. "You speak like a fool for all
your authority, Feanor. This slut has addled your brain. The dragons
are all dead. Dead or sleeping, and they cannot be awakened. None have
stirred since the goblins invaded."
	"You are wrong!" Feanor shouted. "The dragons stir! They live
again! It is the sign we have waited for. Their dreaming is over, and
now they return to carry us to victory! Ask the Princes if you do not
believe me!"
	All eyes now turned to the Dragon Princes who had, until now,
listened in silence. The Silver Lady sat above them, but at the gaze
of her fellow elves, she abruptly looked away, as if stricken.
	"The dragons live," said Prince Simenor, who may believed to
be as old as the Silver Lady. "And we are told that they sleep more
lightly now. Iskhana awoke for a time a month ago, and the others seem
to be close to awakening as well. I caution you not to take this as
absolute proof, Lord Feanor. Though the dragons may be awakening, this
may not be the sign you seek."
	"What is it a sign of, then?" Feanor demanded. "We are in
peril, my Lords and Ladies! The others move against us -- the
short-lived humans, the greedy dwarves, the filthy orcs and the foul
beast-folk. Now the dragons are returning, and the Gods decree that we
set out once more on the road of conquest! Lords and Ladies, shall we
heed their advice, or sit in silence and fade away as if we had never
existed?"
	The souls of all the elven nobles watching teetered on the
brink. If the dragons had, indeed, returned, it could only be a sign
that the ancient glory of the elves would soon return as well. But if
they were wrong...
	All eyes turned toward the Dragon Princes, and beyond them to
the Silver Lady. At last she returned their gaze. Her eyes were tired,
her voice faint.
	"I cannot endorse this course of action, Lord Feanor," she
said. "But if this is what you would do, I cannot oppose it either. My
heart is weary, Lords and Ladies, and if you wish to once more walk
the road of conquest, to bring in all the pain and sorrow that that
entails, you are welcome to do so. I will say nothing more."
	For many, this was a call to stop and think, and not to act
rashly, the tired words of a demigoddess weary of the pain of the
world.
	To Feanor, however, it was the exact opposite.
	"Lords and Ladies!" he cried. "Are you with me? Shall we
awaken the dragons and summon our legions to conquer! Will we redeem
the sorrow which the young, foolish races have visited upon our
people?"
	Lady Vaenetha, sitting in silence beside her lord, smiled
almost imperceptibly. Like Feanor, and like her true mistress,
Protector Thae’Lynn, she knew what the answer would be.

The Dragon Caves
	Lady Vaenetha crept in preternatural silence through the
ancient and sacred caverns where legend held that the elven race had
been born of dragons, birthed by the ancient god Valaron. For anyone
besides the Dragon Princes to venture here was, of course, an offense
punishable by death, and probable enshrinement of the escaping soul in
the iron body of a Dreadguard.
	Lady Vaenetha had faced death before, however, and now the
prospect held little fear for her.
	A low, sonorous rumbling filled the chamber, making the floor
and walls tremble. Vaenetha bit back terror. She knew where she was
and what she was to do; the will of her mistress was implacable.
	Ahead, a mountainous scaled form filled the vast cavern. It
rose and fell with the rumbling, breathing in vast volumes of air, and
expelling warm, sulfur-scented vapor.
	This was Dhruul, oldest and greatest of the dragons, his
scales stained black with age, his spines as hard as diamonds and
sharp as razors, his claws like the swords of a dozen angry gods. His
name meant "thunder" and the last time he had awoken, a mountain lay
splintered in his wake. To the elves, he was a god. To others, he was
a devil.
	Vaenetha had come to awaken a devil.
	Hands shaking, she approached the monstrous thing, and found
his head, tucked under one titanic claw, making the creature look
incongruously like a sleeping cat. The head was easily the size of two
warhorses laid end to end, a wedge-shaped mass of iron-hard scales,
webbed fins and spines. Its eyes were closed; they had not opened in
millennia.
	Reminding herself that the clumsy scuttling of a single elf
woman could scarcely awaken a creature of such antiquity, Vaenetha
scaled the beast as if it were a mountain summit, climbing up a claw
first, then along a forearm, toward the deadly-looking mouth --
closed, but sporting several ragged fangs, overhanging Dhruul’s
hard-edged lips.
	Nearer, now. The beast moved restlessly, and she almost
impaled herself on a dorsal spine. Closer to the furrowed, craggy
valley between its eyes, at the base of its head crest.
	Vaenetha fumbled at her neck and unclasped the necklace. At
the end dangled an oddly-shaped gem, colored a deep reddish-black and
glowing with inner fire. Stretching out almost to the limit of her
reach, she placed the gem between the titan’s eyes and watched in
amazement as it glowed suddenly bright, then vanished, sinking beneath
Dhruul’s scales.
	She leaped clear not a moment too soon, for Dhruul’s head,
long bowed in sleep, suddenly sprang up, smoke trailing from its
nostrils, soaring like the tallest tree Vaenetha could imagine. The
beast snorted, loudly, and puffed more smoke. Wings like the sheets of
a titanic warship unfurled, buffeting Vaenetha with a gust of
magically-enhanced wind.
	The elf retained her feet, and swiftly scanned her memory for
the words she was to say.
	"Lord Dhruul, wisest and most ancient of all dragon-kind, thou
art now a prisoner to the will of Trigon, and the whim of Lady
Thae’Lynn N’Quy... Taka’val. Thrakhun. Tynoet’ta!"
	The dragon stopped and stared down at her curiously. For an
instant, Vaenetha wondered whether the spell had failed, and whether
she was about to be eaten. At last, a booming voice issued from the
dragon.
	"Very well, elf. I serve Trigon and Thae’Lynn. What would they
have of me?"
	Vaenetha felt the fear and dread flow from her limbs like
water. She had succeeded. The dragon was enthralled.
	Vaenetha spoke, telling the dragon its duty, and images of
blood and fire seethed in her mind.
	Gods, they were beautiful...

The High Seas, 750 nautical leagues east of the Xeshite coast
	Captain Ixalia scanned the horizon for at least the hundredth
time that day. The surface of the sea was flat and calm as overhead
gulls wheeled in a cloudless sky. All around her, the crew of the
"Raven" struck similar poses of puzzled anxiety. Below decks, the
slave rowers dozed, taking advantage of a respite in their endless
toil.
	The "Raven" and her escort of twenty smaller Xeshite warships
had spent nearly a week on station here, at the crux of several
important shipping lanes, responding to a rash of piratical attacks
and disappearances of merchant vessels. So far, however, the cowardly
raiders had yet to put in an appearance, causing Ixalia to gravitate
between boredom and fear on a rapidly-shortening cycle.
	A lookout's cry of "Sail ho!" seized Ixalia's attention, and
sent the crew into motion. Half-expecting another lone merchant
vessel, trundling earnestly to some unknown destination, Ixalia
strained to see, finally discerning a tall white sail leagues distant,
but closing rapidly. As she watched, the sail was joined by a second,
then a third, a fourth, and...
	"Merciful Mother!" came a shout from below, followed by a
dozen similar expressions of amazement.
	At least fifty warships bore down on Ixalia's flotilla --
white-hulled, graceful vessels with painted sails and silken banners
bearing images of eagles, dragons, griffons...
	"Elves!" shouted Commander Uxanor, his normally ferocious
bearded face now clouded with doubt and apprehension. "Bloody,
gods-blasted elves, captain! What the hell are they doing here?"
	"I wish I knew, Commander," Ixalia replied, striding with
sudden determination aft. "I'm not about to sit around here idly
speculating, either. Prepare for battle!"
	Uxanor seemed about to say something -- perhaps to point out
to his commander that combat against the Elven fleet was certain
suicide -- then dutifully turned and began barking orders.
	"And Uxanor?" Ixalia said.
	"Yes, ma'am?"
	"Send 'Seagull' back to Xesh with word of the engagement. If
this is an invasion fleet, I want our forces to be ready."
	"Aye-aye," Uxanor replied, and relayed the order to an aide.
	Sails were furled, rowers whipped out of their stupor, and
slowly the Xeshite fleet moved forward, led by the vast grey armored
bulk of the "Raven." Ballistae were loaded with great spiked bolts the
length of a man, springals charged with dozens of tiny missiles,
onagers with black balls of tar, ready at any moment to be set alight.
	"Are they armed for war, Captain?" Uxanor asked. "We should be
cautious until we learn their intentions."
	"That is my plan, Commander," Ixalia said, firmly, allowing a
pair of slaves to strap on a boiled leather breastplate, tassets and
sword. "We will not initiate hostilities. If they mean no harm, they
will say so." A slave placed a high-crowned helm upon her head, giving
her a lean, hawkish appearance. "Just the same, I feel that this is no
peaceful expedition. If they mean war, then we will give them war."
	But as the small Xeshite flotilla advanced, and the numbers of
elven vessels grew, it seemed that the humans were hopelessly
outmatched, and rather than war, all they would give their advancing
foes was a little exercise. "Raven" was the sole dreadnaught, heavily
armored and capable of withstanding heavy physical and magical
bombardment. The remainder of the fleet was light galleys, slender and
fast, intended primarily for chasing down commerce raiders. Against
the imposing swan- and dragon-ships of the elves, they appeared about
as effective as pebbles against a charging rhinoceros.
	If any of this concerned Ixalia, on the stern castle of the
"Raven," grim and quiet in her black armor, she gave no sign. When the
first fireballs began to arc up from the elven ships, proving
conclusively that their intentions were not friendly, she moved only
slightly, ordering her captains to return fire and her wizards to cast
counterspells. "Skua" and "Tern" caught fire soon thereafter and fell
out of formation, but the remainder of the fleet forged on, actually
damaging an elven swanship with concentrated missile fire.
	They were close, now -- close enough to glimpse the serried
ranks of elvish warriors lining the decks of their vessels, clad in
silver scaled armor, bearing great white shields and red-shafted
spears. Arrows rained down from squads of elvish marines, cutting down
Xeshite crew. The humans responded, and more fell, staining the water
red and drawing the menacing fins of cruising sharks.
	Ixalia stood impassive, and the "Raven" bore down upon a great
white elven warship, betraying her anxiety only with a slightly
furrowed brow. The enemy's missiles, and the crackling discharge of
magical energies slowed "Raven's" advance not at all, and in a moment,
the two vessels would crash together...
	Suddenly, a vast dark form took shape above the elven ship, a
cloak of magic falling away to reveal a black, serpentine body held
aloft by wings that seemed to blot out the sun and wrap all in fearful
shadow...
	"Dragon!" cried Uxanor, drawing his sword and racing forward,
even as the Xeshite crew around him fell back or leaped overboard in
panic. "DRAGON!"
	Uxanor's bravery was admirable, but in the end, suicidal, for
a dark red-orange cloud of burning wind rushed from the dragon's open
maw, enveloping Uxanor and the entire forward section of "Raven,"
incinerating a dozen crewmen.
	"No." It was a quiet syllable, uttered as Captain Ixalia
loosed her own weapon and prepared to join her officer in eternity.
"By the gods, no."
	A few valiant crewmen loosed arrows at the dragon, but these
fell like so many toothpicks. The ballista operator swiveled his
weapon, taking aim at the onrushing behemoth, and loosed its
razor-tipped shaft. The missile sped through the air and caught the
dragon in the shoulder,  but barely penetrated the ancient, weathered
scales. An instant later, ballista and operator vanished in a second
ball of flame. The dragon landed heavily athwart the warship, making
the entire vessel pitch and roll, almost swamping it.
	Then Ixalia and a handful of surviving marines were upon the
dragon, screaming and stabbing with swords and spears. Once more,
these were almost useless, doing little more than scratching the
surface of the ancient beast's iron-hard skin.
	"Xesh!" Ixalia shouted, hewing with her sword. "Death to the
elves!"
	Then a mighty claw reared up before her, and she knew that she
could not avoid it. The claw swept ponderously down, knocking aside or
crushing the Xeshite defenders. At last, it struck Ixalia, sending her
tumbling end over end through the air, the red-stained sea and
blood-maddened sharks spinning closer and closer...
	Ixalia struck the water with a great splash, and her last
thoughts were of Xesh and the husband she had left behind. Moments
later her flagship was torn asunder, planks ripped by dragon claws,
mast snapped in twain by jaws that had torn the throats of evil gods,
hull stove in and burned by more blasts from that titanic maw.
	Everywhere, Xeshite vessels burned or sank. The elven fleet
sailed on, as if the battle had been nothing more than a minor
annoyance. The dead or dying floated in its wake.
	The sharks fed well.

*    *    *   *

	Lord Feanor watched with satisfaction as the smoke of the
burning human vessels vanished in the distance astern. Ahead lay the
jungle-clad shores of Xesh and the walled human city where his
people's enemies lived in ignorance of the coming retribution.
	"We are victorious, my love," whispered Lady Vaenetha,
stroking his back with long, sharp-nailed fingers. "Soon all will know
the might of our people."
	Dhruul the dragon flew above the fleet, wheeling and diving
against the burning orange of the setting sun. Soon, his brothers and
sisters would fly, as well, and then...
	...Then, truly nothing could stand against them.
	"So they will, my sweet," Feanor said, and though his once
soft voice now bore an edge of cruelty, he did not care. "So they
will."

Wulf
	Our flight north barely missed the path of the elven armada,
and if it had been anyone else besides the ear-boys who had besieged
and sacked the city of Xesh a week later, I might have actually
cheered. As it was, with tales of elven atrocities spreading like
wildfire, I could only mourn for the loss of innocent life.
	Elven intentions seemed obvious -- the complete destruction or
subjugation of any race that might represent a threat. To the elvish
psyche this, of course, meant EVERYONE, including yours truly.
	With coastal Xesh firmly in elven hands, the enemy now had a
secure base of operations to take out any other civilized realm --
Necrotia, Litharna, Murvane, the Empire. I doubted they would move
south against the Veldt Lands -- the thought of the brave Sholanti
warriors cutting down the elves like ripe wheat was way too appealing
an image to ever come true.
	So far, no word came from the invaders themselves, but few
harbored any illusions that millennia of elvish resentment and
insularity had finally borne bitter fruit. Xeshite refugees told of
wholesale slaughter of any cities which dared to resist the green
banners' advance, and of harsh conditions imposed on those who
capitulated. The elves set themselves up as absolute overlords, with
their new human subjects reduced to slavery in all but name.
	Not that I wept too many tears for the Xeshites. A few
centuries on the receiving end of an overseer's whip might teach the
decadent bastards manners. I wondered, however, with no little
concern, how my former mistress Xylara, her sister Nineh and their
respective households of newly-freed slaves would fare against the
elves. True, both their estates were defensible and located deep in
the jungle, where by all accounts the elves had yet to penetrate, but
a nagging (and in many ways to me, surprising) fear for their safety
lurked deep within me.
	Of course, we couldn't do much about it. Xesh city and other
coastal towns were closed and sewed up tighter than an Inquisitor's
asshole; any approach was sure to invite the wrath of the elven navy.
As we sailed north, fear of the once graceful but now fearsome elf
warships grew in all of us, and we struggled to leave the area for
safe landfall in Necrotia, Stoneburg, or points north. I was now even
more prepared to move to Cold Island and live in an igloo for a few
years.
	For all our speed and caution, we were still caught. Early one
morning, our lookout spied a white sail on the horizon, bearing down
on us with a daemon's own speed. We came about and tried to run, but
three more sails appeared to windward, and within an hour we were
caught in a trap, squeezed like a reluctant nut between four armed and
armored opponents.
	Soon, the lead vessel, a towering blue and white dragonship
with a pair of glittering magefire projectors at the bow, was within a
few spearcasts of us, and a faint cry echoed across the waves.
	"Humans! Heave to and prepare to be boarded! This is your only
warning!"
	I turned to look at Livia, and she seemed paler than normal.
	"What do you think, Captain?" I asked, knowing the answer. "Do
we fight suicidally or give up and take our chances with the
prick-ears?"
	Livia did not reply, but only glanced toward Narisha.
	Our mutual lover growled. She was armed and armored for war,
which for a demon means practically naked with a long black sword in
one hand. She was a proud woman, and I suspected that the prospect of
surrendering to a race as contemptuous as the elves was a bitter one
indeed.
	"I'll die on my feet before I live on my knees, my loves," she
said, grimly. "But I'll not force the two of you to do the same.
There's another to think of, however."
	Oh, gods... I hadn't thought of Daedora. The elves would
probably kill her on sight.
	As one, we all turned to see her standing, outwardly calm at
the railing, staring at the oncoming warships. As I watched, I saw her
hands trembling ever so slightly.
	"Let them come," she said, softly. "Let them come. I must tell
someone what has happened. They must listen." She paused. "If they do
not, then they can all perish. Our people..." she faltered, tears
welling up. "We aren't worthy. Neither of us. If we can't make anyone
understand what's happened, then I'd just as soon die. Let them board.
I will try to make them understand."
	Livia looked at Daedora, then at the weathered faces of our
sailors. I knew that if she gave the word, they'd all die gladly.
Livia, however, was a far gentler and more merciful woman than she'd
been when we'd first boinked under that waterfall in Kenth, and she
seemed not about to order others to certain death. She spoke, holding
emotions in check.
	"Heave to," she said. "Let them come aboard."
	Minutes later, our beloved "Skate" was swarming with elf
marines, and we were being disarmed and escorted none to gently, onto
the decks of the elven flagship. I strained to read the runes at the
bow. "Dolphin." A pleasant name for a vessel on such a grim mission.
	We were subjected to a variety of hostile glares as we
clambered aboard, and I wondered why. I'd never personally had
anything against elves (I'd even helped them on occasion -- those I
hadn't killed, of course), but as a group they seemed to think the
world hated them. In many ways such sentiment was a self-fulfilling
prophecy; act as if you're at war with the world and eventually -- you
guessed it -- the world will be at war with you. 
	Angry voices greeted Daedora's appearance. I'd picked up
enough elvish over the years to understand, and what I heard wasn't
good.
	"Dark one!" "With the humans! It's as Lord Feanor said it
was!" "Kill them all! Feed them to the sharks!" A few hands darted to
weapons but fortunately for us the elves were a disciplined people,
and the barked orders of sergeants stilled the storm of insults. Gods
only knew what they intended for us later, but for the moment the
elves did not seemed especially murderous. Behind us, the crew was
getting similar treatment.
	Suddenly, from the stern castle, a voice boomed out.
"Captain! Bring those four to my quarters! The two humans, the demon
and the dark one! I've questions for them!"
	I looked up to see the speaker, but all I saw was a tall elf
in elaborate robes turning away and vanishing belowdecks. A squad of
glaring elves in blue-silver armor escorted us down narrow
companionways to the stern, and into the presence of the robed elf.
	"Leave us," he snapped, waving a hand. A faint echo of the
last time I'd been summoned to an elven officer's quarters, that of
Lady Thae’Lynn herself, gnawed at me, but I doubted that this
particular elf had the same intentions as the perverse countess.
	The elf turned and my jaw dropped.
	"So, Livia the sorceress," he said, quietly. "You've added a
few companions to your entourage."
	"Hello, Admiral," Livia replied. "It's been a while, hasn't
it?"
	Admiral Nae'mitz, commander of the Sea Griffin fleet, advanced
on us with long strides, his expression unreadable. He looked at me.
	"You, I know. You were the princess' defender and you helped
us defeat the Stormking."
	"I'm afraid that I may live to regret that particular act," I
said, too tired of running to be polite. "Your people have repaid mine
with blood and war. I'd as soon have left you to the tender mercies of
the Stormking."
	To my surprise, Nae'mitz did not react angrily. "You may be
right, human," he said. "I heard what my people did in Xesh, and I am
ashamed. Perhaps you can help me set things right."
	He turned to Narisha and she stared back defiantly. The
contrast between the tall, slender and elegant elf in all-concealing
robes and the muscular, demoness clad in black leather that revealed
more crimson skin than it concealed was striking.
	"A demon," he said. "Lady Narisha, if I am not mistaken? I am
acquainted with your father."
	That threw her. Narisha's poise broke for a moment and she
stared in disbelief.
	"I am not so insular and foolish as many of my people,"
Nae'mitz said. "Your house is an ancient and honorable one, and I am
pleased to at last make your acquaintance."
	"The same, I guess," Narisha mumbled, totally at a loss for
words. I looked around. The world hadn't ended, fortunately.
	Finally the admiral looked at Daedora.
	"Again, unlike other elves, I've not rancor for our cousins,
Lady," he said. "I do not know your name, but rest assured that the
color of your skin does not influence my opinion of you. That you are
with Livia speaks well."
	Daedora met his gaze. "Thank you, Admiral. It so happens that
I have information which may explain the present state of war between
your people and the humans."
	"I see." Nae'mitz stepped away, looking thoughtful. "Please
sit, all of you. And please accept my apologies for my crew's
rudeness. As I said, I am anything but happy about my realm's recent
actions, but as a loyal servant of the Lady, I can do little save obey
the orders of her representatives, even if they are as contemptible
and cruel as Lord Feanor. Sit. Please."
	I think all of us were more than a little stunned by
Nae'mitz's reception, and sat down numbly at his map table as he
poured blue-green elf wine for us.
	"Perhaps it is the will of the gods that I find you," he said,
sitting down and staring at us with deadly seriousness. "Or simply a
lucky twist of fate. As it is, you are among the few people with whom
I can truly share my fears. My people's war with the humans is at best
foolish and at worst utterly suicidal, and I must speak of it."
	I sipped at the wine and once more marveled at the elves'
skills. "Who is Lord Feanor? I heard a crewman mention him."
	Nae'mitz shook his head and looked disgusted. "Our Lady's
chief marshal," he said. "An old man who wishes to recapture the
glories of a youth long past. It is he who urged us to war against the
humans, some say at the insistence of his mistress, Lady Vaenetha."
	Daedora sat up straight at the name. It sounded familiar to
me, as well.
	"My Lord Admiral," she said urgently, "that woman is nothing
more than a tool of the woman who slew my family, and who unleashed
the Stormking. Lady Thae’Lynn N'Quy holds Vaenetha's strings, and
those of many other elven traitors." Swiftly, she explained the
situation, mercifully leaving out the more salacious portions, such as
Thae’Lynn's well-trained hardware.
	Nae'mitz listened to this impassively, his wine sitting
untasted before him. When she finished, he picked up his glass and
drained it in a single draught.
	"Thae’Lynn," he muttered, angrily. "Our nemesis. She sends her
little toys to task us, to seduce us and to convince us that we can
once more rule the world. We exhaust ourselves battling an enemy who
is not truly an enemy, and whose numbers are as limitless as grains of
sand on a beach. We win, but are so reduced in numbers and strength
that Thae’Lynn and her mercenaries can easily step in and displace the
Silver Lady, and so rule the Isles once more. Or we lose, and the dark
ones' greatest foes are vanquished and exterminated. Foul devil of a
woman, this Thae’Lynn."
	"She has the Silver Chalice," I pointed out. "It's probably
made her an even more skillful schemer than she was before."
	"The Chalice." Nae'mitz's eyes were blank and leaden. "It
makes the good wicked, but what does it do to those who are wicked to
begin with?"
	"I should think that would be obvious," said Daedora. "And
Thae’Lynn is possibly the blackest hearted bitch in all of Thystra."
	"Wait 'til they get a load of me," Narisha muttered under her
breath.
	"Where's the Silver Lady in all this?" Livia asked. "Is she
supporting this idiocy?"
	"She is not opposing it, and that is all Feanor and his allies
need." Nae'mitz looked saddened. "She has not recovered from the war
with the Stormking, nor from her daughter's disappearance. She sits
alone and passively accepts what her advisors tell her. When Feanor
called for this war, she counseled caution, but lifted not a finger to
stop him."
	"We must see the Lady," Daedora insisted. "Help us reach her.
Tell her the truth. She will believe me."
	"Perhaps, perhaps not," Nae'mitz said. "In any event, you
would never be allowed near her. Not without conclusive proof beyond
mere allegation. Besides, I cannot help you -- my orders are explicit,
and I cannot abandon my post. All I can do is work to learn as much as
I can. If I am reassigned or are otherwise able to assist, I will find
you. For now, the best I can offer is freedom, supplies, and my best
wishes."
	We talked for a while longer, until at last Nae'mitz summoned
his guards, told them that we were noncombatants and not
representatives of a hostile power, and ordered us set free. Some of
the sailors looked at us with open disgust and a few looked defiant,
but the admiral's authority was strong, and by the next morning we
were once more sailing north, now further determined to flee the line
of elvish advance as quickly and efficiently as possible.
	There was little conversation while we sailed north beyond
that strictly necessary to operate the "Skate." The sooner we put the
elves -- whatever their flavor -- behind us, the better.
	Even the bustling ports of Murvane didn’t seem safe, with
tales of elven atrocities and conquest streaming in. Ta’vallen was
choked with refugees and merchants exploiting the panic, charging the
maximum price for the minimum goods and taking home the difference. It
was appalling, especially when I was forced to lay out a dozen
Imperial Suns just to put us up at an inn for a few days, but I
counted myself lucky that we’d found anything at all.
	When we sat huddled around a table, eating overpriced food and
drinking overpriced, watered-down wine, it was obvious to all what was
going on.
	"The admiral was right," Daedora said, sadly. "I see
Thae’Lynn’s hand in all of this, no question. I suspect that her
captive High Ones have been the catalyst, enough to goad our stupid
pale cousins into war with the rest of the world."
	"It’s a war they can’t win," I said. "Nae’mitz knew that too.
The ear-boys have got magic and dragons, and the finest ships in the
world, and an elven archer can put out a humming bird’s eye at a
thousand paces, but there simply aren’t enough of them. And I’d hate
to see what happens to an elven swan-ship when a Litharnan dreadnaught
gives ‘em a broadside. Magic against science. It’s the conflict the
Litharnans have been waiting for."
	"They don’t need to win," Livia said, more serious than I’d
ever seen her. "All they need to do is weaken themselves enough so
that when Thae’Lynn does unleash that army she’s building, the Isles
will fall into her hand like a ripe apple. If the elves do manage to
conquer us all, she steps in, displaces the Silver Lady, and ends up
ruling the world. If they are defeated, she still steps in, and rules
the Elven Isles. Again, not ruler of the world, but the most powerful
ruler in the world. She can’t lose."
	"So do we do what  Nae’mitz suggested?" I asked. "Find proof
of Thae’Lynn’s complicity and take it to the Silver Lady?"
	"You have any better ideas, bright boy?"
	"Hell, yes. Like I said before -- keep our heads down and wait
for this storm to subside. Maybe a nice little villa in the northern
White Empire..."
	"Listen," Livia insisted. "If that bitch wins, no corner of
Thystra will be safe."
	"How about Kaitia? I’ve got relatives there."
	"Very funny," muttered Narisha. "I don’t know about you, my
little blonde plaything, but I have confidence that you humans will be
able to band together and finish off the point-ears. Somewhat like
ants overwhelming an elephant."
	"Apt," Livia agreed. "But what then? Thae’Lynn steps in, takes
over the Elven Isles and has all the secrets of Elvish civilization at
her command. The rest of the world is too exhausted to take her on,
and they’ll probably figure good riddance. I’d hate to see Elvish
naval and military technology wedded to Dark Elven cunning and
resourcefulness."
	"Gods," I commented, "you’re in a mood, aren’t you? Since when
did you care about who runs civilization?"
	Livia gave me a look of utter disgust. "Since I met you and
Narisha, you knob. I thought I could live on my own, not depending on
anyone. Now you’re in my life and, hell, I guess I was wrong.
Unfortunately, along with my newfound humanity comes a newfound love
for the rest of mankind, whether they’re humans or orcs or dwarves or
what have you. A couple of years ago, I’d have said the world could go
fuck itself. Now... Well, I don’t especially want to lose the world
I’ve got."
	I felt flattered, along with a sudden rush of sympathy and
affection for my freckle-faced sorceress. "So you think we should save
the world. How?" 
	"Search me. Perhaps if the truth were known, it might bring
the Silver Lady out of her funk, and the High Elves could be persuaded
to stop, or maybe the rest of the world will band together against the
real enemy."
	Narisha waved a hand. "Nae’mitz said we won’t be able to get
near the Silver Lady without real proof. We’d be thrown out on our
asses the minute we started talking. Dark elf conspiracies. Gods, next
you’ll be saying that we’re being visited by little green dwarves from
another world." A man at an adjoining table cast lustful eyes at her
lush red calves and thighs. She glared at him, bared her fangs, and he
looked quickly away.
	"So we need proof, or at least a better idea of what Thae’Lynn
is planning," Livia said. "One of us could infiltrate this army she’s
raising, learn her plans, then get the hell out."
	"I could go," Daedora volunteered. "I could disguise
myself..."
	"No," I said, with a vehemence that surprised me. "The bitch
or that daemon who buggers her will see through you in an instant. No
disguises. If one of us goes, it’ll have to be someone she’s never
seen before." I gazed at Narisha, then at Livia. "Maybe..." I
faltered. "I can’t let you go, either."
	Narisha met my gaze, grinning like a tiger.
	"Why not? All her officers are women, and she’d probably have
no objection to a demon..."
	I shook my head. Doubt was, for some reason, banished from my
mind. "I’ll go."
	Livia looked shocked. "What are you talking about, Wulf?
Thae’Lynn knows you. She knows what you look like. Hell, she probably
has your face tattooed on her ass. Any idea what she’d do if she got
her hands on you?"
	"I’m not going," I said. "Chuma is."
	"Chuma? The lion-man." Livia went suddenly pale. "No. You
can’t be serious. That was just a spell."
	"We’ve investigated it, Livia, remember? You said that that
witch doctor was able to turn me in to a n’doro because I already had
some of the essence of a lion man inside me. We’re all made up of
multiple experiences, multiple souls. All we have to do is bring out
the part of me that’s a lion man."
	Livia seemed horrified, and Narisha looked distinctly dubious.
Daedora looked up at me, and our eyes met.
	"Wulf," she said. "You don’t have to do this."
	"I know," I replied. "I’ve got a lot of reasons. I know I was
reluctant before, but now... Well, I want to help you. I want to give
Thae’Lynn some payback. I want to try and stop the foolishness that’s
going on around us. I want to spare all three of you the danger. I
guess I’m also thinking about your people, Daedora. The ones Thae’Lynn
killed. If we get rid of her, you’ve got a chance to take back your
territory, honor their memory. Hell, you need a lion man to go spy on
that tongue-pierced cunt, then I’m your man."
	I thought she might burst into tears. "Thank you," she said,
softly. "Thank you. If there’s anything I can do..."
	"See, Wulf?" Narisha said. "She’s offering you her body."
	Daedora glared at her. "I’m offering nothing of the sort.
You’re all my friends and my lovers, and my body is not a bargaining
chip. I’m just telling Wulf that I’m grateful."
	Narisha smirked. "Of course you are."
	Bitch. Daedora was a kind and considerate woman, I realized.
In short, for a dark elf, she was the worst kind of pervert.
	In the end we agreed. The chance to do dirt to Thae’Lynn was
too much to pass up, whatever the danger. A strange determination for
a lifelong coward like me, wouldn’t you agree?
	The fact was that neither Livia nor Narisha had ever come into
contact with Thae’Lynn before. They were both capable -- probably more
capable than me, and both had major grudges against the Duchess. Why
couldn’t I simply let them go, and stay out of danger myself?
	The only reason I could come up with was that I loved them
both, and didn’t want to risk either. It wasn’t the first time I’d
known someone whose skin I valued above my own, and probably wouldn’t
be the last. I’m kind of sentimental that way.
	We decided that Livia would transform me back into Chuma, then
I would make my way south and join up with Thae’Lynn’s growing
mercenary army. My companions, meanwhile, would gather whatever
intelligence they could in the Inner Sea, and possibly rally support
for their cause elsewhere. I had a brilliant idea, myself.
	"Theanna," I said. "If she were with us, we’d be guaranteed an
audience with the Silver Lady. Theanna and Li are probably still with
Captain Skrall. Have you heard anything from them lately?"
	"If we had, you’d have been the first to know," Livia said. "I
doubt you’d forgive me for keeping word of Li and Theanna from you."
	"True," I replied. My beloved Kaitian babe and her elven
companion were among my dearest people, up there with the three women
at the table, and my long-lost Ushandra. "You can find them, though?"
	Narisha smiled. "We’ll find the little minx, don’t you worry."
	"Yeah," I said, "but what are you planning to do with her once
you find her?"
	Narisha grinned, once more baring her fangs. "That’s my little
secret."
	And so it was. I went to bed alone that night, steeling myself
for the return of Chuma the lion-man. Again, I was unsure whether I’d
ever be human again.
	Livia prepared the spell the next day at sunset. We
transferred back to the "Skate," where she had prepared a casting
room, with a summoning circle and various candles and censers. I
undressed and stood in the center, noting with discomfort that Livia
held a small black stone with the image of a lion scribed into its
surface.
	"You remember, Wulf," she said. "Swallow it."
	"Can I wash it down with something?"
	"Not yet," she said. "Just do it, and let’s see what happens."
	Narisha and Daedora stood back a ways, watching with interest.
I swallowed the stone, feeling it go down the hard way, and stood
still as Livia chanted and waved various wands and rattles at me.
	I felt an old and familiar sensation. My limbs tingled. I felt
a surge of great energy, and a moment later I stood in the middle of a
whirl of fading motes of light, looking at the room from nearly a foot
higher. My body was now covered in a tawny pelt, and I peered down a
short furred muzzle at Livia. I looked down. Yes, it was all there. I
was a heavy-boned, muscular humanoid lion, with retractable claws, a
pale-furred belly, powerful legs, a swishing tail and...
	"Gods! He’s hung like a plow horse!"
	That was Narisha, bless her pointy little head.
	Yes, I’d retained all of my features as a lion man, including
an organ the size of a small merchant vessel. I cast Narisha a
withering gaze, feeling my last shred of dignity slipping away.
	"Wulf, dearest! You can’t possibly keep that to yourself, can
you?"
	I growled, and it filled the room. "Just watch me, demon."
	Narisha looked at me and pouted prettily. "Oh come on, lover.
You’re leaving us tomorrow. We may never see you again. Don’t you want
to use that thing on me, and give me something to remember you by?"
	Livia and Daedora looked interested, as well, and my
human-sized libido seemed to grow to fill my new lion-sized body. The
alien organ between my legs stirred slightly. Gods, I thought. Here we
go again.
	"I’ll see you in your cabin," I said. "I expect written thank
you notes from all three of you before I leave."

[end of part 4]


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