 
TALES OF LORIO: DAUGHTER OF DUST

By

GEORGE STRAATMAN

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 George Straatman

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other Smashwords Titles by George Straatman

THE CONVERGING

THE CONVERGING: MARK OF THE DEMON

THE CONVERGING: CLOSURES IN BLOOD

JOURNEY THROUGH THE LAND OF SHADES

ABJECTION ALONG THE ROAD TO APOTHEOSIS (JOURNEY BOOK 2)

CIRCLE OF THE WITCH

THE CHAINS OF CAPITULATION (JOURNEY BOOK 3)

THE FINAL CONVERGING: AN IMMORTAL HEART ASUNDER

TALES OF LORIO AND ISSIDRIS: A PARTING OF WAYS

DEDICATION

I dedicate this novel to those who create worlds and populate them with characters who speak to us long after their tales have been told.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to acknowledge the influence that the tales of Arthur had had upon my creative life. They are an endless source of inspiration. I would also like to thank Lorio for manifesting in my creative worldscape as such a fully realized character. She has been a treasure trove of inspiration and has served as a clarifying lens through which I have come to see the enduring plight of women. Even after this latest tale...I'm may not quite be done with you yet old friend.

Chapter One:

1

The echo of hard leather soles slapping on stone echoed up the winding staircase, seemingly fading into infinity as the solitary woman made her descent into the bowels of castle Kammlogran. Though her step was light and graceful, it resounded up through the stone gullet like reverberating thunder. Air, damp and chilly, carried the news of her passage back up to the civilized portion of the mighty seat of Emercian power and the woman stole a longing glance back up the winding stone stairwell that evoked vivid images of a coiled serpent.

' _Considering the odious purpose the depths of Kammlogran once served...and for whom...my disquiet is not particularly surprising,'_ the woman thought even as she absently drew the folds of her charcoal coloured cape tighter around her statuesque body. There had been a time, not so long past, when the darkened bowels of the Emercian seat of power had been the quintessential enclave of nightmare where a tyrant's depravity was given full rein....where the most heinous acts of unimaginable evil were routinely conducted, accompanied by a litany of unheeded pleas for mercy.

That time had been consigned to memory, but the exceptionally perceptive woman could still hear those harrowing exhortations twisting through the chill darkness, like uneasy memories that would never be laid to rest.

This disturbing thought caused Queen Karosyn to shudder and she quickened her pace, suddenly anxious to conclude the unsavoury business that had drawn her to these seldom used recesses of her castle.

On many occasions, she had mulled over the idea of having these lower levels...where Myrhia had dabbled in the foulest of sorceries...permanently sealed. She had desisted, her hand stayed by the certitude that the evils of history could not be banished by sealing their tangible reminders away. On the contrary, humanity was far better served if its inherent imperfections and dark proclivities were laid bare before the harsh glare of public scrutiny.

It had been her late husband...her one enduring love even in death...who had fervently espoused this idea and she had embraced its wisdom unequivocally. Thoughts of Artumas...of his unflagging nobility and compassion...still possessed the power to lance her like the well-placed strike of a rapier. Though she had come to be generally regarded as the greatest monarch in Emercia's long, celebrated history...indeed, the collective history of the Antiquated Lands...Karosyn still missed his counsel...his humble, yet sage manner.

' _If only you were here to advise me now, husband,'_ she thought as a fresh wave of ambivalence assailed her like swarming insects. _'How would you perceive what I am endeavouring to achieve in these lightless, wretched depths...with approval...disappointment? What I would not give to know your mind in this matter.'_

Beset by this rare episode of self-doubt, Karosyn...normally a paragon of resolve, reached the bottom of the long stairwell. She waved an aristocratically slender right hand causing a golden light to coalesce around her finely-boned fingers and a massive section of black stone wall grated across the floor.

Inhaling deeply, she passed through the exposed archway and into the sprawling labyrinth of dimly lit corridors and vast chambers that stretched away, seemingly to the four points of the compass. After becoming the ruling monarch of Emercia upon the death of her husband, the Queen had allocated this space to be divided between her military and her cadre of engineers. She had done so with the strict provision that nothing would be developed in these infamous depths without her prior approval. She had also made it explicitly clear that her cadre of inventors would devote an equal portion of their creative efforts to the fabrication of instruments that would make the everyday lives of her subjects less...onerous.

Such was the high regard in which Karosyn was universally held that not once, in the thirty years since, had her provision been ignored or circumvented.

' _But with this undertaking, do I make a flagrant mockery of my own ideals?'_ she wondered as she strode unerringly through the maze of corridors she seldom ever visited. _'Can sly manipulation ever be rationalized as the tools of a benevolent ruler...even in the service of a well-suited purpose?'_

uce a dozen different facile justifications of why it was, but in the cleft of her virtually pristine heart, the virtuous Karosyn was not so sure.

The disconcerting spectacle to which she was about to be treated would do little to alleviate her roiling misgivings.

2

Garum Tranan stared fixedly through the silver-hued, transparent curtain, a magical device that allowed watchers in the circular corridor to view the interior of the vast, spartan training chamber. Those labouring within the dimly lit chamber were not afforded the same courtesy, allowing their observers to assess their skills unseen.

The report of leather on stone drew the weapons master's attention and he turned to see his Queen striding purposefully toward him. He stepped away from the perplexing magical device and offered his monarch a deep, deferential bow of genuine reverence.

Attired in a full length, hooded cloak with only a minimal amount of ornamentation, Karosyn was still a living portrait of royal poise and elegance. Hers was a timeless beauty that would entrance with but a single glance, though she seemed genuinely oblivious to the way in which she could beguile all who came into her presence.

Karosyn was a queen whose beauty, whose decorum and probity...inspired unwavering devotion in all who served her. Yet, as she approached on this day, Garum could see that, beneath her mantle of composure, his queen was uncharacteristically troubled. Party to the discussions of the Queen's Tribunes, Garum was not aware of any concern that would arouse Karosyn's rare episode of disquiet...though he quickly came to surmise that one of those reasons might stand on the opposite side of this baffling curtain of silver light.

The Queen waved Garum out of his posture of deference. She drew back her ermine-trimmed hood, her breath billowing in the damp air, and without preamble, inquired, "Am I to conclude that this demonstration signifies that she is fully prepared for the task at hand?"

"I believe she is, your highness," Garum replied in his customary tacit fashion. Economy of speech was one of Garum Tranan's defining qualities...the others being nearly unparalleled proficiency with every manner of conventional weaponry and a rare gift for imparting those gifts to others.

Though just shy of his sixtieth birthday, Garum possessed the grace and speed of a Suran dancer and the explosive power of a great hunting cat. Lithe and ramrod straight of spine, only the lines on his still handsome face and generous smattering of white in his black hair declared that this was a man in his later years.

When it came to the complex matter at hand, there was no living soul in whose opinion Queen Karosyn would place more stock.

As she shifted her incisive gaze from her weapons master to the solitary figure who stood motionless at the center of the vast training chamber, a rare frown twisted Karosyn's generous mouth. With a note of rueful disapproval, she demanded, "Why is she attired in that salacious garb?"

Garum's bemusement was clearly reflected on his angular face as he frowned and returned, "She has informed me that the rippling of loose fabric, though barely audible, adversely effects her environmental awareness...her _sensory perception_ is how, I believe, she described it."

Karosyn raised a tapered eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "You're telling me that the ruffling of her clothing is discordant?"

"I know it seems scarcely credible, your highness, but this demonstration will lend credence to her contention. Her sense of hearing is...beyond extraordinary." He added, with a hint of incredulity, "She also admits that her attire unsettles her opponents."

Shifting her gaze back to the solitary figure, the Queen allowed distantly, "Of that, I have little doubt."

The pair fell silent as Karosyn scrutinized the eccentric and disconcerting woman with whom she may well have struck a devil's bargain.

The woman was blond and diminutive in stature, attired in a clinging white garment that, while covering her from ankle to neck, conformed to the feminine contours of her muscular body like a second skin. Gifted with exceptional visual acuity, even at great distances, Karosyn could clearly see the woman's prominent turgid nipples as the thin fabric melded to her full breasts like a lover's ardent hand. The woman's body exuded power, from the sweep of her heavily muscled thighs to the sculpted majesty of her square shoulders.

The living amalgam of power stood with her legs slightly parted and as Karosyn absorbed the astounding reality of her physique...a body wrought equally for pleasure or violent mayhem...the decorous queen noted that the cleft of her womanhood was clearly outlined through the taut fabric.

' _This creature is shameless and brazen,'_ she thought, shifting her gaze back to the woman's face, which was partially obscured by a heavy red blindfold that had been wound around her head and tightly knotted to prevent slippage.

Perturbed by the unsettled reaction this vexing creature stirred in her heart, Karosyn inquired, "What is your assessment of this confounding woman?"

Garum studied the still motionless creature, who filled him with a profound unease that was not so easily articulated. A pervasive aura of darkness seemed to hover over the unfathomable woman...and though he could not divine its precise form...it terrified him nonetheless. Karosyn could clearly discern his inner conflict when he asked quietly, "May I speak freely, my Queen?"

"After these long years in my service, it pains me that you would even have to ask, Garum," Karosyn scolded, though her slight smile belied her reproving tone.

Garum's apoplectic reaction caused the Queen's smile to broaden as he stammered, "I...I meant no disrespect, my Queen."

Karosyn laid a placating hand on his shoulder as her smile became a radiant grin that was breathtaking in the eyes of her bondsman. "I jest, old friend. I would hear your mind without reservation or circumspection."

Despite this open invitation to candour, the naturally reserved Tranan was still reluctant to share his unbiased opinion of the perplexing anomaly, but sensing that his Queen required an honest evaluation, he forged ahead. "Strictly in terms of her abilities, she is a physical marvel...an unprecedented wonder, possessed of an aptitude for unarmed combat that defies all reason." Here, he hesitated before sharing his concern. "So astounding are her skills that I have come to suspect that they have been augmented...by sorcery."

He had given voice to this suspicion as if giving voice to the blackest of possibilities, which, when considering Emercia's recent past, perhaps he was. Karosyn spoke unequivocally to assuage his concerns. "I can tell you that...whatever skills and abilities this woman might possess, they are her own. She has not been enhanced by any manner of arcane device."

Having gained a thorough understanding of the incredible nature of the woman he served, Garum accepted this as an indisputable truth. "This only makes her gifts all the more incredible because she is a living engine of perfect violence..."

"I sense that there is an admonishing _but_ , in your words," Karosyn observed wryly.

Here, Garum shook his head in undisguised consternation as he peered through the curtain of shimmering energy at the enigmatic woman beyond. "I fear that the woman's nature is...erratic and when considering the lethal array of talents at her disposal, this _shiftlessness_ is cause for grave concern."

"Elaborate, Garum," Karosyn prompted as she joined her clearly unsettled weapons master in scrutinizing the still unmoving woman. Upon closer observation, Karosyn realized that her initial impression of motionlessness...of _unmoving patience_ had been incorrect. Though she was stationary, the woman's magnificent, muscular body was a tempest of perpetual motion. Beneath the thin fabric of her clinging garb, seemingly every fibre of every muscle rippled in barely perceptible, but nonetheless incessant waves. These tiny contractions of her dense musculature evoked images of fields of grass being stirred by a gently soughing breeze.

"The degree of muscle control this display would suggest...is incredible," Karosyn marvelled and as she watched the decidedly erotic dance of sculpted muscle...of thighs and abdomen...the Queen suddenly realized that it was being conducted specifically for _her benefit_. Despite the occluding sorcery of the curtain, the woman was fully aware that she was being surreptitiously watched. Karosyn found this epiphany and all it implied, deeply disturbing...making Garum's candor all the more critical.

Garum gave a rueful wag of his head, clearly bemused by the woman he'd been tasked to monitor. "In matters of training and unarmed combat, she is the most disciplined being I've ever seen, but her nature is...unsettled. She is vainglorious and arrogant, which considering the enormity of her talent, is perhaps to be expected to some degree...especially in one so young. Still, there are times when she demonstrates a needless cruelty when besting her opponents...a penchant for doling out humiliation that is profoundly disturbing."

Karosyn eyed Garum intently and demanded, "Humiliation? How exactly does she humiliate her opponents?

Tranan clearly discerned the uncharacteristic snap of iron in Karosyn's voice and knew that this revelation had vexed the Queen mightily. Karosyn deplored cruelty in its every ugly guise and Garum hoped that this aversion would prevent what he had come to fear would be a catastrophe should the queen set this creature to purpose. Tranan met his queen's searing regard and replied evasively, "Perhaps it would be best if you see for yourself, your majesty. The demonstration I've arranged should serve as an ideal showcase for her inimitable talents...and the darker angels of her nature. This should then help you decide if she is truly a tool you wish to employ in your name and the name of the Emercia you've forged."

Garum's eyes grew comically wide as he realized the sheer temerity of this last utterance...a pronouncement that was as close as the weapons master had ever come to criticizing the woman he privately loved more than his very life.

"Then it seems that you and I share the same misgivings in this matter, Garum," the Queen allowed in a sober voice. "Let us begin so I might witness your concerns first hand."

Relieved that he had apparently not affronted his Queen with his ungainly criticism, Garum stepped closer to the arcane curtain and raised his right hand.

In response, Karosyn could feel a subtle tension immediately insinuate itself into the very air of this bleak place. She also noticed that the woman had gone utterly still the very instant that Garum had raised his hand...as if she was fully cognizant of both his presence and his actions.

' _Could this creature actually be an empath?_ ' she wondered, knowing what rare aberrations such creatures were.

A man, attired from head to toe in black, bare foot and armed with two polished hardwood clubs, came creeping out of one of the shadowed corners of the cavernous chamber. He moved with a deliberation inspired by a mind to stealth, but Karosyn required only one glimpse at the smirk that had blossomed on the woman's generous mouth to know that she was fully cognizant of her would be attacker's approach.

"You're certain that blindfold is opaque?" she heard herself inquire distantly.

"I inspected it myself, your majesty. At her insistence, we also placed cotton batting against her eyes before wrapping the scarf around her head. She has been completely deprived of the faculty of sight," Garum confirmed.

When the attacker's meandering course had carried him to within arm's reach and the woman had still not moved, he sprang to the offensive. Lunging forward, he attempted to strike the woman with an offset pincer...the right club intended for her head and the left for her muscular thigh.

To his shock and dismay, the woman bent backwards at the knee...until her entire body was parallel to the ground...in total defiance of gravity and normal body mechanics.

The sweeping blows found only air and pulled the attacker slightly forward. Before he could recover his balance, the woman sprang back to a vertical position as if propelled by a spring loaded fulcrum. She drove the heel of both hands into his face, snapping his head back and sending the much larger man into tumbling unconsciousness.

The woman lithely side-stepped him as he toppled, hitting the floor with a muffled thud that sent his two clubs spinning off into the gloom. The woman went off to retrieve the two weapons, deliberately stepping on the unconscious man's back as she did. When she'd collected both clubs, she returned to the fallen opponent. Turning the man onto his back, she pushed one of the clubs between his slack jaws in the way one might give a dog a stick.

She then rose with a liquid flexing of powerful thighs. Holding the other club, she smirked directly at the spot where Karosyn and Garum stood and then strode briskly to another position in the chamber, her muscular haunches swaying fetchingly as she went.

"Vulgar exhibitionism!" Karosyn grumbled to which Garum nodded.

"A mild display, my Queen," Tranan observed quietly, which drew a sharp glance from Karosyn. "I fear you'll see far worse before this spectacle reaches its conclusion. Violence only seems to whet her appetite for humiliation. I suspect your presence might incite her to new lows."

Just then, two more assailants emerged from the shadows, converging on the unarmed woman from opposite sides of the chamber. Each attacker moved with measured care, brandishing simple wooden quarter staffs.

The woman reacted to their furtive approach by assuming a stance that struck Karosyn, who abhorred physical violence and was unfamiliar with its nuances, as ungainly and peculiar. She expressed this to her weapons master.

Without taking his gaze from the woman, he explained, "It may seem that way, but while in this stance, she is explosively dangerous."

The woman had fallen into a spread stance, with her right leg thrust forward and bent at the knee. Her torso was bent over the forward knee and parallel to the ground. Her left arm was flung out behind her, while her right arm was extended forward. In her right hand, she held the club she'd wrestled from her vanquished opponent and was tapping it lightly on the stone floor.

The smile that adorned her angular face evoked comparisons with the slavering snarl of a hungry predator...preparing to dine on an easy meal. Karosyn could see that this posture also unsettled her opponents because they both came to an abrupt halt.

"Come now, don't say this tiny stick has caused your balls to shrivel?" the woman challenged disdainfully, though her voice was all smoke and velvet. "Surely two big strapping lads can show this little girl how those big sticks are meant to be used?"

The two staff wielders crept forward with even greater caution than before, prompting Karosyn, who was engrossed in the vulgar display despite herself, to observe, "If her intent was to incite their masculine egos into compelling them into a rash charge, it would seem she's failed."

Garum raised his right hand slightly. "I would caution, my Queen, that this woman's motives are every bit as indecipherable as her nature. I can tell you that she has managed to unsettle two men who are not easily unnerved."

Karosyn pursed her full lips and returned her gaze to the fray. One of the men had circled to face the woman and when he had ventured within striking distance, she abruptly hurled the club at the opponent with a casual flick of the wrist. It flashed across the space between the pair, the rounded end striking his exposed throat with sufficient force to make him relinquish his grip on the quarter staff. He clutched his injured throat with a gurgling groan."

The second attacker bound forward in a blur, while adjusting his grip on the staff to bring the weapon down in a whistling arc with the intention of bludgeoning the she-demon's skull."

The strike found only open air and as a disbelieving Karosyn watched, the woman exploded out of her crouch, executing a seemingly impossible backflip that carried her up and over the quarter staff and its flummoxed wielder.

The staff struck the dark stone floor with sufficient force to snap the thin length of wood. Before the startled attacker could fully digest what had just transpired, the woman landed directly behind him. Springing back into the air the very instant she'd landed, the terrifying creature delivered a powerful two-legged thrust kick to the centre of his back, driving him forward onto his face with a sickening thud.

The engine of carnage then launched her compact body parallel to the ground, driving a fist into the back of his skull that propelled the vanquished opponent into twitching unconsciousness. Her forward momentum carried her into a perfectly executed tumble and past her other attacker, who was just now starting to regain his composure. She clambered up his back, while snaking her left elbow under his chin and locking her heavily muscled legs around his torso, just beneath his rib cage.

Karosyn could clearly see every muscle in the powerful woman's body contract as she applied a constricting pressure to the hopelessly ensnared man's throat and torso. Peering directly at the arcane curtain, she rubbed her heel across his groin and announced, "I do believe he is enjoying this far too much."

A short time later, the man collapsed to his knees with his tormentor still on his back and his arms hanging limply at his sides. She released her stranglehold and slammed him onto his back, where he lay utterly still. Reaching down, she clutched his groin with caressing fingers and declared blithely, "Yes, he definitely enjoyed that more than was seemly."

Face contorted in outrage, Karosyn growled, "This is reprehensible. Stop this odious exhibition at once and have this reprobate escorted from the city...in chains!"

Before Garum could comply, the woman waved her arms wildly and roared, "Release the hounds...now!

To a livid Karosyn's mounting consternation, the ill-advised drama which she'd set in motion seemed to gain its own inexorable momentum. Attackers came pouring out of the deep shadows from every corner. Unlike the first three, they did not approach the daunting woman with timid deliberation, but rather swarmed toward her in a frenzy...like Redian berserkers in the full thrall of blood lust. The detail-obsessed Karosyn counted a dozen in all, each wielding different lengths of hardwood stave. To her chagrin, she saw that one even brandished a large wooden mallet.

Despite her mounting fury, Karosyn could feel herself succumbing to the black fascination of this choreography of violence, where an unarmed vessel of mayhem stood alone against a dozen armed attackers, who converged upon her from every side.

This dark scenario conjured images of a similar, though far less abhorrent spectacle, conjured from the nadir of Karosyn's long life. It had been on the return trip to Nalosan, with her lost daughter, Lyndsyn's body chilling beneath a shroud on the crude wooden boards of a wagon. Cloistered in grief, Karosyn had watched as Issidris Il had delivered a lesson in the finer points of combat to a Suran rogue they'd been travelling with...Reyfort had been his name. After Issidris had humbled Reyfort, Lorio had bound forth and she and the stoic Issidris had engaged in an epic sparring session the artistry of which had impressed Karosyn even beneath the pall of her dejection.

Issidris was gone now, claimed by the relentless march of years, but Lorio...magnificent Lorio lived on like a burning star in the firmament...though where she blazed, Karosyn could not say.

She shook her head, trying to resist the pull of recollection of that bleak period, instead focusing on the exasperating creature who appeared evidently unconcerned by the hopeless odds now confronting her.

As her attackers charged, bellowing inarticulate cries rife with the promise of carnage, the woman stood with her legs shoulder width apart and her muscular arms hanging loosely at her sides. Her head was slightly bowed but an enthralled Karosyn could clearly discern the carnivorous grin that emblazoned her partially obscured face...and _knew_ that she relished what was to follow.

An aspect of the macabre seized control of the moment then...like a disjointed illusion glimpsed from down the length of a poorly illuminated corridor. Bringing her extraordinary faculties of concentration to bear, Karosyn filtered out the superfluous detail of the chaos...the bellows of contrived fury and the more distracting howls of genuine pain.

She narrowed her cognizance down, culling the distractions until all she beheld was the provocatively dressed woman. She shifted in place with a speed and fluidity that made a mockery of physical limitations.

Karosyn narrowed her eyes and the woman suddenly underwent a startling metamorphosis. Gone was the paragon of muscle and grace and in her place, the transfixed Karosyn beheld a glittering column of water that spiralled and receded, undulated and twisted in perfect syncopation to the exterior forces that attempted to restrain it...to disrupt its flow.

Intermittently, an extrusion of water would erupt from the main column, accompanied by a sharp exclamation of pain and a distant, muffled thud.

The column flared to blinding magnitude one final time and then settled back into itself. Karosyn opened her eyes to see ten unmoving bodies littering the stone floor around the woman, who had now removed her blindfold and was glaring belligerently at the two men who knelt before her, their heads bowed in abject surrender.

"We submit," both men mumbled in unison.

"Submit?" The green-eyed woman echoed, her tone both baleful and incredulous. "I don't fucking think so, you craven geldings!"

Before either could react, she bound forward and seizing their heads in powerful fingers, drove their skulls together with a resounding crack.

The two sagged to the stone in a boneless sprawl that provoked a grimace from Garum and a huff of disgust from the indignant Queen.

The woman stepped disdainfully onto the chest of one of her fallen foes and facing the arcane curtain, demanded, "Can you furtive observers at least provide me with a challenge worth the effort? If this hapless lot represents the best you can muster...perhaps I should climb that accursed staircase and claim the throne for my own."

Karosyn spun to face her weapons master and even in the muted light of the corridor, Garum could see that her immaculate complexion was stained by hectic red blotches. To his dismay, he realized that the stalwart Queen was in close proximity to openly losing her composure, as evinced by her next startling utterance. "Garum, I want you to teach this insufferably arrogant witch a lesson in respect and humility. If you must inflict the odd bruise and scrape to do so, then so be it."

Garum's eyes widened in bewilderment, but he quickly reined in his shock and offering his queen a stiffly formal bow, the aging swordsman moved to comply.

Upon later reflection, Karosyn, to her eternal shame, realized that she had failed to perceive a fleeting glimpse of something else in Garum Tranan's sharp gaze...disappointment and an emotion that might well have been anxiety, if not outright trepidation.

Still, unquestioning obedience to the Queen, whom he had served his entire adult life, caused the weapons master to set aside his misgivings. He strode resolutely into the vast expanse of cold stone, which he had always privately believed resembled a tomb.

The woman greeted his entrance with a radiant smile, which an increasingly vexed Karosyn notice never touched her polar green eyes that seemed rimmed with frost.

' _For all of your vaunted wisdom, you've committed a grievous misjudgment with this deplorable creature,'_ she castigated herself with a grimace. _'If you do not intervene this instant, it will be Garum Tranan, this noble man who has served you with such devotion, who will pay a heavy price in the currency of humiliation.'_

Yet, despite her mounting reservations, a deeper instinct stayed the virtuous Karosyn's hand...though what would follow would inflict an indelible stain on her perceived virtue.

The woman walked slowly toward the weapons master, who had come to a halt and now tracked her approach impassively. Her muscular thighs danced fetchingly as she stalked toward him like a great cat on the hunt...exuding indolent, poised violence. She spread her arms and quipped, "So, old man...you are the best that mighty Emercia has to offer? Still, I can see by the lightness in your stance that you will make a worthy adversary...unlike these cockless imbeciles, who clutched their weapons like frightened children clinging to their mother's skirts. With them, I merely toyed...but with you, out of respect, I will not hold back!" Her tone darkened and after flashing her teeth at the arcane curtain, she added, "I can predict that you will quickly come to rue that tribute."

When he did not react to her taunt, the diminutive pain dispenser merely shrugged and invited, "A stoic, is it? Well I suppose that is an admirable quality in a man. Come, teach me a new trick...weapons master!"

Garum drew his rapier in a fluid motion and assumed a neutral stance, knees slightly bent, weapon levelled before him at waist height. Having witnessed this engine of carnage ply her brutal trade these last weeks, Garum elected to let her take the initiative...in hopes of holding her at bay until the queen grew weary of this spectacle and intervened.

She circled him slowly, arms held perfectly straight and slightly away from her body. Garum pivoted gracefully in place, his rapier tip now aligned with the woman's sternum. With a feral grin, she encouraged, "Come now, old man...don't you want to demonstrate your prowess with the sword for your queen?" Her tone became velvet smoke and she purred, "I've seen the yearning in your eyes whenever you look upon her and know you long to show her how skilfully you can employ your other sword...that is, if you still can."

His only response to the crude taunt was to slightly tighten his grip on his sword haft. Such was the magnitude of the woman's unprecedented skill that this small reaction was sufficient to provide an advantage...upon which she swiftly capitalized with devastating effect.

Unfurling in an explosion of sinewy limbs, the woman executed a swift, diving roll that carried her past and slightly behind the startled Tranan. Even as she performed this stunningly agile maneuver, the blond landed a heavy strike to Garum's right thigh, just below the hip.

Despite being in motion, the blow landed with the impact of a tenderizing mallet, eliciting a grunt of pain from the aging weapons master. The woman came to her feet with a nimble twist and proceeded to land two powerful blows to Garum's exposed hamstrings, followed by a titanic forearm to the left side of Tranan's head.

The force of the blow sent the hopelessly overmatched Tranan stumbling sideways. The blond moved swiftly to take advantage of this sudden turn of fortune by delivering a rapid succession of rapier precise strikes that dislodged Garum's sword and deposited him on his right side in a quivering heap.

This violent act of total destruction transpired in the span of but a few accelerated heartbeats. The blond stood gazing down on her thoroughly beaten foe, the expression on her pretty face inscrutable. She then extended her muscular right leg and with her bare foot, rolled the semi-coherent Tranan onto his back, before squatting on his chest in a way that evoked images of a large bird perching on a rock. Patting his slack face gently, she intoned softly, "Sorry old man, I had a point to prove...emphatically. At least I didn't hurt that handsome face of yours."

The sharp report of heels ringing on stone announced an incensed Karosyn's entry into the training hall.

"Enough!" she roared, her fury fulminating through the vast chamber like rolling thunder. The muscular blond glanced up, the nascent stirring of a smirk on her face, but before it could fully take shape, she found that she was unceremoniously jerked into the cool air. She was roughly turned upside down to hang over a prone Garum Tranan like an inverted T...her arms extended to either side and held in place by an invisible force that shook her vigorously.

The Emercian Queen came to a halt and glared at the infuriating creature, who, while unsettled by Karosyn's towering anger, displayed neither deference, nor fear, despite her position of helpless vulnerability.

Karosyn knelt next to the weapons master, who was only now beginning to stir from his daze. She laid her right palm along the angle of his jaw and felt both his pain and abjection beneath her gentle touch. To her intense shame, Karosyn also discerned his self-contempt for having failed her.

"I'm so sorry, old friend," she murmured and suffused his body with ameliorating warmth that at least effaced his pain, if not his humiliation. "Lie still while I deal with this despicable viper."

She rose and settled her scorching regard on the recalcitrant woman, who challenged, "Put me down, retract your arcane claws and face me in a fight...then let's see if you're still so eager to hurl names."

Karosyn seized the blonde's chin and shook her vigorously, though the serene part of her nature was appalled by her overtly physical actions. "You believe these petulant games you play are a measure of true power...and this somehow legitimizes your right to humiliate those you best? These so-called _gifts_ you have are a shallow jape. The woman who carved these chambers from stone...she would have incinerated an army of your sorry ilk with the batting of a lash. The woman who will arrive on these shores in the coming weeks...she would inculcate every nuance of abjection into the very marrow of your bones...as could I. Fortunately for you...I am a woman of a radically different disposition." She raked the woman with a predatory grin that had never before adorned her exquisite face. "Still, I am not averse to administering a harsh lesson when it is so blatantly warranted."

Despite the strident protest of her unassailable virtuous conscience, Karosyn waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and the diminutive blond found herself being unceremoniously flung across the chamber. She landed with a guttural grunt, in a rolling tangle of limbs. She scrambled to her knees, her polar green eyes ablaze with fury.

Before she could regain her feet, Karosyn gesticulated, still deliberately ignoring her disapproving inner voice. The air around the beleaguered woman appeared to congeal and surge and in rapid succession, invisible fists delivered a barrage of blows that drove the woman flat onto her face.

She writhed beneath the unrelenting assault, twisting into a fetal ball and protectively covering her head with her muscular arms. She uttered a thick grunt with every blow, but stubbornly refused to plead or otherwise give voice to her pain.

The Queen had gone as still as a piece of statuary while she dispensed this savage punishment. Her normally limpid blue eyes had assumed an oddly vacant cast.

At her feet, a mortified Garum twisted in place and conjured the temerity to reach out and snag the hem of her cloak, entreating thickly, "Please, my Queen...stop!"

Karosyn's regard snapped to meet his and for a slight instant, no longer than the beat of his anxious heart, Garum feared that the woman he had secretly loved for decades was about to unleash her wrath upon him. Then, in agonizingly slow increments, cognizance filtered into the moment and that expression of furious disassociation relented to one of dawning horror.

Karosyn came back to herself with a violent shudder, realizing that she had come perilously close to committing an irreversible atrocity. The aura of power in which she'd been enveloped abruptly dematerialized and the arcane pummelling of the now unmoving woman ceased.

The disoriented Emercian queen stepped over Garum and crossed over to the barely coherent blond, who regarded her approach with a sullen wariness.

"By your actions here today, you have revealed yourself to be a despicable miscreant and the only thing preventing me from having you permanently chained in the deepest cell in Kammlogran is that, by my actions just now, I have exposed myself to be little different. Still, I will suffer the sight of you no further. You will return to your quarters and gather your belongings, after which I will dispatch cavalry to escort you to the nearest border so that you might slither back into the burrow from where you came." She bent closer and in a tone like the glinting edge of a razor, admonished, "Should you ever be so foolish as to return to Emercia, I will have you dragged behind a horse until every snippet of flesh is excoriated from your miserable bones."

With this dire threat delivered (which she knew she would never act upon even for the most heinous of transgressions), Karosyn turned away. After coming to terms with her shocking ethical lapse, it was her intention to dismiss this lamentable escapade from her mind. Thus, she was both shocked and prepared to be angry when the woman gripped the hem of her cloak and tugged it vigorously. In a voice that quavered on the ragged edge of tears, she implored, "Please, your highness, don't send me away. I wanted only to demonstrate my value...to show that my abilities were equal to the task at hand."

She hesitated and in a tremulous voice, asked, "Can you honestly say that she wouldn't have behaved in exactly the same way given these circumstances? I merely wanted to show that. I could...pique her interest."

Karosyn turned slowly back to the diminutive blond, who had pushed herself into a kneeling position. Gone was any hint of the arrogant swagger, displaced by a posture of submissive deference and while Karosyn knew this could be easily feigned...the note of desperation in the proud woman's voice could not.

"Rise!" Karosyn commanded, her tone glacial and imperious. That peremptory tone faltered when the woman grimaced sharply as she drew herself upright. "Queen or not, I was wrong to abuse you as I did...even if your actions seemed to warrant a punitive response. Harsh justice is a path to tyranny."

The woman stood with her head bowed and offered, "l deserved every blow, your highness and to make amends, I will allow these geldings to bruise me further if it is your desire...if it serves to restore their tattered male egos. I will do whatever is required to prevent you from reneging on our agreement...please, your highness!"

Karosyn silently considered the woman, who kept her eyes averted to the floor. Her conscience entreated her to reject this fraught plea and contrive another way to achieve her objective, decrying this creature as untrustworthy and dangerously ungovernable. Deeper instinct prompted her to ignore this seemingly prudent counsel to abort this misadventure before it went irretrievably awry.

She could feel Garum Tranan's troubled gaze upon her back and sensed his displeasure as she placed a curled index finger beneath the woman's firm chin and gently raised her head. "You will assist my weapons master in providing whatever aid these men require and then offer each a sincere apology...especially the two men you abused after they'd submitted to your mastery. You will kneel before Garum Tranan and contritely solicit his forgiveness for your reprehensible conduct. Do you accept these terms of penance?"

"I...I do, your highness," the woman whispered in a brittle, scarcely audible voice. Karosyn could clearly perceive how exorbitantly expensive this had been for the proud creature.

Then, to the astounded incredulity of the flummoxed blond, Karosyn took her right hand and dropped to one knee before her. Behind her, she heard Garum utter a strangled grasp of incredulous horror over what he perceived as her abasement. Peering directly into those polar green eyes, the queen offered her own egalitarian gesture of contrition. "By abusing you as I did, I have disgraced myself in the eyes of my Goddess. I humbly plead for your forgiveness."

Both nonplused and embarrassed by a display of contrition that was without precedent amongst kings and queens...where the presumption of divinity was a common trait, she stammered, "You...you have it...so please, your highness...get up."

Karosyn rose gracefully and in a tone that would countenance no argument, made her expectations explicitly clear. "When you resume your training in the morning, you will afford those assigned to aid you the respect and dignity they deserve. Garum will be tasked with watching you to ensure that you do not degrade or humiliate my bondsmen. While you are in Nalosan, you will conduct yourself with the courtesy and civility befitting a woman in the service of the queen."

"Yes, your highness," the evidently chastened engine of carnage swore, though from where he remained prone, Tranan ascribed very little credence to her vow.

"Very well, once you have been dismissed here, you will attend me in my private audience chamber." Karosyn's gaze swept over the woman's battered body and her generous mouth puckered in disapproval. "Before you do, change into an attire more suitable for standing in the presence of a queen. This salacious garb is offensive."

The young woman bowed, all impertinence gone from her demeanour. Karosyn allowed herself a small grin of satisfaction as she turned away and marched over to Garum, who was only now climbing to his feet. "Once you have dealt with matters here, you will present yourself to Carilla for examination and healing as required."

Garum started to object, but she forestalled his objection with a raised index finger, "That is a royal command...not a request."

Her luminous blue eyes assumed an affectionate twinkle and she added, "You will dine with me tonight in my parlour. This odious episode has made me realize that it is well past time that these lower levels be flooded and sealed. Only the business of monsters and tyrants is routinely conducted underground and away from the light...and that is not who we are."

With this, Karosyn strode from the chamber without sparing a parting glance at the woman with whom she had entered into an increasingly dubious arrangement.

At the base of the spiral stairs, she elected to forego the arduous climb and gave herself to the updraft current of air. As she rocketed back toward the light, Karosyn whispered, "Lorio, my beautiful, lost child...what has become of you?"

Chapter Two

1

At one time in the past, the woman over whom the Noble Karosyn fretted had been ensconced in a dark corner of an Inn (the name of which she'd forgotten)...in a village somewhere in central Fairmarch.

A greasy fire burned listlessly in a stone hearth, casting a flickering orange light over the dozen or so scarred wooden tables that were spread haphazardly across the rectangular room. Normally, the inn would have been occupied to bursting by this time of night, but beyond the dirty glass windows of the ale house, a cold rain had clamped down across central Fairmarch. The incessant rain showed no inclination of relenting and as a consequence, many of the ale house patrons had decided to remain in their hovels. As a result, less than half of the tables were occupied and most of the regulars were hunched over their mugs of ale or hot cider...lost In their own contemplation of loneliness and despair.

The crackle of the flames and the wheezing of the obese innkeeper were the only sounds to be heard and a pall of dejected silence hung over the gloomy interior...which suited the single female patron perfectly.

The hood of her black traveling cloak was drawn up in a way that obscured her beautiful face in deep shadow. A still steaming cup of bitter cider sat forgotten before her...as did a crude pewter plate in which mouldered the remains of a mostly uneaten chicken dinner. Though the woman was alone and a stranger to the village...customarily an imprudent situation in which a woman could find herself...she remained undisturbed by the other patrons, though many stole furtive glances at the sleek shadow in the corner. Even concealed beneath a long cloak, it was obvious that the tall woman was pleasingly proportioned, which normally would have invited unwanted attention, but this particular woman exuded an aura of menace that caused a lecher to re-evaluate the wisdom of attempting to discover who was concealed beneath the heavy black cloak.

This particular woman had seen much of this world...more, in fact, than anyone now living beneath its sky.

'Yet, I find myself in this nondescript, reeking ale house, in this watery bog, with no clear notion where I should go next...or why I would actually want to make the effort, even if I had a destination in mind,' Lorio thought morosely, feeling the deep tug of melancholy pulling at her resolve. 'Did you know this would happen to me, Issidris...eventually, inevitably...when you left me alone on the edge of that fucking ocean? Did you understand that I would come to a point where I would be just as adrift and at the mercy of the current as you were when I pushed the raft out into the water that morning? You were always smarter...more perceptive than I was, so how could you not know that I would get hopelessly lost without you?'

Lorio reached for her cider and downed a long draught of the bitter brew, which tasted like rotten apples and festering despair.

It had been years since the day that Lorio had pushed the raft carrying Issidris' body out onto the Sea of Permanent Departure. It had been her beloved friend's wish that her body be given to the ocean in the capricious hope that its waves would carry her to a shore where no living being had ever set foot.

' _All of those years, Issidris and the torment of losing you has not dampened...not a whit, like an infected wound that no unguent can ever heal. It just festers. Did you know that as well? You told me on that last day that you couldn't be strong for me anymore, but after these lonely years of trying to cope, I'm not sure I can be strong for myself.'_

Lorio inhaled sharply, flaying herself with her piteous weakness. 'If you could see me like this, wallowing in maudlin sorrow, would you even have given me a second look or would you just have dismissed me as something pathetic...unworthy of your attention. Still, my happiest moments over these last years have always been thoughts of you.'

Though unaware of the fact, Lorio uttered a papery chuckle, which drew a severe scowl from the inn keeper. When the woman had first approach him with a mind to procuring a room, he had been astounded by the palpable weight of her beauty, but as he furtively watched her pick at her dinner and nurse her cider, the portly man began to feel increasingly uneasy. Something in her posture invited unnerving comparisons with a storm poised on the edge of eruption. He feared what might befall him and the other patrons should that storm break. Absorbed in her sentimental contemplation, Lorio was oblivious to the disquiet her brooding presence was rousing in her fellow patrons.

'I think it might shock you, Issidris, but in these years of quiet solitude, I've developed quite an aptitude for tale weaving. If I could suffer to spend time in the company of other people, perhaps I'd have the makings of a credible bard.' The idea brought a genuine smile to Lorio's curving lips...an expression that had been at a dearth since she'd returned to the Antiquated Lands. She had lost count of the number of nights she'd spent engaged in this most improbable of exercises.

Along a rarely travelled backroad, seated with her back propped against a low stone wall, the warm air redolent with a farmer's crop, Lorio would gaze up into the firmament. As she watched the glorious ballet of an infinite number of stars whirling majestically through the mid-summer's night sky, she would compose elaborate tales from which she would marshal the wherewithal to see her through another lonely day. 'As the heavens would spin above me, Issidris, I imagined that you had reached your fabled shore and the world you found there was wondrous...too breathtakingly beautiful for words to convey. And so were you, Issidris...young and strong and as hard as tempered steel.'

' _On those nights, I would imagine you embarked on endless adventures...surrounded by incredible companions who loved you and cherished your company. Together, you would all travel through this marvelous world you'd dreamed of as a child, where you would discover endless varieties of joy. You'd never be hungry or afraid...or alone. All of those ugly memories that leeched the joy from your life here...those horrors that prevented you from accepting and giving love...they would vanish from your mind. Yet, even when you found yourself in the embrace of the lovers you would take, you would never forget me or that I loved you more than anything in my entire wretched life...even if my imperfections prevented me from showing it properly.'_

Lorio inhaled slowly and took another long draught of her cider, while brushing absently at the single tear that meandered over her slanting cheekbone. 'These tales, Issidris...along with the treasure trove of memories of our years together...have become my most cherished possessions. I have it in my head to find a scribe to write them out for me...as if setting them to paper will make them tangible...real somehow. I can imagine you're shaking your head right now and your face is set in that long suffering expression you'd wear whenever I was being particularly dense or exasperating.'

'The dawn would come as it invariably must and the magic of your concocted life would vanish with its coming. There were mornings when I would come awake, fully expecting that I would see you, lying across the cold embers of a campfire. When the terrible reality of your absence crashed down upon me, I would feel a yawning void open in my heart...so vast that I felt certain it would swallow me whole. I was always so disappointed when I remembered that it could not. Mornings are always bleached out, hollow things for me and I find that my feet carry me aimlessly...like the daughter of dust before the wind I was born to be, I suppose.'

' _When you watch me from that world of yours...across this divide that neither of us can surmount, do you see me as a fool, Issidris? I remember, in my misery, I had asked you, on that baleful fucking day, what I was supposed to do now...without you. You had answered...anything...everything...that because of who and what I am, mine was a future of limitless possibilities. I tried, Issidris, I've tried to heed your advice...I swear I have!'_

Even as she made this vehement declaration, a small voice denounced her as a liar...reminding her how long it had been since she'd last been to Nalosan. She had returned to Nalosan immediately after consigning Issidris' body to the ocean's bosom...to inform Queen Karosyn of Il's death. Karosyn had implored Lorio to remain...to come to terms with Issidris' loss in Nalosan...under her sympathetic and supportive eye. Instead, Lorio had fled and had never returned.

Lorio, who had been frequently victimized by the insidious thrall of delusion often enough over the course of her life, was certain that the pragmatic Issidris Il abhorred delusion. They had never discussed the matter during their thirty years together. Issidris was stoic by nature and not prone to expansiveness, but Lorio knew that Issidris would have regarded the harbouring of delusions as an ultimately futile self-indulgence. That thought carried the troubled immortal into perilously close proximity to honestly examining the real reason she'd not returned to Nalosan...a dark territory into which she had absolutely no desire to venture.

Instead, she conjured a lie...or more precisely, a half-truth to avoid that uncomfortable consideration. 'I remembered how you advised me to seek out the road to my future...by travelling back along the roads through my past. I've tried, Issidris. I really did, but all these excursions have brought me is sorrow...like ripping open old scars.'

Though the truth of the matter was that the beautiful Lamish immortal had laboured diligently to avoid all human interaction...to eschew any prospect of emotional entanglement. She seized on the one instant she had made a valid attempt at taking up the threads of a possible future.

In her mind's eye, that sepia-hued memory unfurled...bringing with it all of the fleeting happiness and lingering pain it had evoked as she'd lived it.

2

After Lorio had given her lost Issidris to the Sea of Permanent Departure, she had made her way back to Dortizirian. There, she had petitioned the Sisters of Esotaria to grant her passage back to Nalosan on one of the order's sleek sailing ships that regularly made the journey between Gyzarayne's earthly seat of power and Emercia, where their former Matrium now held the throne as that Nation's beloved Queen.

During the placid sea voyage, a despondent Lorio had gleaned a vaguely unsettling truth concerning the Sisters of Esotaria...a pattern that could well foment serious strife within the order somewhere in the future. With the Ascentrix's continuing absence and her fixation upon Majeer, the sisters had begun to furtively look to their former Matrium for guidance...which explained why they had sown such strong roots in Emercia. Though Lorio had absolutely no doubt that the undeviatingly proper Karosyn would do nothing to undermine her former Ascentrix, the immortal surmised that the enigmatic Lissom might construe matters differently. In the ten years she'd spent in the bewilderingly complex creature's company, Lorio had perceived a subtle change in Gyzarayne's earthly emissary. Something in wild Majeer seemed to have invoked the darker aspects of Lissom's nature...making her infinitely more dangerous. This was a particularly disconcerting thought, especially considering that, with the exception of the goddess, Otaru Ree, Lissom was far and away the most powerful creature on the face of the world.

This troubling thought evoked recollections of the vow that Issidris had extracted from her.

' _I have never made a demand on our friendship, but now I'm asking you to vow...on your honour and whatever love you might have for me...should Lissom ever grow to become the dark shadow Karosyn fears she could well become, you will not stand against her. Swear to me!'_

Riven by grief, Lorio had sworn her oath never to become embroiled in the Sisters' internal discord. She wanted only to fade into the greenery and let the world resolve its own problems.

During the course of that bleak return journey, Lorio had spent most of her time alone in her assigned quarters. When the confines of her tiny berth began to press in upon her, she would wander up to the deck and find a secluded area where she would stare absently out over the vast expanse of water. The ocean seemed as empty as the prospect of her life without Issidris to grant it context and meaning. Gleaning her inner turmoil and sorrow, the Sisters had given the immortal a wide berth during the voyage, a consideration for which she was genuinely grateful.

Naturally, the loyal sisters had communicated the word of her coming to their former Matrium...along with the fact that Lorio had embarked on the return journey alone.

Just as naturally, Karosyn had been there to greet her when the Sisters' ship had sailed to a smooth stop and moored against the stone quay.

Beautiful beyond words and flawlessly regal...the living quintessence of royalty...Karosyn had enfolded Lorio into her long, lean arms the very instant the despondent immortal had stumbled to the bottom of the gang plank.

Now, sitting in the darkened corner of this cloying ale house, Lorio could clearly recall her startling reaction to this earnest expression of condolence and commiseration. While a weeping Karosyn had kissed her cheeks and held her tightly, whispering vows that she would do everything in her power to offer the grieving immortal what solace she could...the hollowed-eyed Lorio had been visited by an entirely different compulsion.

She had wanted nothing more than to seize Karosyn's head and beat that perfect face against the nearest stone piling until it had been reduced to an oozing pulp of brain and bone shards.

' _You could have told me, cunt. No matter what vow you'd offered, you could have told me what had passed between you and Issidris. This was not a game, it was our lives, you fucking bitch! You stole them from us...stole her from me!'_

Mercifully, Lorio had neither succumbed to that odious compulsion, nor given voice to her outrage. Instead, she had fled the bewildered Karosyn and Emercia and had returned to neither since.

In the intervening years, Lorio had come to perceive that her scathing condemnation of the noble Karosyn had been grossly unfair, but the lingering weeds of resentment still festered in her heart. She could simply not bring herself to face the one woman who could truly divine her pain and offer her solace.

As she'd departed Emercia, heading north without the slightest idea where she was destined, a notion germinated in Lorio's tumultuous thoughts. Part catharsis and part token nod to Issidris' final advice, once the notion had taken shape, it gnawed at Lorio like an irrepressible itch. To assuage that itch, Lorio had headed to Anangrast with the intention of reprising her failed quest of perambulating the entire shoreline of Lake Sonier...a misadventure that had nearly killed Issidris when they had first attempted it two decades earlier.

Immune to the ravages of inimical weather and deprivation, Lorio had set out from Anator with solitude as her only companion, but rather than helping her take the first agonizing step toward acceptance of Issidris' loss, Lorio found herself sinking deeper into a morass of despair with every step she took.

Her uncannily accurate memory had led her back to the mouldering remains of the crude compound in northern Anangrast. It had been here where she and Issidris had obliterated a marauder named Vorn and his small legion of plunderers, who had been kidnapping the isolated region's women and girls for ransom...and far more heinous purposes. It had also been in the forsaken place where she and Issidris had indelibly stained their souls when they had slaughtered the very women they had come to rescue...upon discovering that these shattered creatures had been irreparably broken by their hellish ordeal in captivity.

From there, Lorio had waded into the vast swamp that clung to the edges of Lake Sonier like a blight. She had slogged through the cold waters of the sprawling marsh lands and unencumbered by fragile human companionship, Lorio had eschewed both sleep and food, forging through the often waist-deep water both day and night, until she arrived at the island where Issidris had nearly died of lung congestion. There, she had built a fire, stripped off her sodden clothes and sat completely naked on the comparatively dry mound of sallow grass. She could clearly recall the anxiety she'd experienced as she'd nursed the ailing Il back to a state of relative health that would permit the pair to resume Lorio's idiotic adventure...a pointless endeavour that they'd undertaken at Lorio's behest.

It was here, in this accursed swamp, that Lorio gained her first terrible inkling that Issidris...despite her ferocity and resolve...was very much human and was thus very much susceptible to injury, illness and inevitably, death.

Being the flawed, self-possessed creature that she was, Lorio had contrived a way to compartmentalize that unpalatable truth. It would be another twenty years of delusion before this inescapable reality would crash down upon her like the fall of a deity's hammer.

Somehow, through some stupefying feat of self-deception, Lorio had managed to remain oblivious to a natural truth that she should have acknowledged from the very instant that she and Issidris had commenced their journey together.

Once they'd escaped the marshland's grasp, Lorio had transported the badly weakened Issidris to the small hamlet of Nieran, where they had passed the entire winter together, both dedicated to seeing Issidris regain both her health and her lethal edge. When they resumed their rambling with the coming of spring, Lorio could not avoid the realization that, while still a daunting engine of violent mayhem, Issidris Il was nonetheless no longer the woman she had been before they'd entered that accursed swamp the prior fall.

Now, alone in her cloister of grief and melancholy, Lorio wondered if Issidris had been aware of this lamentable truth as well.

From there, Lorio followed the lakeshore to Nieran and through the two weeks she had spent in the remote hamlet had failed to produced the desire catharsis she'd been seeking, the immortal had spent her time pondering the nature of her relationship with her cherished Issidris. She also indulged in exploring capricious fantasies of what their lives might have been like had the pair decided to give up the itinerant's life after the debacle in the marshlands.

Irrespective of how powerful, how tenacious she had been, a life of perpetual motion, with its inherent deprivation and incessant hardship, had inexorably taken a toll upon Issidris...wearing her down by gradual increments. Had Lorio made the decision to settle somewhere...to establish a sense of place...of roots and the requisite normalcy this engendered, Issidris might still be alive.

'Yes, but inevitably, the sands of her life would have run out,' the voice of Islena Doraux had whispered in the cold darkness of Lorio's small room. With an unaccountably malicious glee, it added, 'and you would have found yourself alone...like a frightened child in a dark forest.'

While Lorio had cursed the unwelcome intruder, she could not refute the truth of its mordant contention.

In that bleak moment, Lorio spontaneously decided that she would eschew all future emotional entanglements. Hers would be a transitory life of solitude from that day forth and she would never have to suffer another soul-scarifying loss that would invariably accompany any meaningful human interaction she might ever have.

'Perhaps you could throw yourself at Lissom or Otaru Ree...imagine that particular forbidden threesome,' Islena offered and then went off into a peel of hysterical laughter, deriving inexplicable delight from tormenting the immortal.

And soon Lorio had departed Nieran and simply wandered through the vast wilderness of the Eastern Continent, avoiding all human contact. She required none of the trappings of material civilization and eventually, her clothes began to unravel on her back and her long, luxuriant hair became a matted tangle.

While peering down into a small stream, one bright fall morning, Lorio had been confronted by a reflection that had unceremoniously pulled her out of the lethargy into which she'd tumbled since leaving Nieran. Gazing up from the dark water was a countenance that was...feral. Lorio's beautiful dark eyes now held a wild glint and her hair was a dishevelled tangle. She stood and regarded her clothing which was now little more than tattered rags on her nubile body.

Standing on the edge of this nameless stream, hundreds of leagues from civilization, Lorio had buried her face in her hands and began to weep.

She cried unabashedly for every inimical twist and turn that had carried her to this woeful juncture of abjection. Reaching up to touch the smooth stone between her breasts, Lorio was suffused by intense shame, knowing that Issidris would have been disappointed by the sorry state into which she'd allowed herself to sink.

'She'd implored you to embrace life, but instead you chose to hide from it like a craven,' the immortal castigated herself. Resolving to rectify this folly, Lorio spent the rest of the day attempting to restore herself to some semblance of basic civility. She had burned the tattered remains of her clothing and had changed into the last of her passable garments. Using her dirk, Lorio had cut away the worst of the knots in her badly matted hair. Then, after bathing and washing her hair in a nearby lake, she had spent several hours painstakingly running her fingers through what remained after which she succeeded in unravelling every last tangle. Once this arduous process was complete, she'd rummaged through her threadbare pack and used two lengths of rawhide to tie her mane into a cable braid.

By the time night had descended over the shores of the remote lake, Lorio was restored to a passable facsimile of her former self. As she'd commenced the long trek from the southern fringes of the Blighted Lands to her intended destination of Galloway, it occurred to the immortal that she had not uttered a single word in nearly a year. Where once she had possessed a voice that had stroked the ear like velvet smoke, Lorio's tentative first utterance conjured images of rusty wire being dragged over stone...further proof that she had come perilously close to losing her humanity during her self-imposed exile in the wilds.

While she'd traversed the continent, Lorio had made a point of giving voice to her thoughts. Someone happening upon the beautiful, solitary female traveller, speaking passionately with her spectral companion, might have concluded that she was deranged or spellbound.

In her state of frantic preoccupation, Lorio came to the erroneous conclusion that there were two past roads she might travel. There first of these was steeped in absolute darkness...a lightless labyrinth through which echoed one voice that would traduce her into succumbing to her darkest proclivities.

The other road was equally unsettling...the seduction it offered, sweeter in disposition, but no less frightening for the indelibly scarred immortal.

Lorio decided to eschew both and embrace the other alternative...she would immerse herself in the world of men, while vigilantly remaining mindful of her need for anonymity and emotional detachment. To achieve this, it would first be necessary to give herself over to the trite consideration that governed the lives of all mortals: a vocation, a place to dwell and the requisite coin required to maintain the trappings of a simple life.

Lorio eventually found herself in the Galloway town of Tretcher, not far from its that country's eastern border with Lamia (a country she avoided as if it was a haunted barrow). There, the immortal decided to call on the first of her demonstrable aptitudes to help facilitate her integration into a normal life...a state of existence about which the daughter of dust knew virtually nothing. Gifted with nearly unparalleled proficiency with virtually every type of weapon...especially the quarter staff, a weapon she could wield without equal, Lorio decided to seek out gainful employment with a merchant escort company. Most of those who plied this unfortunately essential trade were army veterans, or in some cases, mercenaries.

The other thing that pliers of this often-violent trade were...was male. When Lorio presented herself to the Captain of Tretcher's most reputable merchant escort company, he had raised a skeptical eyebrow that had reminded the immortal of a briar patch.

"Despite that fearsome stick, this is not a game for girls," Azik Nar informed her, his tone all mirth and condescension.

Lorio's answering grin was devoid of humour and stifled his derision like water on a campfire. "Select your best two men and let's have them demonstrate the folly of my presumption." With a derisive curl of her full lips, she purred, "I trust they won't hurt me too badly...being the frail woman I am."

Despite his reluctance to facilitate what was bound to be a demeaning spectacle for all involved, the escort captain had summoned two of his most able swordsmen. To their credit, the pair had confined their expressions of chauvinism to slight smirks as Lorio had drawn her quarter staff from its holder. Still, the immortal found her fury welling in the face of the ugly male presumption that hung over the salient realities of a woman's world like a pall.

The captain had moved to the edge of the fairly spacious training room and signalled for the ludicrous exhibition to commence.

Seemingly in the blink of an astonished eye, the exhibition was over. Nar's two swordsmen lay in groaning heaps at the tall woman's feet, overwhelmed by a devastating dervish of hardwood and leanly muscled limbs that had left them thoroughly humbled and the escort captain gaping in slack-jawed incredulity.

Lorio had slammed her quarter staff back into its holder and as she approached the captain, he fixed her with a speculative stare and allowed, "I do believe we have a place for you."

Before he could elaborate, Lorio seized him by the lapels of his tunic and pulled him toward her until he was forced to stand on the tips of his toes. The raging storm in her great dark eyes belied her placid tone when she spoke. "I am a woman who is unaccustomed to the need to prove her worth, but I will make this one exception. Should you ever require a further demonstration of my skills, it will come at your expense."

With this admonition, she had tossed him against the nearest wall and stalked off. From his position on the ground, Azik Nar had watched her make her indignant exit and he began to smile, thinking that his company's stock in the world had just risen greatly.

Over the next several months, Lorio was assigned to escort guard cadres that squired merchant caravans throughout Western Galloway and, on rare occasions, into neighbouring countries.

Most of these assignments had been uneventful and frankly rather boring...especially since Lorio had adopted Issidris' natural stoicism to discourage her fellow guards from trying to engage her beyond what was strictly necessary to perform their function.

On the few instances when these merchant caravans had been set upon by brigands, Lorio had done only what was necessary to protect the merchants and their cargo. She had dispatched her share of brigands in an efficient, but unspectacular fashion.

To Lorio's damaged and jaundiced mind, she could only maintain this charade of normalcy...of anonymity, if she did nothing to garner unwanted attention and in this endeavour, she had succeeded...for a time.

To her fellow guardsmen, Driss (as she had taken to calling herself when the provision of a name was unavoidable) was an iron hard, quiet woman, who was fearless and gifted with the use of a quarter staff.

This banal assessment suited Lorio's purposes perfectly and she deliberately did nothing that would inspire any desire to re-evaluate that opinion.

Memory is an insidious faculty, fraught with its own demons that are not so easily exorcised. Lorio's tenacious resolve to keep her nature and identity carefully sequestered evaporated in spectacular fashion along a quiet stretch forest road in Southern Norhynan one evening in late fall.

Her company had been hired to provide an escort for a wealthy noblewoman and her daughter from her estate on the outskirts of Tretcher to her father's estate in a remote corner of the neighbouring country. Though the Journey was well beyond the range of the company's usual area of operations, the size of the fee being offered was far too lucrative for the captain to forego.

Lorio had grimaced internally when she'd first set eyes upon the gilded, ornate carriage, which she construed to be an unnecessary and provocative flaunting of wealth. This struck the immortal as a presage of impending ill fortune and Driss had exuded an uncharacteristic tension as they'd embarked upon the journey.

When trouble did come, it erupted in a swarming score of highwaymen. Lorio had dismounted her horse and discerning that her comrades were in serious danger of being overwhelmed, deliberately drew four of her attackers down the narrow road. Unleashing a ferocious barrage of strikes, Lorio had swiftly left the quartet unconscious in the rutted gravel. Turning back, she saw that one of her fellow guardsmen was down and clutching his bleeding abdomen, next to one of the carriage's absurdly large wheels. His attacker had stepped nimbly around the dying man and was converging upon the cowering noblewoman and her terrified daughter...who Lorio surmised was no older than seven.

This ugly panorama evoked a long repressed memory of one of Lorio's bleakest and ignoble moments, when she and Issidris had been forced to dispense cold mercy to the female victims of another group of ruthless marauders.

The actions that she and Issidris had taken that night had indelibly stained their humanity. The harrowing scene before her caused Lorio's carefully maintained cloister to crumble like a house of cards before a gale, releasing an entity that she had fought frantically to restrain for so many decades.

The emancipated Morticant hybrid bellowed an inarticulate howl of mindless fury and sailed into the swarming highwaymen with devastating effect.

Before the dirk wielder could turn to behold the death dispenser that was descending upon him, Lorio seized the back of his head and slammed his face into the running board of the carriage. His head exploded in a repulsive eruption of blood, bone and cerebral fluid that spattered Lorio and the horrified mother and daughter.

When some semblance of cognizance returned, Lorio was standing in a drift of battered, chilling corpses.

Gore-spattered and wild-eyed, Lorio had mounted her horse and fled into the night. Back in Tretcher, she had collected her merger belongings from her modest lodgings and fled from the town before the rest of the escort guard could return to share their incredible tale of bloody carnage.

She rode aimlessly across Central Galloway, putting as much distance as she thought prudent between her and what would inevitably become a local legend in Tretcher...the woman who had single-handedly annihilated a score of plunderers. That tale would invite a level of notoriety of which the immortal wanted no part.

As she had raced across Galloway, Lorio formulated a course of action that would draw upon her second aptitude...her formidable beauty. Combat carried with it the risk of rousing her inner demon and she did not want to chance a recurrence of what had transpired on that forlorn road.

Upon arriving in the city of Larrin Crossing, Lorio decided that she would take full advantage of her pulchritude (a quality she'd largely ignored for most of her life) and take up a modest vocation that should bring with it no prospect for unwanted renown.

Straying into unfamiliar territory that left her feeling entirely uncomfortable, Lorio had perused the finer women's garment shops and using the wages she'd accrued as an escort, purchased several skirts and blouses that, despite their conservative lengths, did nothing to conceal her astounding catalogue of feminine endowments. In another shop, she had enlisted a clerk to help apply colouring to her lips and kohl to her smooth eyelids.

This done, Lorio had presented herself to the proprietor of the Discerning Lord, Larrin Crossing's most distinguished dining establishment. There, she had solicited employment as a serving girl, drawing on the example of Karosyn to effect the appropriately demure demeanour.

Upon first setting eyes upon the radiant, raven-maned beauty, who shimmered like the rarest of jewels beneath the Discerning Lord's subdued lighting, the proprietor had felt certain that she was a vision conjured from some exotic, distant land. His eyes had gleamed with avarice as if he'd unexpectedly come upon a priceless treasure, knowing full well that a jewel of this magnitude would attract patrons to his establishment in lusty droves.

Thus, Lorio commenced the next phase of her self-imposed exile. She was both flummoxed and disgusted by the ease with which most men would part with their precious coins with just the flash of a meaningless smile or even the most cursory intimation of interest. Determined to remain beneath the line of perception and avoid undue curiosity, Lorio refused to participate in the tawdry games of coin bating in which many of the other serving women engaged.

Laughing a little too loudly at pseudo-witticisms, bending forward more than was strictly necessary to provide a fleeting glimpse of a full bosom or striding about the dining room in such a way as to expose a tantalizing length of firm thigh: these were the effective tools of the other women, who were not encumbered by Lorio's male averse sensibilities.

Yet, despite her courteous, but detached conduct, affluent male patrons of the Discerning Lord were drawn to Lorio's exotic beauty like moths to a flame...or perhaps, lemmings to the precipice.

While most aspiring gropers were deterred by a withering glare from those great dark eyes, others, inebriated on their own sense of entitlement and appeal, were not so easily discouraged.

It was the first week of winter in Larrin Crossing, when the immortal's willingness to accept the repugnant male presumption that her breasts and firm posterior were public domain...exceeded its limits.

A pair of corpulent swine had been seated at one of her designated tables and the hectic red of their slack cheeks and the glaze of their sunken eyes made it clear that the pair had imbibed to a point where inebriation had occluded common sense. She struggled to ignore their lewd banter, which grew more vulgar as the night progressed. Her saintly restraint had evaporated spectacularly when, upon summoning her to their table on the pretext of wanting another flagon of wine, the pair had launched a coordinated, but extremely ill-advised assault on her virtue.

One had roughly clamped a meaty paw on Lorio's firm posterior, while the other had thrust a hand through the slit in the immortal's long skirt, and had proceeded to meander up a livid Lorio's inner thigh.

Lorio had loosed a blood-cuddling cry of berserker fury and promptly tossed both men through the frosted glass bay window and out into the icy street. Pandemonium had ensured and the bleeding pair had skulked away like beaten curs.

Lorio had been on the verge of stepping out into the blustery night, her head filled with visions of stomping the two swine to bloody pulps, when the proprietor had stepped directly into her path.

Her blazing regard had snapped to his, but to his credit, he had remained calm in the face of her towering indignation. "Your outrage is understandable, but you've made your point...most emphatically." He had thrust a plump purse of coins into her hand and had added with a hint of sorrow. "In this life, there are certain sad realities we all have to suffer. As this is something you clearly cannot do, this is not the vocation for you. For your own welfare, I would suggest that you seek out a more suitable vocation...and a place far from here where you might ply it."

Gently gripping her firm right bicep, he then began to usher her toward the rear of the Discerning Lord. "You have humiliated these men, and though they are despicable boors, they both wield considerable influence, and they will not suffer this perceived abjection lightly. It is best that you be away from this city with all possible haste."

When she saw that he was sincerely trying to help her, Lorio was assailed by a flare of guilt. "Keep this...for the damage I've caused."

"Take care, lady Driss," he intoned solemnly. "I suspect your path has been a difficult one and I hope you discover lasting contentment...somewhere along your road."

He'd offered her a fond smile and then returned to the dining room to deal with the debacle she'd unleashed. Lorio swallowed back the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. Then, she had quickly gathered up her few possessions and left behind yet another failed attempt at normalcy.

3

Over the course of the bleak winter that had followed, The dispirited immortal spent the next several months threading her way through the dense, brooding forest that covered Central Galloway. She was peripherally aware that she was angling in a north-easterly direction, toward Fairmarch.

While she travelled, Lorio concentrated on the one remaining aptitude that might help her establish a comparatively normal existence. Just before emerging onto Galloway's vast northern plains, Lorio had knelt over another stream and used her dirk to cut away her long raven tresses...which she had favoured since she was a small child. Lorio had stared dispassionately at the blunt cut that had framed her exquisite face and which lent her features a decidedly forbidding aspect.

She had then burned her finery, along with her shorn tresses, as if this action was a symbolic obliteration of the women she had been. Lorio had taken great care in removing the sleeves from her two black tunics. As she'd strapped her quarter staff across her slender back and strode away from the smouldering remains of her discarded identity, it didn't occur to Lorio that...with her blunt hair cut and her rough spun clothing, she now represented an idealized version of her beloved Issidris Il.

Nor was the long suffering immortal cognizant of the fact that she was circling closer to despair...one failed reinvention debacle at a time.

4

Cortrin's sprawling haulage yard was a vast expanse of open space and extensive brick storage warehouses. The air of the yard was thick with the blending smells of dust, horse manure and sweat...three commodities that fuelled its massive engine of commerce.

It sat next to the junction of two major shipping roads...the confluence of a steady flow of goods. All along Cortrin's loading docks, crews of perspiring men laboured to load and unload cargo into and out of the massive haulage carts that lumbered through the hanging dust like ghostly leviathans.

Spring had come to Northern Galloway and the air was warm and dry as a single woman mounted the wooden steps that led into the administrative building located at the east end of the yard.

The temperature within was stifling and the legions of scribes and clerks all laboured over their ledgers sans topcoats.

She waited at the wooden counter and a grizzled old man, with thick, mutton chop sideburns, rose from behind his large desk and shuffled over to the counter. He eyed her curiously, noticing how lovely she was, even though a deep shadow seemed to lay across her smooth brow like a pall.

'This is a woman to whom life had not been kind,' he thought as he studied her exquisite face, which seemed incongruent with the dusk-caked shock of hair that framed it. Her rough spun clothing spoke of an extended period on the road, though her leanly muscled arms and perfectly straight spine declared that this woman was unbroken by her ordeal. "How can I be of help to you lass?"

"I'd like a job...if you're hiring," she retuned bluntly, those great dark eyes fixing him with an unblinking gaze. In those remarkable depths, the old man could suddenly envision the infinite possibilities he believed life held when he'd been a young man.

"I'm afraid we have all the clerks we need at the moment, lass," he said and the note of regret he'd conjured was not false.

She pursed her lips, shifting her intense gaze to the bank of windows and the yard beyond, where row upon row of haulage carts awaited unloading. "I'm not asking for a job behind a desk, but out there, loading and unloading wagons."

The old man's brow furrowed and sensing a measure of volatility behind those dark eyes, he remarked cautiously, "The yards are no place for s woman, lass. The work is dirty and hard...and the same could be said for the men who does it...if you take my meaning."

Lorio had scowled and then offered the yard owner a humourless grin. "I never met a man so hard that I couldn't grind him to dust if that was what was required."

The old man's eyes widened, but he prudently made no response. A deeper instinct warned him that this had not been a hollow boast. "Still, the labour is backbreaking and the pay is paltry."

Lorio pointed to three wagons that were laden to bursting and unattended. They sat immediately adjacent to an open bay, their ends butted up against the wooden end of the heavy timber dock, awaiting unloading. "Let me unload those three wagons. If I can't finish or if you deem me to be too slow, I'll be off and you need not pay me a copper. If I do the work quickly and satisfactorily, you give me a job. I don't care about the wages...as long as I get paid the same wage as the men for doing the same work."

The yard owner began to offer another discouraging insight into the drudgery of the yards, but saw that this was a woman who would not be so easily dissuaded. Thinking that it would be an easier matter to allow this obstinate creature to reach her own conclusions, Emon Yar, who had seen men too numerous to tally be slowly broken by the remorseless rigours of the yard, signalled his acquiescence with a nod.

Lorio smiled and asserted, "A decision you will not regret."

Without further preamble, the statuesque beauty moved lithely out into the dusty yard, rolling her muscular shoulders as she went. Still, her mournful shadow trailed after her like a pall.

"I give her half a bell," one of the scribes remarked without lifting his head from his ledger. "Then she'll be back in here asking if there is anything else she can do."

"I doubt she'll even come in...just skulk away," Emon opined, but as he watched her leap up onto the chest-high dock in one bounding stride, an inner voice predicted that this dismissive presumption would prove false.

Shaking his head, Emon returned to his desk and collecting his quill, resumed work on the account summary he'd been preparing before the woman's unexpected appearance.

When Yar flipped the hour glass that stood on the far corner of his desk, he stole a brief glance through the window and very nearly fumbled the delicate glass and wood construct.

He gave an incredulous wag of his head and pushed himself to his feet, scarcely able to credit what his eyes insisted was the truth. Slapping down his spectacles, Emon pushed out into the yard and stood gaping at the woman as she hefted one grain sack over her shoulder and hopped from the massive cart onto the dock and then into the warehouse, effortlessly carrying her burden. She was back for another sack in the blink of an eye.

Yar saw that she had already emptied one massive cart and was most of the way through the second.

"That...that's impossible," Emon murmured. The woman seemed to become aware of his scrutiny because she offered the astounded yard owner a radiant grin before scooping up two more bulging sacks.

Emon stood transfixed, watching the entire time...not long in duration...that it required the woman to empty the remainder of the three carts. As she collected the last two sacks, he followed this living wonder into the warehouse, peripherally aware that her incredible exhibition had garnered the furtive scrutiny of other yard workers.

When she had neatly stacked the last two sacks atop a neatly placed, perfectly distributed pyramid, Lorio turned to the approaching Yar and inquired, "I trust that was satisfactory?"

"What is your name, Lass?"

Lorio's eyes narrowed in suspicion and she returned gruffly, "Driss."

Emon instinctively knew this to be a prevarication, but he chose to ignore the fact. Many of the labourers who toiled in his yard had pasts they wished to keep hidden. "The work you just did would have taken two men three or more bells to do...on their best days. I'm standing here trying to figure out just how you did it...even though I witnessed part of it with my own two eyes."

Lorio tilted her head slightly and glided closer, peering down at the shorter man with an intensity that was disquieting. "My back may appear slender, but it is forged from tempered steel. Strength is something that runs in my family's blood. It would be a benefit to both of us if you just accept that at face value. Now...do I have a job?"

Emon, who had not failed to discern the implicit warning in her explanation, merely nodded and intoned, "I'd be a fool not to take you on...and I will most definitely pay you for the work you just did."

Lorio extended a long, leanly muscled arm and shook the yard owner's hand with a grip that was shockingly powerful. "Thank you. I will ask that I be allowed to work alone. As you can see, I can be productive and it is my experience that all involved will be happier if I am permitted to work by myself."

"Fair enough. The day runs from the seventh bell each morning to the fifth bell each evening. Yard workers get one day off each seventh day. There is always extra work if you're in need of extra coin. Pay is rendered in coin at the end of every sixth work day...which you can collect at the office. The yard foreman will keep track of your work and there is a small bonus for production above a base amount. For the rest of today, there are six carts of wine casks that need unloading at dock six. You can work there alone. Tomorrow morning, report back to me. I will make sure to assign you a dock of your own. My name, by the way, is Emon Yar."

Lorio's expression became sober and she reiterated, "Again, thank you, Emon...you have no idea how important this is to me."

"I think perhaps I do," he returned quietly. His demeanour became stern and he added, "If any man gives you trouble in the yard, you let me know and I'll show him the way of things right quick."

Lorio offered the yard owner a sorrowful smile and replied, "If any man gives me trouble, master Yar...it will not be me who requires saving."

With this, she strode off to her assigned dock like the indefatigable engine of purpose she was.

5

The next three years of Lorio of Lamia's extraordinary life, were the most banal, the most uneventful...and yet the most peculiar that the immortal had ever passed. They were characterized by a subtle gravitation toward a state of being that Lorio would have vehemently asserted she was incapable of living. Those changes came in tiny increments...barely perceptible progressions, until the woman who had walked into the yard owner's office in search of normalcy bore only a physical resemblance to the Lorio who lived and found a kind of numb contentment in Cortrin those years further along.

In the first year of her new life in Cortrin, Lorio divided her time between work at the haulage yard and time spent in the seclusion of her room. The room was little bigger than a monk's cell and every bit as Spartan, furnished with only a narrow pallet and a small night stand, upon which sat a crude clay pitcher and basin. The cramped confines reminded the immortal of another desolate time and place...Runesholm Abbey, where she'd spent her last hours as a mortal...gravely ill and tottering on the brink of death.

This stark juxtaposition threatened to throw open the flood gates and unleash a torrent of excruciating memories that held the capacity to obliterate her sanity. By a tenacious exertion of will, she managed to relegate these horrible memories back to their lightless cloister.

Lorio worked like an oxen, loading and unloading the massive haulage carts in snow, rain and every other manner of inimical weather that Northern Galloway could bring to bear. When Emon Yar was especially beset by a deluge of inbound wagons, Lorio would stay at the shipping yard and labor in solitude through the night.

Out of sight of the other labourers, Emon would reward what he misconstrued to be Driss' astounding dedication with the occasional extra purse of coins.

"A token of gratitude from the company owner," he would quip as he would dispense these bonuses.

Lorio would accept these increasingly generous tokens with a slight nod and a tacit, mumbled thanks...as if she was completely indifferent to the remuneration that her arduous efforts accrued. As the months went by, Emon, a perceptive man by nature, began to suspect that this observation was depressingly accurate...that Driss sought to lose herself in the mindless drudgery as a means to escape contemplation of something...insufferable.

He began to regard his most valuable employee with a troubled expression that Lorio would have recognized as paternal concern...had she ever been exposed to this compassionate quality.

At night, Lorio would lay on her pallet and watch as the moonlight tumbled through her small window in an argent wave and march across her ceiling. She deliberately disciplined her mind to remain blank...her thoughts as empty as her life...or more concisely...the state of existence she'd permitted herself to sink into.

Yet, part way through the second year of this self-imposed exile...subtle signs of transformation (in truth, a paradigm shift) began to overtake Lorio's bleak existence...like delicate blooms blossoming in sterile dirt.

It commenced with comparatively simple changes that might have garnered not the slightest notice had not Lorio been so undeviating in her routine. Staring at the ceiling of her tiny cloister one fall evening, the immortal had spontaneously decided to take a stroll around the city she now called home...a city of which she had seen very little since her arrival.

After walking, unnoticed, through the still brimming street bazaars, Lorio had abruptly stopped before an ale house. Boisterous laughter and exuberant music had tumbled through the open windows, arousing a curiosity in the immortal that had been long dormant. Setting aside her reservations, Lorio had ventured inside, finding her way to her preferred table in the shadowy corner, while drawing up the hood of her tunic against unwanted attention.

To her surprise, she actually derived a startling amount of delight from the music that reminded her of this lost childhood nights spent around crackling fires...where music, laughter and dancing had been the common staples of the wandering life. Lorio had been further surprised when these vivid memories did not evoke their customary melancholy.

Another astounding development was that Lorio found that she was also drawn to the ale house banter that she had once regarded as vexing babble. Yet, as she listened silently to the impassioned rush of inebriated philosophy...the opinions given with such conviction on the state of the world, offered by men few of whom had ever strayed far from Cortrin, much less beyond Galloway's far flung borders, something occurred to Lorio that left her feeling ineffably sad.

There had been a time, in the years just after she and Issidris had returned from sun scorched Majeer, when ale house banter would inevitably turn to the dark days of the Emerald Enchantress Wars and the converging storm of perfect evil that had nearly torn the world asunder just seven years after Myrhia had been vanquished.

Now, just three decades later, not a word was exchanged on that time when the world had tottered on the crumbling edge of the abyss.

'All these things, Issidris, they've been forgotten. The horror, misery, heartache and suffering...the sacrifice: these things have faded from memory as if they were trivialities that are hardly worthy of mention. Artumas, Myrhia and Islena: these names should be the stuff of enduring legend. Time has reduced them to irrelevance. Is such a thing truly possible, Issidris?' Lorio inquired of her lost companion. 'Are we really such shallow...such foolish creatures?'

Despite this disheartening change, the reduction of one of history's epic eras to a state of slowly waning consequence, Lorio enjoyed her first tentative immersion in normal life...so much so that her long, rambling walks and her nights in random ale houses became a habit.

During much of her mortal life and the entirety of her immortal existence, Lorio had regarded the sedentary, rooted life of the fixed folk with both aversion and disdain. She regarded their fixation with material trappings that such a life seemed to invite, to be nothing more than a delusional compensation...a woeful substitute for the freedom of being able to carry everything you owned in a pack sack over your shoulder.

Yet, by tiny increments, over the course of that third year, that long held conviction began to fray. This incredible process...this capitulation to the allure of normalcy...was accompanied by the need to escape the cloying confinement of her tiny monk's cell.

The very next day, she had approached Emon Yar and asked that he recommend a reputable inn. Emon had raised a shaggy eyebrow in response to this request and was privately delighted when she allowed that she was seeking something more spacious...to spread her wings.

Emon had pondered the matter and had recommended the rather peculiarly named Glass House Inn...an establishment that was known for its cleanliness and congenial service. That very evening, Lorio had procured her new lodgings, a three room, well-lit suite that was both reasonably priced and impeccably clean. As she moved her meagre belongings into the empty and by her standards, cavernous rooms, Lorio had no way of knowing that it was here that she would encounter the person whose impact upon her life would come to rival that of Issidris Il's.

Chapter Three

1

A knock at her office door drew Maxim Tier Marshal Arminda from her reverie. She turned away from the floor to ceiling bank of windows, where she had been absently staring out at the majestic, snow-peaked mountains that formed a spectacular semi-circle around the Jerhia Capital of Summergaden.

'Absent-mindedness, old friend...perhaps the first sign that the mental faculties are beginning to slip,' the voice of Maroc, her mentor and predecessor and twenty years gone to the tribute pyre, chided her. Arminda's answering expression was part mournful grimace and part affectionate grin. She had given her life to duty in service to her country, but Maroc's death still stung her heart.

Now, the sixty-five year old diminutive Jerhia displayed virtually no outward signs of the pernicious ravages of age. Her posture was ramrod straight and her body, sleek and slender. Her blue eyes shone from a face that was all but unlined and radiated a formidable intelligence and focus. 'Except when I allow it to drift like an untethered balloon...a lapse that has been occurring with increasing frequency of late...as you are so apt to point out, old friend.'

When Maroc's memory offered no comment, Arminda sighed and gave the knocker leave to enter. She then marched over to her desk and slipped gracefully into her seat, though her arm issued a strident protest as she folded it onto the polished surface...a stark reminder of the wound she had suffered during her sojourn in hell on the opposite side of the River Hiberas. She grimaced against the stab of pain and ran the fingers of her opposite hand through her short white hair...another sure sign that the ship of her youth had long ago sailed.

The door swung open and her adjutant, Marangelies, strode purposefully into office, consuming the tiled expanse of floor in brisk strides. Tall, auburn-haired and serious, the young woman was the living epitome of youthful Jerhia exuberance...a quality that the younger Arminda had once exhibited in abundance, but which now, on occasion, vexed her mightily.

'Don't succumb to churlishness in your dotage, dear,' the ghost of Maroc's cautioned mildly. 'Tolerance for the peccadilloes of youth is a quality that a Maxim Tier Marshal must possess in abundance.'

Arminda gritted her teeth, but nonetheless modulated her tone. "What have you brought me this morning, adjutant?"

Marangelies' gaze was atypically ambivalent when it fell on the thin folder she held in her right hand, a rare occurrence that piqued Arminda's curiosity. Finally, the adjutant opened the folder, briefly examined its contents and then carefully laid them out for the Maxim Tier Marshal's perusal.

Arminda's gaze settled upon a lifeless rendering of a face that she had tried her best to forget, at least, subconsciously. With that single glance, a deluge of vivid, powerful memories assailed her, and it was all she could do to repress the whimper that wanted to burst from her tightly compressed lips.

The normally perceptive adjutant was oblivious to her superior's harsh reaction and delivered her report in a halting, reluctant manner that only deepened Arminda's disquiet. "I was unsure if I should bring this matter to your attention, but finally decided that I would...primarily because of how peculiar this situation seems to be. Emissaries of the Emercian Queen have, with permission of the home nations, been disseminating these to every country on Eastern Continent...with the unsurprising exception of Redia."

Arminda forced herself to relegate the rampant memories back to the prison where they'd been incarcerated and perused the rather vague text of the notification. Despite its rather benign contents, the words still managed to convey a rather abstract sense of urgency. The poster held forth the prospect of a considerable reward for any information that led directly to the location of the individual depicted above the text.

The sketch was a competently executed, but emotionally generic rendering of Lorio, heroine of the quest and Emerald Enchantress wars and the one-time Queen of Lamia.

'This artist captured nothing of your astounding beauty...or your dangerously erratic nature, you immortal bitch...or is it, precious lost friend? Even after all of these years, I still cannot decide,' Arminda thought, her mind roiling like a storm swept ocean. Distantly, she heard herself inquire, "Have our foreign offices produced any reason why the benevolent queen is going to such extraordinary lengths to locate this woman?"

"None, Maxim Tier Marshal, but these solicitations are being carried to every corner, every hamlet of every country on the continent...so it may be assumed that it is a matter of consequence to Queen Karosyn," Adjutant Marangelies theorized confidently.

Arminda dragged her gaze from the confounding visage with an enormous exertion of will and declared brusquely, "That may well be the case, but as we have no formal ties with the nations of the Eastern Continent, the Emercian Queen's obsession with this woman is irrelevant to us."

The Adjutant's eyes widened in response to Arminda's uncharacteristically curt tone. "I'm sorry, Maxim Tier Marshal. I'll strive to be more...discerning in the future."

Arminda cursed her ill temper and offered, "I'm sorry, Marangelies. Old age and patience do not sit well together. Thank you...your judgment is more valued than you can possibly imagine."

The adjutant offered her superior a dutiful nod and began to collect the file. Arminda raised a hand and instructed, "Actually, leave this with me. I'll reflect on its possible significance a while longer."

Marangeleis bowed and withdrew, leaving Arminda alone with her restive ghost.

"Lorio, what mischief have you caused now?" She inquired of the likeness, which remained obdurately silent. "Go ahead, Maroc and scold me for my surliness. It would be well deserved."

When her departed friend remained silent, the most celebrated female Jerhia in the nation's history abruptly burst into tears. She was shocked to discover that this complex, often infuriating woman still possessed the power to evoke such an acute emotional reaction. Yet, in retrospect, Lorio had tormented and abused Arminda as no one else ever had. Also, the immortal had suffered more pain and indignity than any living thing ever should have to endure. Perhaps it was these two diametric extremes that accounted for Arminda's conflicted view of her quest sister.

Irked by her loss of equilibrium, the normally unflappable Jerhia brushed briskly at her eyes and then straightened the cuffs of her impeccably maintained uniform.

Reluctantly, she then turned the harsh light of introspection on her conscious decision to ostracize Lorio from her thoughts.

She tried to recall how long it have been since she had last set eyes on her former quest sister and was flummoxed to realize that more than three decades had passed she had stood in Lorio's enormous presence.

On that occasion, she had accompanied Maroc to King Artumas' funeral, where the then Maxim Tier Marshal had signed an abrogation of the surrender terms that had ended the Emerald Enchantress war.

She, to her shame, had contrived endless pretexts for avoiding being In Lorio's company...a puzzling behaviour that had eventually earned a stern lecture from her mentor.

Now, as she pondered the perplexing reasons for her petulant behaviour, the intellectually agile Jerhia was struck by an astounding epiphany that made her feel like a hopeless dullard. She had avoided Lorio and then exiled her quest sister from her mind to avoid the scathing recriminations the neglect of her often troubled friend provoked.

She had borne personal witness to Lorio's torment, when the immortal had realized that she would be forced to turn her back on her beloved Esuruban. She had risked court marshall to try and save Lorio from the soul eviscerating influence of Islena Doraux. In the end, she had failed and, unable to accept this failure, Arminda had simply cast the ravaged creature from the sphere of her concern.

More damning still, the bewildered Jerhia now saw that her mistreatment of Lorio was a microcosm of her ultimately ineffective leadership of Jerhia.

She shifted her gaze, first to the decorative epaulets at her shoulder and then to the platinum insignia that declared her rarified rank. Arminda, once a humble bowman, had risen to the lofty pinnacle of the Jerhia military culture. She was the first woman ever to hold the rank of Maxim Tier Marshal in the nation's seven thousand year history. She had attained this lofty pinnacle based primarily upon her participation (and brief leadership) in the quest through the Land of Shades...and her predecessor's glowing endorsement.

'Ah, but how hollow these brittle illusions all prove to be when held under the harsh light of unbiased scrutiny,' Arminda thought with a grimace of self-disdain. The great quest had been a torturous and ultimately futile ordeal...and her fleeting leadership had been naught but a sour jape. During most of her time in the Land of Shades, Arminda had been hopelessly confused and terrified...and even though she had been candid in admitting as much, everyone around her had seemed determined to ignore the fact...so intent had they been on elevating her to the status of symbolic heroine.

Maroc, in particular, had been exuberant in lauding her to be the future of Jerhia and so she had eventually become the country's first female leader. Endowed with a supposedly gentler sensibility, Arminda was supposed to have led Jerhia to its new identity in the world...in the wake of the humiliating defeat it had suffered at the hands of Myrhia's Morticants.

' _Yet, here I am...the leader of a nation of warriors during an unprecedented time of peace and prosperity in the world. Yes, it is true that more women hold positions of authority in Jerhia than ever before...but they are more administrators than warriors. Hardly the legacy of an enduring legend...not that this was ever my aspiration.'_

Still, what had she achieved in the spirit of progressive reform? Like the other two CornerStone Nations, Jerhia had retreated behind a wall of isolationism. Arminda had turned her nation's focus inward and abdicated Jerhia's influence on the Eastern Continent, while the Benevolent Queen, as Karosyn had been universally dubbed, had actively propagated all of the virtues Maroc had implored her to advocate.

'What an abysmal failure I must be in your eyes, old friend,' Arminda thought as she shifted her gaze to the lifeless rendering of a woman who should be one of history's most celebrated figures. 'What has become of you, Lorio? Why is Queen Karosyn so intent on finding you?'

Arminda, for whom self doubt and deprecation were constant companions, was quick to admit her perceived failings and was also possessed of a rare and laudable virtue. Rather than be hobbled and immobilized by those failings, Arminda would labour unflaggingly to see them rectified.

Rising, suffused by a sudden compulsion to make amends for both of her self-perceived transgressions, she marched briskly to the door and summoned her adjutant.

She ushered a decidedly nonplused Marangeleis over to her working desk and bid her to be seated, before dragging a chair over to the other end of the table. "I've had a change of heart about the significance of the Queen's notification. In fact, it has inspired me to undertake a rather ambitious campaign of changes in Jerhia's posture toward the east...so I can predict that you and I are going to be incredibly busy over the coming weeks. I'm going to develop the general framework of these comprehensive changes, but I'm going to delegate their implementation to you, Marangeleis."

"I'm yours to command, Maxim Tier Marshal...it is my honour to serve you,"

The adjutant's solemnity drew a cracked grin from her superior. "You may come to recant your declaration of gratitude when you come to realize just how much work my proposals will entail." Arminda's tone grew sober and she added, "I've been a laggard for far too long and it is time I made amends for that dereliction."

Marangeleis frowned, but made no comment, correctly deducing that this mordant remark had not been intended for her benefit. To the loyal adjutant, Arminda's self-condemnation was absurd. To her adoring mind, the Maxim Tier Marshal was the living quintessence of everything Jerhia embodied.

"I'm going to draft a communique on the significance of this notification, which you will dispatch to the Grand Mage and the Natzurdan Elder with the highest urgency. We will then dispatch another communique to Queen Karosyn, informing her that Jerhia will aid in her search for the truant Lamish former Queen. To that end, you will begin formulating a proposal on exactly how best to achieve this. Conscript the assistance of whomever you might require to facilitate this in an expeditious fashion."

"Will you wish to dispatch scouts to the Eastern Continent, Maxim Tier Marshal?" The adjutant inquired, knowing that this would be a radical departure from Jerhia's recent policy of non-engagement.

"Yes, with the host nation's permission, of course," Arminda clarified with a sly grin. When the adjutant nodded her understanding, Arminda continued, "Next, I want you to quickly compile a list of the female elite in every position here in Summergaden. I will select an escort to accompany me to Nalosan to meet with the Benevolent Queen. She has taken the initiative in promoting equality for women and it is well past time that I declare my support for her efforts...Jerhia's advocacy of all she is attempting to achieve. We will also show the world that Jerhia is not aloof...not irrelevant. I will draft a private communique to Queen Karosyn, which you will dispatch this evening. Once I've made my escort selections, it is my intention to depart within the week."

"Without awaiting the Queen's response?" Marangeleis inquired, the slight furrowing of her smooth brow as close the rigidly composed Jerhia could come to a overt display of bewilderment.

"Precisely!" Arminda replied with a feral grin. "I'll will take it as a given that she will accept my offer of friendship and my proposal of a mutual strategy for the advancement of women."

Marangeleis smiled approvingly, delighted by this display of ferocity from a woman she admired so deeply. That smile vanished with Arminda's next instruction. "I will have you arrange for a full counsel meeting tonight. It is also long overdue that the matter of my successor be finalized...or at the very least, commenced." When her loyal adjutant grimaced, Arminda assured her, "Don't worry...I have no intention of stepping aside any time soon, but it is prudent to be prepared for the inevitable...however long in coming that inevitability may be."

When the adjutant departed, Arminda returned to her desk, but before she could plunge into this new sea of tasks she'd set for herself, the stalwart Jerhia vowed to the silence of her office, "I've abandoned you, Lorio, but I swear on Maroc's memory that I'm going to find you. On that day, I will plead for your forgiveness and should you be so generous as to accept my plea...I will do everything in my power to make amends."

With this fervent oath given, Arminda set about composing a compelling offer of friendship to a woman beside whom she had always felt privately inadequate.

2

The woman, about whom the stalwart Arminda felt a secret sense of inferiority, sat a continent away, grappling with her own feelings of inadequacy and doubt. Karosyn shifted her gaze to the east facing bank of windows, her normally serene countenance set in an expression of discord. 'After years of adroitly ruling Emercia, I may have unwittingly unleashed an ungovernable beast over which I may not be able to regain control.' She inhaled sharply and whispered dolefully, "you have no idea how keenly the pain of your absence still burns me, husband...even after all of these years."

Karosyn could still clearly conjure a detailed recollection of Artumas' face three decades after his death. Their time together had been comparatively short, especially when considered against her long life, but during those years together, the regal Karosyn had found a soul mate whose noble nature was a perfect match for her own. In that respect, they were of a like mind in virtually every facet of their shared life.

' _Ah, but how I wish you could be with me at this daunting juncture, husband...for I fear that I am in desperate need of your wisdom and thoughtful manner.'_

Her situation with Lorio was delicate and the innate pragmatist in her nature could not help but wonder if she had parted ways with her reason when she had concocted this unconventional method of locating the missing immortal.

Yet, in comparison to the other matter that preoccupied her thoughts, her eclectic scheme to bring the truant immortal back into the fold seemed like child's play.

Though Karosyn projected a facade of serenity to the world...for the sake of those who served her and the people over whom she ruled...she was, in truth, a woman beset but internal ambivalence. She had made astounding strides in bringing her late husband's dream of a more equitable country closer to realization. Emercia was the safest, most progressive and affluent nation on the Eastern Continent...if not the entire world. Though much remained to be done in elevating the worth of women in society, Karosyn had made astonishing strides in improving the lot of the average woman in her country.

She had worked ceaselessly to fulfil her Goddess' mandate in the repressive world of the patriarch...even though she had forfeited any right to Gyzarayne's ear decades before, when she had renounced the title of Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria.

Every day she reminded herself that her life should, by Gyzarayne's protocol, have ended then and there. When the Ascentrix had reluctantly accepted her renunciation, Gyzarayne's grace should have been negated and the full weight of Karosyn's two hundred and thirty years should have impacted upon her like fall of a deity's hammer.

Only Artumas' impassioned entreaty has prevented Lissom from revoking Karosyn's grace and condemning the distraught Karosyn to a swift, but gruesome death.

"Yet, has this breech of divine protocol now led the world back to the crumbling edge of the abyss?" Karosyn inquired of the indifferent silence. "If Lissom has, indeed, wandered far out from beneath her Goddess' light, can it all be ascribed to my selfishness...my failure as her Matrium...as her friend?"

And with this simple articulation of doubt, all of Karosyn's restive ghosts escaped their lightless dungeons and assailed her like berserkers.

Lissom, Lyndsyn, Lorio and even Issidris Il: their images spun before her mind's eye like a raging gyre. Their names were a fulminating rumble in her conscious thoughts, their blaring voices fraught with condemnation of which the humble queen believed she was deserving.

The world seemed to perceive Karosyn as a beautiful paragon of probity, compassion and grace, but she had failed these four women and to her mind, it was these grievous failure which defined her.

Lyndsyn, her beautiful, troubled daughter and the inured Issidris Il were forever lost across the veil of death. Lorio and Lissom, however, lived still and Karosyn vowed, on the memory of her beloved Artumas, that she would spend eternity making restitution to both.

Lorio was daunting enough, but her prospective attempt to reclaim Lissom from whatever malevolence had enshrouded her heart filled the intrepid Karosyn with chill dread.

She had considered seeking Gyzarayne's guidance in the matter, but eschewed that path. It had been her intention to focus her energy on Artumas' enlightened vision for Emercia and allow both Gyzarayne's and capricious fate to resolve the matter of Lissom's questionable proclivities. Yet, in the last six months, she had thrice been covertly approached by several influential Sisters to whom she'd once been Matrium.

The first group had been dispatched from Dortizirian. Karosyn had granted them an audience, thinking they had come to vent the old refrain about Lissom's continuing absence. She had been mortified when the group had revealed that Lissom had created a hybrid of The Goddess' order in sand scoured Majeer...a blasphemous marriage of the Sisters of Esotaria and the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen. Lissom had become the leader of this hybrid and thus, the de facto ruler of Majeer.

The subsequent group had arrived with a revelation that had only geometrically exacerbated Karosyn's fears and dislodged her from her posture or neutrality in the matter.

The bewildered sisters had delved into great detail when describing some of the perversions of divine ritual that Lissom had established in Majeer. Karosyn had been appalled by the practices, but had obliquely wondered why the Goddess had not intervened to divest Lissom of her power...or at the very least, rectify her misguided perversion of the divine faith.

Lissom's rule in Majeer had become especially Draconian, dispensing severe punishments for men for even minor transgressions in appalling public spectacles...especially in the Majeeri Capital, where Lissom now held court. The senior sister of this secret delegation had informed Karosyn, "She has created an elite order of Majeeri warrior women who administer this justice. These women are devoid of mercy and zealous in their hatred of men. Part of their regalia is a pewter mask that has been inscribed with stylized scars...similar to those that were inflicted upon the women of the Rha-Sheem by the previous tyrant. Lissom's depraved rule has caused Majeer to quail under a pall of fear. She has created an inverse era of the false god, Thaz Ekai"

"How have you come to learn of this?" Karosyn had inquired worriedly.

"Sandalayne has been dispatching secret reports to Dortizirian for several years now...at incredible risk to herself, I might add," the sister had divulged.

Sandalayne, Karosyn had recalled was the hulking First Stealth Ranger and had been since well before Karosyn had renounced her position of Matrium. If the stoic warrior was troubled, then there could be little doubt that there existed a valid reason for concern.

"What is it you would have me do?" Karosyn had inquired gravely of the final contingent.

"We seek your guidance, Matrium," the sister had returned with equal gravitas.

"I am no longer your Matrium," Karosyn had returned with unequivocal bluntness, fully cognizant of the innate dangers of this misperception.

"Nonetheless, there are many who fervently believe that you are the only one who might save our order from the abyss that now looms beneath it," the sister had returned with equal frankness.

"Again, how do the powers in Dortizirian wish to see this matter resolved?"

The eight sisters had exchanged anxious glances and then the eldest had turned back to Karosyn and in a firm, resolute voice, declared, "We wish to have Lissom disavowed!"

Despite her best attempt to do so, Karosyn had been unable to completely disguise her shock. What these sisters were proposing was nothing short of sedition and by even entertaining this discussion, the Emercian Queen understood that she was becoming duplicitous in their machinations...an extremely dangerous posture, both for herself and the nation over which she ruled.

The Lissom that Karosyn had served and mentored had been intolerant of perceived disloyalty and defiance. If Lissom had, indeed, gravitated toward dark tyranny, as these rebellious sisters now claimed, her reaction to any scheme of subterfuge would be swift and brutal...and that reaction would not only extend to the sisters involved.

By even engaging in this discussion, Karosyn was establishing herself, and by extension, Emercia...As Lissom's adversary...not an enviable position in which to find one's self when confronting the most powerful entity on the face of the world.

Her first instinct had been to emphatically reject this perilous dialogue and dismiss these sisters with a stern warning over the folly of their furtive plotting. Yet, before she could deliver this rebuke, a stark and vivid image germinated in her mind.

Lyndsyn, her beautiful, troubled daughter, hanging from a crossbeam, her blue-tinged flesh cast in an eerie silver glow by the moonlight that tumbled through the small window of the room where she'd taken her life. Lyndsyn's beautiful face had been pallid and her large, limpid blue eyes were scummed by a pearlescent film. Her tongue was black and ghastly as it protruded past her blue lips. This harrowing image was the embodiment of Karosyn's catalogue of personal failures.

'Can you claim that you did not fail Lissom just as utterly? If she has strayed into dark territory, was it not your selfish abandonment that provided the impetus to prod her there?' Though she did not recognize the voice, Karosyn could not help but wonder if this scathing allegation had not been delivered by this new, dark incarnation of Lissom, herself.

The totality of her failure...indeed, a cruel and self-pitying desertion of the woman, whom she'd been honour-bound to serve, impaled her heart then. In that exact moment, Karosyn Nierosean realized that she was obligated to guide Lissom back into Gyzarayne's light, irrespective of the dire risks.

All of this flowed through her like a rampant tide while the sisters had watched her expectantly, hoping that she would advocate and perhaps even join their proposed insurrection.

In a deliberately measured tone, Karosyn began, "An Ascentrix has never once been disavowed...not once in the Sisterhood's history. Only Gyzarayne would be capable of such a drastic, unprecedented measure. If what had been alleged is true, the very fact that the Goddess has not nullified her Ascentrix should indicate that, as perplexing as it might be, what is transpiring in Majeer is part of her plan.

"That...that is surely absurd," a willowy sister named Ashira objected. "What possible plan of Gyzarayne's would entail the horrors that Sandalayne has described?"

In a rare moment if vexation, Karosyn had allowed her sarcasm to slither forth. "As I am no longer the Matrium, I cannot say. Perhaps you would all be better served by praying to your Goddess for clarification than plotting insurrection against a woman who could obliterate the lot of you with a thought."

The ashen faces of the sisters immediately caused Karosyn to regret her mordant castigation. She fetched a sigh. "You have my apology...that was extremely discourteous. I will confess that I am deeply unsettled by the behaviour you've described and yes, your grave concerns are warranted. I will also tell you that I feel no small measure of responsibility if Lissom has, indeed, strayed from the Goddess' path in Majeer."

When the sisters had attempted to raise the obligatory objections, exonerating her for her abandonment of an Ascentrix who had yet to reach the pinnacle of her evolution, Karosyn had silenced them with raised hand. "You have come to me for aid and guidance in this matter and I will comply...on the provision that you abandon this course of sedition and permit me to deal with Lissom and the matter of her possible corruption as I see fit."

The women had exchanged uncertain glances, but to a one, Karosyn could discern relief glittering in every eye...just as she'd felt the mammoth burden settle on her capable shoulders.

'And the shoulders of Emercia,' she reminded herself ruefully.

"Very well, your highness, we agree to allow you to address this matter as you see fit," the elder sister had intoned, her voice neutral. "Will you at least apprise us of your intention, so that we might convey something of substance back to Dortizirian?"

"Eventually, Yes, but I will require a short space of time to ponder an appropriate course of action. In the interim, I would strongly advise that you curtail any further discourse on this matter. Sandalayne, in particular, should cease reporting on Lissom's behaviour. You must realize that, by even engaging in this dialogue, I have potentially compromised Emercia's security...and I will not risk carelessly bringing Lissom's terrible wrath down upon this country's head."

Then sisters had agreed with obvious relief and Karosyn had assumed the burden for Lissom's deviation from Gyzarayne's path, which, she supposed was only fitting.

After days of vacillation, Karosyn had contrived an audacious plan for Lissom's reclamation that essentially entailed inviting the wolf into the pasture. She had dispatched an official invitation for her former Ascentrix to visit Nalosan.

In the communique, she had invited Lissom to visit Nalosan to discuss the Sisters of Esotaria's future in Emercia and the possibility of establishing closer, mutually beneficial ties between both. She also expressed her hope that Majeer's new leader join Lissom and together, the three could reach and accord of rapprochement between Emercia and Majeer.

Karosyn had also included a personal letter to Lissom in which had poured forth her acute sorrow and regret over their estrangement. She had been totally candid in assuming full responsibility for all that had driven the pair apart. She had concluded this note by beseeching Lissom to forgive her and come to Emercia with a mind to bridging the divide that now yawned between them.

Now, in the seclusion of her audience chamber, Karosyn was assailed by an icy chill. Reaching for Lissom's response, Karosyn carefully unfolded the single sheet of vellum and read the Ascentrix's glacially terse reply.

Good Queen:

I shall come to Nalosan (do you think to command me now, Karosyn?)...but I shall come alone. I am now the hand that guides both the Sisters of Esotaria...and the sovereign nation of Majeer.

Lissom

Karosyn quickly folded the single sheet and discarded it to her writing desk as if it might hold a deadly contagion. Nothing in those few frigid lines evoked the slightest recollection of the woman that Karosyn had raised from an infant.

Beneath the brusqueness, which bordered on flagrant discourtesy in an official communique between leaders, Karosyn could discern an amused disdain. Still, clearly Lissom had taken a proprietary view of Majeer. Yet, it was that single reference to her as a person that had troubled Karosyn the most.

' _Do you think to command me now, Karosyn?'_

That phrase held an ominous implication that Karosyn could not ignore. It bespoke a festering resentment that bordered on the irrational...on the obsessive, and cast their forthcoming meeting in a decidedly belligerent light.

'Artumas, if ever I needed your wisdom, it would be now,' she reiterated, even as she understood that this was a frightening burden that she must bear alone.

A brisk rap came at the door, and donning her mask of sedate composure, Karosyn called, "Come,"

3

The door opened and the diminutive blond hellion slid into her audience chamber. At the Queen's behest, she had donned a loose-fitting, asymmetrical half robe that cut her powerful legs high on the right thigh before tapering down past her left knee.

She walked gracefully across the parquet floor and extending her muscular right arm above her head, executed a slow pirouette before the seated Queen. With an irreverent grin, she inquired, "Does this meet your pious standard of decorum, your highness? Frankly, though, I thought my training attire to be quite fetching."

Karosyn greeted this impertinence with a baleful glare before beaming a radiant smile. "Come and sit by me, your highness."

"You're most gracious, your majesty," the blond returned evenly and slid gracefully into the chair next to Karosyn. She randomly plucked at items on the Queen's writing desk, perusing them with bored disinterest, before casting them aside, oblivious to the disapproving scowl her inappropriate prying earned from her host. Only when she scanned Lissom's terse letter, did a speculative gleam light in her polar green eyes. Pursuing her full lips, she remarked, "You and I will speak of this, I think, your majesty."

Stiffly, Karosyn returned, "My affairs with the Ascentrix are none of your concern, Princess Czefrina. More to the point, I anticipate that you will be fully engaged should our mad scheme unfold as we envision."

"Speaking of our mad scheme...your performance in the dungeon was a truly inspired bit of theatrics...Karosyn," Czefrina remarked with a hint of genuine admiration. "I will offer a sliver of criticism and say that you were overzealous when you pummelled me into the stone floor."

"I must confess that, after watching you perch on my noble weapons master like a vulture, I may no longer have been acting," Karosyn observed with an acerbic snap.

Czefrina's expressive eyes widened and she returned, "Then I should count myself fortunate that I am only bruised. Still, your Garum Tranan was certainly convinced by our performance. I'm certain he believes that I'm a demon from the Land of Shades." She paused before adding, "You know that he is hopelessly in love with you, of course."

Karosyn rolled her great blue eyes and fixed the Lamish Princess with an exasperated frown. "You really are far too forward for a young woman of your station."

Czefrina greeted this criticism with a dismissive chuckle. "Come, your highness, admit that I'm a refreshing breeze. Oh how tedious it must be to be constantly surrounded by adoring sycophants, all tripping over each other for a kind word or a lingering glance." Her voice became a sultry whisper and she intoned, "Have you never speculated on how much seed has been spilled in darkened bed chambers by the host of beguiled men who fantasize about having you in their beds?"

Karosyn's colour deepened to plum and she sputtered, "You are utterly incorrigible and unless you relish a reprise of the pummelling I gave you earlier, you'll restrain your salacious tongue."

Sensing that the mild-mannered Queen was being entirely sincere, Czefrina's deportment became sober. "I'm sorry, your highness, there are times when my wagging tongue outpaces my good sense."

"I see so much of her in you that it makes my heart ache," Karosyn murmured, referring to the absent immortal who had brought this unlikely pair together. She fixed the lovely Lamish princess with a frank gaze of appraisal and intoned sternly, "This morning's lamentable escapade makes me question not only my judgment in embroiling myself in your obsession, but my sanity, as well."

For the first time since entering Karosyn's audience chamber, Princess Czefrina expressed genuine dismay. "Please, Karosyn, forgive me if my behaviour has inspired these misgivings. Despite my lapses in refined deportment befitting royalty, I am zealously committed to finding Lorio...to bring her back into the fold. This outrageous scheme we've concocted should serve as a testimony to the extremes I'm willing to go to accomplish my...no, our objective." That irreverent smirk stole back onto her pleasing countenance and she quipped, "Even if I have to entice her into my bed to bind her to me...and by extension, Lamia. I have read that she is a rare beauty...is this so?"

"Do you find me beautiful?" Karosyn inquired, her tone bereft of vanity.

The diminutive blond huffed and allowed, "You are the living quintessence of feminine splendour."

"Lorio is at least my equal and without any innate sense of vanity to fuel that fact. Still, if I am to pursue this demented scheme any further, you will explain what would compel you to such lengths to see your machinations to fruition."

"It's a simple matter...Lamia needs Lorio if it has any real hope for legitimate nationhood," Czefrina intoned passionately.

"Lorio will be the first to tell you that her tenure as Queen was a debacle...one that she would have absolutely no desire to reprise," Karosyn interjected with equal fervour.

"I'm not speaking of having her be a Queen," Czefrina countered pointedly. "Kings and Queen's are scant more than glorified administrators."

When this reductive assessment of royalty caused Karosyn to arch a tapered eyebrow, the Lamish Princess quickly amended, "Of course, that doesn't apply to you, Karosyn...it is commonly held that you are the living embodiment of an enlightened ruler."

"And you are as fleet of tongue as you are of foot," Karosyn countered sardonically.

"You can't begin to imagine," Czefrina allowed with a wicked grin, but when Karosyn glowered at this double entendre and the air around her began to crackle with poised energy, the princess' demeanour became meek.

"So, if you do not wish for Lorio to become Queen, how exactly do you envision she will serve Lamia?"

Czefrina pondered her response for a protracted moment before carefully articulating the vision that had driven her since she was a young girl. "Do you know what Lorio is called in Lamia...where her continuing absence has bestowed upon her a mythical status?"

The Queen merely shook her head, divining that she was about to be afforded a rare glimpse of the focused intellect that dwelt behind this galling facade of irreverence.

"Lorio is referred to as the Mother of Lamia. My brother is a capable enough King, but a man of narrow vision, better suited to matters of tax collection and logistics. I am second in line for the throne, but have no desire or aspiration toward rule. My goal is to lift Lamia from its moribund state by providing the people with an inspiration that will raise them from their malaise. I know that to have Lorio return...the Mother of Lamia...would provide that inspiration."

"I can tell you, without ambivalence, that it is a role for which Lorio will have no appetite," Karosyn observed solemnly.

"The pit can take Lorio's accursed reluctance!" Czefrina erupted angrily. "She owes an obligation the people she abandoned and though she abdicated that duty...the time of her reprieve is done." The princess sighed and averted her gaze to her surprisingly delicate hands. "I know that you are a woman who is governed by compassion and empathy for the plight of the people. Karosyn, Lamia is forlorn. Its spirit has withered. It is not my intention to shackle Lorio to unwanted obligation. I only want her to go out amongst her people and show them that she is as enduring as the nation I hope to build. In return, I will give myself to her without reservation or restraint. I will dedicate myself to her happiness...her pleasure. I will be indefatigable in challenging her...in keeping her intrigued and engaged. That will be my legacy...the princess who returned the Mother of Lamia to her people."

Karosyn could glean that this extraordinary young woman was zealous in her conviction...see its veracity confirmed in the cadence of her breathing...in the turgid nipples that poked prominently through the fabric of her robe.

'This poor child is enamoured with an illusion.' Karosyn realized then. 'She had fallen in love with a myth who bears only a passing resemblance to the poor, fractured truth.' To Czefrina, she remarked, "You speak as if you know Lorio, Princess."

Here, Czefrina became sheepish, evasive. "From then time I was a small child, I was enthralled by the tales of Lorio. I would constantly pester my grandmother, Nayoro, to tell me stories of Lorio's reign as Queen. When I learned to read, I voraciously read every scroll and tome that I could lay my hands on...immersing myself in her exploits during the Emerald Enchantress Wars and the period of darkness that followed. When I discovered that I had been blessed with unprecedented physical abilities...gifted with exceptional speed, agility and power...I used those tales to push me...to inspire me to surmount the pain and doubt that were constant pitfalls on my road to personal apotheosis. I have been relentlessly compelled by my determination to become worthy of the Mother of Lamia. It is my purpose to see both Lorio and Lamia rise to glory."

Karosyn reached out and took the startled Czefrina's right hand in hers. In a tone that was firm, yet kind, she attempted to dispel the myths revolving around the legend of Lorio. "I have known Lorio for forty years now. I consider her a daughter...and I can attest that she is all of the things you have mentioned...courageous, loyal and heroic." Her smooth brow furrowed and she added gravely, "But Czefrina...for the sake of your very life, you must grasp this irrefutable truth, Lorio is far more than this contrived amalgam of Noble virtues. She is a conflicted, incredibly scarred creature, who is every bit as tempestuous as a storm on the ocean. Lorio can be cruel and violent...lethally so. She can be volatile to the point of irrationality and when one considers what she is, this erratic nature makes her a truly terrifying entity. Even this alarming characterization does not encompass the unsettling whole truth."

"I'm not certain I follow the point you're trying to make?" Czefrina returned stubbornly, her lovely face congealing into a perplexed knot.

"Lorio has the potential to become a monster...an engine of pure malevolence, given the right circumstances." Karosyn then recounted her understanding of the genesis of Lorio's immortality. She was privately pleased by the extent to which Czefrina appeared unsettled by the concept of a Morticant hybrid. The Queen concluded by relating her deepest concern. "Despite being well-intended, it is my fear that our scheme will provoke this dormant evil to awaken...and that would be a truly tragic turn of events for all involved...none more so than Lorio, who has suffered far more than any living thing should."

Despite her pallor and obvious disquiet, the vexed princess demanded, "Yet, despite this vile seed, something has prevented it from germinating."

"That something would be a diamond hard woman named Issidris Il...a redeemed criminal who became the Sisters or Esotaria's assassin. The two became friends...improbable friends...during that dark period forty years ago. Issidris was a balm of cold composure on Lorio's turbulent soul. The affect she exerted upon the immortal was nothing short of miraculous. She died ten years ago and I fear that her loss has fractured Lorio's spirit."

"Then perhaps I can serve as Lorio's guiding influence."

"I suspect that you and she might be too much alike for that to be plausible. What's more...attempting to openly supplant Issidris, whom Lorio came to love unconditionally, would be imprudent."

After a moment, Czefrina nodded, her limpid green eyes pinched by an uncertainty, a state with which Karosyn suspected she was unfamiliar. She leaned closer and her grip on the Princess' hand became a constricting vice that caused the formidable blond to wince. "There is another consideration I wish you to weigh as you ponder the merits of proceeding with this insane scheme. Lorio is guilty of no dearth of heinous transgressions...as I know all too well, having been the victim of a number of them. Yet, I have forgiven her for those sins because, for all of her failings, Lorio is the most grievously ill-used creature I've ever known. She has suffered the cruel dispensations of random fate with a frequency that is incomprehensible."

Czefrina suddenly found her head being jerked forward until Karosyn's dark blue eyes seemed to fill the very world. "I have always subscribed to the unpleasant theory that, within each and everyone there is a cloistered monster just waiting the right provocation to break free and run amok. If your intentions toward Lorio are fuelled by an ulterior agenda...you will become intimately familiar with my inner monster." The crushing fingers relented and a pallid Czefrina a slumped back in her chair, not doubting Karosyn's sincerity for an instant. "Now, after carefully weighing all of these considerations, do you still wish to proceed with our plan?"

Czefrina fixed the Queen with reproachful glare, privately shocked by Karosyn's revelation of this ruthless streak, of which the Lamish Princess would have sworn the serene woman incapable.

She could feel her own defiant mettle stir and between clenched jaws, she rasped," Now more than ever. The Mother of Lamia will be returned to her people...and I swear on my life, that I will labour ceaselessly to make Lorio happy."

Karosyn smiled warmly and declared, "Then that is well because I received word early this morning that a woman matching Lorio's description had crossed our border with Fairmarch."

In response to this unexpected news, Czefrina's eyes glowed and her mood became ebullient. Karosyn sincerely hoped that her vision...her fervent purpose...would not be met with bitter disappointment. Reaching into her desk drawer, the Queen produced a small leather pouch and held it out to an intrigued Czefrina, who regarded it quizzically.

In a clinical manner, Karosyn disclosed the pouch's purpose. "You are an exceptional physical specimen, whose martial abilities are astonishing, but for your own sake, I implore you to believe me when I predict...against Lorio, they will not be enough. You can belabour her like a whirlwind and evade her attacks like liquid mercury, but Lorio is impervious to physical punishment and she is indefatigable. If your confrontation lasts long enough, or if you cannot break free of her pursuit, Lorio will inevitably, inexorably wear you down."

Though the supremely confident Czefrina appeared sceptical, she offered no contradiction in the face of Karosyn's entreaty. "And whatever is in that pouch will prevent her from overwhelming me?"

"Yes. This pouch contains an exotic, and frankly, forbidden powder that is lethal to mortals in even minute quantities if inhaled. As Lorio is immortal, it will plunge her into a slumber with no lasting effects. If you start to falter, blow this into her face and flee. I imagine you intend to wear a mask?"

"A full head scarf and a black uniform similar to what I wore earlier. If Lorio has a preference for feminine enticement, rest assured that she will be beguiled by the ballet I intend to dance for her."

Karosyn rose, a subtle signal that their audience was at an end and when Czefrina also stood, the Queen drew her into an embrace and murmured, "Let us do all we can to bring this beautiful, fractured soul back into the light."

Czefrina nodded intently and with a formal bow, took her leave. When the mercurial princess had departed, Karosyn meandered over to the window and cast her gaze out over the grey afternoon sky. An image rose unbidden to her mind then of an enormous spider sitting at the centre of a web that stretched out toward every point of the compass. The spider dripped venom that ran along the gossamer strands and out into the darkness, where disembodied voices wailed an endless dirge of pain.

The metaphor's genesis was her subconscious issuing a strident protest over her dalliance in subterfuge...an undertaking she normally deplored. Sighing, she whispered, "I have no aptitude for being a spider."

Chapter Four

1

The coming of Lorio's third spring in Cortrin saw the once irrepressible wanderer come ever closer to the astounding state of being settled. During the course of their thirty year rambling odyssey, Lorio and Issidris often accrued fairly substantial amounts of coin, mostly through some of the assignments they occasionally took as caravan guards or local problem solvers. In Majeer, the duo had actually became rather wealthy while hunting down the fugitive elements of Thaz Ekai's lunatic theology, an endeavour for which Lissom and Shan-en Naroon paid handsomely. It had been the pragmatic Issidris to whom Lorio had deferred the task of managing their coin. Though Lorio had been indifferent to material trappings and feminine finery, she had a hearty appetite for indulging in hedonist pleasures...such as ale houses and dens that catered to the exotic pleasures of the flesh.

Lorio also had an exasperating tendency to pay absurdly inflated amounts for basic services, such as a ferry crossing or lodgings. This cavalier attitude toward coin was a private source of vexation for Il, who had suffered the ravages of extreme penury all through her wretched childhood. Like most other matters in her complex relationship, the stoic Il endured Lorio's proclivity to squander coin in silence.

In the years since Issidris' death, Lorio's indifference to coin had deepened to a degree that she would only spend money to procure her few spartan needs...primary lodgings and mead. The coin she earned while toiling in Cortrin's haulage yard (which grew considerably as Emon Yar came to glean Lorio's value), she stored beneath a pried up floor board in her first spartan room.

Yet, as spring bloomed, glorious with the promise of a beautiful summer, two subtle, but significant changes stole over the immortal's slowly shifting nature.

These two changes would serve as paving stones in Lorio's fate-kissed path to her next meaningful relationship, though the immortal would have vociferously swore that she had no desire to become embroiled in what she perceived as an entanglement. To Lorio's skewed way of thinking, the only remuneration for such entanglements were incisive loss and enduring sorrow, emotions she had suffered in abundance during the course of her life.

Still in many ways naive, Lorio had yet to discover that fate had a way of making a mockery of such fervently held convictions.

As was consistent with her Lamish heritage, Lorio viewed possessions and the material trappings of the settled life warily...as if their accrual was a millstone that could bind her to the dreaded sedentary existence. Upon moving to her new, more spacious lodgings at the Glass House Inn, however, the empty space began to grate on Lorio's nerves...as if it was a metaphor for her life...hinting at sterility and lack of permanence.

To fill these glaring expanses, Lorio began to acquire...things. As she wandered through the bazaars, Lorio's eye would be drawn to curiosities...trinkets and colourful ornaments that had no practical intrinsic value, but resonated with her burgeoning appreciation of colourful and delicate things.

To house these acquisitions, Lorio purchased an ornate wooden shelf to showcase her new treasures. When each tier had been filled to capacity, the immortal had procured an ornate glass and wood curio cabinet. She had garnered many an incredulous stares as she'd carried the heavy construct through the streets and up the three flights of narrow stairs to her suite of rooms.

Not all of her acquisitions were whimsical in nature...a quality that the immortal never would have suspected to be a part of her personality. She appointed her chambers with an actual bed, the expensive feather mattress of which was the very quintessence of decadent indulgence.

There soon followed a number of beautifully crafted tables and an exquisite leather chair that Lorio placed by the window. On the rare nights that the immortal had no desire to venture out, she would curl up in the plush leather chair and chart the flow of humanity from her seat by the window. Slowly, but inexorably, Lorio, the daughter of dust, began to succumb to the allure of having a sense of place.

It was another facet of her progression toward normalcy that would first bring Lorio into contact with the person who would dislodge her from her solitude.

Each morning on the way to the yard, and each evening on her return trip to the Glass House Inn, Lorio would pass a bath house. When its windows were open in amenable weather, the sultry air wafting out into the street would be redolent with a melange of intoxicating fragrances that tantalized the immortal as she passed.

After a particularly gruelling day in the yards, Lorio finally succumbed to the bath house's enticement. After being ushered to one of the pristinely clean private rooms and stripping off her grime-encrusted clothing, the immortal had waded into the large alabaster bath and gave out a delighted sigh of perfect contentment. Settling into the steaming water was comparable to settling into the tender embrace of an ardent lover and Lorio had shivered with a pleasure that was primal. She had closed her eyes and laid her head back against the contoured edge of the bath and allowed the water to work its magic on her nubile flesh. She fell into a doze and for the first time in years, Lorio was swept away by a sequence of torrid, erotic dreams in which an unseen lover of inimitable skill played her nubile body like a master violinist.

She awoke with an audible gasp, her breath coming in ragged bursts and her nipples turgid with need. Shaking her head in consternation, Lorio rose on legs that trembled wildly, despite having the appearance of ironwood trees.

Dressing quickly, Lorio made a hasty exit from the bath chamber, but in the course of making her way back out to the street, she encountered a woman whose scintillating beauty only stoked her temperature further.

The woman was as tall as Lorio and resplendent in a dove grey, full length cloak, the hem and hood of which were trimmed with silver fox. Her luxuriantly thick hair was chestnut brown and cascaded over her square shoulders in shimmering waves. Her lean face was dominated by high cheekbones, a full-lipped, generous mouth and large, deep blue eyes that tilted slightly and shone with both mirth and serenity. She moved toward Lorio with a slow, liquid grace and seemed to exude a natural warmth that washed over the transfixed immortal like a placating balm.

The large gold hoop earrings this vision wore seemed to sway in time to her easy gait as she moved toward Lorio, who pressed herself against the wall and obliquely wondered if this entrancing creature could possibly hear her heart thundering in her chest like a timpani.

The woman's gaze settled on the immortal, to whom she offered a polite smile before floating past as if borne on a carpet of golden effulgence.

'I do believe you've just been thoroughly smitten,' the voice of Issidris Il declared from the shadow of her memory. There was an intimation of approval in this declaration, yet Lorio was accosted by an incisive stab of guilt over her atavistic response to this entrancing vision. This guilt lacked the efficacy to quell the rapidly burgeoning lust that left her immobilized and gaping like an enamoured schoolgirl in the wake of the woman's passing.

Watching the poetic sway of her tight hips and the elegant swinging motion of her long, slender arms, left Lorio feeling lustreless and nondescript...drab and common in her grime-encrusted work clothes.

Yet, as she stood utterly still, spellbound and inured by the conflicting storm of argent lust and acute guilt, the woman glanced back over her shoulder. Seeing Lorio gaping after her, she flashed a radiant smile that threatened to set the immortal ablaze...and then she was gone, vanishing around the corner like a fast descending sun.

Lorio slumped against the wall and drew a slow, tremulous breath. There had only been two previous occasions when the immortal had been so profoundly effected by crossing paths with another human being. Upon first coming into the daunting presence of Islena Doraux and the iron hard Issidris Il, Lorio had been suffused with the irrepressible compulsion to express her emphatic domination over both...with violent mayhem that would bend them to her will. She had failed spectacularly to achieve this objective...especially with Islena Doraux, who had been an inexorable force of nature.

With this stranger, whose mere fleeting proximity had just reduced her to a quivering vessel of need, Lorio experienced a storm of emotions that were more subtle and nuanced. Reeling beneath this rampant rush of unfamiliar lust, Lorio only wanted to capitulate...to fall beneath the enchantment this ethereal stranger exuded.

Instead, Lorio pushed away from the wall and stumbled out onto the street on wooden legs. Eschewing her nightly wandering or the indulgence in a flagon of ale in the Glass House's dining room, the thoroughly unsettled immortal retreated to the solitude of her rooms. There, she struggled to assimilate what she'd just experienced. As night descended over the city of Cortrin, Lorio spiralled into a fitful slumber in which floating blue eyes regarded her...offering an invitation that ignited a raging war between guilt and desire in Lorio's scarified heart.

As she tossed and turned, Lorio's fingers sought Issidris' keepsake of their own accord...as if seeking guidance from her lost friend.

2

The next day dawned beneath a roiling sky across which trundled thunderheads the colour of badly bruised flesh. Feeling unaccountably surly and bleak, Lorio set out for the haulage depot, sparing the bath house a quick glance as she hurried past.

Not long after, the immortal arrived at the yards and was assigned her depot for the day, just as the heavens broke with a vengeance that seemed born of wilful malice. Within a half bell, the sprawling yard became an impassable quagmire of ankle deep mud and water. Dray horses struggled to pull the heavy conveyances and bellows of frustration echoed across the yard, a shrill counterpoint to the fulminating rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the very world.

Lorio laboured at her depot as if oblivious to the tumult unfurling about her. She hefted stave barrels, which weighed more than a large man, from the bed of the wagon and carried them unerringly up the slick wooden ramp and into their designated area in the warehouse. She laboured in the deluge until her short hair was plastered to her scalp and her work clothes were thoroughly saturated.

Not much later in the morning, Emon approached Lorio to inform her that he had decided to suspend operations for the rest of the day. It required only one glance into those great dark eyes for Yar to know that something was seriously awry with his favourite employee. Deciding that she was best left to her own devices while under that turbulent thrall...that rivalled the raging skies above her, Emon entreated, "You should go home, Driss, but if work is what you need to be doing now, then make sure to close and lock the warehouse doors and the main gate before you go. We can square up your totals come the morning."

When Lorio had greeted this with a slight nod, Emon had left her to her labours.

The immortal toiled beneath the deluge throughout the afternoon and into the evening, labouring incessantly like one of Myrhia's golems. Her impassive countenance gave no intimation of the frenetic storm that raged behind her pinched eyes. Guilt over what she perceived as a flagrant betrayal of her beloved Issidris' memory warred with her burning desire to find the exquisite beauty who had roused her long dormant passion with just a glance and a smile.

And so conflicted, Lorio threw herself into the arduous labour, while the two diametrically opposite emotions chased each other in perpetual circles like obstinate, adversarial hounds.

By early evening, Lorio had arrived at a decision, electing to believe that her cherished Issidris would never have wanted the immortal to incarcerate herself in a sterile cloister of emotional reticence and isolation. As she'd lay dying on the eastern strand, had not Issidris exhorted her to embrace life and all of the potentially infinite possibilities her immortality bestowed upon her? Would Issidris resent her if she chose to explore this opportunity for, if nothing else, the carnal pleasure it might provide? Lorio felt certain that Issidris would condone this exploration...and would be delighted if it yielded something of lasting value.

Another part of her, the part that clung tenaciously to the joy and sorrow of their three decades together, decried this argument as sophist, self-serving rationalization, but Lorio gritted her teeth and ignored this scathing condemnation.

As she walked back to the Glass House, through the virtually deserted, rain-drenched streets, a third perspective added its disdainful voice to Lorio's internal debate. Even if she managed to find this glittering vision, what exactly did she intend to do...other than potentially make an absurd jape of herself. Despite her exceptional beauty, Lorio had allowed herself to become an androgynous chameleon, who blended into the background. Her chopped hair, callused hands and loose-fitting, shapeless clothing were unlikely to attract the interest of the rare diamond she'd encountered at the bath house...even if the woman was inclined toward romantic entanglement with her own gender.

'And yet she turned back to look at you...flashed a radiant smile that could set a glacier ablaze,' an inner voice observed. 'Yes, but it could be that her smile was one of derisive incredulity in reaction to the sight of a grime-encrusted woman playing at being a man.'

Lorio muttered a pungent curse of frustration, berating herself for becoming so socially maladroit. She hurried up the stairs to her suite of rooms, where she peeled off her wet, mud-spattered clothing. She then dressed in her rough spun trousers and fitted, sleeveless tunic, which featured her full, firm breasts to full effect. She realized that this tunic was as close she came to owning an even remotely feminine garb. In her obsession with avoiding notoriety, Lorio had denied her womanhood and beauty...a ridiculous posture that now filled her with shame.

Donning a short, hooded robe, the immortal hurried back to the bath house. She lingered in the entrance for a long while, hoping that the stranger would miraculously appear. Only when the attendant began to eye her suspiciously did Lorio procure a private bath chamber. Whereas she would normally have lingered in the scented, deliciously hot water for at least a full bell, on this night, impatience and agitation prompted her to forego the waters in less than a half bell. Dressing quickly, she languished in the entrance for several moments, before cursing herself as an obsequious fool and traipsing out into the rainy night.

She lingered on the rainy walk for a long moment, feeling the ebullience that had swayed her mood for the last year, give way to sinking dejection. Deciding that she was not condign to the prospect of a night in the empty silence of her suite, Lorio made her way to the dining hall. The inimical weather had made for a dearth of patrons and the hall was empty, save for a handful customers, who refused to be deterred by the unrelenting rain.

Collecting a flagon of ale without lifting her gaze to meet the barkeep's face, Lorio drifted over to a table near the hearth. She pulled the sodden robe over her head and tossed it over the back of the unoccupied chair. Once she'd settled into her seat, Lorio tilted her morose gaze to the hypnotic dance of the flames, struggling to keep her mind deliberately blank until the ale worked its thought numbing sorcery.

She was labouring to resist the pull of bleakness, when an earthen stein of mead was carefully set down on the table before her. Preparing to unleash a torrent of vitriol for this unwanted intrusion, Lorio glanced up and those baleful words evaporated on her tongue.

The stranger from the bath house towered over her, seemingly cocooned in a corona of muted golden light. Her rich brown hair was swept away from the right side of her face, its cascading spill restrained by a sapphire inlaid comb, the deep blue stones of which matched the woman's entrancing eyes, and revealed a perfectly sculpted cheekbone.

She wore a form fitting white blouse with a plunging neckline that revealed the deep valley of her enticing breasts. The long black skirt she wore was hemmed with elaborate gold stitching. Though falling to a conservative length just above the ankle, the garment's side split strayed close to the curve of the stranger's tight right hip, parting to expose the sweeping curve of her shapely outer thigh.

Upon that ineffably lovely face there now shone a warm smile. "You seemed rather glum and I thought that mulled mead might be effective in warding against the gloom."

Lorio thought to respond, but suddenly felt parched, her tongue dry and swollen. She reached for the mead and took a short draft to disguise the degree to which she'd been unsettled by this glittering vision's unexpected appearance. Finally, she managed, "So...do you work here?"

Her gaze swept over the stranger's uniform, which she recognized as the standard regalia of serving women all over the antiquated world. She had worn something very similar during her brief debacle as a server in Larrin Crossing.

The woman slid slightly closer, tilting her hip until it lightly brushed Lorio's shoulder. In an indecipherable tone, she allowed, "So...I own here."

Lorio could feel her spirit plummet. In her decades of travel, Lorio had only come upon a sparse handful of inns that were owned solely by a woman...and all of those had been hardened old battle axes. Reluctantly, she inquired, "Do you own the Glass House Inn along with your husband?"

The woman uttered a mirthful chuckle and laid her warm right hand on Lorio's bare right shoulder. The tactile sensation elicited a shiver from the immortal, who had become acutely attuned to the beauty's proximity. "By the Goddess, no...men and marriage are messy complications that I strive diligently to avoid."

Lorio attempted to veil her relief, but failed wretchedly. The woman removed her hand and stepped away a pace. "Now, my night manager informs me that you are not only a regular patron, but a guest of my Inn...a long term resident, no less. How I failed to notice you is beyond me, but allow me to make amends. I am Opheile Seznoire...proprietress and innkeeper of the Glass House."

She extended a long, slender arm and offered Lorio her hand. The immortal accepted it gingerly, admiring the long, finely-boned fingers. "I'm Driss."

"Ah, a stoic!" Opheile remarked. She then shook Lorio's hand vigorously, shocking the immortal with the strength of her grip.

"Come now, Driss...I'm hardly made of delicate glass." She continued to hold Lorio's hand for an intoxicating moment and then allowed her fingers to slip away. "My barkeep also informs me that you have a strong aversion to male overtures. Does that aversion extend to women as well?"

"I only wish to be alone...to sit with my private thoughts and...and not be pestered by people with some self-serving design on me...wanting some base thing that I'll never give them!" Lorio replied, finding her voice in the face of Opheile's astounding beauty.

"Very well," the other woman returned with a slight frown. "I'll leave you to your solitude and let you enjoy your spirits. The mead is compliments of the house...a belated welcome."

She started to turn in a swirl of skirts. Seized by a panic so fast that it well near robbed the immortal of her breath, Lorio reached out and gently caught Opheile's thin wrist between her right thumb and index finger, drawing a questioning glance from the statuesque proprietress. "I'm sorry," Lorio stammered. "I've been alone for so long that I've forgotten how to properly speak to people."

Opheile's eyes narrowed, fixing Lorio with a penetrating gaze of appraisal, which Lorio managed to field unblinkingly. Perhaps finding what she'd been seeking, Opheile beamed a scintillating smile and suggested, "Then perhaps I can reacquaint you with the finer points of social mingling. You can begin by inviting me to join you."

"Please!" Lorio returned, a note of entreaty in her voice. Opheile noticed the discarded half robe, flung haphazardly over the other chair. She collected the garment, her expression becoming rueful when she noticed that it was wet. She strode over to an empty table by the hearth and pulled one of its chairs closer to the protective wrought iron screen, before carefully draping the garment over the wooden back. As a transfixed Lorio watched, mesmerized by the woman's elegant movements, Opheile meticulously smoothed the garment's wrinkles with the flat of her palm.

'This is a woman who takes great pride and care in all she does,' the voice of lost Issidris observed. 'If you can conjure the courage to permit it...in time, she will afford you the same consideration.'

Opheile returned to Lorio's table and settled into the opposite chair. Leaning forward slightly, she propped her chin on her folded hands, regarding Lorio with interest. "I like to get to know those who live beneath my roof...to know who they are and something about what has brought them to my home. Will you tell me something about yourself, Driss? I already know that you are unafraid of the toils of hard labour and that you share my delight in the pleasures of a hot bath."

Lorio groped for a plausible fabrication. There was something about this enchanting creature that seemed to invite a baring of the soul. There was a gentle kindness in those great sapphire eyes that evoked comparisons with Karosyn...the most compassionate woman that Lorio had ever known. Discerning that she would glean an elaborate lie, Lorio instead decided to weave a sparsely detailed half-truth. "I was born in Vardyar. I honestly don't remember much about my parents because I ran away when I was very young."

"Did they...abuse you?" Opheile ventured, her tone becoming somber.

Lorio shook her head adamantly. "No, I just had a wild spirit. I didn't want to be told what to do...to be under anyone's thumb...so I left one day and never looked back."

"Do you understand how that particular decision must have damaged your parents, Driss...cast a deep shadow across their hearts?" Opheile inquired quietly.

Cursing herself for this ungainly fabrication, Lorio nonetheless managed to conjure the requisite frown of shame from the vast repository of her shameful acts. "I do. I've spent my entire life since drifting from one place to the next...avoiding entanglements...getting what work I could and just surviving."

Opheile drew in her firm cheeks, a fetching gesture that caused Lorio's heart to skid wildly in her chest. "The life you've described is forlorn...bleak beyond reason." She inhaled and brought her incisive regard to bear on the immortal. "Being in this business, one becomes a student of human nature...develops a keen instinct for veracity in all they hear. I know that there is far greater substance to this doleful portrait you've depicted. Still another thing I've learned is to allow people to reveal themselves on their own terms and in their own time. From the very instant I laid eyes upon you in the bath house, staring at me like a wide-eyed child who has stumbled upon some rare treasure they're uncertain they should take, my instinct informed me that it was fate that brought us together...that we are destined to be the closest of friends. Do you believe in fate, Driss?"

Lorio, who had been ruthlessly impaled by this cruel device far too often, only murmured, "I don't really know."

Eyes glittering, Opheile reached across and clutched Lorio's hands, intoning fiercely, "Then you'll just have to trust my instinct because you and I are going to become the very best of friends...perhaps inseparable given time."

Lorio, who knew that time would inevitably, inexorably separate her from everyone she would ever know, managed to stifle a groan of negation by the tiniest of margins. Instead, she managed, "What of you...how did you come to own this place?"

"I first came here with my brother...two young fools from Norhynan. Oh how brightly we were going to blaze...like children with grandiose dreams and a considerable sum of money from doting parents." Opheile's lovely smile became hued in melancholy and Lorio correctly surmised that the shadow of tragedy had cast its spell over this naive dream. "We made our circuitous way to Cortrin and both decided we loved it. We were twins, Czarin and I, and we had an uncanny intuition for what the other would fancy. we purchased the Glass House and worked to make it something worthy of our passion. It's bewildering to think how moments of acute sorrow can spring from the most ordinary of occurrences."

She paused for a protracted moment and Lorio understood that Opheile was groping for the fortitude to continue her painful recounting. Her slight laugh was merely a cleverly concealed wail of anguish. "It was such a trivial thing, really. While moving barrels of mead in our cellar, Czarin cut the back of his right calve on the sharp edge of a rusted bolt. Like a typical man, eager to demonstrate his virility in the most ridiculous way, he gave the gash a cursory cleaning, wrapped it in a bandage that was probably not sterile...and carried on. Weeks later, I noticed that he'd developed a distinct limp...and that his face, which was an olive-skinned portrait of male beauty, was now pallid and drawn." Here, the beauty shuddered, the ghastly image exploding, vivid and horrific, in her mind. "His calve had become a livid, blackened horror...completely septic. I remember being suffused by a perfect hatred...a rage so intense that it nearly set me ablaze. We were as close as it is possible for siblings to be...shared every dream and aspiration...and yet he chose to conceal this from me? He denied me the chance to minister to him when he was suffering...and to my mind, that was an unconscionable betrayal. I won't sicken you with the details, but his death was horrible and protracted. After he'd died, I remember despising him for the longest time, until finally, I came to the realization that everyone has the right to deal with their pain and suffering on their own terms...even if their method is incomprehensible to those who love them."

She brought her monologue to an abrupt halt, her great blue eyes growing as wide as harvest moons when she registered her companion's reaction to her grim tale. Lorio has gone utterly rigid, her face contorted into a rictus of extreme anguish. In her mind, she'd been transported back to the horrible moment on Ciprite island, where the very foundation of her world had crumbled in the blink of a tear-stained eye. She recalled every fraught word as she'd stood over the dying woman, railing furiously at Issidris for concealing the severity of her illness. When she saw that Opheile was starting to rise, her exquisite face set in an expression of deep concern, Lorio raised a trembling hand to demonstrate that she was all right. As if across the expanse of a vast valley, she heard herself ask, "How long ago did your brother die?"

"Nine years ago," Opheile disclosed and Lorio averted her eyes, knowing that she and Opheile had shared the same soul-scarifying ordeal of loss at virtually the same time. A bone deep chill accosted her then as fate played its icy fingertips across the length of her spine. Seeing how badly disconcerted Lorio was by the sharing of her tale, a mortified Opheile offered a profuse apology, "I...I'm so sorry. Here I was lecturing on social graces and I blurt something totally inappropriate."

Opheile then shook her head, clearly nonplused by this spontaneous revelation. "Forgive me, Driss...I've never really spoke of my brother's death and I'm not sure why I..." She stopped in mid sentence and gazed at Lorio, her intense expression hinting at an epiphany. "Driss, there's something about you...that invites candor and even now, I find that I want to lay my soul bare before you. If I was a far bolder person than I am...I wouldn't have simply smiled and walked away from you yesterday."

Overwhelmed by this avalanche of nuanced remarks, it suddenly occurred to the immortal that she would likely forgive this extraordinary creature any transgression...even the inadvertent gouging open of old wounds. Quietly, she intoned, "There's nothing to forgive. I'm sorry about your brother. I never had any siblings so it's hard for me to imagine what it must be like to lose one."

For a moment, the two lapsed into a pensive silence, each reflecting on the loss that had defined their lives. Finally, Opheile's mood brightened and she resumed her tale. "I've devoted my life since to making the Glass House the finest Inn in Cortrin...as a homage to my brother. I have found solace and contentment here." She favoured Lorio with a mirthful flash of her smile and then added, "Contentment is an incremental commodity and my instinct is telling me that perhaps I could be happier still." When Lorio appeared to blush, Opheile chuckled gaily and then inquired, "So, what of you, Driss...what has brought you to Cortrin and how do you put coin in your pocket?"

Lorio shrugged and admitted truthfully, "Cortrin was the next stop on the road...more or less where my feet led me. I have a strong back and a man here, Emon Yar, gave me an opportunity to let that strength earn my living in his shipping yard."

Opheile appeared genuinely surprised by this disclosure. "Emon Yar is a good and fair-minded man, but still, Driss, work in the yard is backbreaking toil...even for the hardest of men."

"It was Emon who recommended your Inn," Lorio blurted, wondering what had prompted her to offer this non sequitur.

"Then I must make a point of thanking him for bringing you to my door," Opheile remarked solemnly.

Lorio, who was baffled, but nonetheless delighted by Opheile's insistence that their meeting was fate ordained, disclosed, "I actually like the heavy labour and I am far from fragile, Opheile."

"Of that I have no doubt." Tilting her head toward Lorio's bare arms and densely-muscled shoulders, she added, "You appear to be a Goddess...sculpted from a block of granite."

Lorio raised her arms and the muscles rippled beneath her taut flesh like steel cables. "I'm really nothing more than what you see."

Opheile eyed Lorio's powerful arms appreciatively. "What an intriguing mystery you are, Driss...a beautiful and rare diamond who has deliberately chosen to conceal her beauty beneath a patina of coal dust."

She shook her head, her gregarious mood growing somber and perplexed. "I can see that your hair is every bit as lush as mine and yet you've chopped it until it resembles a wire brush." Opheile leaned forward and placed her right index finger in the deep valley between Lorio's breasts, touching the worn black stone...the immortal's only sentimental keepsake of her beloved Issidris. "Other than this unassuming stone, you wear no ornamentation...do nothing to enhance a beauty that most women would kill to possess."

Suddenly vexed, Lorio gripped Opheile's hand and pushed it away. The bones of that hand were delicate and fragile, and the immortal realized that she could crush them with a casual flexing of her powerful fingers. Opheile continued to regard the immortal with a curious half-smile, that held no hint of concern. Lorio scowled and rasped, "If it is your intention to change me...this is who I am!"

Opheile shook her head...an adamant refutation of this declaration. "It's who you've chosen to become, Driss...so if anyone is seeking to change you from who you truly are...I suspect that would be you."

"You know nothing of who I am," Lorio growled, trying to disguise her disquiet with irritation over the woman's ability to decipher her as if she was a riddle. "You seem to perceive me as a provincial ingenue...while casting yourself as a sophisticate...worldly. I can tell you that I have been to literally every corner of this wretched fucking world and I have witnessed pain and horror that would make you curl into a ball and weep. Don't you dare condescend to me!"

Cutting through Lorio's belligerence like a scythe through wheat, Opheile laid her other hand atop Lorio's and inquired, "And I would imagine you've seen marvels and wonders as well?"

This unexpected query caused the immortals vexation to evaporate and she permitted candidly, "Aye, but those have been few and far between. I'm not fishing for empathy...I just want you to know that I'm not a child."

Opheile began to caress the back of Lorio's hand with the pad of her thumb, the indolent, circular motion setting the immortal's blood boiling with need. "It is not my intention to discomfort you, Driss. It seems that my customary charm has deserted me tonight. Normally, I'm neither maladroit nor so forward, but something about you has me feeling...anxious...though perhaps that is the wrong word. I'll be blunt; I want to be your friend, Driss, but if you find the prospect unwelcome...then I will tell you well met and trouble you no further, save for a polite greeting should our paths cross."

"I would like very much to be your friend, Opheile," Lorio returned solemnly.

Opheile's exuberant smile was genuinely given and of such magnitude that Lorio felt certain she might literally melt beneath its sultry heat. The innkeeper inquired, "I would imagine that even a slave driver like Emon Yar must grant you the occasional day off?"

"He does...the day after tomorrow, in fact," Lorio allowed.

"Spend it with me," Opheile entreated, her great blue eyes flashing with excitement. "I'll take you to shops and bazaars and we can linger on bistros. Indulge me and allow me to treat you to a day of pampering. Please, Driss...let's light up this dreary city for a day!"

Lorio conjured a scintillating smile that matched her new friend's. "Then I'll put myself in your hands for the day."

Opheile's sapphire eyes assumed a wicked gleam and she vowed, "I intend to brush away every last speck of that coal dust, Driss...until you shine like the mid-summer's sun."

3

The next morning, Lorio had risen and prepared to depart for another day of drudgery in the yards. She could feel the thrum of keen anticipation fuelling her stride. An eagerness for the day to be done so she could consign herself to the mysterious Opheile's keeping for an entire day.

When she exited her suite of rooms, Lorio found her forgotten short robe, neatly folded and pressed, sitting next to a small canvas satchel on the mat before her door. She retrieved both and carried them back into her darkened room, luxuriating in the scent of Jasmine that wafted up from the freshly laundered garment. Setting the robe on a recently obtained side table, the immortal stepped back into the muted light of the third floor hall and opened the small satchel. Inside, she discovered two small loaves of still warm bread and a fist-sized half wheel of soft cheese, all carefully wrapped in cheese cloth. A small, clear glass preserving jar held what Lorio surmised to be a concoction of fruit jam.

This unexpected gesture of maternal kindness very nearly overwhelmed Lorio. She leaned against the wall and covered her eyes to hold the impending deluge of tears in abeyance. When she'd recovered her composure sufficiently to commence her daily trek to the yards, Lorio quickly moved out into the predawn darkness, clutching the small satchel as if it was her most precious possession.

4

As promised, Opheile swept Lorio through the streets of Cortrin on an intoxicating cavort through the vendor's stalls and shops that lined the city's main thoroughfare. Treating the bemused, but delighted immortal like her personal mannequin, the stylish beauty draped Lorio in all manner of finery...silk scarves, tight-fitting brocade jackets and a seemingly endless succession of skirts and dresses. She paraded the raven-haired beauty before endless shop mirrors, turning a critical, discerning eye on the results of her great fashion experiments. Opheile, herself resplendent in a luxuriant cloak and matching leather boots, trimmed with gold stitching and dyed midnight blue as if to match her great blue eyes, displayed impeccable taste in selecting the perfect apparel to augment Lorio's enormous beauty.

Finally, she guided a package-laden Lorio into a hair salon with the intention of rescuing the immortal's blunt hair debacle. The proprietress had frowned at Lorio's chopped hair, earning a withering glare from the immortal, who nonetheless submitted to the process at Opheile's persuasive insistence. Outside, a clearly pleased Seznoire had run her fingers through Lorio's styled hair, while extracting a promise that Lorio would allow her hair to grow out.

Caught in the peculiar magic of the moment...two recent strangers settling into the role of fast friends...Lorio had solemnly agreed, earning an exuberant hug from Opheile that drew curious stares from the tide of afternoon shoppers.

Later, as they dined on a bistro beneath a star-smattered sky that shimmered with the promise of a perfect summer, a happy Lorio had offered, "Thank you...Opheile." She then threw an arm toward the drift of bags on the empty chair. "This was ridiculously extravagant...but I appreciate it."

Opheile met this expression of gratitude with a casual shrug. "The delight is all mine. It's not often that life affords one the opportunity to dress up such a beautiful living doll."

"Still, I feel I have to do something in return..." Lorio insisted.

Opheile leaned forward and gently laid her warm hand on the immortal's wrist, her animated response setting the tone for the pair's eclectic relationship. "There is no obligation between us, Driss. Let us simply be friends and derive whatever mutual joy our friendship might provide...without expectations...so that things evolve as they should."

Mesmerized, Lorio had given her tacit agreement and felt herself falling ever deeper under Opheile Seznoire's gentle enchantment.

Over the course of the months to follow, Lorio, the daughter of dust, experienced an unprecedented period of pristine contentment...surprisingly driven from the mundanity of an ordinary, settled life.

By day, she would labour in the freight yards and at night, she would spend her time in the company of the woman, whom she was swiftly coming to love...but to whom she could not commit.

The pair would stroll through Cortrin, meandering aimlessly through the city's parks or along the banks of its small river. Often, Opheile would link her arm with Lorio's and the immortal would simply bask in the beauty's arresting presence. Yet, despite fussing over Lorio's clothes or preparing lunch satchels and dinners, Opheile made no presumption on Lorio's friendship. Though they would while away the nights with happy banter, the other woman never pressed Lorio to divulge anything of the life she'd lived before she had made her way to Cortrin.

Opheile achieved a delicate balance of attentiveness and a respect for Lorio's need for solitude whenever the shadow of the other woman's mysterious past would darken her brow. Never once did the serene creature exert a proprietary claim upon Lorio.

Yet, alone in her suite at night, the immortal experienced a vast emptiness in her bed. Irrespective of that emptiness, she could not bring herself to invite Opheile to fill it and she would endure the long crawl of lonely hours, involuntarily juxtaposing the two women who tugged at her scarred heart...one, a beloved ghost and the other, a living paragon of quiet strength and graceful serenity.

Lorio could recall the inexpressible pleasure she would feel upon waking to find Issidris slumbering in her blankets across the dying embers of the night's campfire. Especially sentimental were her memories of the bliss that had suffused her as the pair had sparred each morning through their long years on the road...dancing their martial ballet across desert sands or beneath falling leaves the colour of October rust and gold. Lorio had come to glean that this was as close to genuine intimacy as the damaged Issidris could come and she, Lorio, relished every moment spent engaged in this violent substitute for carnal passion. It surprised and saddened the immortal to realize that nearly four years had passed since she had last wielded her quarter staff.

Yet, despite her tenacious determination not to do so, Lorio was forced to concede that her time spent conversing on crowded bistros or strolling along nearly deserted streets in Opheile Seznoire's company was every bit as fulfilling. In the terrifying Islena Doraux and the diamond hard Issidris, Lorio had come to love the women for their strength and indomitable will...fearlessness that nothing could surmount.

Conversely, in the feminine perfection embodied by Opheile, Lorio discovered that there were other nuanced ways that a woman could be strong...yet ceaselessly gentle and kind. The sapphire-eyed beauty taught Lorio that strength and compassion were not mutually irreconcilable commodities. Islena and Issidris had provoked the dominant aspects of Lorio's turbulent nature...while Opheile seemed to inspire a surprising need to be submissive and give herself over to the exquisite creature's subtle nurturing.

Opheile seemed to cast a placating warmth over everyone she encountered...a rare capacity to mollify the keenest of anger.

Lorio recalled a rare occasion when a belligerent patron had confronted Opheile over his account at the Glass House. The man had been livid and had railed at the smiling Opheile, until Lorio had risen from her seat near the hearth and converged upon the enraged man with the intention of bludgeoning him into a bloody, whimpering heap.

Seeing Lorio's approach and discerning her intent, Opheile had raised a hand, smiled and instructed calmly, "Don't fret, Driss...all is well."

She had gestured for the dubious Lorio to return to her seat before speaking to the patron in a low, earnest voice. Lorio had looked on in astonishment as the man's anger had evaporated beneath Opheile's reasonable demeanour...giving way to a sheepish grin. The man had actually offered Opheile a deferential bow before quickly retreating from the Inn, obviously embarrassed by his outburst...but not before settling his account and even offering Opheile a sizeable gratuity...which she declined.

When Lorio had confided in Opheile that she had been genuinely concerned for her safety during the confrontation, Opheile had smiled and returned, "When you choose to armour yourself in humble kindness, Driss, you become invulnerable."

Though Lorio found this notion absurdly naive, it still held the power to profoundly touch her heart.

Later, in the darkness of her room, she had retrieved her quarter staff from beneath her bed. She had sat on the edge of the bed holding the weapon across her knees. As she caressed it's smooth surface, she began to sob over the vivid memories its touch evoked...knowing that she was poised on the cusp of relinquishing her past and embracing her future...a transition that was exciting and terrifying in equal measure.

Still, despite the certitude that she would inevitably succumb to Opheile Seznoire's ethereal beauty and serene charm, she somehow managed to evade this moment of transition to a deeper intimacy. Much of this could be attributed to Opheile's exceptional patience in allowing Lorio to resolve her ambivalence in her own time.

Only once did Opheile convey any hint of impatience over the immortal's continued reluctance to consign herself to the brown-haired beauty's keeping.

At the end of each summer, the nation of Galloway celebrated its birthday with a full week of boisterous festivals. Be it in the nation's capital or in the tiniest of hamlets, the people of Galloway set aside their personal grievances, ambitions and agendas and took part in what was essentially an exuberant celebration of life...spaced with a liberal dose of local and regional flavouring.

Then festival was a hectic and profitable time for the Glass House Inn, but this year, Opheile reserved time to insure that her friend became infected by the festive mood.

On the last night of the festival, Lorio and Opheile had stood on a secluded bluff overlooking Cortrin's river. A huge galleon moon held court over the world, casting a luminous golden light over a land that basked in the last days of summer. In the distance, the faint strains of music carried to the two women on the gently soughing breeze. There was a giddy light in Opheile's great blue eyes this night and a primitive gleam that reminded the immortal of how long it had been since she'd luxuriated in another's ardent touch and warm flesh.

They had been peering in awed silence up at the moon, when Opheile had suddenly stepped closer to Lorio, slipping the fingers of her right hand into the immortal's now shoulder length hair, she tenderly caressed the nape of the beguiled woman's neck. Opheile then drew Lorio into a tight embrace and passionately kissed her slightly parted lips, swirling her tongue lazily around Lorio's teeth until the immortal moaned...delirious with need.

After a moment, Opheile broke the embrace and stepped back, eliciting an airy sigh of frustration from the immortal. Voice husky and vehement, Opheile growled, "That was to make it explicitly clear that when you find the wherewithal to conquer whatever demons keep you constrained, I am yours for the taking."

When Lorio began to conjure a barely coherent response, Opheile forestalled her with a rare peremptory gesture for silence. "Don't speak, Driss...just listen carefully to what I have to say."

Lorio stiffened at this uncharacteristically brusque tone, but nonetheless complied. Opheile laid the tips of her fingers on the hollow of the other woman's cheek, those luminous blue eyes assuming the blazing gleam that ignites when one is about to convey something of paramount importance. Lorio could feel her taut flesh rising into great hackles in response to this imperative. "Driss, the world is awash with unkept promises...both falsely and sincerely given. If we listen closely, they can be heard sobbing on the night wind...like neglected creatures, mournful and forgotten. I made a promise that I would only give myself to someone who shook the very foundations of my world. We are alone, so I will set false modesty aside...being beautiful has garnered a long procession of would-be suitors, but I politely, but firmly deterred them all. I will not pretend that I have not been lonely as a consequence...and despaired that I would never find the one person who would stir my soul. That is why I threw myself into making the Glass House an establishment of which Czarin would have been proud."

Here, she paused and stepped closer, until those eminently kissable lips were close enough to feel each breath that tumbled forth like a sultry breeze against Lorio's face. "And then we crossed paths in that bath house and I knew...without equivocation...that you were meant to be my remuneration for enduring those years of loneliness. I can glean that you've suffered, Driss...and that you've loved...probably whoever gave you that humble keepsake you never take off. I also know that you have elected to only show me a tiny fragment of what you are, but I am content to wait until I've earned your trust to the extent that you will reveal yourself to me in your entirety. I can offer you this unconditional promise...I will never hurt you, Driss. If you will allow me, I will be pure joy and comfort to you for all of the days of our life together."

Lorio, who suddenly surmised that she had been led by either fate or random chance into the company of a truly exceptional creature, had little doubt about the second facet of this ardently given promise. She also knew, however, that ultimately, inadvertently, Opheile's first promise was destined to be painfully shattered...thanks to the cruel march of indifferent time.

Some intimation of these misgivings must have reflected in Lorio's large dark eyes because Opheile frowned and dropped her hand. The two regarded each other in fraught silence for a moment across the gaping void of unspoken words.

Finally, the irrepressible Opheile smiled and brushing Lorio's hair away from her right ear, whispered blithely, "I just wanted you to know that on that first day we met, I had hoped that you would follow me into my bath chamber...and ravaged me!"

With this, she took a startled Lorio's earlobe between her teeth and tugged it gently. Stepping away, she linked her arm in Lorio's and declared, "Let's make our way back to those minstrels...I want to dance."

Despite being profoundly touched, Lorio still managed to resist this sincere, poignant overture. Instead, both women seemed to find a tempered contentment in a tentative commitment to domesticity. Lorio understood intrinsically that her inability to give herself over to the happiness that Opheile embodied found its genesis in two distinct sources; her loyalty to Issidris and the stark realization that all joy that came with human relationships was...fleeting. For the immortal, the pain this inevitable moment of parting would evoke would remain constant and irreducible.

Things might well have languished in this state of poised intimacy indefinitely had a particularly revelatory catalyst not shattered the pair's illusion that either was genuinely content with the present state of their relationship.

Fall had come to Cortrin and the many species of deciduous trees were ablaze with the colours of wither...brilliant harbingers of winter's approach. Lorio had returned for another day's labour in the yard, anxious for a hot bath and another evening spent in Opheile's engaging company. But, upon entering the Glass House, she was unexpectedly confronted by a sight that provoked a storm of discordant emotions in the immortal's turbulent heart.

She came to an abrupt halt in the entrance and glared at the table near the hearth, where Opheile was engaged in an animated conversation with a woman, who Lorio could not recall ever having seen before. The pair laughed gaily and as a chagrined Lorio glowered, the woman would occasionally reach across and squeeze Opheile's wrist in a tactile gesture of puzzling familiarity and obvious affection. The woman was stunningly beautiful, with a luxuriant, tumbling mane of red hair that reminded Lorio of living fire, made all the more vibrant by the contrast with her skin which was the colour of rich cream. Her face was a perfect blend of angular, geometrically precise features, dominated by large blue eyes that shone with both mirth and keen intellect.

Even From across the room, Lorio could sense that this woman exuded a gregariousness that appeared to have completely captivated Opheile...who was equally generous with a scintillating smile or a lingering squeeze of the red head's small, delicate hands.

The woman's tilted, triangular hat, adorned with peacock feathers, and her full length, pale green satin and silk coat bespoke of a level of affluence that made Lorio feel like a peasant toiler by contrast. The entrancing stranger offered a witticism that compelled Opheile to throw back her head and laugh unabashedly.

Lorio could feel angry jealousy rising up into the back of her throat like burning bile. An image, vivid and immensely gratifying, resolved in Lorio's mind then...a satisfying vignette in which she threw she slender stranger over her shoulder, carried her out into the rear lane and after stripping the pretentious rags from her no doubt perfect body, tossed her naked and sobbing into the mud.

'Have a mind for who, and more significantly, what you are, Lorio,' the ghost of Issidris advised gravely. 'This moment of impulsive anger could obliterate something ineffably beautiful.'

For some unfathomable reason, this prudent counsel, offered by the ghost of a woman who had been a paragon of measured violence, had precisely the opposite effect on the volatile immortal. Worse still, thoughts of Issidris conjured images of Shan-en Naroon...who had once attempted to entice Issidris away from her.

Lorio was suffused by a fury so intense that she was forced to lean against the wall merely to remain vertical. Just then, Opheile became cognizant of Lorio's presence and raised a long arm and gestured excitedly for Lorio to join the pair. The elegant red head shifted in her seat, fixing Lorio with a clever gaze of appraisal. Seeing Lorio's dirt-stained, rough spun clothes and hair that was pulled into a short braid, her perfectly formed mouth puckered into a knot of distaste.

This scathing, reductive judgment propelled Lorio's fury into murderous regions that had always defined the darkest junctures of her existence.

To avoid a bloody recurrence of those past atrocities, Lorio glowered balefully at the pair and stomped up the stairs to her own suite of rooms.

In the wake of this flagrant discourtesy, an embarrassed Opheile Seznoire frowned...knowing the moment had come when Driss' noncommittal ambivalence must be resolved once and for all.

5

Lorio entered her rooms and threw off her work clothes. She then upended several jugs of tepid water, which Opheile always insured were brought to her suite, into her small copper tub that stood in the corner of her bed chamber...yet another courtesy provided by the inn's mistress.

'If genuine friendship is measured by reciprocity, then you have failed wretchedly to uphold your end of the bargain,' the reproving voice of noble Karosyn remarked with a note of sorrow. 'Not only have you held her at emotional arm's length...while you grapple with your inability to accept the salient realities that govern your existence...you've done nothing to return the many gestures of kindness she's extended to you.'

Lorio grimaced beneath the irrefutable truth of Karosyn's biting evaluation of her relationship with Opheile Seznoire.

'You're a taker, girl...don't you be just that!' a rude, slightly slurred voice observed with what might have been pride and this voice, a long-repressed memory, provoked an anguished gasp from the immortal. It had been nearly fifty years since the ghost of her father...murdered in Myrhia's dungeon in the city of Perdwick...had stirred to disturb her. That her subconscious would now choose to exhume this particular ghost spoke eloquently of her dark state of mind. Her dead father continued to flay her with ugly truths that she had no desire to confront. 'You've become a right selfish one, so you have...takin' everything that's given...while only givin' enough back to hold the fool's interest. I must say...I thought you were too dense to have it in ya'...but you've made me proud.'

"That isn't who I am!" Lorio protested to the empty gloom, even as she knew this defence was a flagrant lie. Without conscious intent, she had become an opportunist. Somehow, she had captivated the affection of the most serene and beautiful woman she had ever met...with the possible exception of Queen Karosyn...and she was abusing her generous spirit like a loathsome parasite.

Another voice joined this chorus of condemnation and the stalwart Arminda informed Lorio, 'You have come to a pivotal juncture, Lorio. Decency demands that you either accept this rare gift that this extraordinary woman is offering...or gather up your meagre belongings and fade into the sunset so that Opheile Seznoire can find someone who is worthy of her love. This craven ambivalence must end now. You fear loss, Lorio...but I can tell you from painful personal experience; regret is every bit as agonizing and enduring.'

With this, the cacophony of voices fell silent, leaving Lorio alone to ponder the truth and prudence of all they'd imparted. She slipped into the cool water, uttering a gasp as the chill embraced her naked flesh. It required only a moment of unbiased consideration for Lorio to whisper, "What an obtuse bitch I am, Issidris. Pray to the indifferent gods that my stupidity hasn't curdled her feelings."

Resolving that she would plead for Opheile's forgiveness and emphatically end her war of indecision, Lorio lingered in the tub.

When the tolling of the town bell declared the passing of time...and still Opheile had not come, a morose Lorio climbed from the now cold water, quickly towelled herself dry, dressed and slumped into her chair by the window.

Thoughts of Opheile in the company of the beguiling redhead kept circling her troubled mind like jackals, but she refused to give them audience.

Time dragged on and the silence accosted her relentlessly.

6

A brisk knock at the door roused the immortal from her troubled reverie. She opened her door to find Opheile standing in the hall, holding Lorio's freshly laundered and pressed work clothes, atop which sat a covered pewter tray. The expression upon the statuesque beauty's face was one of consternation...and a less distinct emotion that may have been impatience or vexation.

Relieved that she had come, irrespective of her obvious displeasure, Lorio stepped back and gestured Opheile inside. When the blue-eyed vision remained stationary and proffered her burden to the immortal, Lorio shook her head questioningly. "Will you not come in?"

"I will not, Driss!" Opheile began, her atypically harsh tone confirming that she was indeed angry with her friend's earlier rude behaviour. "Since you've decided to sulk like a sullen child, I will leave you to your solitude this night. Clearly, you were displeased earlier; an inexplicable reaction that frankly was embarrassing for both of us, particularly considering how I had went to such lengths to portray you as affable...charming even."

"Who was that woman? The two of you certainly seemed...friendly and I wasn't going to intrude on whatever was passing between you."

Opheile rolled her great blue eyes in exasperation. "Desira is a dear friend of mine from my childhood. She is staying briefly at my Inn before returning to Norhynan. I saw the great green-eyed monster of jealousy rear its ugly head as you glared murder at her in the dining hall. I will tell you, Driss, that not only is it unfounded, but it is preposterous...considering that it is you who has steadfastly declined to accept what I would give you willingly. I have suffered this irrational inner conflict of yours without complaint, but I will not risk having you drag my patrons into the back alley and throttle them bloody because you harbour irrational insecurities about you and me...about us. I refuse to suffer erratic behaviour...I want to make that explicitly clear, Driss!"

Having delivered this unequivocal warning, Opheile thrust the clothes and tray against, Driss' chest and intoned coldly, "Perhaps an evening of solitude might help garner a measure of clarity, not only about your behaviour earlier, but the conflicted emotions that plague you regarding my role in your future as well."

A chastened Lorio accepted the tray as panic rose in her throat like burning bile. Opheile turned and strode briskly away, but paused halfway along the hall and without looking back, admonished, "You and I will discuss this matter, Driss...at great length...if only to decide if a stepping back is in order."

Then she was gone, leaving Lorio with a burgeoning fear that she had scuttled something precious.

7

Lorio spiralled down into a fitful slumber, wracked with indecision over how to best make amends to Opheile over not only her appalling discourtesy in the dining hall, but her refusal to commit to her extraordinary companion. She could not decide if it would be best to take the initiative and seek Opheile out or simply wait meekly for the other woman to come to her and then plead her case for forgiveness.

A small part of the immortal was disgusted by her passivity...her sudden timidity. Where was the defiant, unapologetic warrior who had battled Islena Doraux time and again...until both were bloody...who had stood up to a woman who, when the final accounting was tolled...could well have been a deity?

That Lorio never would have cowered in bed, curled up like a terrified child...quailing in anxiety while someone else deliberated on the course of her life.

'Perhaps it is time to face the humbling fact; that particular Lorio is gone!' The voice of her Jerhia quest sister observed. 'Even before fortune smiled upon you by bringing you to this astounding woman, you were slowly gravitating away from the turbulent, free-spirited wanderer you've always been. Has your time in Galloway not been focused on the search for normalcy...for stability? How can you possibly not see that this magnificent creature is the culmination of that search? As for Islena Doraux...Opheile Seznoire is, in her own way, more powerful than that living tempest ever was. Serenity, grace and focus...these are considerable powers, not to be taken lightly, Lorio...because theirs is the ability to change hearts...even hearts as hard and stunted as yours.'

Lorio inhaled deeply as the weight of ambivalence rolled from her shoulder like a millstone. Deciding to embrace wise Arminda's counsel without reservation, the immortal was able to give herself over to sleep.

She was brought back to a state of total alertness deep in the valley of night. Her preternatural hearing conveyed the subtle, yet distinct sound of a key turning in the lock on the outer door of her suite. The old road-acquired instinct seized her then and she was in the process of reaching for a dirk, which she kept hidden under her mattress, when a figure bearing a large candle, stepped into the confines of her rooms and carefully closed and locked the door.

Lorio fell back to the pillows and watched in mesmerized wonder as Opheile appeared to float over to the bed where she lay.

Opheile's set the candle down on a nearby table and then straightened. She stood with fists on hips and peered down on Lorio, who could feel her heart begin to thunder in her chest.

The candle cast the statuesque Opheile in an undulating golden light...her stunning beauty bathed in alternative patterns of shadow and soft light that lent her pulchritude a dream-like aspect.

Her luxuriant hair spilled over her shoulders in a cascading tumble and her eyes blazed in the darkness like stars in the firmament. Opheile was attired in a full-length indigo satin robe around which wrapped a stylized ruby dragon. The manner in which her turgid nipples poked prominently against the thin fabric intimated that Opheile was naked beneath...a prospect that drew a tremulous sigh from the aroused immortal.

Something in Opheile's rigid posture hinted at both irritation and tenacious resolve. As the two women eyed each other intently, Lorio waited breathlessly for Opheile to speak.

When, at last, Opheile began, her imperious, intractable tone made it explicitly clear that this was a juncture to which there would be no return should events not unfold as she desired.

"You've roused my anger, Driss...something that is exceedingly difficult to do. The majority of that anger is focused squarely upon me for allowing matters between us to come to this. I have been both patient in awaiting you to resolve your inner ambivalence...and less than subtle in giving you ample signs that I am yours for the having. Evidently, you remain oblivious to the fact..."

With this rebuke delivered, she deftly undid the sash of her robe and shrugged it from her shoulders. The cool satin garment floated in the darkness and pooled at her slender ankles. Opheile inclined her chin and presented herself for Lorio's inspection. As Lorio's comically wide eyes traversed the topography of Opheile's remarkable body, a moan of atavistic need escaped her lips like steam from a kettle...drawing a vindicated grin from her would-be seductress.

That grin quickly relented to a scowl that was part dire warning and part self-deprecation. "I've long prided myself on being a woman who rigorously adheres to her ideals, Driss. I have always deplored impatience and detested ultimatums. In you, I see something worthy of setting those ideals aside...just this once."

She stood, bathed in a candlelight like a succubus, though the fists on tilted hips were too antagonistic to be seductive.

"My patience is exhausted and so I have come to humiliate myself before you by offering this ultimatum. Your choice is simple, Driss. Remove your clothes and invite me into your bed. Let me do the things I've yearned to do to you since we first crossed paths in the bathhouse. The alternative course is just as simple, Driss...but uncompromising and irreversible. Should your festering ghosts compel you to reject me...I will collect my robe and leave. You and I may remain friends if you wish, but the door to anything beyond friendship will be forever closed. I will look for my elusive foundation-shaker and soul-stirrer elsewhere. This is the choice standing before you here and now, Driss, and as desperately as I wish to fall into your arms...I still want you to choose the path that best suits your heart."

'Light or darkness, Lorio,' the voice of the pragmatic Issidris whispered from her customary niche in the shadows. 'The paths from this juncture are simple and you've stumbled aimlessly along one for far too long to not risk walking the other.'

Lorio cast off the duvet with a kick of one long leg and sitting up, pulled the cotton shift over her head and tossed it into the pooling shadow. Falling back into her pillows, she extended her long arms and waggled her fingers in a hungry gesture of invitation.

Opheile smiled, a jubilant expression of delight alloyed with obvious relief. Moving with liquid grace, she mounted the bed and quickly straddled Lorio's torso, until the supine woman's warm breasts lay along her seductress' taut inner thighs. Their satiny texture and firmness caused Opheile to utter an airy sigh, but she fought diligently to restrain the compulsion to simply fall on the beauty and ravage her. She had dreamt of this sublime conquest too long to let haste prevent her from savouring the moment.

Leaning forward, she gently, but firmly snared Lorio's wrists and maneuvered those long, shapely arms above the immortal's head. She then crossed Lorio's wrists and held them tightly in place with her left hand.

She was keenly aware of Lorio's mounting anticipation, conveyed by the rapid rise and fall of the other woman's chest beneath her grasping thighs. With a wicked grin, Opheile began to lovingly trace the striations of Lorio's muscular shoulders, biceps and triceps...which had become diamond hard thanks to her year of heavy labour in the yard.

In a voice made husky with need, Opheile whispered, "Driss, I know you could break me with the ease of one snapping a dried piece of kindling, but here," She briskly slapped the mattress and then waved her arm around her head in a gesture of encompassment, "and in our lives beyond this moment, let me take care of you...let me be strong for you."

'I can't be strong for you anymore, Lorio!' This horrible memory, perhaps the most excruciating declaration that had ever passed Lorio's ears, screamed through her mind in a fulminating rumble that caused the immortal to burst into tears. The convulsive sobs wracked her body and though Opheile was alarmed by the intensity of Lorio's weeping, she misconstrued its cause, incorrectly surmising that Driss had been overwhelmed by this offer of unconditional love...or care.

Leaning forward, she drew Driss' tear stained face into the deep valley of her breasts, shuddering in response to the electric sensation of her new lover's tears against her skin. Wordlessly, she cradled Driss and kissed the top of her head until the other woman's tears subsided.

She then slid down the length of Driss' intoxicating body and began to bestow delicate kisses on the nuanced topography of the immortal's long thighs. Conscious thought vanished then, displaced by sensation and primal need as the two fate-crossed lovers spent long hours indolently unravelling each other's mystery.

8

The next morning, with the first vermillion and golden light of dawn pushing back the darkness, Lorio opened an eye to find a fully dressed Opheile scurrying industriously around the room. When the innkeeper noticed that Lorio had finally rejoined the living, she chided, "Come laggard, Emon minds a tight house."

"Do you ever get tired?" Lorio groaned with feigned exasperation.

Opheile glided over to the bed and laid the flat of her hand on the immortal's bare right shoulder. "Never! I'm a fountain of boundless energy and I have every intention of expending a great deal of it plundering that magnificent body of yours each night. Don't fret, Driss. Even if your days in the yards leave you exhausted...you can simply lay there while I ravage you into a stupor."

Lorio's eyes widened. "Beneath that demure exterior...you really are a brazen slattern."

"Only for you, love," Opheile returned with a throaty chuckle before leaning down to ardently kiss Lorio's partly opened mouth. Her right hand strayed under the cover, where she tantalized Lorio's left nipple into a turgid knot, but when Lorio made to pull her gentle tormentor into the bed, Opheile stepped lithely back and wagged a long index finger. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until nightfall to sate your hunger, Driss. A day of dwelling on the prospect should make you ravenous."

"Stingy bitch!" Lorio growled and then laughed.

Opheile joined her, but then her demeanour became sober. "I can't tell you how deliriously happy I am that you've accepted us...I know that you and I are going to be blissfully happy, Driss. Someday...at your leisure...perhaps you will feel secure enough in the love we have for each other to confide in me about your past...about the significance of the keepsake between those breasts I so adore."

"Perhaps," Lorio returned, with equal gravitas, "but Opheile...I'm Driss...your Driss...and that's all that really matters. Let my past become the forgotten ghost it deserves to be."

After a moment, Opheile smiled her beguiling smile and nodded.

9

Over the course of the next year, Lorio, Daughter of Dust, became Driss, a deliriously content woman, rooted firmly in the ordinary. She became the diametric opposite of the turbulent creature she had once been, flourishing in Opheile Seznoire's serene aura. The Lorio who lived, loved and laboured in Cortrin was as far removed from the woman from Islena Doraux's shadow as she would ever be in her unending life.

Like Islena Doraux, Lorio became an extraordinary woman living an ordinary life, but as Islena had discovered before her, the immortal would soon learn that fate was disinclined to grant this particular dispensation.

Chapter Five

1

Night, warm and pleasant, had fallen along the coastal highway as it wound around the wooded coast line, curving away to the southeast as it emerged from tracking the Bay of Imerlac and began to run parallel to the Sea of Permanent Departure.

A warm breeze, redolent with a heady melange of innumerable scents...the bouquet of nature in perfect harmony...tantalized the senses in a drowsy way that was mildly narcoleptic. On this virtually perfect fall night, a single heavy haulage cart trundled lazily along the cobbled roadway, pulled at an easy trot by two dray horses. The cart's two occupants were lamentably oblivious to the night's splendour, just as they were oblivious to the fact that, in the not too distant past, it would have been a fool's errand for an unescorted merchant's wagon to be traversing this section of coastal road...especially at night.

During the reign of kings, including the pre-Myrhia's rule of King Artumas, audacious and vicious brigands and highwaymen had plied their ignoble trade all along the roads of Emercia. This proliferation had necessitated the procurement of heavily-armed merchant escort guards to increase (but not fully guarantee) the likelihood of surviving such expeditions with goods and merchant in tact.

Ironically, it had been the diametrically opposite reigns of two queens that had practically eliminated highway piracy. In the case of Myrhia's, the dreaded Emerald Enchantress, lucrative criminal enterprise of all stripes had been driven into the shadows, thanks to terrifying presence of her implacable Morticant. These indestructible engines of the Queen's will could not be bribed, deterred or otherwise coerced. While Myrhia's Emercia had been an enclave of terror, one could traverse the nation's highways without fear of ill fortune.

There were few, if any, under her fist, who would have construed this dubious silver lining to be a boon.

Queen Karosyn, by contrast, had achieved precisely the same fortuitous circumstances by altogether different means. By embracing the philosophical ideal of total inclusion for every stratum of her society, the serene and noble monarch had relegated the baser aspects of the Emercian character...avarice, ugly opportunism and criminal exploitation, to the status of rare anomalies.

Karosyn had embraced and propagated her late husband's concept that every life...from the mighty to the humble...had an inalienable intrinsic value. Yet, benevolent rule could not be the sole attribute that seemed to have quelled the darker proclivities of the Emercian collective character. Though there could be little doubt that alleviating the plight of the country's impoverished went a long way toward reducing the desperation-fuelled inclination toward crime, this, alone, was not sufficient to explain the strong aversion and intolerance to crime that had proliferated in Emercia since Karosyn had attained her late husband's throne.

It was the woman, herself, to whom most of the credit for Emercia's law-abiding tendency could be ascribed. Like a brilliant beacon, Karosyn exuded a warmth...a serenity that while elusive to qualification...was nonetheless tangible in the affect it exerted over the masses.

For gentle Karosyn, Artumas' sacred values of clemency, compassion and equality were not hollow platitudes or fodder for grand rhetoric that, ultimately, was little more than well-meaning wind. They were both the thread and fabric that sewed the tapestry of the nation she intended to build. One need only stand in the gracious beauty's presence for a short span of time to glean that she was genuinely sincere and tenaciously committed to the higher principles she espoused. This made Karosyn, a woman of humble beginnings (and born in a foreign country at that) the most beloved ruler in Emercia's long history.

The two young men who rode the lone conveyance were essentially oblivious to the affects of Karosyn's serene nature. They were too young and rooted firmly in the present...the discernible here and now of their daily concerns...to appreciate the salient realities of times far gone. They knew only that they could drive a goods-laden merchant wagon along a deserted stretch of coastal highway...even in the small hours of the night...without the fear of inimical fortune. Why this was so or that it had not always been the case were considerations far beyond their narrow perception.

As both were about to discover, complacency and indifference could rebound upon one with swift and disastrous effects.

While Karosyn had soothed the darker inclinations of the Emercian soul...not all threats were grown on home soil.

2

"And what about the girl with the honey brown eyes...the one from the market that moons over you like a love-smitten puppy?" Tarim Wrey inquired of his younger brother, Aeyon. "Have you given her further cause to swoon...a kiss when her father is not hovering about like a spider?"

Aeyon shot his older brother a scandalized frown and shook his head in obvious discomfort. Shorter than his lanky brother, with dark brown eyes that shone with curiosity from a handsome, broad-featured face, young Aeyon attracted the anxious attention of young women and girls all throughout Nalosan's flourishing market quarter. Yet, to the amorous and gregarious Tarim's chagrin, the often introspective Aeyon seemed unaware...or more of a transgression yet, indifferent to the effect he had on willing and impressionable young women. Tarim, whose slender frame and lithe grace made him a favourite with a slightly older group of women, could not grasp why his younger sibling seemed so stubbornly reluctant to capitalize on the dispensations the gods had bestowed upon him.

To the older Wrey's already jaded way of thinking, the brush of long hair against his bare chest, the feel of a warm, resilient breast in his callused palm or the clutch of firm, grasping thighs around his waist: these were the things that made this life of unrelenting drudgery bearable.

Tarim Wrey adored women...loved their scent, their taste and the tactile feel of their pliable flesh. It would have shocked the young man had someone made the effort to point out that this adoration did not actually extend to the women, themselves...the minds and souls that were housed inside these pleasing vessels of flesh.

A woman's thoughts, her spirit and perceptions: these things could find no purchase in Tarim's self-absorbed mind. He valued women, but only for the tactile pleasure they could bring to his otherwise dreary life.

Sadly, in the antiquated world circa Aeyon and Tarim Wrey...this was a commonly held perspective amongst men. Still, Tarim held women in high regard and not the seething disdain that characterized the view of many men of the fairer sex.

Aeyon, whose coal black curls and broad shoulders alone could have afforded him a considerable advantage with the opposite sex, was otherwise absorbed.

For one, he loved the art and craft of Coopery...of making stave barrels. Labouring in his father's Coopery provided the young Aeyon with all of the gratification he seemed to require. He derived particular pleasure from the careful bending of the soft oak hearts...the shaping of the pliable, moist lengths into staves had assumed an air of sacred ritual for the serious young man. This devotion to his father's Coopery had earned a measure of incredulous disdain from the older Tarim, who regarded his tenure in his father's factory as a form of mindless servitude...of life leeching toil.

Perhaps as a testimony to the type of men that both were, these divergent opinions did nothing to foment discord between the brothers...who genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

"So...did you?" Tarim repeated, drawing Aeyon from his study of the starry canvas above. "Did you finally work up the nerve to give her a sign that you'd like to do more than just deliver barrels to her miser of a father?"

Aeyon sighed elaborately, knowing that Tarim simply wouldn't be put off. "Haven't given the matter a thought, actually. In fact, I'm not really sure who you mean. Besides, I prefer the company of a good book and a spell of quiet in which to enjoy it."

Tarim rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Books are for old men and monks." His eyes narrowed in suspicion and he inquired gravely, "You're not thinking of becoming one of those...a monk, I mean?"

"No! I just have other priorities right now!" Aeyon returned, his tone brittle and defensive.

"Ah, priorities are all fine and well, but a poor substitute for a willing woman," Tarim opined and clapped the other man on the shoulder, while casually holding the reins in his left hand. The bed of the haulage cart at his back was full to capacity with two dozen of Lynon Wrey's renown oak stave barrels...bound for a winery outside the coastal town of Wethdren. The unquestionable quality of Lynon's barrels made them a much sought-after commodity all throughout Northern Emercia and thus these out of city delivery junkets had become a regular occurrence in the two Wrey brothers comparatively banal lives.

Tarim fixed his brother with a maddening smirk and remarked, "Perhaps the available selection is not up to your high standards, Aeyon. Could it be that you are waiting for The virtuous Queen Karosyn to accompany Noriza home and invite you to be her royal consort? No doubt, she's pining to have a Cooper's apprentice in her royal bed chamber."

Aeyon's mortified reaction to what he perceived as near blasphemy set Tarim to braying uproariously. "To speak of our Queen thusly is profane," Aeyon muttered. "Especially considering how kindly and fairly she has treated our Sister."

Tarim offered his younger brother a cursory gesture of contrition and offered words that, in light of what was soon to follow, were disturbing prophetic. "I know...Queen Karosyn is a pillar of unassailable virtue. I'm just saying that time is not an infinite commodity, Aeyon. The opportunities you forgo today may never come again."

Aeyon's eyes widened in response to this surprisingly sophisticated philosophical offering from a man who seemed disinclined to entertain such ideas if at all possible. Sensing that an equally sober response was warranted, the younger brother returned, "Look Tarim...I'm content with what my life is right now. I want to learn the trade...no, more than that, I want to master it...to carry on our father's life work. I want only to live a quiet, simple life and let things like women, marriage and children...come in their own time."

Aeyon fell silent then and averted his gaze to the night draped forest, suddenly embarrassed over having given voice to his comparatively modest vision for his future.

Tarim studied his younger brother for a protracted moment and then observed, "You always were the more mature of the two of us. Maybe I'm a bit of a shallow prat, but I've learned that this life...this world doesn't have a great deal of respect for carefully laid plans. Mother would tell you the same...if she was still alive to do so."

Aeyon's face contorted at Tarim's raising of this beloved spectre, the vivid recollection of his mother's death as acutely painful as it had been on the day she'd died ten years gone now. He recalled how she had been a bright, exuberant force of nature, constantly encouraging her four children to strive...to excel at whatever piqued their interest. Yet, a simple flux had decimated her...extinguished her life force with obdurate indifference to the exemplary woman she'd been...or the enduring pain her loss would inflict upon her family.

"I'm leaving, Aeyon," Tarim divulged quietly, his sober declaration jerking the younger Wrey out of his somber remembrance.

"Leaving?" Aeyon echoed.

"Once we're home from this run," Tarim elaborated. "You'll make a better cooper than I ever will and it's well past the time I put my feet to the road."

Aeyon's questions poured forth in an anxious deluge. "When...and leaving to go where?" Had he not been so dumbfounded by Tarim's revelation, he would have realized how preposterous his next query was before he had even given it voice. "Are you joining the army?"

This last question evoked a gale of nearly hysterical laughter from the older Wrey. "By all that is precious, no! I prefer the joys of wine, women and song to the dubious thrill of sword play. Besides, our great pacifist Queen has virtually gelded the Emercian army. At any rate, she would much rather charm her enemies into capitulating. So, even if I was inclined toward this type of glory, there is none to be had in that quarter."

"So where are you going?" Aeyon demanded, suddenly sounding like a small child who is about to lose his best friend...which, in essence, he was."

"I don't precisely know...somewhere different. Everywhere and any where," Tarim declared grandly, animated excitement blaring in his voice like the crackle of fire. "That really is the entire point, Aeyon. Explore the world and let it reveal its mysteries. No routine...no monotony. Let the wind blow me where it will."

Aeyon, who could scarcely imagine a less attractive way of life...who had long since embraced the intrinsic value of a sense of place, merely nodded noncommittally. "What will you tell father?"

Even in the gloom of the coastal road, Aeyon could clearly discern his brother's sour frown. "I haven't worked out that particular detail yet, but Aeyon, it is for me to decide how and when to tell father...do you understand?"

"I do," Aeyon allowed softly, knowing the devastating impact this disclosure would have upon Lynon Wrey, who would ultimately construe Tarim's decision to leave as a frivolous abandonment.

The family patriarch had already grudgingly lost two children to the service of the High Queen and mighty Kammlogran. For Tarim to eschew his eventual inheritance...to live like the shiftless Lamish...would be a particularly bitter potion for his father to swallow.

'You'll Have no fear of that with me, father,' he vowed silently. 'I have all I'll ever require in the Coopery...and in Nalosan.'

Not long after Aeyon had vowed this resolute path, fate...as Tarim had so astutely predicted...would emphatically disabuse the naive young man of the surety that he had control over the course his life might take.

3

The haulage cart had just rounded a particularly long curve, when Tarim abruptly reined the horses to a halt. Still clutching the reins in white-knuckled fists, Tarim stared intently at something further along the darkened roadway.

Aeyon required only one glance at his brother, whose rigid posture seemed to radiate intense anxiety, to intuit that Tarim was deeply...concerned by something further along the apparently empty road.

Aeyon squinted against the darkness and at first, could identify nothing that would warrant the older brother's mounting agitation.

"What do you see, Tarim?" He prompted urgently to which the older brother pressed an index finger to his lips and jabbed an insistent finger at something further up the roadway. Shaking his head in consternation, wondering if his brother was playing at another of his habitual pranks, Aeyon returned his attention to the seemingly innocuous stretch of moonlit roadway.

And with this single revelatory glance, the source of Tarim's anxiety became evident...though it wasn't what lay concealed in the darkness that had sparked his brother's concern...but rather, it had been roused be the darkness itself...its absolute and impenetrable totality.

Then road ahead was broken by a tunnel of perfect darkness with neither depth, nor nuance, despite the muted silver light cast over the rest of the landscape by the partial moon above.

Somehow, the road ahead was as black and impervious to scrutiny as sackcloth in a sealed tomb. It appeared to a thoroughly bemused Aeyon as if some dark sorcerer had managed to punch a hole in the fabric of reality into a lightless parallel world.

"What...what is it?" he whispered, unable to fully master the nervous quaver in his voice.

This time, Tarim made no effort to silence his younger brother, instead admitting, "I...I don't know...except to say that it is not natural." He turned an assessing eye on the section of roadway upon which they now sat. Deep ditches furrowed the ground immediately adjacent to either side of the narrow road. Mournfully, he observed, "There isn't enough room to turn the cart around, but I...I don't want to drive into that!"

Aeyon could certainly empathize with that particular sentiment. The darkness ahead wasn't merely unnatural...it was unholy...a manifestation of blackness that had no place in the world of men.

He said as much to his brother and although Tarim's face was shadowed in gloom, Aeyon could clearly visualize his rueful expression. He had no sooner articulated his misgivings when the two dray horses abruptly jerked their large heads skyward. A perplexed Tarim shifted his gaze from the fraught horses to his brother and the younger man could sense that the older man's anxiety was rapidly gravitating toward open panic.

The horses' eyes had grown impossibly wide, but not in the manner of fearful beasts, whose eyes had a tendency to roll widely as if seeking an avenue of egress from their terror. To Aeyon, the drays appeared transfixed. That suspicion was confirmed an instant later, when the horses began to pull the cart directly toward the aberration.

"What's happening?" Aeyon cried urgently.

"I...I don't know. They're moving on their own accord," Tarim replied, his voice now brittle and shrill. His expression curdled as he reconsidered his reply. "I think they're being summoned by something that has manifested this darkness...as if they're under some kind of...compulsion."

He stole a harried glance back at the sinister anomaly and Aeyon saw his shoulders slump as if he'd been partially deflated. When he again turned his attention back to his younger brother, the pervasive fear and confusion had been displaced by an emotion that was no less disturbing to Aeyon. Despite the gloom, there could be no mistaking the glint of sour resignation in his brother's eyes...on the heels of that followed grim resolve.

"Get out of the wagon, Aeyon," he rasped softly, "and hide in the ditch. If something happens to me...vanish into the forest."

Aeyon shook his head as if he'd misheard this baffling instruction. Sensing that his younger brother, who could be intractable when confronted by something with which he did not abide, was unlikely to comply...Tarim planted both hands on the smaller man's shoulder and pushed him from the wagon.

The horses continued their slow, but inexorable shuffle forward in their peculiar wooden gait, but Aeyon, nonetheless, hit the cobbles with enough force to punch the air for his lungs. The momentum of his tumble carried him into the ditch where he stared dazedly up into the firmament, which appeared pointedly indifferent to the macabre drama unfolding beneath it.

When he had regained his senses, Aeyon turned into his hands and knees and crawled up to the level of the road. The fantastical perspective this afforded caused the young man to gasp in wonder.

The haulage wagon had come to a halt some three lengths before the anomaly, which had abruptly undergone an astounding transformation. The darkness had assumed a tangible tubular shape...like a bizarre tunnel some two-man heights in diameter. The interior of this curious construct was illuminated by horizontal streaks of argent lightening that were blinding in magnitude and blazed along its curving surface in staccato bursts.

Part way along the length of this improbable construct...the product of foul sorcery, Aeyon correctly surmised...there now stood a solitary figure. This figure wore a blood red hooded cloak and moulded armour that reflected the brilliant silver flashes like a mirror. Something in the curving tilt of the figure's hips and the long, tapered legs, I formed Aeyon that this menacing silhouette was that of a woman. She stood with her long arms splayed to the sides and her palms facing forward. Globes of translucent green light enveloped her hands, hinting that she was poised to unleash a burst of arcane energy.

On the wagon, Tarim suddenly stood upright and after drawing a hardwood truncheon from a slot near his seat, the older Wrey jumped lithely down onto the cobbles and started toward the entrance of the sorcerous construct.

Aeyon was about to bray a warning to dissuade Tarim from this mad folly, when a strange voice forestalled his cry. That voice that blew through the frazzled confines of his mind was definitely that of a woman, ringing with a certitude that froze him where he knelt. 'If you raise an alarm, thus alerting this living nightmare to your location...your brother's sacrifice will be for naught and you will meet your end here on this deserted road. You have a small, yet critical role to play in the dark drama that will soon consume this land. Should you squander your brother's brave sacrifice, your small role will go unfulfilled and Emercia and the world beyond will eventually fall to cold and shadow.'

Aeyon blinked in perplexed confusion and though this cryptic augury was surely absurd, it nonetheless held the power to keep him silent and immobilized.

At the entrance to the disconcerting arcane construct, Tarim had come to a stumbling halt. He brandished his truncheon in white knuckled fingers, but when he spoke...it was in a modulated voice that was all civility and poise. "Milady, I do not know what manner of sorcery you've woven, but I am a simple merchant wanting only to haul his goods up this road to yonder village. I would kindly ask you to remove this...obstruction so that I might continue to do so."

The woman uttered an amused, sardonic chuckle. When she spoke, her voice was husky and sensual...curling smoke and black velvet...nuanced by an accent Tarim did not recognize. "And I'm afraid, young man, that I cannot grant your request. You see...you possess something I require."

There was a couched innuendo in the woman's emphasis on the word something that caused Tarim to falter, but after a moment, he gestured toward the laden wagon and disclosed firmly, "I carry nothing that would be of value to you, milady...only empty barrels and my purse...in which resides a piffling amount of coin."

The woman began to walk toward Tarim then and as the two transfixed men stared in uneasy astonishment, she lifted from the ground and strode forward as if borne on a carpet of air. The enveloping light around her splayed fingers flared to a blinding magnitude and with a throaty growl, she declared, "It's not your barrels I require, boy...it's your precious hatred and believe me when I tell you...I shall have every last drop of it."

A subtle gesticulation and the truncheon in Tarim's hand was swiftly reduced to ash...absent the heat one would normally expect with the process. As he gazed on in transfixed incredulity, it drifted through his fingers like dirty snow.

As Aeyon watched this vignette of dark drama unfurl, two figures materialized out of the darkness, directly behind the unsuspecting Tarim. Before he became cognizant of their malign presence, the pair delivered a volley of rapier precise blows that plunged the lanky man into twitching unconsciousness on the dusty cobbles.

"I trust you left him alive?" the woman with the globes of arcane energy enveloping her hands inquired, her tone imperious and glacial. One of Tarim's assailants squatted next to Aeyon's brother, delicately seeking a pulse at his throat with an index and middle finger. Both assailants wore form-fitting attire similar to the sorcery wielder, though neither wore a cloak and their strange armour was uniformly black without the gloss that would have reflected unwanted light when stealth was required. Even from this distance, their diminutive statuses and compact curving silhouettes declared that they, too, were women.

Aeyon had never heard of an all female band of highway brigands, but it was pointless to gainsay what his eyes conveyed...as improbable as that truth might seem.

The pulse seeker merely nodded and signified that her victim was not seriously injured. Then, despite their comparatively diminutive statures, the pair lifted Tarim from the cobbles as if he was no more substantial than a bundle of dried sticks. They began to carry the unconscious young man along the road, away from Aeyon and toward the sorceress. When they had draw abreast of the daunting woman, who continued to regard the haulage wagon intently, the pair came to a halt and the assailant who had sought Tarim's pulse remarked, "There may be another one...cowering in the wagon...would you have us to search the cart?"

The sorceress shook her head and then uttered a mordant condemnation that would privately haunt Aeyon Wrey to his grave many years distant. "Don't bother. We have no use for cravens. In fact, this is the only remuneration their cowardice deserves."

The woman thrust her hands forward and then brought them together. When the two green globes of arcane energy collided, the muted emerald light exploded like a sun going nova.

In the road side ditch, Aeyon could feel a perceptible thickening if the air as the hair on his head stood straight away from his scalp.

He instinctively threw himself down the fore slope of the ditch, just as the sorceress unleashed a writhing column of bale fire.

There followed harrowing screams of agony, which were mercifully brief, and then the acrid stench of burning ozone filled the air, assailing Aeyon's nostrils as if the very fabric of the world was ablaze. The ravenous bale fire consumed the horses, massive haulage cart and its contents with a rapidity that beggared reason.

When the flames abruptly vanished, not even a single flake of ash remained to verify that these things, both living and inanimate, had ever existed.

The devastating expenditure of forbidden arcane energy quite literally consumed the very air itself, creating a vacuum that quite literally sucked the air from Aeyon's lungs and plunged him into the dreamless void.

Aeyon awoke to the blithe music of chirping birds with the pleasant kiss of morning sunshine on his cheek. Panicked disorientation washed over him and he scrambled to his feet, though dizziness dumped him unceremoniously on his rump in the centre of the mercifully dry ditch.

He remained there, with his head bowed and his eyes closed, drawing deep, tremulous breaths, until he regained his composure. With the return of equilibrium came the stark recollection of what had befallen the two brothers on this deserted stretch of coastal road.

Aeyon uttered a hoarse cry of negation and stumbled out of the ditch...this time without ungainly incident. He drifted to the centre of the road, where he stood in wild-eyes dismay. Nothing along the visible stretches of road in either direction betrayed any hint of what had transpired here under the cover of the previous night.

Another moan, this one strident with self-loathing, tore from his contorted lips as the magic wielder's damning final words, dripping with sardonic contempt, blared in his frantic mind. 'We have no use for cravens.'

Aeyon flayed himself with this emasculating condemnation, knowing that he had cowered in the ditch like a frightened child, while his brother had courageously confronted his assailants. Try as he might, the young man could not repress the tears of extreme shame this act of cowardice evoked. Burying his face in his hands, Aeyon sobbed unabashedly. When the last of those tears had been expended, Aeyon raised his earnest face to the sky and offered a fervent vow that he would atone for his shameful behaviour by finding Tarim...and ripping out the vile hearts of the trio of she-demons who had abducted him.

He briefly considered striking out for Wethred, but then sagely decided that his best recourse was to inform his father what had befallen his sons.

Aeyon turned dejectedly and commenced the long trek home, with the odious witch's scathing condemnation trailing after him like a mocking spectre.

4

As Czefrina glided through the busy corridors of castle Kammlogran, she was obliquely aware of the furtive stares her passage garnered. Both courtiers and liveried servants alike tracked her passage with keen interest. She could easily imagine the torrent of rumours her mysterious presence had inspired amongst both factions. That she had remained deliberately aloof, literally engaging with no one, save the Queen and her relic of a weapons master...whom she had so thoroughly and satisfyingly humbled in the bowels of the castle, only served to fan the flames of mystery and speculation surrounding her presence.

Karosyn had insisted that Czefrina remain discreet and tight lipped regarding her purpose in Nalosan...a constraint that had suited the naturally secretive princess perfectly. The Queen had not even divulged Czefrina's purpose to the daunting shrew who served as her Seneschal. How deeply this perceived slight must rankle the iron-hearted bitch...an affront that was reflected clearly in the baleful glare she cast the Lamish Princess every time their paths crossed in Kammlogran's halls. On those satisfying occasions, Czefrina would beam a radiant grin at the cantankerous battle axe and carry on her way.

It was eminently clear to the ambitious young woman that the forthright Karosyn was discomfited by keeping secrets. She had, after all, built her reign and reputation on, amongst other values, transparency and candour. Czefrina, by contrast, was a woman with no such ethical encumbrances about conducting her affairs from the shadows.

Yet, it was also evident that the Queen was conflicted by the arrangement into which the pair had entered and that ambivalence was something that Czefrina was compelled to allay. 'At least until I have the Mother of Lamia firmly under my thumb.'

She frowned then. 'Your gaudy exhibition in the training chamber certainly did nothing to mitigate her doubt. If anything, she is more dubious than ever.'

Had it not always been this way since she'd been a young girl, bursting with boundless energy and a nebulous ambition that would give her no peace? Hers was a volatile nature, marred by erratic and spontaneous incidents of ill-temper that had invariably rebounded upon her to detrimental effect.

As she'd grown into a young woman, blessed with an exceptional gift of physical capability, these episodes had become more frequent...and more extreme.

She need only think back to the last occasion she had stood in the presence of her brother, King Izrin, to verify how perilously unstable she'd become.

Secrets had become a necessary commodity in Czefrina's life after that lamentable incident. Upon her arrival in Nalosan, she had presented herself to the Queen Karosyn as the Princess of Lamia, second in line to the throne. She had even managed to produce Lamia's royal sigil to substantiate her claim.

The Queen had accepted this at face value and Czefrina had made her bold petition, which Karosyn had eventually accepted...albeit with no small degree of reluctance.

Had Karosyn discovered the inauspicious truth of Princess Czefrina's true status with her royal family, it is highly probable that the diminutive blond would have found herself escorted to the nearest border, with the stern warning never to set foot in Emercia again.

With a chagrined frown, Czefrina recalled how perilously close she'd come to eternal damnation...how she'd well near stained her soul with fratricide. They had been in Izrin's private working chamber, where the dedicated king would often labour to the small bells of eventide, futilely grappling with any number of Lamia's unsolvable problems. Normally, the young king had indulged his sister's impassioned obsession with the near mythical one-time Queen, whom the pragmatic Izrin privately believed was long since mouldering in the earth along some forgotten back trail. On this night, overwhelmed by a myriad of contentious state issues, for which there seemed no viable solution, the young king had snapped irritably, "Enough of this infantile prattle about children's myths, Czefrina. I have been entrusted with Lamia's well-being...a task at which I seem to be failing miserably. While you entertain these childish delusion about how this ghost will return to save Lamia from its slow decay...I must actually struggle to find genuine solutions to its problems. So if you must...then by all means, hone your worthless skills and indulge your absurd fantasies...but don't squander my time with your nonsense."

The blow, which had been delivered without prior thought and with the speed of a striking adder, had left her stunned brother sprawled on the stone floor, next to his writing desk. He had stared up at her, his right hand pressed to the side of his face, where the imprint of her fist was livid and red, with an expression that was both incredulous...and wary. For her part, Czefrina vividly recalled glaring down at her fallen brother...her king...with her substantial chest heaving and her lethal hands curled into poised fists...struggling to master the compulsion to stomp his skull to bloody shards beneath her boot heel.

In that sorry sundering of their tenuous sibling bond...a bond that had been tentative at the best of times...a moment of unalloyed empathy passed between the soon to be estranged pair. Izrin was emphatically disabused of the notion that this Lorio character was nothing more than a capricious fixation for his increasingly unstable sister. In those polar green eyes, the king gleaned the presence of a zealous obsession that had clearly strayed into the realm of madness. His sister fervently believed that this legend would return to raise poor, dispirited Lamia...and that she was the one ordained to re-unite the Mother of Lamia with her lost children.

For her part, Czefrina garnered that this latest eruption of her vapid temper...the striking of not just her brother, but her rightful king...had inflicted irreparable damage upon their relationship...for which she would now suffer the consequences.

Fortunately for Czefrina, her brother was a man inclined toward leniency and rather than have his tempestuous, untenable Sister tossed into a dungeon, King Izrin set her to purpose...though he would spend many years reflecting on how this indulgence of her lunacy would help usher her to the end that awaited her.

Czefrina bowed her head in a rare gesture of deference, meekly awaiting his judgment. He rose, regarding his bewilderingly complex sister thoughtfully, though without the rancour she would have expected. "When she speaks of you, Grandmother would often tell me that you are beset but the demon many refer to as...an unsettled nature. Nayoro claimed that the world should take pity on those unfortunate enough to be afflicted by this particular demon because its presence precluded any possibility of lasting, meaningful contentment in the one it possesses. I see the veracity of her contention capering in your eyes, sister."

"I have no need of your pity, Izrin," Czefrina rasped sullenly.

"And yet you have it nonetheless," her brother had returned evenly. "I see now that I have been...dismissive of your opinion...of your fiercely held beliefs regarding Lorio and her significance in forging Lamia's future.

"You're making sport of me, brother," Czefrina rasped menacingly, her cheeks growing hot and crimson.

"Actually, I am not," Izrin had retorted gravely. "I am dispatching you beyond Lamia's borders with a royal commission to locate the Mother of Lamia escort her home with a complete understanding of its one stipulation."

Czefrina stiffened suspiciously knowing they had come to the rub, where her brother was far cleverer than she'd ever accredited him with. "Which is?"

"I am giving you leave to prove that you have not squandered your life in service of a mad delusion. As Lamia is in a dire fiscal predicament, I can afford you no resources to undertake your quest, but tribulation and sacrifice have always been the true companions of history's greatest pursuers of truth. As your quest is epic in scope and consequence, it shall be no exception. Take whatever time is necessary to gather up what possessions you may require...and then I will have a detachment of soldiers escort you to the border of your choosing."

He had then come forward and bestowed a desultory kiss on her burning cheek, dismissing her from his life by declaring with feigned cheer, "May our people's wandering spirit bless your search. I will eagerly await news of your return...with our saviour in tow."

It was in this inauspicious manner that Czefrina, Crown Princess of Lamia, became an impoverished wandering exile. Never one to be deterred by inimical fortune, Czefrina took to the quest with the zeal of a religious fanatic. After scouring the Northern Countries of the Eastern Continent, the disenfranchised princess had turned her questing eyes southward. Her meagre purse of coin was quickly exhausted, but easily replenished as Czefrina was a creature whose obsession would not be forestalled by moral encumbrances. If saving Lamia required relieving a few corpulent merchants of their purse, then so be it.

In Fairmarch, the deposed princess had overhead a discussion of how the Emercian Queen was also seeking the truant antiquated world's iconic heroine...a serendipitous turn of fortune that had struck Czefrina as preordained.

Expending the last of her purloined coin to procure suitable clothing for an audience with a Queen, Czefrina had made her way to Emercia. Along the road to Nalosan, she had devised an audacious scheme that, rather surprisingly, Karosyn had accepted, albeit with obvious misgivings. Her false credentials had passed muster and now Czefrina found herself ensconced in a royal guest suite in Castle Kammlogran. News that a woman matching Lorio's description had just crossed the border filled the Lamish Princess with visceral excitement. The culmination of her life long aspiration was imminent and with it would come her vindication.

'Let Izrin have his throne,' she thought as she entered her lodgings and secured the bolt behind her. 'I will soon have Mother of Lamia on my velvet leash!'

Once inside her quarters, the princess stripped off her asymmetrical robe and tossed it disdainfully aside, offering a chuckle at the idea of Karosyn's preposterous piety in the matter of immoral attire. She stood before the chevalier, admiring the powerful lines of her body...an harmonious amalgam of muscle and feminine sensuality that she had laboured so diligently to perfect and maintain.

Other than her consuming preoccupation with Lorio, Czefrina's obsession with the continual refinement of her body...and its exceptional capabilities...was her grand passion. Such was her singular nature that she regarded the devotion to the latter as instrumental in procuring the former.

This self-validating thought conjured recollections of the concoction that Karosyn had provided. Despite the ease with which she had bested the Queen's hapless drones in the castle's depths, this bequeathal confirmed the galling fact that the Emercian Queen still doubted that Czefrina could vanquish Lorio in a direct physical confrontation. This lack of faith rankled the supremely confident young woman...who fervently subscribed to the certainty that hers was a martial prowess that none could hope to equal.

Perturbed, she briefly considered tossing the Queen's black melange into the chamber pot. Somewhere in the deep well of Czefrina's impulsive spirit, a small kernel of prudence implored her to desist. She eyed the offending pouch for several moments and with an exasperated sigh, finally tossed it after her discarded half-robe.

She had deliberately revealed only a small segment of her abilities in that accursed dungeon. Let those who underestimate her do so at their eternal peril. 'Perhaps it is Lorio who could benefit from your tinctures, Karosyn...but once I've vanquished her and bent her to my will...I doubt the Mother of Lamia will have any desire to be rescued.'

Smiling at this provocative thought, Czefrina embarked on her intense solitary training ritual.

She began by randomly distributing cloth squares of four different colours around the spacious main chamber of her quarters. Immediately upon being granted lodgings in the castle, Czefrina had cleared the room of all cluttering furniture, piling it in a jumble in her adjacent sleeping chamber.

Once she had laid the squares of cloth out so that they encompassed the entire rectangular room, Czefrina made her way to the centre of the chamber. Pivoting slowly in place, she committed the colour and precise location of each square to memory. When she had completed this exacting exercise, Czefrina replicated an exact map of this pattern in her mind's eye.

Drawing a deep, steady breath, Czefrina then exploded into motion, performing an intricate acrobatic choreography that carried her to every square on her map. She would backflip and land on her right hand with her palm centred unerringly at the heart of the designated piece of orange cloth, before springing to land on a yellow square...a full three squares over.

She engaged in this astoundingly intricate exercise of concentration, strength and stamina for well over a bell, displaying a level of coordination and muscle control that beggared reason. A perpetual motion dervish, Czefrina leapt from one square to the next, from a single hand or foot to the next. As her phenomenal body warmed to the task her movement appeared to become a blur, until, at the end of her regimen, she bound across the large rectangular chamber in one astonishing bound and along its substantially longer length in two...never once failing to plant her designated hand or foot at the centre of the targeted tile.

It was the exhausting and rigorous regimen of exercises that Czefrina had developed to augment her skills and master the art of strike and evasion, evasion and strike, that she felt confident would help her achieve victory over the purportedly immortal Lorio.

Next, Czefrina embarked on a complex system of calisthenics that included a series of inverted push-ups, chin-ups and a routine of leg raises that had led her abdominal muscles to resemble deeply striated armour plating.

Once this onerous routine had run its course, Czefrina's magnificent body was sheeted in perspiration. Peeling off the sweat-soaked garment that had so roused the Queen's vexation, Czefrina padded naked across the cool stone floor and came to again stand before the chevalier. She cast a critical eye over the living weapon she'd honed and then commenced the final segment of the regimen to which she had adhered everyday for the past fifteen years.

Isolating the tear drop shaped head of her right thigh muscle, Czefrina began to contract and relax the muscle...gradually expanding the area by tiny increments until it appeared that waves were moving back and forth beneath her taut flesh.

She expanded the scope of this exercise, incorporating each adjacent muscle into this stunningly sensual ballet...until virtually every muscle in her body was moving back and forth like a field of wheat beneath a soughing breeze.

Seeing this astounding display of control, the refinement of which was almost incomprehensible, Czefrina knew that she could utilize these undulations to both lethal...and excruciatingly erotic effect. Once Lorio had succumbed to the former, it was Czefrina's intent to beguile the truant Queen with a prolonged and enthralling display of the other.

When this final portion of her regimen reached its end, Czefrina spent the remaining portion of the evening indulging in her one frivolous pleasure.

When the affixed crystal had heated the tub of water to the desired level, Czefrina poured the last of the scented crystals, which she'd purloined from Karosyn's chamber, into her bath. There was an admittedly petulant thrill in relieving the affluent of their possessions...one that never failed to delight the rogue Lamish Princess.

She sighed as she slipped into the fragrant water and allowed it to work its magic with her willing flesh. The High Queen seemed to believe that she held a proprietary claim over Lorio...a foolish notion which The ambitious Czefrina had every notion of dispelling. Closing her eyes, Czefrina gave herself over to the elaborate fantasy of how she would bend Lorio to her pleasure...once the beguiled Lorio had willingly submitted to her velvet leash and collar.

Chapter Six

1

As was her custom, Queen Karosyn was seated at her writing desk by the seventh bell, reviewing reports and summaries from her Tribunes. She had eschewed the arcane crystals that normally provided warmth and light for the rest of sprawling Kammlogran, preferring to labour during the early hours of the morning beneath the soft flicker of candlelight. In the hearth of her private chamber, a fire crackled enthusiastically. At one corner of her desk, a pewter tray held the partially consumed remains of her modest breakfast, two hard boiled eggs and a small bowl of porridge, liberally sprinkled with brown sugar and drizzled with clotted cream.

Karosyn normally relished both this simple fare and the brief, but blessedly quiet time before the demands of her station imposed themselves on her solitude.

She stole a wistful glance about the room and then through the chamber's solitary narrow, tall window. Beyond the imperfect glass, the sky was the delicate pink of tourmaline as dawn bloomed to herald the onset of another fall day. She inhaled slowly, savouring the fire's warmth and the subtle scent that arose from the delicate glass oil sphere that one of her servants...most probably the doting Noriza...had set upon the hearth's ceramic runner.

This simple gesture of concern evoked a sense of both gratitude and unworthiness in the unrelentingly humble Karosyn, who was still mystified by the level of devotion...or outright adoration...those around her seemed to demonstrate toward their Queen. These simple gestures also served as a useful reminder that she must labour incessantly to prove worthy of this devotion.

'How can you doubt your worthiness after so many years, pure heart?' the ghost of her beloved Artumas inquired from a chair near the hearth. Karosyn glanced to the chair where her husband had often sat, whiling away the fall and winter evenings during the last year's of his life. Karosyn had occupied the chair on the opposite side of the hearth and as they had shared the comfortable banter of those who are happily wed, Karosyn had basked in this comparatively simple and humble man's soothing presence...even as she had known, with sorrowful certainty, that his light was quickly waning.

"Pure heart," she whispered with a grimace of pain. This had been his term of endearment for the Queen he had so adored. His death had been a soul-scarifying loss for Karosyn, but she took solace from the fact that his eternal soul was finally at peace after so many cycles of dejection and torment.

'As long as that black-hearted bitch, Myrhia, remains imprisoned in her stone cloister of inured flesh,' the voice of Lissom purred. 'It would be folly to assume that some malicious trickster with a festering grudge won't yet set her free...if only to derive a spiteful pleasure from the discord and suffering her emancipation would sow.'

Karosyn frowned ruefully and shook her head in consternation, wondering why her mind insisted in casting Lissom in the role of adversary. 'Because, at an atavistic level...where your primal fears are repressed...you know that Lissom has gone around the rim of dark madness...and it is you she blames for providing the impetus that drove her there.'

Karosyn shuddered at the dreaded prospect, but then a brisk rap came at her chamber door, sparing her the anxiety of pondering the matter...for the time being.

2

Karosyn bid her caller to enter and was not surprised when her Seneschal, Martriza Odain, opened the chamber door and stepped in. Offering her liege a perfect formal curtesy, Martriza strode purposely across the large room, holding a clutch of documents that would require Karosyn's attention on this fall morning.

Martriza was a tall, elegantly slender woman, who might had been regarded as stunningly beautiful had it not been for the expression of impatient gravitas that perpetually adorned her lean, angular face. There was a focused intensity to the woman's dark-eyed gaze that could bore holes in stone...or in petitioners' obfuscation, irrespective of how facile their evasion or rationalization for noncompliance might be.

Possessed of a rapier keen intellect, a brutally efficient manner...and a mordant wit to compliment both...Martriza Odain had served as Karosyn's Seneschal...and her primary sounding board...for fifteen years. On the occasions that Karosyn would venture out beyond Emercia's borders, Martriza would serve in the capacity of Regent...a function for which the Queen knew she was eminently qualified.

On first impression, one might garner the opinion that the two women, whose dispositions and temperaments were the diametric opposites, might be incompatible. Yet, despite their ostensible differences, Martriza had become a veritable extension and indefatigable engine of her Queen's will.

Once Karosyn settled on a course of action in any aspect of the realm's governance, Martriza laboured tirelessly to see it served. Woe be to any Tribune or courtier who attempted to impede or otherwise undermine one of Karosyn's edicts, for they would soon find themselves withering under the full weight of Martriza's inexorable ferocity...knowing that this living scythe had her Queen's full and unequivocal support.

One might expect that this degree of power might breed an insufferably officious presumption and arrogance upon its wielder, but in Martriza, this presumption was baseless.

While she had no tolerance for equivocation...and even less for ulterior agendas and subterfuge...Martriza Odain was a strict adherent to royal decorum and protocol. She treated her subordinates with respect and courtesy, soliciting and giving serious consideration to their opinions when deciding how best to implement the Queen's edicts.

In her service to her Queen, Martriza was unflaggingly loyal and devoted...but she was by no means fawning or obsequious, for which Karosyn was eternally grateful. A strict believer in the concept of station, Martriza had no reservations in voicing her disagreement with some of the more radically egalitarian policies the Queen proposed. The pair would privately debate aspects of Karosyn's social leaning policies...often at great length and passionately. At times, Karosyn would defer to her Seneschal's pragmatism, but when her Queen decreed that something should be implemented, Martriza would apply herself to its enactment with a fanatic's zeal.

Karosyn had come to subscribe to the belief that Martriza made her a far better monarch than she otherwise would have been. The monarchy was a lonely endeavour, but Karosyn considered this formidable woman to be her staunchest ally and friend.

'And yet, you know virtually nothing of the woman, herself...of her passions beyond the service to her Queen,' the Queen thought ruefully as she studied her trusted confidant. When, on the rare occasion, Karosyn had inquired about Martriza's personal life...her family or her pursuits beyond her role as Seneschal, the woman would become uncomfortable and circumspect. 'And you have permitted her to retreat behind that wall of reticence, when you should be doing all in your power to ensure that this deserving woman does not eschew life beyond your service. You must strive to be a better friend.'

This indictment caused the gentle Karosyn to grimace. How often, of late, had she been assailed by the grim condemnation that had become a cornerstone for her pernicious doubt.

' _Had you served Lissom with the same frank and honest devotion with which Martriza serves you...would she have strayed to the shadow as you now suspect she has?'_

Ever attuned to the slightest change in Karosyn's even demeanour, Martriza inquired, "Are you well, your Majesty...that grimace seemed...painful."

"When we are alone, I've asked that you call me Karosyn, Martriza. Do you not perceive me as a friend as well as your Queen? I believe that I can be both!" Karosyn returned solemnly. "And in answer to your question, yes, I am well...merely plagued by restive ghosts. So, what engaging gems have you brought me on this day, Seneschal?"

Martriza pursed her generous lips, displaying her customary discomfort with familiarity, but dutifully allowed, "I will be more mindful of your desire...Karosyn."

"Much better," Karosyn replied with a mirthful twinkle in her limpid blue eyes. "I'm rather fond of my name, but hear it so seldomly."

Not certain how to respond to this whimsical remark, Martriza merely bowed her head and set the first light blue folio before Karosyn for her perusal. Karosyn flipped open the cover and quickly scanned Maxim Tier Marshal Arminda's proposed overture, her serene expression congealing into a knot of consternation upon reading of the Jerhia's intention to lead a sizeable contingent of elite female warriors to Nalosan as an emphatic affirmation of the gender's potential to strive and achieve without limits. To disguise her disquiet, the Queen reread the text a second time, distilling a sentiment with which she, herself, could plainly empathize all too keenly. Artumas had recounted the gripping tale of the legendary quest through the Land of Shades. He had spoken at length particularly about the complex relationship between the stalwart young Jerhia and the mercurial immortal, both before and after Lorio had been emancipated from Myrhia's thrall by Islena Doraux.

Lorio, compelled by the formless malevolence in her nature, had often fixed her dark proclivities upon the noble Jerhia. Yet, despite being the repeated target of the volatile immortal's rancour, Artumas had recalled how the compassionate young woman had been staunch in her efforts to protect Lorio from those who would have ruthlessly sacrificed the beleaguered immortal to the inexorable juggernaut of Islena Doraux's destiny.

Still, when the dust of that tumultuous time had settled, leaving a fractured Lorio staggering beneath the burden of an obligation for which she possessed no capability, the quest sister had seemingly averted her own gaze to tending her own ambitions. 'Just as I did some four decades later...turning away from the task of giving solace to Lorio. When I could clearly see how she'd been decimated by her beloved Issidris' death, did I not simply allow her to wander away...while assuaging my guilt with a convenient excuse that there was nothing I could do to make her stay? Is it this same pernicious sense of guilt that compels you to offer this obviously impulsive overture, Maxim Tier Marshal? Have we become bound by the same festering guilt over having abandoned a woman who we both know has been so grievously ill used? How will we possibly console ourselves should we discover that this gesture of atonement...has been offered far too late to matter?'

This self-effacing barrage of queries assailed Karosyn as she absorbed Arminda's official communique a second time. Her churning disquiet did not escape her perceptive Seneschal's notice and she inquired sharply, "I take it that there is an aspect of the Tier Marshal's...aggressive proposal that you find troubling...Karosyn?"

Karosyn, who was fully aware that her offer of an olive branch to Lissom would be a contentious, if not overtly divisive thorn with her Tribunes, remained silent for a moment. Then, in her normally concise and even manner, she recounted the disturbing details of her clandestine meeting with the would-be rebel faction of the Sisters of Esotaria. She concluded this disclosure with a summary of the written missive she'd dispatched to El Sharom.

Though Martriza absorbed this deluge of disquieting information in silence, she did not entirely succeed in concealing her mounting agitation.

Finally, Karosyn set aside Arminda's inopportune communique and rummaged through the stack of documents at the top most corner of her ornate desk. When she'd located the single sheet she'd sought, Karosyn silently handed Lissom's terse reply to her bemused Seneschal.

Martriza accepted the page and quickly read Lissom's reply, her face contracting into a scowl of consternation. She allowed the document to slip through her fingers, a moue of distaste supplanting her scowl, and then fixed the Queen with an incisive gaze. In those intense brown eyes, Karosyn glimpsed a shifting myriad of conflicting emotions, the foremost of which were acute anger and an acute pain that accompanied a perceived slight that bordered on betrayal. Never one for circumspection, Martriza struck bluntly to the crux of her displeasure. "You have asked that I regard you as my friend and yet you did not see fit to confide in me. You have chosen me to be your Seneschal...the agent of your will in all things, but you have elected to embark on this bewildering enterprise...without appraising me of your intent. If I have lost your faith, my Queen, then I will cry your pardon and offer my resignation."

Seeing how egregiously her devoted friend had been wounded by her unintentional slight, Karosyn rose swiftly and swept the slender woman into a tight embrace.

Martriza stiffened, both startled by and resentful of this overture, but Karosyn did not relinquish her hold, whispering contritely, "It is I who must cry you pardon and if you demand that I take a knee and entreat you to remain in my service...I will gladly do what is required."

"My Queen!" Martriza sputtered, thoroughly mortified by the thought that her monarch would humiliate herself thusly.

Karosyn pushed her Seneschal to arm's length. "I know that I have given you great offence by not appraising you of my intentions concerning Lissom and Majeer. This in no way absolves me for treating you so deplorably, but this is a matter that has shackled me with ambivalence. When the sisters approached me with their potentially disastrous scheme for sedition, I contrived an alternative course of action...and acted promptly upon it before vacillation could undo my resolve. Irrespective of my intention, I should have apprised you of this proposed course of action. If you can forgive me, Martriza...I will give you my heart sworn oath that there will be no recurrence of this offence."

Gazing into those limpid blue oceans of serenity...even the daunting Martriza Odain was not immune to the aura Karosyn exuded so effortlessly; a placating warmth that invited cooperation and made all festering grievances seem...unreasonable. In a muted, apologetic tone...as if it had been she who had given her Queen offence, Martriza murmured, "As rightful Queen, the path of rule is yours to choose. You are not obligated to apprise your underlings of your intentions...and it is certainly not our place to vet your decisions. I only wish to serve you to the best of my ability, my Queen."

Karosyn further unsettled her Seneschal by bestowing a warm kiss on each cheek. "If you name me friend...as well as Queen, I will cherish your friendship, Martriza. It is impossible for me to exaggerate the value I ascribe to your wise counsel, Martriza. Now please, forgive my misjudgment and let us move past this...as I am anxious to hear your perspective on my overture and the Ascentrix's response."

She released her Seneschal and gestured the slightly dazed woman into a chair adjacent to her own. Karosyn was beset by a pang of self-loathing for having to resort to sorcery to assuage Martriza's well-warranted indignation, but set this aversion aside in the name of exigency. Martriza was simply too valuable a resource to lose to indignation over an inadvertent slight.

'Artumas would regard this as simple self-serving manipulation. He never hid his mistrust of magic. Have I just validated his aversion?" Karosyn thought dolefully. To Martriza, she admittedly candidly, "I fear that the delicacy of this situation will leave Emercia in a precarious position."

As the mesmerizing fog of Karosyn's cantrip receded, the rapier focus returned to Martriza's intense gaze and she stated bluntly, "I fear that you have opened the pasture gate and invited the wolves to come amongst the sheep. There is little point in pretending that the Ascentrix' response is not fraught with implied menace. This, while ambiguous in some respects, is not the response of a trusted ally."

Karosyn's answering crooked grin was bereft of humour and she surmised, "I suspect that her remark about my thinking to command her is a reference to our former relationship of Matrium and Ascentrix...in which I was initially her guide, but in which she stood above me as my superior." A shadow of long held dejection fell across her smooth brow then and she intoned with obvious regret, "That relationship is a more nuanced version of the one shared between a queen and her seneschal. Lamentably, I was a far less capable Matrium to Lissom than you are a Seneschal to me. Therein lies the genesis of the subsequent darkness that hovers over Lissom like a predacious shadow."

Martriza, who harboured an innate distrust of the Sisters of Esotaria and their quasi-religious brand of feminism (not to mention, the subtle influence that Gyzarayne's creed exerted in Emercia), inquired, "What is it you hope to achieve by bringing this woman to Nalosan? For that matter, what is the exact role she now plays in Majeer?"

"Astute queries both," Karosyn observed with a wry note. "You've always had an aptitude for cutting to the salient heart of the issue, Martriza. Let me begin by trying to answer the latter first because Lissom's role in Majeer is shrouded in mystery...convoluted...and deliberately so, I would suspect."

"How so, exactly?" Martriza inquired and Karosyn could discern the emergence of her Seneschal's analytical nature, an invaluable asset that would serve the Queen well in negotiating the precarious labyrinth into which she'd drawn Emercia.

"Ostensibly, Gheldazara Eram had replaced Shan-en Naroon as Matron of the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen and thus the ruler of Majeer. The Sisters of Esotaria are regarded as honoured guests...the exalted liberators of Majeer from Thaz Ekai's deranged misogyny. Lissom supposedly served as Gheldazara's advisor." Here, Karosyn paused and Martriza noted that her Queen was assailed by an involuntary shudder. "The truth is a considerably more convoluted and sinister matter. There can be little doubt that this Gheldazara is Lissom's puppet and it is the Ascentrix who now rules Majeer. Over the course of her years there, Lissom's interpretations of Gyzarayne's theological doctrine had grown more puritanical, her enforcement of that doctrine more...Draconian. By all accounts, Majeer has fallen to tyranny every bit as repressive as the regime ruled by Thaz Ekai's prophet."

"And this information was garnered through your discourse with the faction of Sisters who would see Lissom disavowed?" the Seneschal queried...a question that presaged the direction of her thoughts on the matter.

Karosyn pursed her full lips, wary of Martriza's skepticism. It was imperative that she and Martriza be of one mind on the matter of how best to deal with a rogue Ascentrix. A posture of cynicism would simply not serve. "It was, Martriza...and I understand your automatic tendency to regard this disclosure as tainted or embellished by an ulterior agenda."

"I do, Karosyn," Martriza interjected pointedly, her passion surmounting proper protocol. "Could it not be that these women, embittered by what must be the galling fact that they have been virtually ignored by their Ascentrix for nearly forty years, simply want to replace her with someone more...attentive."

This suggestion emphasized Martriza's ignorance as it pertained to the nature of the Sisterhood and the mandate upon which their existence was based. Like a kindly scholar elucidating on a complex point of fact, Karosyn explained, "As the Ascentrix is the earthly emissary of the Goddess...personally selected at birth by Gyzarayne, there is simply no valid mechanism to remove and replace her. Only the Goddess, herself, can do that. This alone succinctly demonstrates the extent to which they've been disconcerted by Lissom's increasingly erratic conduct. I construe this as a sign of how deeply they are disturbed by what has transpired in Majeer. Lissom's First Stealth Ranger...Sandalayne....is the most forthright, ingenuous woman I've ever know. She was fanatically devoted to her Ascentrix during the years I served as Lissom's Matrium. Knowing that she would risk her life to convey word that Lissom has strayed into darkness is an indisputable indication of how grave matters in Majeer have become. I must insist that you accept this as an article of faith, Seneschal. To do otherwise would be to cloud an already dangerously convoluted matter."

A nonplused Martriza blinked. It was unlike her Queen to be so blunt in demanding compliance. Despite her surprise, she nonetheless signalled her understanding with a grim nod. "Very well...then taking Lissom corruption as a point of fact, I'll harken back to my first question...what is it you hope to achieve by brining the Ascentrix to Nalosan?"

Karosyn inhaled to gather her composure, knowing that this particular disclosure would be met with incredulity and vociferous objection, for which she had neither the luxury of time nor the patience. It was why she had elected to first divulge this to her Seneschal and not her circle of Tribunes. It was always an easier undertaking to convince a single person of the dubious merits of what appeared to be suicidal folly. Once she was convinced of the integrity of her Queen's logic, Martriza would bludgeon her Tribunes into acquiescence. Willing herself to remain calm in the face of Martriza's anticipated reaction, Karosyn forged ahead, "Simply put, it is my intention to propose that Lissom and the Sisters leave Majeer entirely...allowing this Gheldazara Eram to become the legitimate and fully autonomous ruler of Majeer. In return, I will agree to build and finance a full compound on royal land here in Emercia. It will serve as a second seat of power and Lissom could travel between Dortizirian and Emercia as she sees fit." After a slight pause, she gave voice to the facet of her plan that was bound to provoke the most controversy. "It is also my intention to petition Lissom to allow me to return to her service...to serve in the capacity of her Matrium."

Martriza great brown eyes flew open like broken shutters and recalled images of a full moons over a lake in summer, as she blurted, "You mean to abdicate your throne?"

"No!" Karosyn responded emphatically. "I have devised a more elegant solution...one that is predicated squarely upon your willingness to cooperate with my plan of action."

Martriza's expression became quizzical and she allowed, "I will do all that is within my power to be of aid, Karosyn...but as your Seneschal and your friend, I feel that it is my duty to warn you that a queen who is perceived to have divided loyalties...no matter how beloved that Queen may be...will be severely frowned upon, both by those who serve her...and by those over whom she rules."

Karosyn accepted this grave criticism magnanimously. "I appreciate your candor, Martriza. It is just one of the many reasons I value your counsel. I assure you that my only unwavering loyalty is to Emercia and to Artumas' vision to see it elevated to a pinnacle where this country is universally regarded as an example of what a people can aspire to become. Still, I must now take an innovative measure to ensure that Emercia is always ruled by a Queen whose only priority is its wellbeing. I will achieve this by naming you Queen in Absentia whenever I am required to serve as Matrium. As such, you, Martriza Odain, will have full and absolute authority as ruling Queen while I am engaged in duties as Lissom's Matrium." Here, Karosyn offered the thoroughly flummoxed Martriza a crooked grin. "I do hope you will not elect to depose me while I am away in the service of Gyzarayne."

Her demeanour became sober and she added, "Should you be of the opinion that my actions in the capacity of Matrium have compromised my ability to rule Emercia, you will have the unquestioned authority to depose and supplant me as Queen."

Utterly discomposed, the customarily unflappable woman stammered, "I...I could never replace you as monarch. I am...woefully lacking in the requisite qualities."

"That is absurdly reductive," Karosyn contradicted. "If it ever comes to it, no one in Emercia is better qualified to replace me."

"Why, Karosyn?" Martriza demanded in earnest bewilderment. "What would compel you to resort to such drastic measures to address an issue that, quite frankly, may not even be Emercia's to resolve?"

Now Karosyn drew in her cheeks, a possible indication that her patience for debate had reached its limits. In an unequivocal tone, she declared, "Because of the value I place in your loyalty, I will answer your question...and then you will decide if you will serve as Queen in Absentia or decline. The choice is yours to make and I can assure you that it will not impact upon your assignment as my Seneschal. However, I will be just as explicitly clear in stating that I am going to move ahead with this overture to the Ascentrix. I will move forward with or without your cooperation or the support of the Tribunes. Should anyone attempt to impede my edict, they will quickly discover that I am not the paragon of serenity that I might once have been!"

Martriza recoiled slightly, startled by this unprecedented snap of intractable steel in her Queen's voice. She rose and with a deep bow, offered, "My Queen, I will serve you in any capacity in which you see fit to employ me."

Drawing herself fully erect, Martriza marshalled her considerable dignity and peered directly into Karosyn's deep blue eyes. "Emercia is my home and I have devoted my life to its betterment." Then, with ferocity gleaming in those great dark eyes, Martriza Odain made her own passionate disclosure. "Yet, it is you who I have come to revere...to love. I would die for you without hesitation if that was what was required to keep you safe and on the throne. I will serve as your Queen in Absentia and while doing so, I swear on my life that my deeds will never disparage your name or reign."

For a protracted moment, Karosyn could not speak, so overwhelmed was she by this lavish declaration of loyalty...of which she still considered herself undeserving. When she could again trust herself to speak, the Queen returned, "You have my eternal gratitude for making what promises to be an arduous road significantly easier to tread, Martriza. I subscribe to the belief that loyalty is a reciprocal commodity and the day will come when I shall reward your faith and devotion. I will start by trying to explain what has induced me to undertake this radical, precarious course of action."

She guided her intrigued Seneschal over to a pair of dark leather wingbacks that had been arranged close to a second fireplace. When the pair was seated, Karosyn attempted to succinctly articulate her justification for taking such a precipitous risk for the nation she'd been entrusted to rule. "History ultimately has only one inherent value, Martriza...and that is the wisdom its often harsh lessons impart to those who are willing to learn. The problems with the lessons of history is that the further they recede from the present, the less potent...the less immediate and tangible they become. like yourself...many of my Tribunes were either young children or not even born when Majeer invaded the Eastern Continent. Thus, it is difficult for them to imagine the horror of that bleak time. The Majeeri juggernaut swept through a full third of the continent...laying entire cities to waste, turning much of Suran and Galloway into charnel pits. Words on a page are not condign to the task of capturing the hellish ordeal that those countries endured under Thaz Ekai's insane theology. The only reason that the defenders were able to repel and then vanquish the Majeeri is that the invading hordes had no access to sorcery. Metocan Mages and the Battle Mages of the Sisters of Esotaria eventually blunted Ekaz Azeer's spear...and Lissom emphatically destroyed it."

"This was the famous battle on the shores of Lake Traneer, was it not...where the invader's female elite warriors turned on their Majeeri oppressors and declared their allegiance to the Sisters?" Martriza interjected, her agile mind circling ever closer to the crux of Karosyn's discourse.

"Exactly...and though the heroism of the Emercia and Jerhia conventional forces cannot be discounted, it was sorcery that won the day," Karosyn observed pointedly, careful in concealing her personal abhorrence to using sorcery for violent purposes. Though a staunch pacifist by nature, the Emercian Queen was enough of a pragmatist to know that war was, sadly, a necessary evil. "It was Lissom's sorcery...deity level sorcery...that won the field of battle that day and turned back the Majeeri invaders."

Here, Karosyn paused and allowed her Seneschal to absorb the full implications of this truth. Then, she articulated her greatest fear. "If Lissom has been...beguiled by some manner of darkness during her time in Majeer...and should that darkness manifest in the form of a conqueror's avarice, as some in her inner circle fear it has...how could we possibly hope to prevail should she turn that hungry gaze on the Eastern Continent?"

Martriza, who could discern a number of potential flaws in her Queen's logic, seized on the query that had troubled her for some time. "It is said that Lissom derived her power directly from the Goddess she serves...this Gyzarayne...is this not so?"

"It is," Karosyn allowed simply, sensing the uncomfortable direction of her Seneschal's thoughts.

"If, as one would reasonably presume, her Goddess is cognizant of her Ascentrix's gravitation toward evil...toward tyranny, why would she, as a benevolent deity, not intervene?" Martriza queried, her tone coloured by skepticism.

Karosyn sighed, knowing that any response she gave would resonate as both vague or evasive. As always, Karosyn resorted to honesty. "When I renounced my role as Matrium, I forfeited the privilege of knowing the Goddess' will. In truth, Martriza, I should have died the very instant I made that utterance, but unexpectedly, Artumas pleaded for leniency on my behalf. More shocking still, the Ascentrix I'd failed so disgracefully acquiesced. She released me from my oath, but allowed me to retain Gyzarayne's grace, thus sparing my life. I frankly do not know why Gyzarayne would not intercede if Lissom is being traduced, but to presume to comprehend the logic of a deity is folly, Martriza. All we can do is to prepare for any contingency, while working to avert catastrophe. That is the delicate balance I am attempting to strike with these measures."

"Your actions are founded on the notion that Lissom has been corrupted by Majeer...by some intrinsic iniquity in its sands," Martriza remarked, her smooth brow furrowing in bemusement. "Yet, If Lissom's corruption finds its Genesis in her mind...her twisted thoughts and depraved ambitions, then we will have unwittingly invited the beast into our parlour."

Rather than take affront at this implicit suggestion of recklessness, Karosyn merely nodded, "You speak true, old friend, which leads me to the second reason for this peril-fraught gambit...obligation."

Here, Martriza again blinked in bewilderment. "My Queen, your only obligation must be to Emercia and its people."

A doleful expression rippled over Karosyn's exquisite face and she murmured, "If only matters were so simple, Martriza. You see, there are different and varying layers of obligation and though we strive to have them remain congruent...there are occasions when life is not so accommodating and then we must deal with our obligations...in order of priority."

"But Karosyn, what obligation could possibly take precedence over your duty as Queen?" The mystified Seneschal demanded, her tone edge with indignation.

"The obligation to redress and rectify the pain and damage of our past failures," Karosyn retorted, though her tone was soft and not at all belligerent. "When grief compelled me to renounce my position as Matrium, I inadvertently betrayed Lissom and disavowed my duty to serve as her guide. If she has strayed, it is my sworn obligation to gently usher her back into Gyzarayne's light. Yet, instead, I elected to abandon her and I know, with absolute certainty, that she has now become lost as a consequence. So you see, Martriza, my first...indeed, my only obligation is to do all that is necessary to lead my beautiful, lost daughter back to her Goddess...even if I am destroyed in the effort."

Sensing the titanic pain and guilt capering beneath this ferocious conviction, Martriza vowed solemnly! "Then I will do all in my ability to help you atone, my Queen!"

A sublime expression of pure gratitude alit Karosyn's lovely face then...a radiance of such sublime magnitude that it banished Martriza's many reservations concerning her Queen's audacious plan.

'Queen in absentia...empowered with full authority, including the power to depose and supplant!' That Karosyn would demonstrate such faith, such absolute trust in her Seneschal suffused Martriza with a tremendous sense of pride. The very thought that Martriza Odain could ever ascend to the throne was fatuous, really. A humble commoner by birth, Martriza felt like a lustreless piece of quartz juxtaposed with the rarest of diamonds. Still, there could be no mistaking the subtext in the Queen's shocking edict; if I appear to lose direction of the situation to come, I have invested you with the full authority to step forth and retrieve Emercia from the brink.

As an astounded Martriza arrived at this amazing realization, Karosyn's normally gentle countenance grew harsh and uncompromising. "I will not be bogged down by endless whinging and debate. Time is of the essence and so I fully expect you to employ your inimitable power of persuasion to bludgeon my Tribunes into acquiescence...if that is what is required to expedite this process. I will call for a full conclave with the Tribunes two days hence. There, I expect each Tribune to put forth a formative proposal for a range of contingencies...extending from Lissom's blithe acceptance of my proposal for a rapprochement to an overtly hostile rejection and all things in between."

Martriza nodded resolutely, privately delighted at this rare display of unyielding steel, where normally Karosyn was consensus seeking and serenely conciliatory. "I believe I now fathom your dismay over the Maxim Tier Marshal's assiduous intent to impose herself into this dynamic."

Karosyn tilted her chin and observed, "Lissom may well interpret the presence of a large, heavily-armed contingent of elite Jerhia troops as...inflammatory. Conversely, this could also signal the beginning of a new rapport with the CornerStone Nations...an engagement of inestimable value, not only to Emercia...but to the entire Eastern Continent. It would be ill advised to reject or forestall this visit. Still, your primary focus must be on aligning the Tribunes. I will ponder the matter of the Maxim Tier Marshal's overture and visit for a short time and decide how best to respond. Are there other matters that require my immediate attention, Seneschal?"

Here, Martriza's eyes narrowed and she inhaled as if, in light of Karosyn's daunting agenda, the Seneschal was now debating the urgency of her own matter. Finally, her lips compressed into a thin determined slash and she forged ahead. "There was a rather peculiar incident in the castle this morning."

"Peculiar?" Karosyn echoed, wondering why this tentative beginning caused a jolt of anxiety to traverse the length of her spine.

"I was making my way for my chambers, through the supply quarters...when I heard what I thought to be the faint sound of weeping coming from one of the linen closets. When I investigated, I found one of your personal attendants within...weeping unabashedly."

"Which attendant?" Karosyn demanded, her eyes narrowing.

"Noriza Wrey...she was utterly distraught," Martriza disclosed.

Her brow furrowing, The Queen demanded, "What was the cause of her anxiety? Has she been...harassed by other members of the castle staff or courtiers."

Knowing Karosyn's absolute intolerance for intimidation of subordinates, Martriza quickly assured her, "The source of her anxiety was unconnected to anything in castle Kammlogran, but I still believe the matter warrants your attention, despite the gravity of the other matters at hand...or perhaps because of those other matters."

Karosyn was both alarmed and intrigued by the intimation that Noriza's dismay was somehow related to Lissom's impending visit. She gestured for her Seneschal to continue with the wave of a finely-boned hand.

"You may know that Noriza's father is a cooper here in Nalosan. His Coopery supplies most of the barrels and crates used for storage here in Kammlogran. The craftsmanship of his work is exemplary and as a consequence, he has garnered a distribution network for his wares that extends well beyond the city. Noriza's brother is also in the employ of the castle, but her other two brothers, Tarim and Aeyon, are both employed at their father's Coopery. After that rather lengthy preamble, I can tell you that it was an incident involving her two brothers that has badly upset Noriza."

Martriza then proceeded to provide her Queen with an abridged version of the troubling episode along the Queen's coastal highway. Karosyn listened intently, feeling a vague, yet distinctly ominous, thread slyly weave itself into the moment. Though already discounting the query's likelihood, once her Seneschal had concluded her account, Karosyn inquired, "Could this not be a fraternal grudge turned ugly?"

"I confess, this was my first cynical assumption as well, but the nature of this Aeyon's account seems far too elaborate, too fantastical and frankly, too richly detailed to be fabricated." When Karosyn greeted this refutation with the lifting of a finely tapered eyebrow. "I thought it might be best if you heard the full account from Noriza directly. I have had her wait in your reception parlour, but I must warn you that I fear I may have petrified her. If you wish, I will have her relate the story of her brother's disappearance."

"Of course," Karosyn agreed peripherally cognizant of the onset of something odious and terrible.

Martriza rose to retrieve the young woman, but then paused and fixed her sovereign with a knowing expression. "As I mentioned, Noriza is extremely distraught...perhaps if you could assuage her anxiety, her subsequent account would be of greater value."

Karosyn's great blue eyes widened in surprise, realizing that her Seneschal was alluding to her infrequent use of her arcane ability to soothe agitated petitioners. 'It seems that she is even more perceptive than you'd ever imagined...or you're not nearly as subtle as you've credited yourself for being."

A moment later, Martriza squired a visibly agitated Noriza Wrey into the Queen's chamber. The young woman was a tall, willowy blond whose hair conjured images of spun gold. Though she was attractive in a vulnerable fashion, Noriza imparted the impression of a young woman who was somehow ill at ease in the confines of her own skin. Though she performed her duties as Karosyn's personal attendant in a prompt, capable and efficient manner, Karosyn had long come to suspect that the young woman was assailed by chronic doubt over her own worth. She wondered what might have inflicted this severe wound to her self-esteem.

Coming into her Queen's presence, the young woman offered Karosyn a shaky curtesy and averted her eyes to the floor. Before uttering a word, Karosyn strode over to Noriza and enfolded the distressed young woman into her arms and bestowed a lingering kiss on the top of her bowed head. A subtle golden effulgence coalesced around the pair for several moments and when it finally guttered, much of the tension and rigidity had drained from Noriza's posture.

Karosyn slid her gaze directly to her Seneschal, who peered back with the ghost of a knowing grin playing at the corners of her mouth. Something about Martriza having discovered that Karosyn occasionally employed arcane energy to calm petitioners perturbed the Queen, who vowed, 'You and I will speak of this at great length, Martriza...rest assured. I will not have you harbour a false impression of my intent.'

She pushed a perceptibly calmer Noriza Wrey to arm's length. "The Seneschal informs me that your family has recently been met with ill fortune, Noriza. I would hear your account of these events so that I might offer my aid...both in recovering your abducted brother and in bringing those responsible to justice."

Despite the enormity of her anxiety, Noriza's eyes grew impossibly wide. The notion of imposing upon the Queen with the travails, however grave, of simple commoners was unthinkable to Noriza's rigidly constrained mind and she sputtered, "I...I'm sorry, your majesty. It was not my intent to burden your majesty with my woes..." She faltered then, her voice quavering on the edge of fresh hysterics. "It's just that my brother...he..."

Karosyn gripped Noriza's upper arms firmly, startling the nervous attendant, and in a kind, but insistent voice, chided, "The safety of the Queen's highways throughout Emercia is my concern...as is the right of its citizens to move along those highways without fear of falling victim to brigands and miscreants. It is my duty to ensure that safe movement of goods and travellers is the norm in Emercia...and it is a duty I regard with the utmost gravity. Unencumbered movement along the roads and highways is critical to Emercia's prosperity. If I fail to maintain unencumbered travel, then I am derelict in my duty to the people of Emercia and dereliction is something I will simply not tolerate. So, you see, Noriza...your family's misfortune is, in fact, my obligation to address." Karosyn's solemnity gave way to a sisterly tone and she added, "What is more, you have served me loyally these last years and as I've just shared with Seneschal Odain, it is my fervent view that loyalty...to be of any meaningful worth...must be reciprocal. I want you to believe that, whenever your are troubled, Noriza, you can confide in me without hesitation."

Karosyn released the young woman, who was now regarding her with an expression of reverence that bordered on awe.

'This is how she garners such adoration!' Martriza realized as she watched the queen soothe her distraught attendant. It was not through the power of her formidable sorcery that she gained the admiration of all who stood in her presence, but through the sincerity of her commiseration with their plight...with their dreams and aspirations. 'I should give thanks to whatever gods and goddesses there are that I have been blessed with the good fortune of serving such a unique creature...such an extraordinary woman.'

Karosyn was speaking again and though her voice was outwardly composed, Martriza could perceive a sense of puzzling exigency churning just beneath her mantle of serenity. "I want to give you my personal assurance that it is my first priority to determine exactly what befell your brother on the highway. To that end, I will have a squad of palace guards escort you home. I insist that you rest for the remainder of the week while I conduct an investigation into the incident. There will be no disruption to your wages and you can inform the Seneschal when you feel able to resume your duties. Go, Noriza and await the Seneschal in my sitting area. She will arrange for your escort momentarily."

Noriza shifted her gaze nervously between the daunting women. It seemed that she wanted to say more, but ambivalence prevailed, and she offered the Queen a curtesy before fleeing the chamber.

Karosyn shifted her gaze to her Seneschal, full lips compressed into a sour frown, and observed, "It pains me to see such a capable young woman shackled by timidity. Do you suppose it is a consequence of prolonged subservience...the sublimation of your own desires and needs as if they are of no consequence? If so, it stands as an indictment against everything I am striving to achieve."

Martriza, who regarded her Queen's egalitarian philosophical musings with a grain of wary doubt, offered no comment. There were those who were born to rule and the vast remainder, who were qualified only to follow. It has been this way since the dawn of life and if fate was at all kind, it would remain this way eternally. As for Noriza Wrey...wolves were wolves and sheep were sheep.

Karosyn gave a small shake of her head and the light of firm resolve flared in those luminous blue eyes. "You will inform the Captain of Noriza's escort that he is to squire Master Wrey and his son, Aeyon, back to Kammlogran for an audience on the fourth bell this afternoon. Have the Captain assure the cooper that he will be compensated for any loss of commerce this might involve. I would hear the young man's story first hand. Once that had been done, I want you to take a carriage to the Sisters' compound and inform sister Bethany that I will receive her at precisely the third bell this afternoon. You will make it explicitly clear that this is a royal summons and therefore, declining or delay is simply not an option."

Martriza arched an eyebrow in response to this atypically blunt edict and ventured cautiously, "Do you suspect the Sisters might be...culpable in this abduction?"

Karosyn shook her head adamantly, though her verbal response was considerably more equivocal. "I will not discount the slight possibility. Even if they did not have a hand in this odious act, I will conscript their aid in expediting our investigation."

"And what of my meeting with the Tribunes?"

Karosyn beamed a grin that was devoid of humour. "You may deal with that hornets' nest once we've dealt with this matter. This situation takes precedence and I would have you present for both interviews."

Martriza experienced a prickle of excitement then. Something in her Queen's resolute and steely demeanour declared that she was a liege preparing for the grim possibility of war.

She bowed to her monarch and prepared to take her leave, but paused with her hand on the ornate handle. With a bemused expression twisting her angular face, she returned her gaze to Karosyn and inquired, "My Queen, I have noticed a frivolous, decidedly smug woman floating about the halls these last few days, exuding the impression that Kammlogran belongs to her. She is a diminutive, but powerfully constructed woman with short blond hair...who attired herself in scandalous clothing that is obscenely revealing. When I approached her, she informed me that she was a personal guest of the Queen and thus not obliged to answer my questions. Then she smirked and strutted off."

Karosyn fetched an elaborate sigh and rolled her eyes, not bothering to conceal her exasperation. "I spoke of obligation earlier, Martriza. This woman is part of another obligation which I am honour bound to address. Unlike the matter of the Ascentrix, this obligation does not hold the potential to rebound upon Emercia with catastrophic impact. I will deal with the matter of my impertinent guest."

Accepting Karosyn's deliberately ambiguous response, Martriza bowed and hurried to fulfill her Queen's commands

When Karosyn was alone, her facade of serene confidence crumbled and she inquired of the empty silence, "Lissom, is it your hand I see in this dark weave? Have you fallen so far from Gyzarayne's blessed light that subterfuge and treachery have become your tools?"

As she grappled with this grim consideration, another disquieting thought assailed her...the nonchalant dismissal of her obligation to Lorio had been blithely incorrect.

Chapter Seven

1

Jakar, Majeer. A solitary woman stood on the balcony that ringed the final floor of the great tower of Zharanka...the seat of power in the port city of Jakar. The fluted stone tower stood to the heavens...an audacious symbol of man's mastery over the inimical environment upon which this breathtaking edifice had been erected.

'Or rather...a symbol of woman's mastery,' the woman corrected with a thin smile. This woman, who now stood with her thin arms spread to the side and her small, finely-boned hands resting lightly on the stone parapet, was scarcely recognizable as the woman who had first stepped onto the shores of Majeer forty years prior. That woman had been a living vision of classic feminine splendour with hair like loom spun gold and a lush body that appeared to have been conceived for pleasures of the flesh. Those large limpid blue eyes had peered out across the endless expanses of bleached sand, from a face that was suffused with the vital waters of life.

Forty years spent beneath Majeer's remorseless sun had radically reconfigured Lissom's beauty. Slowly, but inexorably, it had sucked the waters of life...the excess that bestowed an aspect of fullness and softness from her nubile body...until Lissom had begun to resemble the desert hard pan over which she ruled.

The woman who stood on the balcony, staring fixedly at the distant docks was no longer beautiful...her bountiful fullness leeched to a lean and wiry figure that appeared on the verge of emaciation...all excess moisture and fat burned away. Her arms and legs were thin twists of lean muscle over which the deep brown skin seemed to have been stretched to the screaming edge of rupturing.

Lissom's once long, lustrous blond hair had since been shorn and dyed a jet black that somehow conjured images of lightless tombs. It had been cut short and framed an angular, hollow-cheeked face that might had suggested some consumptive infirmity had it not been for her terrifyingly piercing blue eyes that might have bored holes in stone.

Those eyes spoke of a voracious hunger and an insatiable desire to see that hunger satisfied. This new Lissom was a baling wire wrapped, skeletal construct whose lost beauty was a metaphor for the harsh land over which she held unquestioned dominion...strangely beguiling, yet tremendously deadly.

Despite the glaring intensity of the heat that lay over Jakar like a flaming blanket, Lissom was attired in a full suit of black armour that lent an insectile aspect to her already unsettling appearance. She wore a full length, blood red cape, though the hood was drawn back...a minor concession to the thought occluding desert heat.

Her armour was composed of form fitting panels that had been fashioned from the tarry black oil that boiled up from the desert sands like pus from a suppurating wound. Lissom had employed powerful sorcery to transmogrify the viscous substance into a moulded and segmented armour that possessed far greater integrity than steel...and weighed substantially less.

The armour, once forged, was highly reflective and bestowed a sleek and lithe appearance upon its wearer.

'A far cry from the rough spun, simple robes you once wore when you wandered through the sodden Lands,' she mused as she now referred to the lands to the north, across the Sea of Prevailing Mystery. Lissom now scoffed at the inane belief that attiring herself in the garments of an impoverished beggar was laudable...as if abject poverty was somehow noble.

Here, in harsh, intractable Majeer, Lissom has been disabused of that ludicrous notion...along with much of the other nonsensical dross that had once addled her mind. Here, she had learned that, if you wished to command absolute deference and obedience, it was necessary to project the image of absolute, unmitigated power.

No one, now striding the face of this world, projected this image as completely as Lissom did in this incarnation she had evolved to become while in this unforgiving land.

Her only token nod to the humble emissary to Gyzarayne she'd once been was the Goddess' chain she still wore about her narrow, bony hips...a symbol of her investiture as Gyzarayne's will in the world.

'A chain you had once given to Artumas,' she thought, the bitter recollection twisting her hard features into a baleful scowl. Unexpectedly, he had returned her great egalitarian symbol of her submission to his will as they had stood on the stone quay in Garendal. It had been on the morning that the Sisters of Esotaria and the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen were about to embark on the journey to Majeer, with the intent to liberate that nation from the thrall of Thaz Ekai's mad theology. The naive, no, gullible creature she had been had no prior inkling that Artumas and the Emercian Army would decline to accompany the vengeful army of elite female warriors. She had subscribed to the wistful schoolgirl fantasy that they would eventually become husband and wife...king and Queen. Theirs was to be an exalted union between the most venerated man and the most powerful woman on the face of the world.

Then, he had shuffled down the quay, unaccompanied, and had dropped the very chain she now wore into her slightly trembling hand. She had listened in wounded, incredulous silence as he had informed her that he was not condign to the role of being her soul-sworn and that his first, and indeed, only obligation must be to Emercia.

There had been such an expression of regret and sorrow on his worn face that Lissom had not incinerated him where he stood...even though he had rejected the privilege of being her soul-sworn. Though her heart had been cleft asunder by this rejection, Lissom had smiled graciously as she'd accepted the Goddess' chain. She had even conjured the astounding dignity to wish him well with all of his future endeavours, before turning and marching briskly up the gangplank and onto the boat that would carry her away from the only man she'd ever loved...and, eventually, her sanity.

'The gullible child I was then could never have imagined that these future endeavours would actually extend to elevating the blond whore to the throne...and taking her to your marriage bed,' Lissom thought with a belligerent scowl, oblivious to the menacing crackle of power that had coalesced around her in the Majeeri heat.

'Was it then that you began to lose your way,' a voice...the voice of reason (a faculty that was vanishing in increments like her fulsome beauty beneath the Majeeri sun) inquired cautiously. 'Was it that perceived betrayal which provided the impetus to propel you into the embrace of madness...or did the evil lunacy that has infected your soul finds its origins earlier?'

Lissom glowered and ruthlessly flayed the hateful voice, but the question continued to plague her like an obstinate hound. Capitulating to its damnable persistence, she turned the clarifying lens of introspection on the thorny matter.

When the Ascentrix had learned that Artumas had elevated the slattern bitch to the mantle of Queen, she had been possessed of a murderous fury that had very nearly seen her reduce the entire city of El-Sharom to charred ash. Somehow, by the narrowest of margins, she had desisted. To placate that rage, Lissom had ordered that the city's patriarchs be arrested...on fabricated charges of collusion against the coalition rule. They had been paraded naked beneath the capital's blazing sun, before finally being herded into the great plaza, where Lissom had employed bale fire to efface them from existence.

Even four decades later, Lissom could clearly recall the deafening silence that had clamped down upon those who had assembled to witness this grim spectacle of atrocity. Shan-en Naroon, in particular, had gazed at Lissom in dawning horror in the wake of the Ascentrix's sickening demonstration of vulgar power.

Thoughts of the surprisingly idealistic Matron of the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen caused Lissom to lean out over the railing and spit into the open air. She watched as the dry wind lapped hungrily at her spittle. "Let the nesting beetles feast on her misguided ideals...just as they now gnaw on her bones."

This spiteful utterance caused Lissom to conjure a vindicated grin...a particularly terrible expression on her remorseless countenance. Had that gruesome exhibition been her first lurching step down the dark path she now followed?

Had Artumas' heinous betrayal been the catalyst for Lissom's startling transformation? It might seem natural to leap to that conclusion, but in retrospect, Lissom no longer truly agreed. Men, by their very imperfect nature, were inferior, irredeemably flawed and venal creatures, easily led by their base desires...their insatiable hungers that occluded all reason and common sense.

It was now glaringly evident to Lissom, once she'd divested herself of her jealous rage, that Artumas had been traduced by the wheaten-haired, treacherous cow, who had once solemnly swore to guide and ward her Ascentrix.

In hindsight, Lissom now saw the progression of evenly spaced events with crystalline clarity...illuminated by the delusion destroying light of cold hatred. Beneath the facade of putrid benevolence...of unflagging compassion and supposed virtue...Karosyn Nierosean was a ruthless manipulator. Driven by an unfathomable envy, the hateful bitch had schemed to destroy the very woman she had sworn an oath to protect and serve.

How naive...how contemptibly trusting Lissom had been then. It had not been innocuous misjudgment that had led to poor, damaged Lyndsyn's self-immolation in the room of that squalid Inn...in that watery bog of a country...not at all! The despicable bitch's decision to dispatch an irreparably fractured First Battle Mage back to the village...alone, had been the calculating opening salvo in Karosyn's campaign to destroy her own daughter.

When she had returned to Nalosan, with Lyndsyn's chilling flesh in tow, how proficiently she had played the role of the devastated Matrium. It astounded Lissom to believe that a person could be so slyly odious, so utterly bereft of any ethical or moral sensibilities, that they could employ the demise of one so precious to maneuver her way into another man's bed. Yet, that was precisely what Karosyn had brokered on that infamous day. Lissom had come to glean that clearly now.

When she had fallen to her knees before a gullible younger Lissom, at the foot of the stone steps that led into cavernous Kammlogran, had her slanting gaze not been on the noble, yet ingenuous Artumas as she'd renounced her sworn oath to Gyzarayne? Lissom was certain that it had.

When time and clarity of focus had first lifted the scales from her eyes, after her first decade in Majeer, Lissom had incorrectly surmised that the deplorable traitor had asked that she remove the Goddess' Grace...knowing full well that the lenient Lissom would refuse.

In retrospect, Lissom now realized that the assumption did not take into account how truly cynical...how ethically bankrupt this iniquitous creature truly was. When she'd offered her life to Lissom, purportedly inspired by grief, Karosyn was aware that she had given her oath chain to Artumas...a gesture of subservience, Karosyn knew all too well that the noble Emercian would intervene when he learned exactly what the removal of Gyzarayne's grace entailed.

With that one skilfully played gambit, the master manipulator had stolen Artumas' heart, sowing the seeds for the rejection that had eviscerated Lissom on the docks in Garendal.

Lissom's keen gaze surveyed the harbour as she entertained these absurdly distorted recollections. The harbour was congested to bursting with ships and the vast network of docks were alive with frenetic activity...final preparations for her massive armada's departure.

Lissom waved her right hand and Karosyn's official communique materialized out of thin air, hovering for her perusal...though the Ascentrix had committed every treacherous word to memory. Lissom's angular face contorted in a moue of disgust as she read the sickeningly sweet missive of contrition and the meaningless plea for a rapprochement. Beneath the eloquent humility there lurked the ugly, damning truth; Karosyn, the evil viper that she was, had contrived a new set of machinations to torment her former mistress.

Fortunately, this latest incarnation of the formerly guileless Lissom was now carefully attuned to subterfuge...still another pearl of wisdom imparted from her time in Majeer. She had unearthed the shrew harlot's subtle plot. Despite her fervent renunciation of her title and standing in Gyzarayne's order, Karosyn still garnered and actively fostered loyalty amongst the Sisters of Esotaria. Many of the simpering fools...some of the most senior and prominent of the order...had actually become complicit in Karosyn's vile scheme to unravel all that Lissom had achieved in troubled Majeer.

"So, you are not done with me yet, Mother...have not wounded me sufficiently to satiate your depraved need?" She inquired softly as she dismissed the Queen's communique. "I will heed your summons to our great rapprochement. I relish the prospect of gazing into those vapid blue eyes when you first realize the enormity of your miscalculation. How I will savour the terror you exude when you first glean that the gullible, easily-manipulated fool has evolved into a hyper-cognizant, keen dagger that shall gouge the eyes from your head and feed them to you as your imbecile subjects look on helplessly."

This last thought evoked a predatory grin of intense anticipation. Though the radiant expression augmented Lissom's fading beauty, that faint echo of her former pulchritude was tainted by the glint of madness in those forbidding blue eyes.

"Mother, once I've succeeded in doing to you what you have failed to do to me, I will affix a collar and leash about your neck and have you trail after me, broken and naked, like a large golden cat."

Still smiling, she stepped into the cool interior of her chambers. There was one last unpleasantly to dispense with before unleashing the tempest of her vengeance.

2

The fragrant melange of comfortingly familiar aromas were remotely perceptible through the cloth mask that covered the lower portion of his face, but still conferred a measure of comfort as Aeyon laboured. His father's Coopery was a rectangular brick construct, the south wall of which was dominated by a bank of windows which had been set into the upper reaches of the cavernous space and which ran the entire length of the building. As a consequence of this design, the factory was well lit and comparatively bright in contrast to similar enterprises, which were gloomy, cave-like affairs.

When rain and clouds rendered ambient light insufficient to illuminate the sprawling Coopery, lighting crystals...powered by arcane energy and provide by the Sisters of Esotaria...had been set into the four exterior walls at regular intervals.

These miraculous tools were just one of the beneficial contributions that had come from the Sisters' continuing presence in Emercia. The supply and arcane charging of these crystals to homes and Emercian businesses was just one of the many ways that the Sisters had financed their expansion onto the Eastern Continent.

Lynon Wrey had absolutely no qualms about opening his purse to procure these incredible, magical devices...along with the Sisters' ruby fire crystals, which kept the Coopery warm during the rainy, damp winter months. The Coopery was inculcated in his blood and the marrow of his aging bones and he loved his business every bit as ardently as he loved his children...as he had loved his beloved wife. Thus, Lynon was never parsimonious in procuring the tools that were required to help his Coopery flourish. Compared to many factory owners of the day, Lynon was surprisingly progressive in insuring that he provided a safe, well lit and properly ventilated environment for his dozen employees.

Aeyon, a serious, introspective young man by nature, had inherited his father's passion for the art of barrel making...a passion that had evidently skipped over his free-spirited older brother.

Thoughts of abducted Tarim caused Aeyon to grimace. Setting his compass aside, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as yet another of the seemingly incessant waves of emasculating shame assailed him.

It had been nearly a week since a thoroughly dispirited Aeyon had stumbled into Nalosan. Stricken by intense shame, he had recounted the tale of what had befallen the brothers along the deserted stretch of highway, while his grim-faced father had listened in silence.

When Aeyon had concluded his troubling account...a tale that seemed scarcely credible to his own ears despite having survived it, Lynon had gripped Aeyon's broad shoulders and had offered kind words of absolution of which the young man felt undeserving. "What happened to the both you along that road is an act of evil as sure as night follows day. Those who took Tarim...they were vile creatures no doubt. The two of you are working men and not warriors. Had you taken it into your mind to intervene, it's likely you'd have ended up like the cart and horses and it's not likely I'd survive such a loss...never knowing what had become of either of you."

"But what can we do to bring him back?" Aeyon had moaned wretchedly.

Lynon had stroked his whiskers thoughtfully and contemplated this question for a moment, before offering a passive response that stunned Aeyon with its timidity. "I don't see that there is much we can do...except hope that whoever took Tarim realizes that he is just common folk and sets him free."

Horrified by what seemed like a posture of abandonment, Aeyon had challenged, "But shouldn't we, at least, report this to the authorities...this may not be an isolated incident."

Here, Lynon had shook his head adamantly, his tone becoming unusually sharp. "No! There'll be no whinging to the authorities. Aeyon, you had best learn young that those in positions of power don't give a tinkers damn about the tribulations of little folk such as us. Bringing attention to something like this is only likely to vex 'em and bite back at us like a badly set bear trap."

Aeyon had been flummoxed to utter silence by his father's cynical philosophy. How often had he heard Lynon declare that Queen Karosyn was the people's monarch...who was compassionate toward her subjects...irrespective of how humble their station might be? Had that all been baseless blather? Distrust seemed incongruent with Lynon's forthright nature, but in this critical moment, he seemed to have fallen back on this inexplicable posture.

Later that evening, Lynon had gathered his other children and apprised Noriza and Ohsrin of what had befallen Tarim. Naturally, the sensitive Noriza had broken down, while Ohsrin had insisted that they should report the incident to the city watch, a logical course of action which the patriarch had bafflingly, but vehemently rejected. Such was the love and respect that his children held for Lynon, that they had complied with his edict for inaction...even if they found it incomprehensible.

Thus, the four remaining Wreys had settled into the pale facsimile of normalcy...going about the routines of their daily lives as if Tarim's abduction was...trivial.

Normally, Aeyon regarded life in the Coopery with something akin to reverence. Everything about the craft struck the serious young man as somehow magical...from the fragrant aroma of the lightly toasted wood...to the dry scent of wood shavings and saw dust. With a zealot's fervour, Aeyon applied himself to every aspect of the meticulous process of crafting a perfect stave barrel...though the actual bending of the staves from wet oak hearts was his favourite part of the process.

He distinctly recalled the afternoon, during his first month working in his father's factory, when Lynon had imparted a snippet of wisdom that had become indelibly etched on the canvas of Aeyon's psyche. Perhaps even then, Lynon had gleaned that this was the son to whom stewardship of his life's work would eventually pass. "Aeyon, more than the quality of the wood or the precision of the tools, the most important ingredients for making a proper barrel are love and pride. It's from love and pride that that precision of workmanship is derived. You've been here a short time, but already I see those qualities in you, Aeyon."

Aeyon recalled how that...perhaps the highest compliment Lynon Wrey could bestow...had filled him with quiet euphoria. Wanting to be worthy of that effusive praise, Aeyon had laboured diligently to learn the craft...to coax out its endless nuanced mysteries.

Now, in the aftermath of this emasculating ordeal on the Queen's highway...exacerbated by his father's inexplicable refusal to have it investigated...that passion seemed to have evaporated like mist beneath a blazing sun.

As he scribed a faint arc along the staves, along which the grooves for the flanged lid would be chiselled, Aeyon felt utterly detached from the effort...that love and pride as conspicuously absent as Tarim.

Movement drew his wavering attention and Aeyon glanced up to see Lynon striding purposefully across the factory floor. The fact that his father was not wearing his leather apron, along with his grave expression, informed the astute Aeyon that something of consequence had transpired.

Suddenly curious and alert, Aeyon set his compass aside and when Lynon stopped before him, his father announced flatly, "Come lad, doff the apron and clean up quickly...you and I have been summoned to Kammlogran...for an audience with the Queen.

Aeyon wagged his head as if he'd misheard, but the sober expression on his father's ruddy face confirmed that he had not. Running his slightly trembling fingers through his thick black hair, which was speckled with sawdust, he stammered, "Queen Karosyn has asked to see...us?"

"I suspect that asked would be an inaccurate choice of words, lad. Command would be closer to the way of things. We are to be escorted to the palace by a contingent of her personal guards. Now, get a move on as patience for foot dragging probably doesn't rank high on their list of attributes."

As if to corroborate this assertion, a half dozen guards, attired in gleaming enamelled white armour entered the factory and took up positions by the main entrance. They wore royal blue cloaks and on the cuirass of their armour, the crest of Queen Karosyn stood prominently forth...declaring succinctly that they had given their allegiance specifically to her.

Aeyon exchanged glances with his father and removed his apron, carefully folding it onto his designated work bench, before the pair hurried across the factory floor.

"Do you suppose this is about Tarim...about what happened on the highway?" Aeyon ventured quietly.

Lynon cast his son a brief glance, rife with angst, and returned gruffly, "Most likely."

Despite his perplexity over his father's reluctance to see the matter of his abducted son addressed, Aeyon experienced a flicker of hope for the first time since that terrible night.

3

Unconcerned by the accrual of wealth or the material trappings of power, The interior of Lissom's private quarters in the Tower of Zharanka were an appropriate reflection of her indifference. The sparse furnishings that were distributed haphazardly across the large expanse of highly reflective black tiles consisted of a narrow pallet, a small writing desk and chair, an ornate shelf holding rare scrolls...and a small prayer mat where the Ascentrix purportedly communed with her Goddess.

That fact that Lissom had not heard Gyzarayne's sublime voice in nearly three decades was one that she'd kept rigorously concealed from her subordinates.

Lissom had spent a great space of time pondering the possible reasons why the Goddess no longer responded to her emissary's adjurations.

After oscillating between a polar extreme of possible explanations, Lissom had arrived at a decidedly expedient rationalization for Gyzarayne's incommunicado state. Pleased with Lissom's adroit handling of her divine agenda, Gyzarayne had elected to step back and allow her emissary to direct her worldly affairs as she saw fit.

To Lissom's skewed way of thinking, the very fact that she'd not revoked Lissom's Grace was an irrefutable affirmation of this theory.

In the seeds of this facile rationalization there lurked a dark paradigm shift in theology that was every bit as alarming as Lissom's contention about the new scope of her mandate. Gyzarayne had first conceived of the Sisters of Esotaria...of the roles of Ascentrix and Matrium...with a mind to elevating the worth of women in a patriarchal society. It had been the Goddess' intention to utilize the Sisters to empower women and commence the torturously slow and peril-fraught journey toward equality. This was an agenda to which Lissom had single-mindedly devoted her every energies for two centuries...under the watchful and patient eye of her Matrium, turned deceitful harlot...Karosyn Nierosean.

In Majeer, free of the viper's distorting influence, Lissom's perception of Gyzarayne's divine commission had undergone a radical metamorphosis. As Lissom had led the campaign to obliterate the stubborn remains of Thaz Ekai's misogynist theology, eventually grinding it to the dust of bitter memories, an epiphany had come to the Ascentrix.

Men were vulgar brutes, led by their insatiable lust for power and its odious shadow, violence. Worse still, for all of their bluster and insufferable arrogance, they were easily manipulated by the most obvious of deceits. Even Artumas, for all of his professed nobility and enlightened philosophy, had been thrice seduced by a comely face and an ample bosom.

'Is that really what all of this may be distilled down to?' the hateful spectres inquired in the now sterile chambers of Lissom's mind. 'Can the perplexing and monstrous abandonment of your long-held convictions be attributed to having been spurned by a surprisingly humble man to whom your nature was both daunting and incomprehensible?'

Lissom glowered, but refused to be goaded into an internal debate with her nemesis. Their day of reckoning would come soon enough.

Lissom's years in Majeer had served to remove the scales from her eyes...to divest her of the futile belief that men were little more than sly beasts. With this new insight came her reconfigured purpose. 'Why would the Sisters ever seek to achieve parity with such inherently imperfect beasts? Logically, they would not. In the Sisters, and to a lesser extent, the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen, there could be found the means to elevate women into a deserved position of superiority...of absolute dominance...a rightful elevation of the long-repressed gender.'

Thus, Lissom had changed the priority of the Sisters of Esotaria (or at least in Majeer). Its single purpose would now be to supplant men as the hand that guided the course of history. Majeer had been the proving grounds for the legitimacy...and resounding effectiveness...of her new objective. Women now ruled Majeer and the rule of law and reason prevailed. Lissom had no qualms about having achieved this through the symbolic emasculation and abjection of the entire Majeeri male population.

'Once I've leashed the scheming shrew, Emercia will be set as the next paving stone on Gyzarayne's road to dominance,' she thought, her mouth cracking into a decidedly reptilian grin.

In her mind's eye, there blossomed an image of a doleful Karosyn regarding her with silent disappointment. With a pungent curse, the Ascentrix vaporized the hateful countenance.

Had it been then that Lissom had lost the ear of her Goddess? She could not precisely recall and even as she dismissed this uncomfortable consideration, another revelatory burst illuminated the dark shadows of her brooding mind...one so profoundly astounding that it caused Lissom to gasp.

' _What if Gyzarayne no longer communicates with you because...you and she have become one; a Goddess and her emissary united in one vessel...rendering the faculty of communication superfluous?'_

The thought was not without its credibility...this idea of a new covenant between the most powerful females in existence. Under the auspices of this union, any thought that germinated in Lissom's mind pertaining to the direction and purpose of the Sisterhood could be credited to Gyzarayne...thus becoming inviolable edict.

'Surely, even you are not capable of such a preposterously grandiose delusion?' the last remaining sliver of her rationality stammered, but its entreaty was a distant plea...easily ignored.

A soft rapping came at the circular chamber's arched double doors. Lissom glided over to a place just before the exit to her balcony. There, she bid her knocker to enter. The doors were opened by two young geldings, the first sons of one-time local patriarchs, to give admittance to the three large groups that waited in the wide hallway. In precise formation, the first two groups entered the circular chamber, while an impassive Lissom stood with her thin legs slightly apart and her small hands clasped loosely before her.

To her left, the Sisters of Esotaria, attired in light summer robes came to a halt in perfect unison. The contingent of Stealth Rangers were led by the hulking Sandalayne. Expression inscrutable, the tall woman's angular countenance appeared to have been chiselled from granite. Only a few strands of silver at the temples of her short blond hair gave any hint of the powerfully constructed woman's true age. Beneath her dun-coloured robe, Sandalayne wore the white and gold enamelled armour of her station as if she had been born to its wearing. The woman, who had served Gyzarayne's order for more than one hundred and fifty years, exuded an aura of lethal competence that could instill paralyzingly terror in the most intrepid of enemies when she wielded her favoured broadsword.

'Do you have the slightest inkling that you may number what remains of your life in scant heartbeats, you traitorous cur?' Lissom wondered from behind her mantle of inscrutability.

She then turned her attention to the next procession that filed into the chamber. The garb of Rha-Sheem-Nakreen consisted of a blood red leather breastplate, gauzy, loose-fitting leggings and knee-high leather boots, also dyed blood red and adorned with glossy black buckles. Lissom knew that the rounded toe of each boot housed a short blade that could be quickly released by double tapping the rear of the boot's heel. This secret blade added yet another element of menace to the elite Majeeri warriors' lethal arsenal.

Normally, the women of the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen wielded two wicked hooked blades, but Lissom had forbidden the wielding of weaponry in her presence...a subconscious nod to her growing paranoia over the threat of subterfuge.

At the head of the procession of Rha-Sheem-Nakreen came Gheldazara Eram...the Matron of Majeer, a rank denoted by the three jagged slashes of inlaid platinum that adorned her red leather breastplate.

Though inarguably lovely, there was a distinctly feline quality to Gheldazara's lean face that was disconcerting to gaze upon. Her deep green eyes were set at a pronounced tilt as were her sharp cheekbones. This cat-like impression was further enhanced by her tapering lower mandible that terminated in a small chin over which stretched a proportionally small mouth. Her olive skinned, angular face was framed by a sleek red mane, the longer strands of which curled to a point of confluence just beneath her sharp chin.

Every bit as lean as Lissom, Gheldazara was possessed of an astounding agility and speed that, when combined with a total lack of compunction regarding violence, made the Matron a terrifying adversary on the battlefield.

Unlike her predecessor, the nauseatingly proper Shan-En Naroon, Gheldazara was fiercely loyal to both Lissom and her vision for Majeer. Whenever those unsettling green eyes would fix upon the Ascentrix, they were alight with a reverence that bordered on awe. Peering at this alien, but beautiful visage, Lissom made the impromptu decision that the time had come to reward Gheldazara Eram's unflinching loyalty and deference. 'Just as the time has come to punish Karosyn Nierosean's monstrous betrayal. One must be as diligent in nurturing precious blooms as they were in extirpating rank weeds.'

She offered the Matron a warm smile of greeting, privately relishing the brief frown of consternation that rippled over Sandalayne's face over this intentional slight.

Then, a third group came into the chamber, arraying themselves around the circumference of the circular room...flowing across the polished tiles like billowing black smoke.

Mirhac Ehkar...the Majeeri words for Cold Shadow...were attired in the same regalia as the woman they served. Each member of Lissom's personal guard wore a pewter mask, the lower half of which was scribed with a pattern of intricate runnels in complex geometric patterns. These masks had been conceived to pay tribute to the Majeeri women who had been disfigured during Thaz Ekai's tyrannical reign.

The Mirhac Ehkar was comprised of the most skilled and fanatically devoted of the Majeeri women upon whom Lissom had bestowed Gyzarayne's grace, though unlike other recipients, this array of stunningly beautiful Majeeri women had each sworn their oath exclusively to Lissom.

'Have I not come to discover that loyalty to Gyzarayne and to me are virtually one and the same thing!' she thought as she watched her deadly wraiths slide into position around the chamber's wall. Gifted with inimitable martial prowess and arcane mastery, this ever-growing legion was easily the most cohesive fighting force on the face of Gyzarayne's world.

'My world,' she amended and allowed herself an indulgent smile when her intimidating poised blade was in position. Lissom then raised a delicate right hand and began to speak. "The Sisters of Esotaria and the mighty nation of Majeer have come to a critical juncture along the road to our inextricably intermingled destinies. What we have achieved here together is without precedent in this unapologetically patriarchal world. Here, women are not servile extensions of the male appendage. Here, women do not cower beneath the remorseless hand of vulgar brutes. Here, women are not chattel beneath a cloud of cruel and indifferent patriarchy. In Majeer, it is the collective hand of women who steer Majeer toward its rightful destiny."

Gheldazara Eram began to applaud enthusiastically and soon the other Rha-Sheem-Nakreen joined their Matron in a fervent acknowledgement of what essentially amounted in a mere change in the countenance of tyranny.

The Sisters of Esotaria, meanwhile, clapped politely, while the Mirhac Ehkar remained as motionless as stone sentinels.

At last, Lissom made a brisk gesture for silence and intoned ominously, "As unprecedented and laudable as these achievements have been...they are not enough!"

Lissom was delighted to see that every eye in the room ignited with a gleam...a tiny spark of apprehension. The ability to evoke a quiver of dread with just the slightest intimation of displeasure...that was one of the true measures of power. She had struck that cord in the eye of every woman in the chamber...in the eyes of the most powerful women in the realm. Now, she craftily moved to placate that dread by assuming a portion of duplicity in this perceived failure. "I have been charged by Gyzarayne to raise the lot of all women...not just in Majeer, but throughout the whole of her world. It is a sacred duty which I regard with the most solemn gravity and it pains me to confess before you today...that I have been derelict in that duty."

Not surprisingly, it was Gheldazara who raised her voice to absolve Lissom. "That is not so, Ascentrix. You stand as a beacon of hope for every oppressed woman in this bleak world!"

Lissom accepted this protest of absolution with a perfectly feigned bow of humility. "From this day forth, I vow, on my very life, to pursue my Goddess' mandate with renewed exigency. Beginning with this excursion to the sodden Lands, we will shatter the yoke of misogyny and decimate the edifices the patriarchy has contrive to keep women enslaved for millennia beyond counting. You, the Sisters of Esotaria and the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen...as well as my personal Mirhac Ehkar...will be the engines which drive this inexorable change."

The deafening cheer that greeted this bombastic declaration seemed to shake the very stones of the Tower of Zharanka, informing Lissom that these women were hers to wield like the lethal living weapons they were. Only Sanadalayne regarded her Ascentrix with a guarded expression of skepticism...and her subterfuge would be emphatically dealt with soon enough.

But first there was a dispensation to be granted...a hollow gesture that would nonetheless secure for Lissom Majeer's continuing loyalty. "Gheldazara Eram...Matron of the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen, step forward please."

The slender Majeeri woman hurried to comply, stopping directly before Lissom with her shoulders pulled back and her chin inclined slightly.

"By decree of the Goddess, I name you sovereign Queen of Majeer...the first of your line. The future eldest daughter of the Royal House of Eram will ascend the throne after you. Let it be known throughout Majeer and all Lands beyond that this is the divine will of the Goddess, Gyzarayne. Let it also be known that the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen, the Mirhac Ehkar and the Sisters of Esotaria have now become the invincible trident that shall protect your divine right to rule."

Lissom placed her hands of Gheldazara's shoulders and gently ushered her into a kneeling position. As the transfixed creature gazed up at her with adoration, Lissom extended her right hand to the side with her empty palm facing the ceiling. In response, a gold circlet manifested in her small palm. The crown was adorned with fans of oak leaves, each set with precious gem stones that were an exact match for the new queen's unusual eyes. This symbol, Lissom placed purposefully on the new queen's head, thinking as she did, 'More a collar than a crown, dear...but cling to your delusion if it suits you.'

"Rise, Gheldazara Eram...Queen of Majeer, Matron of the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen...and take your place at my right side...for now we stand as equals!" Addressing the others, Lissom commanded, "Kneel before your Queen."

All did as instructed and Lissom offered her exotic pawn a radiant smile. After permitting Gheldazara to bask in her new station for several moments, Lissom declared, "With this final step in insuring Majeer's continuing journey toward enlightenment we are free to turn our gaze outward...to the rest of the forlorn world where Gyzarayne's daughters continue to cower in shadow. With the Queen's permission, the Sisters of Esotaria and the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen are dismissed. Finalize your preparations for tomorrow's departure. Our flotilla sails at dawn!"

All bowed and turned to withdraw. Deliberately electing not to address her by her formal title of Stealth Ranger, as the protocol of the circumstances dictated, Lissom intoned, "Sandalayne, you will remain behind."

There was a note of glacial disdain in the Ascentrix's tone that caused the towering First Stealth Ranger to inhale sharply. She turned slowly to face the woman, who she had served with such undeviating loyalty. It required but one glimpse into those cold blue eyes to confirm that an act of dark theatre was about to commence.

4

Sandalayne watched as the two contingents of women withdrew from the chamber, noting the subtle glances of concern that many of her stealth rangers flicked in her direction. Though many of her charges harboured a deep admiration for the First Stealth Ranger, the steadfast Sandalayne knew that none would dare stand in opposition to Lissom's increasingly puritanical rule...should matters now take the inimical turn she feared they might.

Trying to control her mounting anxiety, Sandalayne remarked, "Ascentrix, there remains a great many preparations to be finalized for tomorrow's departure..."

"I'm afraid you won't be accompanying me to Nalosan," Lissom interjected bluntly and Sandalayne's blue eyes widened slightly. She stole a brief glance at the Mirhac Ehkar, noting the subtle shift in their collective posture...an affirmation of her worst fears.

She drew herself to her full imposing height and inquired, "May I ask why?"

Lissom shifted her gaze to the recently elevated Gheldazara, who offered the Ascentrix a sly grin, informing Sandalayne that the devious creature was a party to whatever was to follow. In lieu of a direct reply, Lissom gesticulated. In the blink of an eye, Sandalayne found that she was surrounded by a slowly rotating column of diaphanous sparks that reminded the First Stealth Ranger of the glowing insects that buzzed through the warm summer nights in her home land...when she had been a child.

'What transgression did I commit that my life's path would carry me to this sorry juncture...alone and at the mercy of an unfathomable monster?' She thought and though her countenance remained impassive, Lissom appeared to discern her lament because she offered the powerful woman a feral grin.

She snapped her fingers a second time and those diaphanous sparks coalesced into small sheets of expensive yellow vellum. Sandalayne could clearly see the efficient march of her own handwriting across the pages...her furtive reports back to Nalosan and Dortizirian. She knew, without equivocation that these accounts of Lissom's slide toward evil had signed her own death warrant.

"Little notes...the standard tools of treachery and treason," Lissom intoned elaborately. Turning to the new Queen, she advised, "Your highness, subterfuge is the one sin you must never forgive, lest it grow to become a pernicious weed that will choke your authority and see you to your end. Now, observe carefully how best to deal with this particular weed."

Sandalayne considered making a play for Lissom's throat in the slim hopes that she could snap that fragile neck before the Mirhac Ehkar could send her to Gyzarayne. Before she could act, the towering blond was seized in an invisible vice. She attempted to struggle, but quickly found that her entire body...virtually every muscle and tendon...had become unresponsive. Lissom placed her right index finger on Sandalayne's muscular right shoulder and incredibly...forced the moon-eyed woman to her knees.

Then, to Sandalayne's horror and abjection, she began to divest her once devoted servant of her armour. Lissom made a protracted display of theatre while stripping an increasingly agitated Sandalayne of her robe and armour, discarding each piece to the polished tiles with a clatter. To facilitate this humiliation, Lissom employed her sorcery to jerk the helpless woman to and fro like an unresisting marionette.

When Sandalayne had been stripped to her cotton shift and small clothes, Lissom raised her into the air, where she hung suspended and utterly helpless. Despite her determination to meet her end with dignity, the powerful blond began to weep at this unexpectedly cruel form of torment. "Please, if there is anything left of the woman I protected for over a hundred years...for whom I would have given my life without reservation...I beseech you...kill me swiftly!"

Lissom pressed her splayed fingers to her once substantial chest...as if affronted by the notion. "That would be an act of monumental ingratitude. Why ever would I kill you without providing you with the opportunity to extricate yourself from the snare you set...into which you've now blundered? As you've pointed out, you have served me loyally for many long years..."

Lissom opened both hands and smiled benignly up at Sandalayne as two exquisitely fashioned daggers appeared in her empty palms. She then employed one of the daggers to carefully cut through the thin fabric of the mortified woman's shift and underwear, provoking a wretched sob of shame from the stalwart soldier who could feel the weight of every disdainful gaze on her decidedly masculine body.

Lissom dipped her chin and the thoroughly immobilized Sandalayne settled slowly to the floor. She then pressed the two daggers into the stealth ranger's slack hands and closed her unresponsive fingers around the hafts.

Lissom then described an indolent circle around her captive, a sharp gaze of appraisal drinking in the muscular topography of the blonde's hulking body. Trailing her fingertips lightly over the First Stealth Ranger's narrow hips and muscular haunches, she observed, "This one definitely would have been better served by having been born a man, wouldn't you agree, your highness?"

Gheldazara's subsequent grin declared succinctly that she found the sad spectacle of Sandalayne's debasement infinitely amusing. With malicious glee, she returned, "This parody of a woman would have been indeed better served...had she been born with a cock."

This crude taunt caused Lissom to utter a sardonic laugh and clap her hands in exuberant delight. That laughter had relented to a peremptory scowl by the time she'd come to stand before her captive. "You have betrayed your oath to your Ascentrix...and by extension, the Goddess to whom you swore a sacred vow. It is well within my purview to remove your grace and reduce this abomination of a vessel to dust. I will not waste the effort of demanding the names of your co-conspirators in Dortizirian or Nalosan. I know all too well who the architect of this sedition will eventually prove to be. I will, however, as a gesture of magnanimity, give you and opportunity to leave this tower alive." With a malicious grin, she added, "As slim as that may be."

She returned to her position next to the newly elevated Majeeri Queen. "Should you manage to defeat my Mirhac Ehkar, you are free to leave this place. You may retain your grace and I will see to it that you are taken to where ever in this world you chose to go."

In unison, the intimidating warriors took two crisp steps away from the wall and gracefully drew their wicked hooked swords. Simultaneously, Lissom withdrew her bindings and Sandalayne was again free to move. She rolled her densely muscled shoulders and moved lithely to the centre of the chamber. Settling into a stance that would allow her to swiftly react and shift directions, she inhaled deeply, determine to embrace her death with courage and dignity...while taking as many of these lethal marionettes along on the journey to Gyzarayne's after world as possible.

She cast a defiant gaze at the woman she had once revered and growled, "Once I've dealt with your puppets, I'm coming for you," She shifted her gaze to Gheldazara and rasped, "but first I'll cut the head off your pet viper."

"I believe your energy would be much better spent on action and not hollow boastfulness. Now, begin!" Lissom commanded.

Sandalayne prepared to face the lethal onslaught, but rather than surge forward in a dervish of steel, the women began to flow around the stealth ranger like shifting currents of wind...like intricate streams of energy intertwining from a dozen directions, in patterns too elaborate for the human eye to discern.

Sandalayne leapt forward with a short thrust toward her nearest assailant, but the woman appeared to recede like a waning spout of water. Had Czefrina been present to witness this violent spectacle, she would have appreciated the beguilingly lethal artistry of the assassins' choreography. The First Stealth Ranger could feel her spirit plummet, knowing that she was no match for this many of Lissom's terrifying puppets. That doleful conclusion was quickly corroborated when the Mirhac Ehkar began to score her exposed flesh with superficial strikes that, while intentionally shallow, still bled profusely.

Soon, sheets of crimson covered Sandalayne's back, thighs, buttocks and hamstrings. Droplets of blood spattered the polished black tiles like blooming roses as the courageous woman fought valiantly just to stay upright.

"Enough!" Lissom called coldly and the masked warriors sheathed theirs blades as one and returned to the original positions around the wall.

The unbloodied daggers slipped from Sandalayne's fingers and clattered uselessly to the tiles...ringing in her ears like a death knell. Feeling dizzy from blood loss, the noble woman sagged to her knees and with her head hung in shame, prepared to meet her end.

Sandalayne watched warily as Lissom ventured closer, a mournful expression twisting her thin lips. To her right Gheldazara began to circle away from the Ascentrix, passing out of range of Sandalayne's peripheral vision. When she felt certain that the badly lacerated warrior could no longer see her, she gestured brusquely for one of the nearest Mirhac Ehkar's hooked blades. The masked assassin drew the weapon silently from its holder and flipping it deftly, laid the haft in Gheldazara's outstretched hand.

Consumed by Lissom's approach, convinced that the deranged tyrant would choose to be the one to dispense justice to her perceived betrayer. Thus, she was unaware of the lethal shadow poised at her shoulder.

"Prostrate yourself before me and plead for absolution. You will spend the remainder of your days in a monk's cell, but I will spare you the hunger and torment your treachery deserves," Lissom intoned quietly, tiny, fleeting spark of humanity flaring briefly in those terrible blue eyes."

Despite the incisive pain and weakness her myriad of wounds had inflicted, Sandalayne drew herself upright...head held high and shoulders back and square. "I will not beg for my life and the pit can take your offer of absolution. Your detestable acts in this evil place have indelibly stained the Sisters of Esotaria. You claim that you had achieved Gyzarayne's objective here, but by all accounts, it is Queen Karosyn who has fulfilled the Goddess' mandate...with compassion, rather than the tools of atrocity and slaughter. That she would have overlooked such a gentle, wise and serene creature and select a twisted, deprived thing to be her emissary shows that even a deity is fallible."

While Lissom was frozen in a posture of apoplectic incredulity, Sandalayne's limpid blue eyes grew comically wide. She had been struck by the peculiar certainty that this eloquent articulation of dismay had not been her own. A moment of pure empathy passed between the pair and the unbroken blond smiled, taking a measure of comfort in the conviction that, although she was about to die, this miscreant would be joining her soon enough.

Lissom stalked over to the kneeling Sandalayne, her blue eyes blazing with undisguised enmity. Gripping the beaten woman's upturned, perspiration-soaked face with fingers that bit into flesh like cruel steel pincers, she hissed, "Lissom...is dead! Before you stands the Goddess incarnate...Gyzarayne!"

Sandalayne shook her head, bemused by the magnitude of this woman's colossal delusion...and began to bray unrestrained, sardonic laughter.

Furious, Lissom stepped back, preparing to unleash a torrent of arcane energy that would efface the traitorous ingrate from existence. Gheldazara prevented this wrathful act. Spinning like a dervish across the black tiles, she cleanly struck Sandalayne's head from her shoulders with a single, perfectly placed blow.

The disembodied head struck the floor with a meaty thud, while the headless body remained upright for several moments before pitching forward, spurting blood like a dying geyser.

The noble First Stealth Ranger's blood spattered Lissom's boots as a tense silence descended on the chamber and the coppery tang of spilt blood filled the warm air. Lissom lifted her gaze from the still-twitching wreckage to the Majeeri Queen and a moment of unalloyed empathy passed between the ideally matched pair. With this simple act of savagery, Gheldazara demonstrated that she had ceded her soul to Lissom's keeping. The enigmatic creature flashed her mistress a decidedly feline smile and after spitting on Sandalayne's corpse, she wiped the bloody blade across the body's broad back and returned it to its owner.

Raising her slender arms to the side, she declared fervently, "Let it be known that anyone who would besmirch the Ascentrix's name will know my wrath...and share the same fate as this abomination whose soul I've dispatched to the pit. Leave us now and have one of the first sons fetch a brush and a basin of water."

Every eye shifted automatically to Lissom...for the Mirhac Ehkar did not draw breath without her consent...who granted her permission with a subtle nod.

As the lethal contingent withdrew, Lissom gesticulated and Sandalayne's body was lift from the bloody tiles and borne out onto the balcony on a current of air.

A thoroughly transfixed Gheldazara followed her soul sworn mistress...who she had long since concluded was the deity she had proclaimed herself to be...out into the blistering heat.

The bits of human detritus floated out over the balcony's railing, but did not plummet. Instead, they burst into blinding emerald flame that consume both flesh and bone like the eruption of an exploding star. Gheldazara watched this gruesome spectacle in appreciative silence as fine ash...the last remains of noble Sandalayne's existence...wafted down toward the distant city below.

A young boy...attired in the cinnamon uniform of subjugation...entered the chamber, labouring with a basin of scented water and several towels.

Gesturing to a spot near the railing, the Majeeri Queen instructed brusquely, "Place it there and drape the towels over the railing." With a humourless, feral grin, she admonished, "Have a care...spill a drop and I will have your sprouting member removed and fed to the jackals."

Swallowing, knowing full well that this shrew was being sincere, the boy carefully squatted down and placed the basin on the designated spot without mishap, despite legs and arms that trembled slightly. He carefully laid the towels over the stone balustrade, after which Gheldazara dismissed him with an imperious wave of her small right hand.

The boy fled the chamber as if from a pair of demons. When they were alone, Gheldazara meekly bid her mistress to lean against the parapet, which Lissom did, while gripping the smooth stone and extending her blood-spattered right boot. Gheldazara sank to her knees and after submerging a towel and wringing out the excess water, applied herself to meticulously sluicing away the swine's corruptions from the divine one's boots.

Lissom watched contentedly, reflecting on the contrast between her thoroughly complaisant puppet and her strong-willed, subtlety defiant predecessor, Shan-En Naroon. Naroon's tedious blather about reconciliation and rapprochement between men and women had driven Lissom to distraction.

Had Naroon not been so beloved amongst Majeeri women and especially the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen (who viewed Naroon's refusal to have her brand removed as a noble gesture worthy of fanatical reverence), Lissom would quickly have disposed of the naive nuisance. Instead, she had slowly leeched the life essence from Naroon, while grooming a more biddable puppet to be her successor.

When Gheldazara had polished Lissom's greaves to their former lustre, the Ascentrix bid the Queen to rise. Both women then turned their glacial regards toward the docks, where preparations for the armada's departure continued unabated, despite the intensifying midday heat.

Lissom's incisive gaze settle on one particular quay, where a single line of chained figures was being herded along the dock, toward a waiting Majeeri galleon by an escort of Rha-Sheem-Nakreen. Even from this great distance, Lissom's astounding visual acuity discerned the wretched state of these men. All wore fraying tatters and bore the signs of prolonged systematic deprivation and abuse. Lissom's nose wrinkled as if she could smell the malodorous stench of unwashed flesh even from this distance.

"They are fully...indoctrinated?" Lissom inquired, not taking her gaze from the line of piteous creatures as they straggled up the gangway and vanished into the bowels of the galleon.

"Most definitely," Gheldazara confirmed with unmistakable confidence. "Each and every one has been ushered into the realm of absolute madness by your prescribed regime of torture and psychological torment." In truth, the horrors to which these men had been subjected would have made Thaz Ekai's inquisitors envious. "When they finally broke, it was your divine countenance they saw as they succumbed to madness."

Lissom turned away from the grim spectacle and leaned against the balustrade with her slender back to the open air. "As always, you have exceeded my expectations, Gheldazara. I have bestowed upon you an crown and a throne, but if you remain loyal and committed to my vision, be assured that there will be no limit to the remuneration for your devotion."

Gheldazara came to stand directly before her mistress, those feline green eyes ablaze with zealous fervour. "I will never disappoint you...Goddess."

Lissom arched a tapering eyebrow, thinking that she had discerned a thread of mockery in this vow. It required only a single glance into those large, limpid eyes, alight with euphoric reverence, to realize that Gheldazara did, indeed, sincerely perceive her as a divine entity.

Pleased that she had so thoroughly traduced her malleable puppet, Lissom allowed, "As it is unseemly for a Goddess to debase herself by holding a throne...you will rule in my stead. You are now a Queen, but once I have bent other realms to my will...you shall become an empress!"

Gheldazara greeted this declaration with a hungry grin of undiluted avarice and then averted her eyes and inquired meekly, "May I kiss you, mistress?"

Lissom regarded her thrall coyly, but permitted, "I think you may."

Gheldazara stepped closer and while Lissom remained stationary, the exotic beauty placed a hand on her boney hip and gently slipped the fingers of her left hand around the nape of her mistress' neck. After bestowing a tender kiss on Lissom's slightly parted lips, she placed the index finger of her right hand beneath Lissom's chin and gently, but insistently tilted the other woman's head back, exposing her throat. Gheldazara's fingers slipped from her neck to her tiny waist, pulling her unresisting mistress deeper into her ardent embrace. Lissom sighed, an elaborate articulation of pleasure that Gheldazara interpreted as an invitation to take further liberties. Dipping her head, she began to map the topography of Lissom's throat with the tip of her skilled tongue.

Lissom understood the perils of indulging in this particular diversion with this exotic creature. After Artumas had eviscerated her in Galloway, Lissom had tenaciously inured herself against temptation and the pleasures of the flesh...instead deriving her pleasure from consolidation of power. Still, she was all too aware that Gheldazara was a carnal sorceress of inimitable skill and insatiable appetite. Lissom was also cognizant of the astounding procession of men and women who had been sacrificed to the honing of her talents in bed chambers all throughout Majeer.

Yet, Despite this foreknowledge, Lissom found that she wanted to capitulate to that questing tongue...even though to succumb might well ensnare her in an addictive need that Lissom could ill afford as she prepared to confront her great nemesis.

To avert this patently dangerous turn of events, Lissom released her white-knuckled grip on the balustrade and allowing her slender arms to dangle, leaned precipitously back.

Arching her back further still, Lissom inquired teasingly, "In the darkest recesses of your heart, would you not wish to give me to the open air and claim your throne without encumbrance."

Gheldazara's head jerked back and her feline countenance twisted into an expression of apoplectic horror. Executing a spinning pivot that would have made a Suran dancer gape in envy, the Majeeri Queen spun Lissom away from the precipice. She then dropped to her hands and knees and hanging her head in a posture of abject subjugation, breathed, "I would rather throw myself from Zharanka than see even a hair on your precious head fall to the cobbles, Goddess."

This frantic declaration roused an epiphany that caused Lissom to smile in incredulity. Not only did this devious desert spider consider her to be a deity, she actually loved Lissom as well. Affecting an imperious tone, Lissom stepped forward and ushered Gheldazara into a kneeling position. "That will not be necessary." After favouring her thrall with a radiant smile, she clutched her chin in a pincer grip and unleashed a small wave of arcane energy that caused Gheldazara's body to stiffen. Bringing her face closer until her great blue eyes filled the entire range of the Majeeri Queen's vision, Lissom snarled, "I will suffer no further procrastination. In my absence, you will resolve the troublesome matter of the desert cabals...even if you have to scour every grain of sand from the desert floor to unearth their burrows."

Sensing no latitude for failure, Gheldazara nodded dutifully. Lissom again beamed her most engaging smile and assisted the fledgling queen to her feet. "I will leave two full cohorts of battle mages, a legion of stealth rangers and a dozen Mirhac Ehkar to serve as your personal guard. You will begin to recruit women to serve as your personal guard because, Gheldazara Eram, you are precious to me and I would not lose you to treachery."

Tears of gratitude began to well in the corner of those tilted eyes and Lissom reciprocated Gheldazara's intimate overture by drawing the unyielding woman into a tight embrace and kissing those pliable lips. Naturally, Lissom did not solicit the Majeeri Queen's permission. When Gheldazara moaned softly, Lissom reluctantly pushed her to arm's length and instructed, "Go and insure that all preparations for my departure have been finalized. Then, you may contemplate the specifics of your coronation ceremony upon my return...Empress Gheldazara Eram!"

The slender woman appeared to virtually swell with pride. She offered Lissom a deep, deferential bow and then turned to take her leave, but Lissom offered a tantalizing gesture of magnanimity. "Tonight, we will dine together...and then share a bath, where you will be free to express your gratitude in the most intimate terms your salacious mind can conceive."

After regarding Lissom with an expression of unadulterated lust, Gheldazara strode from the chamber...leaving Lissom alone to plan her own ascension to the mantle of deity.

Chapter Eight

1

A storm gathered just over the southern horizon, stirring slowly like an apocalyptic tempest that would soon sail across the ocean, intent on scouring every vestige of light from the world. In Nalosan, a clever, enigmatic young woman, intent on resurrecting a legend...and slipping a velvet collar around her neck, continued to plot and scheme, dreaming of the moment when her carefully laid plans would come to fruition.

Lorio, now fully cocooned in a persona known only as Driss, was oblivious to these imminent and titanic upheavals...so thoroughly had she become submerged in the indolently flowing, gentle river known as Opheile Seznoire.

The longer Lorio spent in Opheile's company, the greater her appreciation and esteem grew for the truly extraordinary creature. Effortlessly, Opheile's radiated a serenity...an infectious grace that could so smoothly placate Lorio's doubts and misgivings whenever her darkness would rear its ugly head. All of the festering demons that had plagued the immortal...causing her to become the erratic, volatile woman who had unwittingly unleashed such heartache; these things were gradually being exorcised by Opheile's tranquil presence.

So blissfully sublime was the love that Opheile had bestowed upon Lorio, that the cynical immortal began to consider the astounding possibility that fate was not simply a dispenser of inimical fortune. It occurred to her that those long years of aimlessly meandering through the labyrinth of despair that had accompanied Issidris' excruciating death had actually been fate's design...leading her to its benevolent compensation for all of the suffering she'd endured in her often-tortured existence.

Now, as she settled into a peaceful slumber each night, nestled in Opheile's protective embrace (and often coming awake with the blue-eyed beauty stroking her brow and regarding her with a pristine love that made the immortal's sacrificed heart thunder), Lorio began to understand that fate had circuitously guided her to the place she was intended to be for this next portion of her unending life.

It further occurred to Lorio that everyone she'd ever loved...the storm-incarnate, Islena Doraux, the noble Captain Esuruban and even her precious Issidris Il had been shrouded by a dark cloud that made heartache inevitable. Islena had been an ultimately unlovable entity beyond all fathoming. Esuruban had been a humble, gentle man whom fate had simply imposed in her path at the wrong time. Issidris, her beloved Issidris, had been so indelibly damaged by the horrors of her life that she'd been incapable of giving expression to the enduring love each woman had felt for the other.

Yet, in the unfalteringly serene Opheile Seznoire, Lorio had found someone whose love was pristine...free of any hint of ill-omen or negative taint.

'Except for her inevitable death,' Myrhia observed with malicious delight, but beneath the aura the chestnut-haired beauty cast, even that grim eventuality had lost a good measure of its depressing potency.

Lorio, during the course of her fourth year in Cortrin, came to bask in Opheile's perfect, unremitting love...to wallow in it like the most unrepentant of wantons. Somehow, this rare beauty managed to strike the perfect balance in how she loved the mysterious stray who had wandered to her doorstep.

Her love was ubiquitous...apparent in every aspect of their lives together. In simple, thoughtful gestures, such as preparing Lorio's lunch sack and mending, washing and ironing her clothes, even though Opheile's days were a constant rush with her own business concerns.

Opheile's love for Lorio came with no expectations...nor did it make demands. She did not attempt to mould Lorio to conform to her visualized ideal for a partner, though the aura Opheile exuded changed Lorio as surely as the constant rush of water will smooth the sharp edges from ostensibly unyielding stone.

On those rare occasions when Lorio's inner turbulence shadowed her brow, Opheile seemed to possess the ability to divine the nature, if not the specific cause, of the immortal's disquiet. Then, she would silently lead Lorio to their shared bed, where she would make love to the enamoured immortal until the doleful shadows were banished from her brow.

In other instances, when this shadow was nuanced by melancholy, Opheile would guide Lorio to the door of the suite of rooms she insisted the immortal maintain...where she could satiate her need for solitude. At the threshold, Opheile would lay her palm on Lorio's cheek, while laying the tip of her index finger on the stone between the immortal's breasts, and intone, "Go and spend time with your friend. Speak to her...remember her. Take whatever time you need. I will leave your supper on a tray here in the hall."

She would then kiss Lorio's lips and usher her into her suite of rooms. Invariably, Lorio would burst into tears as she stumbled into her chair by the window. As her tears fell, unabated, Lorio had recalled how Opheile had once claimed, 'When you choose to armour yourself in humble kindness...you become invulnerable, Driss.'

She remembered how she'd greeted this naive contention with cynicism when Opheile had first given it voice. Now, she had come to glean that Opheile's Seznoire was the living embodiment of this pearl of wisdom...seemingly impervious to the ravages of the often bleak and ugly world.

Though Lorio struggled solemnly not to do so, inevitably her mind insisted on juxtaposing the two women she loved so ardently. More disconcerting still, the immortal would often find herself entertaining the most wistful fantasies...contriving various scenarios in which the two women would cross paths.

She tried to imagine how each would perceive the other had the random workings of fate thrust them together. Had Issidris set her withering gaze upon Opheile, how might she have reacted to this beautiful paragon of serenity? Physically, the two women were diametric opposites. Opheile appeared delicate in her finery. She loved her adornments and all things that enhanced her formidable beauty, whereas Issidris cared nothing for beauty and its trappings...preferring a keen-edged blade or a well-balanced throwing dagger to a glittering diamond or a polished pearl. Would Issidris have dismissed Opheile Seznoire as a pampered, superficial doll...or would she have discerned that Opheile possessed an inner strength to rival her own? Would the woman who had let controlled violence and martial prowess define her entire life have recognized the splendour embodied in the serene pacifist whose soul was every bit as beautiful as her exterior?

And what of Opheile; how would the woman who deplored violence have perceived the lethal engine of carnage? Would she have been able to penetrate the vitiated, stoic exterior and take pity on the tortured soul beneath?

More intriguing still, Lorio could not help but wonder if the ameliorating aura Opheile exuded might have tempered Issidris' steel facade, blunting her discordant edges and banishing her inner demon...just as she had done with Lorio?

An image blossomed in Lorio's mind then...one so comically improbable that it caused her to burst into a fit of giddy laughter. She imagined a determined Opheile leading a grumbling Issidris through the vendor stalls and shops, just as she had with Lorio in the days just after the pair had met. The notion of the lethal Issidris attired in a gauzy dress and dainty shoes, wearing a fine lady's hat adorned with jaunty feathers, caused the immortal to bray laughter until her body shook and tears coursed freely down her face.

When the wistful burst subsided, yet another image bloomed in Lorio's mind...one that affected her in an entirely different fashion. Having surmounted the walls of her cloister and effectively banished the savage demons of Issidris' life, Opheile made slow, tender love to an utterly enthralled Issidris, who surrendered to Opheile's artistry as completely as Lorio had.

The idea that Opheile's grace and serenity could entice Issidris from her grim isolation induced a sense of blissful euphoria in the immortal...who gladly would have bestowed her blessing upon the pair's union to see Issidris attain the level of happiness Lorio, herself, had now managed to achieve.

Lorio, feeling emotionally spent but happy, would leave her suite of rooms, determined that she would acquaint Opheile with every aspect of Issidris Il's complex and ultimately tragic life. Yet, invariably, some ambiguous reservation would foil that determination...and Issidris Il remained a stranger to Opheile Seznoire.

Beneath the bed in Lorio's retreat, the steel-sleeved ironwood quarter staff lay all but forgotten. Yet, it waited with the implacable patience of an ancient sentinel, perhaps knowing that the day when it's purpose would again be required...was not long in coming.

2

In the fourth year of her life in Cortrin, Lorio...daughter of dust...would come to know the fundamental contentment that can come with a simple, settled life. Her days, she spent labouring happily in the yard, though she no longer worked extra shifts and had demanded that she be given a day off every seventh day. Emon Yar had grumbled elaborately, but had made this unprecedented concession, knowing that he could ill afford to lose his most productive worker. More to the point, the old man was cognizant of the conspicuous happiness that now blazed in Lorio's great dark eyes...like an exquisite flower that had opened to the sun. He was privately pleased to do his part in seeing this unexpected bloom flourish.

At night, Lorio would pass her time helping Opheile at the Glass House Inn. Whenever Opheile was satisfied that the Inn could sustain itself without her attention, the pair would indulge in long lazy strolls through the streets of the city, despite the seemingly constant drizzle that characterized winter in this corner of Galloway.

On Lorio's day off, Opheile would take great pleasure in transforming the immortal into the breathtaking personification of beauty she was. Lorio's hair was again a cascading tumble of raven tresses and these, Opheile would style and embellish with precious stone-smattered combs or strands of pearls. Though Lorio submitted to Opheile's ministrations with the impression of long-suffering resignation, she was privately delighted with the beguiling results. Furthermore, she was pleased with the realization that hers was a beauty that could rival...and be worthy of the exquisite diamond with whom she now shared her life.

As the two glittering jewels strolled through the bustling streets, Opheile's arm invariably linked with Lorio's and the immortal was aware of the furtive stares their passing would garner. She could only imagine how their obvious affection for each other must have set tongues to wagging...these two extraordinary beauties who were never seen in the company of men, but who seemed inseparable.

Opheile seemed either indifferent or oblivious to the speculative frenzy their intimate friendship provoked in Cortrin...yet another indication of her profound courage and quiet mettle.

On a day in late spring, the pair would encounter the first of three critical junctures on their journey together, though it would be Opheile's in particular who would emerge with a deeper insight into the mysterious nature of the woman to whom she had bound her fate.

Lorio was surprised to discover that the urbane Opheile harboured a passion for hiking through the forests that surrounded Cortrin...stretching away in every direction like a living green blanket.

This particular fateful day had dawned beneath a monochrome blue sky that was warm and redolent with a melange of first spring blooms. Since it was one of Lorio's rest days, the immortal had assumed that she would spend her time helping Opheile around the Inn. If the inn's mistress could spare the time, Lorio imagined that the pair would spend the day strolling about the markets...or languishing in the baths next door, where they would often surreptitiously make love.

The thought brought a smile of keen anticipation to her face and she stretched languidly, feeling that excited buzz begin to build deep in her core. Yet, upon opening her eyes, she was confronted by a sight so improbable that it left her gape-jawed and gawking.

Opheile Seznoire stood next to their bed, peering down on Lorio with a mixture of impatience and eagerness. In her left hand, she held a laden wicker basket with a twisted handle and two wooden flaps. Over her right hand was draped a plush blue blanket. As curious as this assortment of items proved to be, it was Opheile's attire that left Lorio gaping in astonishment.

The brown-haired beauty was resplendent in a forest green tunic and dark brown trousers that clung lovingly to her long, shapely legs. Her uniform was completed by a pair of knee-high leather boots with stout soles and a green felt hat, adorned by a single red feather, that sat jauntily on her head at what seemed like an impossible angle. In its fashionable elegance, it reminded Lorio of a noble's attempt to duplicate a huntsman's outfit.

Opheile's eyes narrowed and with feigned severity, she demanded, "Do you find my clothing amusing?"

Lorio sat up and draped her muscular arms over her knees as the cotton sheet slid from her bare torso. Her smile broadened, and she quipped, "Frankly, you look utterly adorable...but if you wanted to entice me into dragging you back into bed and ravaging you...you needn't to have gone to such elaborate lengths."

Opheile's expression became rueful and she retorted, "Avarice doesn't suit you, dear...first the effort and then the reward." She inclined her chin toward the corner, where Lorio's black, sleeveless tunic and rough-spun trousers were draped...a stark and unwelcome reminder of another time...another life. "I'll purchase more suitable clothing soon, but for today's excursion, they'll have to suffice. Now, come laggard...we're going hiking in the forest."

"Hiking?" Lorio echoed, momentarily distracted by the sinister presence that skirted around the periphery of her awareness.

"Hiking. Surely, a big, strong woman like you isn't intimidated by the prospect of an exhilarating stroll in the forest?" Opheile chided gently.

Lorio, who prior to arriving in Cortrin, had spent the vast majority of her life sleeping next to a campfire beneath the heavens, only offered a neutral smile. "Very well, let's go hiking...though I had no idea you had a passion for traipsing through the woods."

Opheile's inclined her chin, great blue eyes gleaming teasingly, and declared, "Like you, I am a virtual treasure trove of secrets...now, get dressed!"

Lorio turned away and slid out of the opposite side of the bed to conceal how incisively this casual remark had stung her...a painful reminder that she was still incapable of confiding in the woman she loved so unremittingly.

After Lorio had dressed, the pair set out with Lorio carrying the heavy basket and blanket and Opheile leading. They had exited the city and Lorio felt certain that they were destined for one of the fields that ringed Cortrin, where they would share a picnic and a cuddle before returning to the city to spend an indolent evening in the bathhouse.

She was surprised when the purposefully striding Opheile had led them further out along the cobbled road. That surprise gave way to burgeoning concern when Opheile abruptly left the road and branched into a narrow path that led into the gloom of the forest. Lorio, who was perhaps better versed in forest skills than any living being, could glean that Opheile was adept at traversing the woods, moving without the telltale hesitation of one who is unfamiliar with their environment.

They followed the twisting path for nearly two bells and at times, it became so narrow that the press of branches would graze their shoulders. Opheile displayed no hint of fatigue as they negotiated the hilly march. The pair travelled in silence, though Opheile would frequently look back at Lorio and smile as if encouraging the immortal to keep pace.

At last, the path suddenly opened onto a small clearing. Opheile bid Lorio to lay her burdens on the grass. She then took the bemused immortal's hand and led her to the far end of the clearing, which provided a breathtaking view of a picturesque waterfall. A brilliantly-coloured rainbow arched over the narrow river far below the bluff where the pair now stood.

"Isn't it magnificent?" Opheile gushed passionately. "The forest around Cortrin is smattered with dozens of these beautiful, secluded vistas. This summer, I intend to take you to all of them." A flirtatious twinkled dawned in her eyes and she added, "I didn't mean to bring you here to feed you cheese and cured meats. I'm going to take you to every march and make love to you until you're dizzy."

Rather than the expected lustful grin, Lorio met this with a severe frown and demanded, "How did you find this place, Opheile?"

Opheile pursed her full lips and replied, "After Czarin's death, I needed solitude...to reflect and decide on what path I wished to follow and so I began to walk in the woods. I was rather surprised to discover that I possessed a natural affinity for the woods...and a keen sense of direction."

"And so, you came to all of these places...alone?" Lorio persisted sharply.

"Yes, Driss, alone," Opheile answered, a rare note of irritation creeping into her voice. "That is, after all, what solitude requires."

Ignoring this unprecedented facetious barb, Lorio gripped Opheile's slender right wrist and growled, "For such an intelligent woman, you've been incredibly stupid, Opheile."

Opheile's eyes grew comically wide and briskly disengaging her arm, she stepped back and retorted coldly, "I don't care for your tone, Driss...nor will I be belittled."

Lorio offered the indignant woman a humourless grin. "To be out here alone is to foolishly court disaster...to provoke fate."

"I didn't think you held much stock in fate, Driss?"

"Shut up and listen, Opheile," Lorio rasped to which the other woman huffed and crossed her arms beneath her full bosom, but fell silent. "The forest is a dangerous place, Opheile...rife with predators who live only to sate their hunger. This is a long way for what passes for civility in the city. The only rule out here is that you do what must be done to survive. You don't belong here, Opheile...certainly not alone."

"And I suppose you do?" Opheile challenged, though a quaver shook her voice, gouging Lorio's heart.

"I do," Lorio returned without elaboration in a voice that was flat and dispassionate. "I was speaking only of the animals that inhabit the forest, but the humans you might have crossed paths with are infinitely worse."

"Driss, I've spoken to you often enough about my philosophy of humble kindness," Opheile began.

Lorio waved a dismissive arm and spat disdainfully, "Here, in these places, your pet theory is dangerous bullshit. If the denizens of the forest would have come across a jewel like you...alone and unprotected...they would have robbed you, raped you and then killed you...if only to avoid risk of consequences. Had the person I'd once been found an enticing beauty like you...in this forgotten place...I might well have taken you...and not gently...and most certainly not with your permission."

"You can't mean that, Driss?" Opheile cried as a tear fell from the corner of her eye and meandered over her high cheekbone.

Lorio, sensing that she'd gone too far, quickly shook her head in vehement denial. "I don't, Opheile...but there are men, in numbers far too vast for you to imagine, who would not hesitate to capitalize on discovering a woman like you in this place...in these circumstances. It isn't just the dregs of civilization either. Most men are venal and would be tempted into despicable acts given the right temptation...and I doubt I've ever set eyes upon a woman who is more of a temptation than you."

Opheile straightened and absently brushed tears from her cheek and contradicted, "Most men aren't rapists and plunderers, Driss."

Lorio cocked her head and fixed the noble creature with a pitying, doleful smile. "If you genuinely believe that, then your kind heart has blinded you to the ugly truth of the world. Men are violent brutes, despite their thin veneer of civility. Given the right circumstances and inducement, they can all become beasts. Finding a beautiful woman, alone and defenceless, in the forest would likely unleash that beast in all but the most righteous of men...and such men are a rarity. Chivalry is a fucking dangerous myth, Opheile."

This profanity caused Opheile to grimace, but she reached beneath her tunic and drew forth a small dirk. The delicate blade was less than a small handspan in length and appeared better suited to the purpose of opening letters than self-defence, but Opheile brandished the flimsy weapon as if it was the legendary Sword of Jerhia. With a stubborn set to her jaw, she declared, "You see, Driss...I'm not so helpless after all. Now let's stop this foolishness before it ruins a lovely day."

As she attempted to mask her disquiet with what she knew to be hollow bravado, Opheile saw a terrifying shadow slip into Driss' great dark eyes. It was all that she could do not to turn and flee from the next sardonic utterance that slid from the woman's twisted lips...informing an anxious Opheile that she was witnessing a new, dark facet of Driss' personality.

"Indeed?" Lorio rasped with clear derision. She surveyed the clearing and seeing what she'd been seeking, stalked across the grass and stooped down to retrieve a stout branch the length of her arm. While an increasingly frightened Opheile regarded her warily, Lorio circled closer, her muscular body exuding menace. "Then show me. A man has come upon you in a place just like this. Seeing the expensive cut of your clothing, he has decided that you might well have a hefty coin purse. Seeing your beautiful face and the lush promise of your body, he has decided that yours is a treasure worth plundering. Now, show me how you would prevent him from taking both."

Opheile blinked and shook her head, conjuring anger to disguise her trepidation. "Absolutely not! I refuse to indulge in your ridiculous games. If you won't stop this nonsense this moment, I'm going home."

Before Opheile could make good on her threat, Lorio surged forward and delivered a stinging blow to her right shoulder. Opheile yelped and very nearly dropped the dirk. Lorio imposed herself between the clearly unsettled woman and the head of the path. Even as a panicked voice in her mind implored her to stop, she intoned coldly, "You're not leaving this clearing until you've shown me how you'd defend yourself."

A soft moan escaped Opheile's lips, but seeing that Driss was being intractably sincere, she mustered her composure. Lorio offered the disconcerted beauty a predatory grin and invited, "Come Opheile, the beast has your scent...slay it or be ravaged."

She marched directly toward a clearly terrified and unskilled Opheile. Seeing how badly the hand that held the dirk shook, Lorio raised the branch above her head, deliberately broadcasting the direction of her attack and fully exposing her abdomen in the process. To her credit, Opheile did not freeze in the face of the impending blow. Uttering a shrill cry that was part misery and part indignation, she thrust the blade toward Lorio's exposed midsection. The immortal executed a swift, graceful pivot that carried her past Opheile's extended arm. Once behind the hapless woman, Lorio delivered a short, chopping blow to the back of Seznoire's knees. Though the blow had been delivered with restraint, it still carried sufficient force to sweep the legs out from under Opheile. The slender woman landed flat on her back, the impact of her fall punching the air from her lungs and dislodging the dirk from her grasp.

As Opheile lay gazing dazedly up at the blue sky, Lorio loomed over her. She pressed the tip of the branch into the taut fabric between the woman's breasts and intoned quietly, "And as swiftly as that...you find yourself at the mercy of a monster."

Opheile gazed up at Driss and peering into the terrifying dark eyes she could scarcely recognize, the humbled woman whispered, "Please, Driss...you're frightening me."

She punctuated this bitter admission with a single sob, low and rife with misery. The soft sound, like the mournful sigh of a cold wind, detonated in Lorio's consciousness like an exploding sun, its impact magnified exponentially by the realization that she was the cause of that anxiety. The immortal's knees buckled, and she collapsed next to her beloved companion. Sagging forward, Lorio pressed her contorted face into the flat of Opheile's abdomen, while clutching the fallen woman's inner left thigh and shoulder like a frightened child. Words truncated by wracking sobs, she pleaded, "I'm sorry, Opheile, but I've seen women...and even young girls...brutalized by the things I mentioned...so often that their faces haunt my nightmares. Even these things are not the worst. I know what monstrous things men are capable of...of doing to women. If you...were to be hurt that way, I would want to die, Opheile!"

'But wouldn't even be allowed that cold comfort,' she thought, but did not say.

Her words degenerated into sobs of inarticulate anguish. For a torturously protracted moment, the pair remained in this posture of uncertainty, Lorio sobbing shaking unabashedly, with her face pressed into the warmth of the other woman's belly, while Opheile stared up into the pristine blue sky, struggling to resolve her rare moment of ambivalence.

Lorio experienced a tiny shiver of relief when Opheile's left hand fell lightly upon the back of her head and began to caress her thick hair. The immortal raised her head and regarded Opheile through the distorting lens of her tears. The guarded expression on that beautiful face spoke of a new, wary reserve and Lorio's relief evaporated.

"Who are you, really?" Opheile inquired quietly. Lorio pushed herself to her haunches and brushed absently at her red eyes with the back of her hand, frantically groping for a way to dodge this, the most dreaded of questions. Averting her gaze, Lorio spied Opheile's pretty hat, which had been knocked from her head when Lorio had upended the petrified woman onto her back.

Leaving Opheile, the immortal crawled across the grass upon her hands and knees, to retrieve the hat. She grimaced in self-loathing when she noticed that the spine of the jaunty feather had snapped. Its pieces sat at right angles and Lorio prayed that it was not a metaphor for the bond she might have so foolishly shattered in her desire to impart a lesson that ultimately no longer mattered.

She scrambled back to Opheile, who had just now stirred from where she had been unceremoniously dumped, and placed the hat next to her left shoulder. Then she straddled Opheile's torso, grateful when the woman raised no objection.

Those great blue eyes were hard and uncompromising as Opheile demanded, "I've asked you a question...and Driss, after what you've just done to me, I believe I deserve an answer. If you still can't bring yourself to be forthcoming...then let me up so I can go home."

This unflinching imperative made it clear that Opheile would not be deterred this time. If Lorio wished to salvage something of this rare gift fate had bestowed upon her...she would have to surmount her fear and make some manner of concession. "More than anything, I want to lay myself bare before you, Opheile...more than anything, except to forget nearly everything about who and what I was before I found my way to Cortrin...to your door."

"And yet just your maudlin tone tells me you won't or can't do either," Opheile observed flatly, causing Lorio to grimace at her frost limed words.

"I'm afraid that, once you see who and what I was...all of my sins and ugly imperfections, you'll despise me and send me away. Opheile, after all I've suffered...I really don't think I could survive that."

"And if I was to tell you that I won't suffer your continued evasion and that we're done?"

Hearing this, her greatest fear, articulated so plainly, provoked an intense shudder in the immortal, who laid the tips of her trembling fingers on Opheile's cheek and mustered the courage to inquire, "Is that what you want...to be done with me?"

Fresh tears...tears of profound relief...burst from Lorio's eyes when Opheile shook her head adamantly and kissed Lorio's trembling fingers. "No! As much as it angers me to think that I could be so weak and neglect the fact that I revere honesty and candor...no...I never want to be done with you!"

Shaken by this passionate commitment to their future, Lorio began to undo the top three buttons of her tunic with fingers made ungainly by emotion. She leaned forward and the unassuming black stone swung forth from the deep valley of her breasts. Opheile's sapphire eyes regarded the mysterious keepsake with fascination. "The woman who gave this to me was named Issidris Il. It was given to her by her mother and it was the only tangible possession that Issidris ever accrued or cared about. Issidris was the strongest person I've ever met, and we loved each other in every way it was possible for two people to love each other. In every way...except for the intimate way that you and I share because, as a young child, she was raped by her father and brothers until that capacity was scoured from her soul. She died in my arms early one morning in a place very far away from here. I never thought I could love anyone as much as I loved Issidris." Here, Lorio's voice became brittle and quavering, but she managed to give voice to this long-repressed sentiment. "Now, I've found you...and I know that Issidris would be happy...for both of us."

The subtle shift in tone when Opheile next spoke declared that Lorio's overture of candor had achieved its desired effect. "This Issidris...did she serve as your mentor...your ward?"

"She did," Lorio confirmed, experiencing an acute stab of loss as she spoke of the inexorable woman who had become the foundation of her world. "Issidris was a woman of quiet patience and very much like you, she imparted her wisdom through example. It is impossible to imagine what might have become of me had she not come into my life."

Opheile seemed to ponder this admission for a protracted moment. She then surprised the immortal by extracting her right arm from beneath the immortal's knee and taking the humble, worn stone in her long fingers, gently pressing it to her lips...a gesture of reverence that sent Lorio's spirit soaring. Solemnly, Opheile intoned, "Then it seems I owe Issidris Il an eternal debt of gratitude for loving and protecting you...and eventually seeing you to me. Driss, I promised that I would allow you to reveal yourself to me in your own good time. I'm a woman of her word and I will not renege on that vow." She reached up and gripped Lorio's muscular shoulder, squeezing it as if to emphasize her sincerity. "Driss, take me at face value when I tell you that you will speak to me of Issidris. You will paint a portrait of the woman until I can close my eyes and imagine her as vividly as if I'd known her all my life."

"I will," Lorio vowed fiercely, once again on the verge of tears and obliquely wondering how Issidris would regard the fragile emotional flower she'd evidently become.

Opheile interrupted this melancholy reverie by gasping, "Now Driss, would you kindly climb off me. When we make love, you somehow never seem this heavy."

Lorio's eyes grew comically wide at this mirthful complaint, but she quickly dismounted the prone woman. The elegant beauty extended her slender arms and Lorio dutifully pulled her to her feet. Opheile exhaled sharply once she was upright, though the exhalation resounded more as a hiss of pain in Lorio's ears. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Opheile returned dismissively, but when Lorio's regard sharpened, she chided, "Come now, Driss, it's my role to be mother hen remember."

Ignoring this cursory dismissal, Lorio circled behind the statuesque beauty...and came to an abrupt halt. The left leg of Opheile's trousers was sodden with blood beneath the knee.

"Take off your pants!" Lorio growled, trying to repress the welling shame that threatened to set her ablaze. As had been the curse of her long existence, Lorio's impulsive actions had harmed the very thing she claimed to love.

Opheile glanced behind her and seeing the alarming amount of blood on her trousers, frowned. An image of her handsome Czarin rose unbidden to her mind and that frown curdled into a grimace.

Dutifully, she complied with Lorio's command and when she pushed the trousers to her ankle, Lorio emitted a strangled groan fraught with self-loathing. The back of Opheile's legs, where Lorio had delivered her supposedly restrained blow, were limed and swollen with deep bruises. Yet it was the alarming state of the left calve that made Lorio want to seize Opheile's dagger and plunge it into her own throat. A circular wound, roughly the diameter and shape of a Galloway copper coin, was the wellspring for the blood that had saturated Seznoire's fine trousers. The wound was deep and winked at Lorio like a malefic crimson eye. Lips twisted into a scowl, Lorio went in search of the branch she had used to impart her lesson. Snapping up the offending length of wood, she was horrified to discover a bloody spur, where a small shoot had broken off, protruding from the shaft. In her haste to impart an ultimately pointless lesson, she had not bothered to properly examine her impromptu weapon. Lorio allowed the branch to slip through her slack fingers and covered her eyes with her other hand.

'And there it is, Lorio,' the voice of Islena Doraux flailed her. 'With one thoughtless act, you've manage to indelibly scar one of the most pristinely beautiful women who has ever walked this wretched world. Truly laudable! Even you must be starting to see a pattern here.'

Seeing how utterly distraught Driss was becoming, Opheile feigned exasperation. "Not to whinge, Driss, but are you simply going to allow me to bleed out, or are you going to carry me over to the maple tree by the bluff and help me tend this wound?"

Lorio was over to the other woman in the blink of an eye and scooping Opheile into her powerful arms, she carried the injured woman over to the designated tree as if she was no more substantial than a sack of feathers.

She gently sat Opheile down in the shade of the maple, not particularly surprised when the meticulous Seznoire informed her that their picnic basket had been packed to include emergency supplies. When Lorio greeted this disclosure with a crooked grin, Opheile huffed indignantly. "There are more hazards in the forest than just wild beasts and ravagers, I'll have you know. Though perhaps not lethal, prickle root and rash vine are hardly a jape. It's best to be prepared for any contingency."

"And you would recognize these dire hazards?" Lorio inquired with scarcely concealed skepticism.

Now Opheile's expression became rueful and she growled, "It just so happens that I would...and I have every intention of tripping you into the next patch we come across. Then let us see how amusing you find my preparedness."

The two women glared at each other for a moment, before bursting simultaneously into gales of laughter.

Finally, Lorio's giddiness subsided and she inquired gravely, "You know that I would rather throw myself from this bluff than deliberately hurt you, right?"

Opheile reached for Lorio's hand and gave it a squeeze of reassurance. "I do, Driss."

"And yet, despite that, I still managed to frighten you." Opheile started to raise the obligatory objection, but Lorio forestalled her by gently placing an index finger on her lips. "There is no point in denial, Opheile. My life has afforded me the opportunity to become intimately familiar with the look of fear. I saw it in those heartbreakingly beautiful blue eyes when you were looking up at me along the length of that god cursed branch."

"I...I was more startled than afraid, Driss," Opheile offered, wanting to banish that expression of self-contempt from the face she had come to cherish so profoundly.

Lorio shook her head as earnest bewilderment crept into her tone. "All my life, people tried to absolve me of my transgressions...no matter how despicable. I know it's because of this face...it's shocking how frequently people will forgive a beautiful woman. Maybe it's this peculiar vulnerability I've always exuded. Whatever the reason, people literally fall over themselves concocting ways to excuse my ugly behaviour. Not this time, Opheile, because you are far too precious to me to have us fall into the same destructive pattern. There is a part of me that wants only to protect you...and I hope this doesn't sound as sinister as it does in my thoughts, but I find myself wanting to lock you up in the curio with those trinkets I've accrued since first coming to Cortrin."

"Not sinister at all, Driss...but touching," Opheile murmured, her limpid eyes fixed firmly on Lorio's troubled face.

"I need you to know that there is another part of me...one that I've struggled to master my entire life. It's impulsive and unpredictable and when it usurps control of my head...I can become a menace to everything I care about."

"Driss, since you've known me...how often has that happened?" Opheile queried intently.

Lorio considered this and replied, "Other then today and that time I saw you with that she-devil...never."

Opheile rolled her great blue eyes and lightly slapped Lorio's wrist. "Let's not paint that particular episode in more complicated hues than what it was. You were full out jealous, and it had nothing to do with this festering inconsistency. Today, you merely over-reacted to what you perceived as my recklessness." She took Lorio's angular face in both hands and tenderly kissed her slightly parted lips. "Have you ever considered the very real possibility that I'm an extremely skilled, lovingly benevolent witch...who has cast a calming spell on you...to keep you placid and forever bound to me?"

"Literally everyday," Lorio returned, mesmerized by Opheile's aura as it washed over her.

She gently patted Lorio's cheek and instructed, "Then be a good thrall and fetch the basket before the ants dine on my leg."

Lorio stood and loped off to retrieve the basket, while Opheile undid the laces of her hiking boots. She removed both boots and her blood sodden trousers, setting them on the grass beside her just as Lorio returned with the wicker basket. Setting it at Opheile's feet, she suggested, "This will be easier if you roll onto your stomach."

Opheile drew in her cheeks fetchingly and arched an eyebrow. "I suppose I'll submit to your care."

When Opheile's had complied, resting her face on her folded arms, Lorio's appreciative gaze swept over her enticingly pert bottom and along the sweeping topography of those long legs she so adored. When her eyes settled on the deep wound that seemed to taunt the immortal, winking up at her obscenely, Lorio felt her heart constrict painfully in her chest. Inhaling tremulously, she opened the basket and withdrew the items that comprised Opheile's emergency kit: a flask of clean water, a smaller container of rubbing alcohol, clay jar containing a grey-green unguent and several rolls of clean bandages. As she set out cleaning and dressing this source of eternal shame, she recalled that it had been Issidris who had taught her how to treat and dress wounds. Personally, being what she was, it was an aptitude for which she had no direct use, still, her penchant for inadvertently inflicting harm on those she loved made it an indispensable skill to possess.

Opheile suffered Lorio's ministrations stoically, not giving voice to her certain discomfort even when Lorio upended some of the alcohol over the wound. Yet, when she began to carefully apply the unguent, Opheile began to speak in a low, sober voice. "You've given me much to reflect on today, Driss. I see that many of the presumptions I've harboured about myself...and about you and the dynamic that exists between us...have been woefully ill-conceived."

Panic rose up in Lorio's throat like burning bile as she construed this somber declaration to mean that she was re-evaluating their relationship. This fear made Opheile's utterance all the more unexpected and perplexing. "I accused you of belittling me earlier, Driss, but I now realize that it is me who has belittled you since almost the first moment we met."

"That...that isn't true...no one has ever treated me with as much kindness...or respect as you have," Lorio protested.

Opheile's rolled onto her back and gazed up at the immortal, a sorrowful half-smile adorning her angelic countenance. Quietly, she offered, "Driss, I believe you've just done a terrible disservice to the memory of Issidris Il. I'm not so insecure or shallow of a creature that I would have you conceal how much you loved her. Now, what I'm about to say is not an easy admission for me to make. Will you allow me to speak without argument or interruption?"

Chastened, Lorio nodded, earning another of Opheile's radiant smiles. "For most of my life, I've mantled myself in the amour of smug certainty and self-confidence, falsely subscribing to the idea that I could control any situation through the sheer force of my personality. It's as if I've always believed that I was...inherently superior in a way that allows me to influence and manipulate everyone who crossed my path. The years that I wandered through the woods, alone and quite obviously defenceless...yet still certain that nothing could harm me...are proof of just how ingrained my arrogant delusion was. Today, with one harsh, but necessary lesson, you've disabused me of that delusion."

Lorio shook her head in bewildered negation, but offered no contradiction. After a moment's reflection, Opheile continued her cutting deconstruction. "With you, the most precious thing that fate has ever cast my way, I've committed a deplorable sin. Yes, I've been kind and loving...but in a way that was condescending...demeaning."

"I...I don't understand, Opheile," Lorio breathed, this articulation of earnest confusion sounding very much like the strident hiss of a kettle.

"From the very instant I set eyes upon you, appearing awkward and so fetching in the bathhouse entrance, I presumed that I would be your mentor...the sage one who would guide and usher you to your full potential. It was as if running away from the family home with my brother and opening an inn in another country were extraordinary achievements that had conferred upon me a boundless repository of wisdom. Even though you've been unable to share them with me, I have still discounted your life experiences...your accrued pain and joy...as if they were incidental. I now see that I am the one who can learn from you, Driss. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I promise to spend the rest of my life earnestly heeding your advice...your wisdom."

Shaking her head as if this might be a disjointed dream in which the world...the logical order of things...had been turned on its head, Lorio gripped Opheile's chin and intoned fiercely. "If you want to heed my advice, then you'll stop denigrating yourself, because I won't hear it, Opheile...not another bloody word. You have taught me, by undeviating example, that it is possible to be strong...without resorting to intimidation or violence. I never would have believed that humility and compassion were every bit as powerful as a mailed fist. In your presence, I've come to see how wrong I was. So enough of the self-condemnation." Lorio smiled wryly and added, "Mind you, if you occasionally deferred to my wisdom...on matters, for instance, such as wandering through the woods alone..."

Opheile's eyes grew comically wide, but then she nodded in deference. The two fell into a companionable silence, while Lorio deftly bound the other woman's wound.

Gravely, Opheile inquired, "Will you teach me how to not make a jape of myself while wielding a blade, Driss?"

Lorio shifted her gaze to the other woman and declared emphatically, "No...never, but I will protect you against anyone foolish enough to mean to do you harm."

Opheile considered this for a moment, her next query unsettling Lorio as she asked, "And Issidris...could she defend herself?"

Lorio's expression became pensive and she paid her beloved ghost a tribute she knew Issidris would have appreciated, "There are few swordsmen in the world who would have willingly crossed blades with Issidris Il."

"And what of you, Driss...were you her equal?" The beauty inquired softly, to which Lorio replied with an evasive grin.

She assisted Opheile in sliding into her bloodstained trousers and boots, but the blue-eyed woman grimaced in obvious pain when Lorio helped her stand upright. Firmly, the immortal announced, "I'm going to carry you back to the highway and you're going to let me...no debate."

"That's preposterous, Driss. I'm more than capable of walking, besides which, it's a two-bell trek over rugged terrain...you can't possibly carry me the entire distance!"

Lorio arched an eyebrow. "I heft barrels and crates for a living...most of which weigh four times more than you do. Perhaps you can ponder the implications of that while I carry you along like a sack of feathers. Once we're back in Cortrin...I'm taking you to a healer to have that leg seen to properly."

"That's hardly necessary, Driss...it will be..."

Ignoring the guilt that rousing this particular memory would inevitably cause, Lorio interjected gruffly, "I would imagine that Czarin said pretty much the same thing. The hard lessons we learn from our pain and loss are usually the most meaningful...don't ignore this one, Opheile...for my sake as well as yours."

Opheile's great sapphire eyes flared in wounded indignation that quickly relented to pallor. She finally nodded submissively. Feeling vile for having manipulated her lover, Lorio quickly gathered up the basket and blanket. She thrust them into Opheile's arms and scooped the innkeeper up as effortlessly as if she was, indeed, no more of a burden than a sack of feathers.

Lorio began to stride across the grass, toward the narrow gap in the trees and Opheile intoned, "If I'm to suffer the indignity of being carried about like an infant...I may just have to take full advantage of the situation and kiss and grope you the entire way back to Cortrin."

Lorio regarded her with a feigned expression of consternation. "With that kind of distraction, I may well spill us down the side of a ravine."

"Chance you'll have to risk, I'm afraid!" Opheile retorted tartly and began to kiss and nuzzle Lorio's neck.

Sighing happily, Lorio pushed into the trees, effortlessly negotiating the rolling terrain. Within a quarter bell, Opheile' was sleeping gently in her protector's embrace...blithely unaware that the day was to dispense one further epiphany concerning her mysterious companion.

3

Opheile was limping visibly by the time the pair reached Cortrin and though she suffered the pain stoically, it was declared eloquently by her pallor and pinched expression.

Not long after passing through Cortrin's northern arch, the pair turned into the main cobbled thoroughfare that would eventually lead them back to the Glass House Inn.

The low slant of the weak sunlight over the tiled rooftops informed the immortal that it was late afternoon. In all probability, the city's apothecaries would have closed up shop for the evening, but Lorio made the impromptu decision that she would procure the willow bark and more potent unguents Opheile's wound required...even if it necessitated kicking in a shop door to do so.

She peered along the wide thoroughfare, with a mind to procuring a carriage to carry the pair back to the Inn, when she was confronted by a disturbing sight that banished these considerations from her mind. Opheile's wound and pain, the day's revelatory events; these things were displaced from her conscious thoughts by a tempest of horrible memories. They came boiling up from the deepest cloister of her subconscious like a swarm of rabid bats from an abandoned mine shaft.

Opheile became keenly cognizant of the sudden change in her soul mate's disposition. Her entire body had gone rigid as if caught in a paralytic vice. Opheile followed her livid gaze and saw that it was set squarely upon three peculiar wagons that were parked adjacent to the stone sidewalk, on the opposite side of the thoroughfare. The large conveyances were constructed from brightly painted wood and covered with slotted sheets of multi-coloured canvas that clearly showed their age. Apart from the array of brightly optimistic colours, the wagons' most distinctive feature was their enormous wheels, which stood as high from the ground as a tall man.

Opheile was worldly enough to recognize these wagons as the preferred means of travel of the Lamish. Though she astutely recognized the ugly nature of the situation developing around the wagons, she clutched Lorio's right bicep, which felt like coiled steel beneath her grasp, and inquired, "Driss, what's the matter...what do you see?"

Lorio heard Opheile's fraught query as if from down the length of a long corridor. Her leanly muscled body grew tense and her angular face contorted into a puckered mask over which rippled a dozen discordant emotions. She was a young child again...perhaps having just only come into her seventh year. All about her, writhing tongues of flame lapped at the night sky as wagons...modest canvas and wood version of the three now arrayed before her, burned through their death throes. The night air was alive with cries of alarm and warning. Somewhere beyond the blazing wagons, slurred voices, rife with loathing and derision, mocked the panicked Lamish...laughing disdainfully as the travellers few worldly possessions burned.

Just then, a squat, heavy set man stepped into the circle of wagons and through the surprisingly vivid lens of recollection, it seemed to young Lorio that his eyes had blazed a demonic red.

Voice slurred by the courage-enhancing effects of liquor, he bellowed, "We won't have none of yer filthy commerce here, scum. Mark me well and heed my words...gather up your garbage and be gone from this place. If we find yer still here come morning...we'll come back and kill the lot of you!"

With this dire warning delivered, he had reared back and heaved his torch into the Lamish camp, before swaggering off into the darkness. Flying end over end, the torch had arced toward the very spot where the petrified Lorio had cowered.

Gregor, her father, had swept her into his arms and the torch had struck the wooden bench where she'd been sitting before rolling onto the trampled grass beneath. Whispering words of solace, Gregor had quickly stamped out the flames. He had then sat her back down on the crude wooden bench and bid her to remain there while he went off to confer with the rest of the clan...of which he was the de facto clan chief.

In the end, the travellers had been left with little recourse but to accept the governing realities of their situation. They had silently salvaged what they could from the flame-ravaged wagons, gathered up their meagre possessions and skulked away under a pall of shame.

This had been young Lorio's first memory of the pervasive persecution and bigotry that followed the travelling people like relentless hounds. Oddly, she still could not recall where this particular ugly incident had occurred. Lorio knew only that she had suffered through variations of this deplorable abuse in every country through which the perpetually wandering tribe had travelled.

In the years to follow, young Lorio came to glean that the Lamish were duplicitous in garnering their reputation as unwelcome pariahs. By this time, however, her smouldering hatred of the fixed folk was too trenchant to be influenced by the dampening effects of unbiased logic.

Whenever Lorio would face fixed folk in contests of the staff, it had been this dreadful memory that had fuelled her fury. When she had left men and women, broken and bleeding, on pitches all over the Eastern Continent, it had been a demonic caricature of that torch-wielder's face she saw.

A low hiss escaped her tightly compressed lips as she beheld the agonizingly familiar scene play out before her.

A middle-aged Lamish man, attired in rumpled clothing, stood facing a group of five fixed folk (the transition back to this contemptuous label manifesting in her fevered mind unnoticed), who were arranged around the travellers in an adversarial semi-circle. The man's arms were extended forward, palms turned outward in a gesture of placation. At either shoulder, two young men, in their early twenties by Lorio's estimate...stood slightly behind the man. Though they tried to affect hard glares, Lorio could glean that both were resigned to the ugly humiliation that was likely to follow.

When Lorio's regard settled on the small, moon-eyed faces that peered through the slits in the canvas, alight with confused terror...a frayed thread snapped in her heart. It seemed as though those frightened eyes fixed squarely upon her face, imploring her, their queen, to come forth and rescue them from this abject persecution.

Beside her, an increasingly concerned Opheile could discern the inexplicable tempest gathering within the enigmatic woman to whom she had bound her fate. Clutching Driss' arm, she reiterated, "Driss, this isn't something you can prevent. Perhaps the city watch could..."

"The city watch will do nothing!" Driss rasped in a tone that suggested she thought Opheile was being obtuse. "They'll be privately pleased that the rabble is doing their work for them."

She abruptly turned to Opheile and the sapphire-eyed beauty found that she was confronted by a terrifying stranger.

'You wish to know who Driss really is...well your wish is about to be granted,' a voice whispered in her mind with unaccountable glee. Driss roughly gripped Opheile's shoulders and ushered her over to the nearest stoop, where she pushed her into a seated position on the stone steps. She then bent forward and wagged a finger in admonition before a dumbfounded Opheile's face. "You will stay here until I'm done...until I'm done, do you understand?"

Despite her affront at being spoken to in this curt, peremptory manner, Opheile nodded meekly. Driss started to turn away, but Opheile pleaded, "Don't let them hurt you."

This strange incarnation of the woman she loved turned back and offered Opheile a crooked grin that chilled her gentle heart.

Opheile Seznoire realized that it was not Driss for whom she should be afraid. Lorio spun about and dismissing Opheile from her mind, strode purposefully across the cobbles. In that moment, Lorio was transmogrified...turned roughly out of the present reality she'd striven so diligently to construct for herself during her years in Cortrin. In the blink of an eye, she was once again the aggrieved, disgruntled Lamish wildling with a festering animosity toward all fixed folk.

A part of her...the part that had been influenced and configured by first Issidris Il and then the serene Opheile, was both bewildered and astounded by how quickly one could be reduced to the lowest denominator of their inner darkness.

'Not so astounding at all,' traitorous Islena cooed from the darkness. 'The towers we erect to house our great delusions are fragile constructs of pretty paper. With the right catalyst, they can be torn down in a heart beat. Right here and now...this thing you are about to unleash...is the real you and no veneer of paint and paper can change that!'

Lorio scowled in the face of this biting castigation, but it, nonetheless, lacked the efficacy to slow her stride a whit.

She pushed past the cordon of thugs and imposed herself between the Lamish travellers, who offered her an expression of pure relief, and the line of ruffians. As she swept her blistering gaze over the five, Lorio noted that each brandished heavy canvas saps. The sap's interior, she knew, would be filled with iron filings and was a nasty weapon commonly employed by ale house brawlers the world over. She also noticed that every eye was glazed by the volatile combination of alcohol and festering rancour...a combination that would explode into ugly violence once a suitably helpless target presented itself. A small group of Lamish travellers was the very quintessence of a convenient target.

She turned her attention to the miscreant directly before her, arching an eyebrow upon realizing that he was a labourer at Emon Yar's haulage hard.

She knew him only by the name Goreshran, an unsavoury lout with a loud mouth and a reputedly quick temper.

Goreshran's bleary grey eyes widened in surprise as recognition filtered through the ugly spite. That surprise gave way to smouldering contempt for the tall, muscle-bound bitch who thought she had the right to take a man's job...to do a man's work. Here she was...like a nasty rash...trying to scuttle a man's fun. Well, perhaps it was time for some comeuppance.

He grinned at Lorio, who was assailed by a wave of putrid breath that wafted out between rotten teeth. "This ain't the yard, Driss. Old man Emon ain't here to protect the pet that's been polishing his drooping sword."

Lorio merely beamed a humourless grin at this vapid vulgarity. Despite his rank odour, she stepped closer to Goreshran, over whom she stood a large hand taller. "As I doubt very much you have commerce with these good folk, I would recommend that you and your cronies slink back to the ale house...before things take an ugly turn."

Goreshran barked a spate of ugly laughter and his fellow miscreants joined in. Lorio shifted her gaze just over the smaller man's shoulder and noticed that a crowd had begun to gather on the far sidewalk. She saw that Opheile was watching her, an expression of acute anguish twisting her beautiful face. Lorio had lived her life in Cortrin with a mind to anonymity. What was about to transpire here could swiftly change that, but obligation to her heritage had thrust itself upon her and she could not forsake those frightened eyes behind the canvas.

Secure in his mantle of chauvinistic certainty, Goreshran unwittingly decided the moment. "Stand off to the side while we deal with this rabble...and then me and the boys will drag yer pretty ass off into an alley and attend to you right and proper."

He reached for Lorio's left shoulder, meaning to pull her out of the way. Fighter's instinct seized control of the moment then. Lorio tilted to the right, while twisting at the torso and simultaneously seizing Goreshran's hand in a crushing vice. A graceful pivot and a violent thrust of the firm ass he had threatened to abuse sent the thug flying over her shoulder.

He hit the cobbles with a guttural grunt and a satisfying meaty thud. Still clutching his wrist, Lorio ruthlessly drove her boot heel into his exposed groin. His guttural grunt became a shrill cry of agony as the force of the blow crushed his manhood and ruptured his jewels. Unable to extricate himself from her grip, Goreshran twisted onto his side and regurgitated the contents of his stomach onto the cobbles.

Lorio discerned movement an instant before one of the downed man's cronies attempted to bludgeon the back of the immortal's skull with his sap. Lorio bent forward at the waist, until her torso was parallel to the ground. Her long, powerful leg unfurled like a striking cobra, the reverse thrust kick shattering the tall man's bulbous nose and mashing his lips against his rotten teeth.

His eyes promptly rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the cobbles like a felled tree, his tumble accompanied by a spray of blood and a litter of broken teeth.

Lorio spared a disdainful glance at the unconscious man, before turning her scorching regard on the three vertical thugs, who had now retreated several paces. "Now, I would suggest that you collect this piece of garbage and slink off before I decide it would be easier to kill you than beat you into bloody heaps."

The trio attempted to salvage their abraded egos by lashing Lorio with combative glares and grumbling, but when her frown did not wilt, they quickly pocketed their saps, gathered their unconscious crony and hurried away, leaving their ringleader to his fate. Lorio felt the old rage begin to wane as she turned her attention back to the moaning Goreshran. She was suddenly anxious to be done with this ugly diversion and the uncomfortable latent emotions it had evoked.

Stomping down on her revulsion, she knelt next to the thoroughly vanquished man, who was regarding her with unalloyed terror, and tried to decide how best to bring this lamentable episode to an end. A memory bloomed in her mind then...a life lesson imparted by Issidris during their ill-fated journey through Anangrast...before their soul-scarifying encounter with the reaver, Vorn. Drawing on the wisdom of that particular memory, Lorio reached under her tunic and withdrew the plump pouch of coins she always carried...a small portion of the bonus she'd accrued while labouring in the haulage yards.

She dropped the pouch onto the heaving man's chest, the clink of metal on metal disclosing the pouch's contents. Goreshran twisted his pain-distorted gaze from the pouch to the she-devil's beautiful face. Even through the glaze of his suffering, the immortal could glean the stirring of the miscreant's avarice. Lorio nodded and offered him a humourless grin. "That's right. There is enough coin in this pouch to see you properly healed...and then to carry you far away from the place and the memory of how I took your manhood. Should you decide to swallow your pride and stay in Cortrin...work in the yard...you'll keep your distance from me. Either way, this pouch of coin is yours."

Gripping his vomit-spattered face in fingers that bit like pincers, she admonished, "If you and I should ever have to revisit this particular discussion...I'll kill you." The pressure on his skull intensified until he whimpered. "Do we have an understanding?"

Goreshran nodded vigorously and snatched up the coin purse with trembling fingers. Lorio released his lower mandible and wiping his filth from her hand, rose to face the Lamish traveller, who regarded her with undisguised awe. "Do you have a strong tonic for pain?"

The man blinked in apparent confusion, but after a moment, nodded, "Yes."

"Have one of these young men fetch it. Then have them carry this bastard into the alley across the way and leave him with it." She turned her gaze upon the pair, both of whom were ruggedly handsome and were staring at her as if she was a deity descended from the heavens. sternly, she warned, "Make sure he drinks this tonic, but comes to no further harm." After a moment's further consideration, she succumbed to the old prejudices (of which she had once been the victim) and added, "That pouch of coins is not to be touched...because I don't suffer ingratitude lightly."

The two swallowed in unison and hurried off to retrieve the tonic. Lorio turned back to the elder traveller. The sheen of perspiration on his forehead betrayed how profoundly he'd been unnerved by the ugly encounter. Unaccountably perturbed, Lorio demanded, "Why are you this far afield from Lamia?"

The traveller ran his fingers through his greying raven hair curls and returned, "Times are troubled there. Lamia is...unsettled...like a child that has no place in the world." He inclined his chin in the direction of the three wagons. "My family...we've decided to return to the old ways...the true ways."

This remarked impaled Lorio...a rapier precise accusation of abandonment. She had eschewed her heritage...her identity. Shame welled up in the pit of her being like burning bile. Distantly, she heard herself advise. "You must leave Cortrin at once. If the City Watch catches wind of this...you and yours will be held to blame. Make your way to Emercia. Queen Karosyn is a noble soul who does not countenance persecution. There, you will be free to adhere to the old ways...providing you respect her laws."

The man accepted this with a thoughtful nod and went off to join his two sons. Lorio remained stationary for a moment, feeling the unexpected tug of two diametrically opposing forces...an abandoned past and a future she had felt certain she craved.

A small, pretty face appeared through a slit in the coloured canvas and for a brief moment, Lorio felt certain that she was seeing a reflection of the child she'd once been. There was a wild aspect to this beautiful child's face...a visage that was alight with untamed wonder...free of the cynical despair that was accrued while suffering the endless succession of life's blows.

Lorio smiled at the beautiful raven-haired child...if only to forestall the deluge of tears that wanted to burst forth. She started to turn away, wanting only to scurry back to the comfort of Opheile's serene aura. A hand clutched her right shoulder and she spun about...to find that she was peering into brown amber eyes that evoked images of a bottomless ocean. The thin face surrounding those eyes was heavily lined and appeared as ancient as the world itself.

There was an omniscient aspect to the old woman's vital regard that made Lorio feel utterly naked...as though she'd been turned inside out to reveal her every sordid secret and imperfection. The woman's opening words only served to corroborate this unsettling impression. "Ah, daughter of dust, what, I wonder has enticed you to abandon all you are...and bind yourself to the ways of the fixed folks?"

Of its own volition, Lorio's gaze was drawn to the opposite side of the thoroughfare, where Opheile remained seated, watching this particular interaction intently. The old Lamish woman followed this gaze and grinned knowingly. "Ah, a most beautiful and precious ornament, indeed. Yet, beauty fades and ornaments grow frail and shatter. When that dark day of dolour comes, daughter of dust...what will you be left with to bind you to this illusion...your majesty?"

With this disconcerting query delivered, the old woman released Lorio's shoulder and receded back into the shadows.

The immortal turned on rubbery legs and took two staggering steps back toward the sanctuary that was Opheile Seznoire. Suddenly, the world seemed to lurch beneath her feet and the opposite side of the street became strangely insubstantial. A thin gasp escaped Lorio's lips, which had contorted into a rictus of horrified negation. The tangible reality of the world around her relented into an infinite series of overlaid, translucent tapestries.

Lorio gleaned that she was actually seeing isolated vignettes...captured moments from the inexorable march into the future...her future.

Opheile, sitting on the stones steps, grew old and frail and then crumbled to dust and bone meal before Lorio's horrified eyes...their love as fleeting as the beat of an ardent heart. Others would follow...and endless succession of women...and men, all touching her vitiated heart like the delicate beating of a butterfly's wings. Yet, this constant tide of humanity shared only one common characteristic...sorrowful impermanence.

Around this unending river of mortals...these ones who would play brief roles in the unending drama of her life...Lorio witnessed the rise and fall of empires and the reshaping of the very world itself. Through it all, she saw that she would undergo her own inexorable metamorphosis and when she grew numb and indifferent to the procession of those who touched her life...like momentary distractions over which she could scarcely invest interest...Lorio would, indeed, become the daughter of dust.

As quickly at this portentous episode commenced, it ceased, the tapestries dissolving like mist. Feeling heavy-hearted and despondent, Lorio stumbled across the thoroughfare, over to where Opheile was watching her warily. A glimpse into those expressive blue eyes only served to exacerbate Lorio's dejection. Conspicuously absent from that gaze was the one quality that Lorio had come to cherish...the gleam of irreducible love that enveloped the immortal each and every time that gaze fell upon her. In its place, Lorio discerned a flicker of uncertainty that caused her heart to skid painfully in her chest.

'Why fret over something that is as transitory as a gust of wind.' Myrhia inquired blithely. 'Even if you can rescue something through this debacle, she'll be dust through your fingers soon enough.'

Lorio grimaced, prompting Opheile to inquire, "Are you well, Driss...you're pallid?"

"I'm fine...but let us be away from here before the city watch comes to investigate what's drawn this crowd."

Opheile nodded and started to rise, but gave a sharp gasp of pain as her wounded calve issued a plaintive howl.

Not caring who was watching, Lorio swept Opheile into her arms and began to hurry along the sidewalk, sparing the travellers' wagons a nervous final glance.

4

Much later, ensconced in the suite of rooms they shared, the pair sat in an uncomfortable silence. Tension, thick and cloying, hung in the air. Lorio sat on a chair next to the bed they shared, while Opheile lay propped against a drift of pillows with her freshly bandaged leg stretched before her. She stared fixedly into the crackling fire, her lovely face inscrutable.

Yet, behind those great blue eyes, Lorio feared there raged a tempest that, once unleashed, would sweep her from the face of the other woman's world. Unable to endure the silence further, the immortal ventured, "I hope you intend to heed the apothecary's advice and stay off that leg for a few days. Let your staff run the Inn and if you have to get out of bed, confine your work to the office."

Opheile, normally a bright conversationalist, who loved to engage Lorio in clever banter, merely regarded the immortal flatly and nodded, before shifting her regard back to the hearth.

Lorio ran her trembling fingers through her thick mane, despising her timidity. Deciding to risk unleashing the storm, she beseeched, "Look, if you're angry with me...for...for everything that happened today, then let me have it. Scream at me...toss things at me, but please...say something! This silence is suffocating."

Opheile turned her attention to Lorio and while that enveloping love was nowhere in evidence...there was at least animation in her eyes. "I'm not angry with you, Driss...I'm simply overwhelmed, which is a state to which I am completely unaccustomed. We both know that I pride myself on being composed. Right this moment...that composure is perilously brittle. What you did on the thoroughfare...confronting those hooligans...was courageous...heroic even. Still, I hope never to see you resort to that kind of ugly violence again."

Lorio could feel Opheile's expectant gaze on the side of her face, but knew, unequivocally, that this was one vow she would never allow herself to keep. She remained silent and something that might well have been disappointment flickered in Opheile's eyes.

They lapsed back into that dreary silence, when finally, Opheile asked, "What did that old Lamish woman say to you...in the moment before you turned away?"

Not certain what induced her to weave the lie, Lorio replied, "She thanked me for intervening."

Opheile pursed those eminently kissable lips. "In the time since we bound our lives together, that may be the first occasion in which you told me a deliberate lie. From this point forth, each successive lie will come that much easier."

She then turned her distant gaze back to the fireplace. Wondering if she'd inflicted irreparable damage to Opheile's trust, Lorio inquired morosely, "Do you want me to go to my own rooms?"

Opheile's gaze snapped to the immortal and she erupted, "No! I want to spend the rest of my life with you...here...giving yourself to me as freely and openly as I have given myself to you. After today, I fear that might be something beyond your capacity to give." When Lorio's face blanched in misery, Opheile smiled for the first time since returning to the Inn. "Don't fret, Driss. I'm made of far sterner stuff than you can imagine, and I won't give you up so easily. Now come, I want to sleep in your embrace...with your strong legs and arms around me."

She then turned onto her side, facing away from the relieved immortal, who hurriedly moved to comply.

Though things would return to normal for a time, the jaws of fate's dragon were poised and ready to snap on their quiet, intimate life.

Chapter Nine

1

The clatter of metal on stone resounded over the cobbles of the Great Southern Trade Road, sounding like thunder in the warm summer air. Maxim Tier Marshal Arminda rode at the head of the four-rider wide column of fifteen hundred of Jerhia's elite female warriors. The day had dawned warm and that heat would become oppressive when the sun reached its zenith in the Southern Norhynan sky. This, along with Arminda's avid desire not to convey the slightest hint of intimidation that such a sizeable mailed fist could easily impart, had compelled the Maxim Tier Marshal to order that ceremonial uniforms would replace the traditional armour normally worn on such an expedition.

Arminda rode at the head of a column of the most accomplished female warriors her nation had ever produced, drawn from the ranks of every military discipline. Archers, scouts, swordswomen, cavalry troops and heavy infantry: these women stood as the elite of the Jerhia military machine.

Their ascension through the ranks had been made possible by the progressive policies of gender equality that Arminda had fostered during her twenty-year tenure as Maxim Tier Marshal. This contingent of elite female warriors had honed their skills in training yards all across Jerhia. Their exceptional skills had garnered notice as the women had acquitted themselves well in the endless series of military exercises Jerhia conducted. That notoriety had helped propel the women up through the ranks of the military hierarchy, their rapid ascent further facilitated by Arminda's determination to remove the obstacle of gender bias from the Jerhia culture.

'Yet not one of these women has actually faced the ugly realities of actual combat,' she thought as she led the stately procession toward Nalosan. She could not help but wonder how these women would fare if faced with the terrifying charge of Redian Berserkers. How would they have stood against the controlled fury of the Majeeri Rha-Sheem, when that group of hate-fuelled warriors had laid waste to a good portion of the Eastern Continent?

She had little doubt that this collection of extraordinary women would have confronted either imposing challenge with the same unflappable composure and competence as that of their male counterparts.

'Thus, you've succeeded in moulding legions of prolific killers to rival the most blood-thirsty, glory-addled of men...a laudable achievement to be sure,' the ghost of Gillian, one of Jerhia's greatest Iconic heroes, and its most vociferous detractors, intoned with his customary sardonic derision.

This caustic remark evoked a bitter grin from Arminda, who had last seen her quest companion lying in state in Brexiter. She had made the solitary journey to the bleak Lamish capital to attend Gillian's funeral. She had stood beside Nayoro, the Lamish Queen, who was attired in black to commentate the passing of her Royal Consort, and had stared glumly down upon the man who had caused her so much consternation over the years...and had provided her with so many virtuous examples to emulate. Still, as she stared down on his hawkish face, so tranquil in deathly repose, she found that she loved the rogue like a brother and was grateful to the fates that the course of his often-turbulent life had led him to Nayoro. His death, only five years after the passing of Maroc, had left her alone at the apex of power in Jerhia. Universally respected, Arminda had become an island of solitude, connected to the world only by association with those she commanded.

'And once you've rectified your great transgression and once you've squired Jerhia back to the table of world affairs and taken the course of action you secretly intend to take...what awaits you then?' A voice, rife with disquiet, inquired nervously. 'When you return to your ancestral home, will you pass the rest of your days in solitude, communing with the ghosts of then few friends you managed to accrue over the course of your ultimately lonely life? Are years of life-leeching loneliness to be your recompense for all of your vaunted accomplishments?'

Arminda shook her head, wondering what had provoked this outburst of maudlin musings.

The image of a younger Maroc rose to her mind. Earnest and uncomplicated, her mentor and the one true friend she'd garnered, had been unflagging in his desire to see her raised to the loftily pinnacle of Jerhia's first female Maxim Tier Marshal...just as he had been genuinely sincere in this conviction that she possessed the elusive qualities necessary to define Jerhia's future...its new role in the changing world.

'If you could see me now, old friend...see the government drone I've become...would you be disappointed that your faith was misgiven?' she wondered with a rueful frown. 'Would you perceive my planned withdrawal from the world as an act of cowardice? In retrospect, were we not both guilty of cowardice when we so bafflingly refused to acknowledge and act on the love we held for each other? We prioritized commitment to sacred duty until it was far too late, but Maroc...it is I who is now forced to live with this crushing regret.'

She had been happy then, after a fashion...allowing friendship and mutual commitment to a common cause to serve as a substitute for the love they so stubbornly refused to acknowledge. As his adjutant and designated heir apparent, she had, for years, virtually become his shadow. They had laboured tirelessly through the days, forging Jerhia's great future. Most nights, they dined together and Arminda recalled the laughter and easy banter that passed between two people who knew each other as well as it was possible for two sentient beings to know each other. Yet, at the end of those warm and happy evenings, each would return to their empty bedchambers...to pass the lonely hours of darkness in solitude.

The inability of each to give voice to the love that should have bound them together was a tragedy that had flayed Arminda every day since Maroc's death some twenty years past.

Perhaps it was this colossal failure that had suddenly inspired her urgent need to atone for her perceived mistreatment of Lorio...to make amends for abandoning the immortal before death denied the Jerhia the opportunity.

'Ah yes, and once you've secured her forgiveness, perhaps she'll agree to come and keep you company. The two of you can pass the remainder of your days reliving the glory and horror of your journey through the Land of Shades,' Gillian remarked with sardonic incredulity. 'Even if she is willing to bestow it upon you, Lorio's absolution will not efface the sad fact that you sacrificed your one opportunity for meaningful happiness in service to an ultimately pointless sense of duty.'

Arminda gritted her teeth, refusing to give this particular sentiment audience. One of her greatest personal attributes was the ability to resolutely separate matters that could be addressed and resolved from those that were beyond salvage such as Maroc and the missed opportunity that they had both squandered for a plethora of reasons too complex to fully articulate. She derived a small measure of solace from the fact that theirs had been a friendship as intimate and fulfilling as any two people had ever shared.

Instead, she would stake her personal and professional legacy on correcting her two enduring misjudgments; her abandonment of Lorio and her willingness to perpetuate Jerhia isolationism in the face of the shifting course of history. Suddenly, she was struck by the exigent need to achieve a third objective to close out her long career. Before she left Summergaden to return to her ancestral home, Arminda intended to establish at least one meaningful...and hopefully, enduring friendship.

Arminda turned her head to the left to find her stalwart Adjutant, Marangelies, staring forward along the great road, her pretty face lost in private contemplation. The Maxim Tier Marshal knew that this was the first occasion that the course of the young woman's life had carried her beyond Jerhia's borders. Though trying to maintain the facade of detached composure that was expected of someone of her rarified rank, Arminda could clearly discern that the young woman regarded the leagues of rolling hills through the lens of wide-eyed wonder.

This observation conjured memories of her own excursions across the Eastern Continent to Nalosan. She had made the journey to Nalosan on only three previous occasions. It had been these three ventures...some harrowing, some doleful...that had, in many ways, defined her life.

On the first of these formative excursions, Arminda had been a freshly-minted Tier Marshal, attached to the force that had escorted the deity-in-waiting, Islena Doraux, to Nalosan.

Arminda and the rest of the escort force had waited outside the city, while Myrhia and Islena had conducted Doraux's ritual of ascension. In the course of that dramatic denouement of the age, Islena had entrapped Myrhia in the eternal prison of her own petrified flesh. Doraux might well have become a monster to dwarf Myrhia's evil had Lorio not aborted Islena's ascension with a dagger to the heart.

When next Arminda made the journey to Nalosan, she would lead an army of Jerhia forces to take control of Emercia after King Artumas had requested that the Jerhia enact the articles of occupation prescribed by the treaty that had ended the Emerald Enchantress War. Arminda clearly recalled making this journey under a cloud of controlled anger...attenuated by guilt. It had been the savage murder of Melansa, the Jerhia emissary to the Emercian court, by the demonic entity known as Xhendyn, that had induced Artumas to make this unprecedented request. Arminda had been angry with King Artumas for failing to protect Melansa...who had also been Arminda's only cousin...and last living relative. In retrospect, Arminda came to realize that no measure could have protected Melansa from the demon's lethal attention, but it had taken years for that understanding to surmount her anger. Her guilt had been a far more subtle, attenuating factor...one that she'd never fully managed to overcome.

It had been Arminda who had lobbied Maroc to assign Melansa to the post of emissary to the court of King Artumas. Though there had been far more experienced candidates for the prestigious posting, Maroc had acceded to Arminda's wish...thus consigning Melansa to her gruesome death. It was Arminda's motivation and underlying skewed philosophy that haunted her nearly fifty years later. Melansa's parents had perished during Myrhia's occupation of Jerhia. Arminda, still firmly under the thrall of Jerhia's cultural mandate of duty to country above all else, had felt certain that her grieving cousin would find catharsis in devotion to a worthy purpose. She had infected the older, but impressionable woman with this certitude. Melansa, now armed with a zealous sense of purpose, had set off to Nalosan, where she would acquit herself admirably for years...before being slaughtered like a farm animal.

Arminda had disciplined her mind to compartmentalizing the guilt, but even after all of these years, the memory still had the power to scarily her conscience. While reviewing a parade ground, her glance might happen upon a young, blond Jerhia...her pretty face set in lines of avid determination...and Melansa's face would rise, unbidden, to her mind...borne on a current of scalding guilt. In those excruciating moments, Arminda, one of the most accomplished Jerhia in her country's long history, felt infinitesimally tiny and alone.

The last occasion on which she had visited Nalosan had been without any of the apocalyptic drama that had characterized her two prior visits. She had accompanied Maxim Tier Marshal Maroc to pay Jerhia's respects to the late King Artumas and to offer their nation's condolences to his widow and Emercia's new Queen, Karosyn. It had also been the last occasion she had set eyes upon her enigmatic quest sister, Lorio.

'How could I have allowed thirty years to slip by before seeking you out,' she castigated herself. 'In those thirty years, I only held you in my thoughts long enough to banish your memory back to the shadows.'

It had been Maroc who had first noticed Arminda's unconscious aberrant behaviour at the time, (though, in retrospect, she could no longer be certain if her behaviour had not, in fact, been deliberate). During the duration of the ten-day visit, Arminda had contrived endless pretexts...most desperately transparent and flimsy...to avoid being in Lorio's presence.

On the night before they were to depart for the return journey to Summergaden, a dismayed Maroc had confronted Arminda over her perplexing discourtesy toward the Lamish immortal. "I understand that this is not necessarily my concern...and perhaps I will over-stride the boundaries of our friendship with what I am about to tell you...but I genuinely feel that it is something you must hear."

"Maroc, you know there is nothing of which you can't speak to me."

The aging Jerhia, only now showing the nascent stirrings of infirmity, had offered Arminda a knowing smile and intoned softly, "You've been avoiding Lorio."

Arminda had blinked and stammered, "That's...absurd. I've just...it's..." And then she had fallen silent before, not wanting to impinge upon her cherished friend's intelligence, finally offering, "I'm sorry."

"You have no need to apologize to me!" He had returned in the affectionate, soft tone he used when speaking to her when they were alone. "If you elect not to speak to Lorio, it is well within your right. Yet, I fear that if you do not reach out to her, it may well be a decision that will haunt you for the rest of your life."

Arminda had shifted her gaze to her slightly trembling hands and had retorted defensively, "It is not as if she's gone out of her way to seek me out either."

Maroc had hesitated and then disclosed, "After a few days of being here, Lorio sought me out and asked if I knew the source of your reticence toward her. I allowed that I did not, but recommended that she be patient."

"And you didn't think to tell me this!" Arminda had seethed, limpid blue eyes flaring in rare consternation with her close friend.

"She made me vow not to mention it," Maroc had returned sheepishly.

"And of course, men always do what Lorio wants them to," She had rasped sourly before sighing and declaring, "I'll go and speak to her now."

Maroc had offered his friend an affectionate smile, squeezed her arm and shuffled off to his chair by the hearth. She continued to watch him for a moment, experiencing a twinge of unspoken love so intense that it literally robbed her of her breath.

Arminda finally stumbled away and went in search of her terrifying quest sister...while grappling with the source of her raging ambivalence toward the immortal.

Not surprisingly, she located Lorio on an isolated section of Kammlogran's ramparts. Her omnipresent companion, Issidris, a frightening, stoic woman who could reduce granite to dust with a piercing glance, was with the immortal. A single torch cast a pallid cone of yellow light to reveal that the two had spread their bedrolls next to the crenellated walls...preferring to sleep beneath the starry firmament.

Arminda had crossed over to the periphery of that feeble cone of light and the two women had rose lithely to greet her, "Lorio," Arminda began, despising the slight quaver in her voice, "may we speak?"

Lorio was every bit as beautiful as the Jerhia recalled, her statuesque, olive-skinned pulchritude pristine in its radiance. Her body was the perfect marriage of lean muscle and feminine splendour. The aura she exuded, however, was radically different. The Lorio that Arminda had known had always conveyed the impression of s churning tempest, poised on the brink of eruption. This new incarnation...while not precisely serene...projected the impression of composure...a kind of control born of constant disappointment and cynicism.

Arminda shifted her regard to the diamond hard, ferocious creature with whom the immortal now kept company. Something in those impassive brown eyes informed the Jerhia that this obvious paragon of violence was Lorio's pillar of newfound composure and stability.

"Issidris, could you give me a moment to speak with my...friend?" Lorio requested, though the slight hesitation in defining their relationship lanced Arminda's heart.

Issidris nodded, and after sparing Arminda an indecipherable, but nonetheless unsettling glance, strode briskly into the darkness.

Customarily, Arminda was an engine of boundless energy, but suddenly she found that she was afflicted by a lethargy that made the simple act of coherent speech onerous.

"I'm glad you were able to come," Lorio began evenly after a moment. "When I heard you were departing for Jerhia tomorrow, I feared that you would leave without seeing me."

"I'm sorry, Lorio...it's just...I..." Arminda fumbled miserably, unable to articulate the complex jumble of reasons that had kept her away.

Lorio smiled and raised her hand to spare the anguished Jerhia the effort. "There is no need, quest sister. I think it is painfully difficult for anyone who survived that dark time to be reminded of its horrors. You and I suffered more than most. Considering that I was the cause of much of your torment, it's only natural that you would be reluctant to see me again."

Arminda blinked in surprise. Lorio's tempestuous nature had been forged by many, hard and unyielding characteristics...but magnanimity had definitely not been amongst their ranks. That the immortal would try to portray Arminda's grievous affront as warranted filled the diminutive blond with intense shame and self-loathing. Her vaunted discipline evaporated and bursting into tears, she stumbled forward and groped blindly for the much taller woman with whom she had shared so many emotionally fraught moments.

Frowning, Lorio drew Arminda into an embrace. Sobbing against the immortal's shoulder like a mournful child, she moaned, "I haven't come to see you because I'm ashamed...of how wretchedly I failed you...especially in Othgol. If I could only have mustered the courage...I would have gotten you away from that monster...both you and Esuruban."

Arminda had felt Lorio stiffen at the mention of the handsome Emercian Captain's name, but she returned dispassionately, "The past is done, Arminda. We are all best served by leaving it in the forgotten darkness where it deserves to be."

"Still, I never tried to reach out to you...never bothered to find out if you were well...or if you were sad or lonely. I was so fixated on becoming this great symbol that Maroc would have me be that I neglected the vows I swore to you." Wretchedly, she summarized, "I've failed you in so many ways, Lorio!"

Shaking her head in negation, Lorio brusquely pushed the distraught Jerhia to arm's length and firmly declared, "Enough of being ridiculous! It just won't do in a woman who is destined to rule one of history's most powerful nations. You did not fail me, Arminda. You were the only person who had any genuine care for my wellbeing during that horrible time in Othgol. Everyone else, even the noble Artumas, regarded me as a pawn in helping Islena defeat Myrhia. Only you saw and cared that it was a role destined to destroy me. Had I agreed that night, you would have willingly agreed to risk being branded history's greatest traitor to see Esuruban and me out of Othgol. Along with Artumas and Esuruban, you are one of the three people from my old life that I can honestly and unabashedly say I love. Now, stop this whinging and give me a proper hug...without weeping all over my shoulder."

And so, she did and then the pair exchanged trivialities of what each had seen and done in the intervening years. Finally, Arminda ventured, "Issidris...she is your friend?"

Lorio smiled, a complex and nuanced amalgam of sweet emotions. "Issidris is...my life." The two lapsed into a contemplative silence and then Lorio linked her long arm in Arminda's and led her to the edge of the circle of light. In the darkness beyond, she bent and bestowed an affectionate kiss on the diminutive Jerhia's cheek, before intoning huskily, "I thank you for coming to see me. It was more precious to me than you can know. Now, it's time for you to go back. You wouldn't want the nobles to think that you prefer slinking in the darkness with unsavoury drifters."

She then startled Arminda by giving her a firm swat on the derrière and propelling her in the direction of the distant stairs.

Feeling that the special moment had passed, Arminda did as instructed, but at the head of the stairs, she turned and, in a voice, coarsened by emotion, called, "Lorio, let's not allow so much time to pass without seeing each other. Let's stay in touch!"

Lorio was leaning on the stone parapet, gazing out over the Bay of Imerlac. In a voice as distant as the ocean's opposite shore, she returned without looking back, "Goodbye, Arminda."

Tottering on the brink of emotional breakdown, Arminda had fled this facsimile of the tempest she'd known. Despite her most fervent intentions, Arminda had scarcely spared the immortal a thought in the intervening thirty years.

That the benevolent Queen had been the one to raise the alarms over Lorio's continuing absence from the world was an indelible stain of Arminda's withered soul.

She became cognizant of someone speaking to her then and turned her head to find Marangelies regarding her with a quizzical expression of concern. "Maxim Tier Marshal, is all well...you seemed troubled?"

Arminda offered the young woman a fond smile. "Just the wool gathering of an old woman." On impulse, she added, "I have a favour to ask...and you're under no obligation to agree..."

"Anything I can do, Maxim Tier Marshal!" The young woman replied eagerly.

Arminda pursed her lips. "To begin with, I would have you call me Arminda when we are out of earshot of others."

Marangelies' limpid eyes grew as wide as dinner plates, mortified by what she perceived as a dire breech of protocol akin to heresy. Yet, always dutiful, she agreed, "Yes...Arminda."

Arminda's smile became effervescent. "At my advanced age, I am likely to forget my own name if I don't hear it occasionally. What I really wanted to ask was...would you care to take dinner with me each night?"

"Of course...Arminda," the younger woman agreed readily. "Are there communiques you wish to draft?"

Arminda shook her head and reached across, patting her adjutant's gloved hand. "No, it simply occurred to me that you've been my adjutant for nearly five years and yet, beyond your impressive qualifications, I know virtually nothing about you...the life you led before coming to Summergaden...your family. If you will permit me, it is an oversight I would dearly wish to rectify before we reach Nalosan."

The young woman appeared both surprised and discomfited by the thought and Arminda quickly added, "Really, you are under no obligation and if you require your quiet time, I certainly understand." She flashed an apologetic grin. "It would be nice to pass a span of hours talking of something other than matters of governance."

"It would be an honour to take dinners with you...Arminda," Marangelies declared solemnly before offering her superior a shy smile that made her appear like a young, enthralled girl. Hesitantly, she asked, "Will you tell me the stories...of the incredible life you've lived?"

Arminda threw back her head and laughed. "Until you beg me to stop if that is what suits your fancy."

The two women laughed and settled into a companionable silence. Pleased, Arminda allowed herself to hope that she had just taken the first steps in liberating herself from the sterile cloister she'd inadvertently constructed around her life in the years since Maroc's death.

A bell later, two Jerhia scouts came galloping up the cobbled highway, leading a pair of what appeared to be Royal Couriers.

The four came to a skittering halt directly before the Maxim Tier Marshal, offering Arminda a hasty salute. She turned her attention to the two couriers, whose exhausted horses and grime and perspiration-stained uniforms made it clear that they had ridden hard and incessantly to deliver their message. She recognized the intaglio of the Emercian Queen on the satchel that the elder of the pair carried. Glancing at Marangelies, she offered her adjutant a wry smile and predicted, "I suspect the benevolent Queen has concerns about our impending visit."

The two couriers exchanged weary, puzzled glances and then the actual message bearer opened his satchel and handed a vellum envelope to Arminda. The Jerhia commander broke the wax seal and withdrew the folded sheet with fingers that trembled ever so slightly. Instinct whispered that, with her perusal of this message from Queen Karosyn, a process of far-reaching consequence, for both her and the nation she governed, was about to be set in motion.

'Perhaps fate isn't quite done with you yet, old girl,' Maroc observed from his designated place in her memory. Drawing a slow, steady breath to quell her anxiety, Arminda unfolded the sheet and quickly read the message written in Karosyn's beautiful script. She forced herself to read it a second time with careful deliberation before handing it to her adjutant.

While Marangelies read the Queen's plea, her expression growing grave, Arminda inquired of one of her scouts, "How far to the next sizeable settlement you passed?"

"Perhaps two bells, Maxim Tier Marshal."

Arminda considered this for a brief moment and arrived at a spontaneous decision that she did not want to wait. She began to issue a series of brisk instructions to have the expedition's porters prepare camp. Then she instructed the scouts to ensure that the Emercians were given food and lodging for both horses and men alike.

When they were again alone, the ashen-faced Adjutant, ever perceptive to the stirring of inimical political winds, inquired, "Will we be returning to Jerhia, Maxim Tier Marshal?"

Arminda clapped her startled adjutant on the shoulder and revealed blithely, "Absolutely not! Though, before we can push for Nalosan, there are a series of urgent communiques that we must draft. I want dispatchers carrying these messages before eventide."

When Marangelies' disquiet only deepened, Arminda observed resolutely, "A basilisk may soon slither onto Emercian shores. When it does, the Jerhia military will be in position to help lop its head off...if that is what is required."

2

It required only one glance at Bethany Denay's angular face to glean that Martriza had delivered her Queen's royal summons with the subtlety of a war hammer. Karosyn had decided that this audience would be held in Kammlogran's throne room...if only to emphasize her perspective on the gravity of the matter at hand.

'Though I suspect Martriza has efficiently bludgeoned that idea into poor Bethany's skull already!' She thought and allowed herself a private smile. Still wanting to assuage the diminutive blonde's apparent displeasure, Karosyn rose from the throne and descended the dais to greet her guest.

Bethany was a beautiful blond-haired woman with a heart shaped face and limpid pale limpid eyes that seemed to invite candour. She wore a dove grey robe that did little to conceal her compact, nubile body. Other than the simple silver cord that cinched her robe at her tiny waist, her only adornment was a small bronze cluster of leaves that signified her rank as Elder Guide in Nalosan.

With the loss of their Matrium and Lissom's virtual abandonment of the Sisters, the order had become an entity without leadership and direction. The order's ostensible purpose had been to serve Gyzarayne's will in the world...under the Ascentrix's guidance. Yet, with the Ascentrix's virtual abdication of that role, the Sisters were left with no specific idea of how to fill that purpose.

Perhaps a decade ago, the elder sisters in Dortizirian had held a secret conclave to create a new administrative structure to guide the Sisters of Esotaria through these unsettled waters. In Dortizirian, this had constituted the creation of a council of elders, consisting of an equal number of senior Stealth Rangers and Battle Mages.

This council of elders had granted itself the limited authority to administer the daily practical operations of the Sisters. Part of that mandate was the creation of the rank of Elder Guide, whose function it was to direct the daily affairs of the Sisters of Esotaria in Emercia and the rest of the Eastern Continent.

Not one single individual involved in this process had been under the misguided illusion that Lissom would condone this course of action...but all agreed that they would prefer to risk Lissom's wrath than allow Gyzarayne's order to fade into irrelevance.

After offering her host Queen a barely acceptable bow, the clearly irate Bethany discarded the protocol of being given leave to speak. Casting a blistering glance at the stone-face Martriza, Bethany rasped, "I trust that your matter is of extreme importance. I am unaccustomed to being summoned like a scullery maid...and an ill-used one at that."

"Elder Guide, if my Seneschal abraded your sensitive feelings, it is unfortunate...but yes, the matter of hand is of paramount importance. I will remind you also that the Sisters' presence in Emercia is contingent upon my forbearance...which can be withdrawn at any time. I would strongly advise you to keep that in mind as we discuss the reason I've summoned you here today."

Bethany's large blue eyes grew comically wide and her lower mandible unhinged in shock. Even Martriza seemed taken aback by the Queen's unheard of bluntness in chastening the Elder Guide. Though delivered in a honeyed tone, it was explicitly clear that Karosyn was in no mood for anything short of unfettered disclosure. Bethany offered her host a stiff bow of deference.

"If I have your leave to attend to other matters, your highness," Martriza requested, thinking she could begin the process of bludgeoning the Tribunes.

"You may not, Seneschal!" Karosyn returned pointedly. "As Queen in Absentia, it is essential that you be party to all dialogues between the crown and foreign dignitaries. Have arrangements been made for an audience for Master Wrey and his son?"

"They...they have, your highness," Martriza returned, bemused by Karosyn's sudden brusqueness.

"Very well, then we have less than a bell and much to discuss," Karosyn declared and led the two formidable women over to the first row of chairs, where the three sat. "Before I reveal the primary reason for summoning you on such short notice, I want to apprise you of my intentions in dealing with Lissom and the crisis in Majeer." The Queen then proceeded to deliver a bare bones account of the process she'd set in motion, including Lissom's terse, but nonetheless ominous response to her invitation. The Elder Guide's normally tawny countenance grew ashen as she listened to Karosyn conclude her outline by querying evenly, "It is your belief that the council will accept me as their Matrium and give their approval to my proposed course of action? For that matter, Bethany Denay, Elder Guide of the Sisters of Esotaria in Emercia...will you forgive my past weakness and give your blessing to my reinstatement as Gyzarayne's Matrium?"

The proud and devoted sister's response surprised the other two women. She slipped from her chair and fell to her knees before a dumbfounded Karosyn. She then prostrated herself and pressed her lips to the leather of the Queen's pale green shoes. After a long moment of absolute silence, Bethany rose to her knees before Karosyn, where she remained with her head bowed in deference. In a voice that shook with gravitas, she offered, "Karosyn Nierosean, I humbly and with all gratitude, accept you as our Matrium and on behalf of the Sisters of Esotaria in both Dortizirian and here in Emercia, so submit the order to your authority and pledge our unwavering fealty to your wise guidance."

Bethany then pressed her face into Karosyn's lap, who, after exchanging nonplused glances with an equally confounded Martriza, gently laid her right hand on the nape of the Elder Guide's neck.

The Elder Guide's entire body seemed to quake beneath this gentle touch and Martriza was again reminded of the spell Karosyn seemed to effortlessly cast over all who came into her beguiling presence.

Karosyn displayed a surprising degree of forceful persistence by looming over the other woman and demanding flatly, "Can you assure me, Elder Guide that the Council in Dortizirian endorses your sentiment?"

Bethany sat back on her shapely haunches and divulged solemnly, "It was the council that gave me free rein in this matter, Mother...years ago...at the very first hint that things were going awry in Majeer. I'll be candid, Mother, if you came forth and declared your desire to be named Ascentrix, you would have the unanimous endorsement of every Sister in Dortizirian...and here, in this antiquated backwater where you have taken up home. Such has always been our implacable faith in you."

"Not every Sister," Karosyn murmured thoughtfully, not bothering to elaborate when Bethany regarded her askance. Karosyn's tone became stern as she reminded the Elder Guide, "An Ascentrix is not a mortal instrument and only the goddess can raise a woman to that role...and only Gyzarayne can abrogate that appointment. I want there to be no illusions...it is my intention to guide Lissom back into the light...not depose her."

"And should she prove intransigent in her refusal to be led?" Bethany challenged.

"Then...we shall see," Karosyn replied evasively, before delivering a scathing criticism that caused even the blunt Martriza to wince. "It would seem that the Sisters have lost sight of the order's mandate and purpose. You are not a philosophical debating society or a political apparatus that is blown hither and yon by the popular winds of the day. The Sisters of Esotaria are a theological order, who are bound to adhere to the mandate and will of the Goddess...without deviation or equivocation. While it is irrefutably true that I failed in my sacred duty as Matrium and that Lissom has gone astray in her capacity of Ascentrix...only Gyzarayne can deliberate on how to deal with Lissom's failings. This is a salient truth that is not subject to debate or interpretation. If the council is unwilling to accept and adhere to this immutable truth, then there is no basis for cooperation on my part. Have I made myself sufficiently clear on this matter, Elder Guide?"

"You have...and we will defer to your wisdom and guidance, Matrium," Bethany Denay returned quietly. "Before we proceed to why I've been summoned...may I apprise you of some...disturbing developments which have come to our attention in the last few days, Matrium?"

Though knowing that the cooper and his son were due to arrive shortly and impatient to broach the subject of Tarim Wrey's apparent abduction, Karosyn could glean Bethany's sense of urgency and reluctantly granted her acquiescence.

Bethany delivered her report, a concisely blended combination of detail and the Sisters' subsequent misgivings in a voice that clearly betrayed her anxiety. Both the Queen and her Seneschal listened attentively, their own disquiet mounting with each apprehension-fraught word the Elder Guide uttered. Bethany then handed Karosyn a single sheet of vellum and waited in tense silence while Karosyn scanned the text, before handing it to the intrigued Martriza for her perusal.

"Each member of the council in Dortizirian received a similar communique...addressed specifically to each recipient," Bethany disclosed anxiously. "She has commanded that the entire council journey here, to Nalosan, to await her arrival."

Grasping the profoundly troubling implications of Bethany's disclosure, a clearly sceptical Karosyn pursed her lips. "Surely you didn't believe that Lissom wouldn't eventually learn of the council's existence...much less the identity of its members?"

"Of its existence, certainly, but the individual members took great precautions to conceal their identities...yet Lissom sent this communique to every last one." This last statement had been delivered in a voice that skirted the ragged edges of outright panic.

Karosyn lashed the Elder Guide with a reproving frown. "Thus, you see the inherent perils of subterfuge. Try to imagine how your actions must appear from Lissom's perspective. In her admittedly long and ill-considered absence, a group of Sisters...all oath bound to obey her will without question...form a secret order to supplant her authority and further elect to operate from the shadows. How could she possibly construe this as anything other than a furtive attempt at mutiny?"

"The Sisters were motivated to act out of necessity, Matrium," Bethany protested passionately. "The Sisters were in danger of becoming irrelevant without some form of direction."

"I am not questioning the need, Elder Guide, merely the means by which you sought to achieve it," Karosyn retorted, but in a milder voice. She sighed and put forth, "Whatever has transpired in Majeer, you had to know that there would be those who would remain loyal...to the traditions and structure of the order...if not to Lissom, herself. Her accomplishments...procuring Myrhia's remnant and vanquishing the false prophet of Majeer...are without precedent in the order's venerable history. Despite her apparent lapse, these achievements would not be easily forgotten or ignored by some."

"We don't believe that informants divulged our identities, Matrium. It is our fear that she somehow gleaned this information through the arcane tapestry, Mother," Bethany revealed in tones of dark dread. "It is our collective fear that she has commanded our presence with a mind to conducting a pogrom."

For a moment, Karosyn was simply too nonplused to reply to the Elder Guide's surely absurd allegations. Finally, she managed, "That is both preposterous...and scurrilous. Even if there was a shred of plausibility to this accusation, do you truly believe that I would permit such an atrocity to be enacted on Emercia soil? The very idea is an affront and you will not speak it again. You will dispatch a second communique to the council, adding my name to the summons and assuring them that they will have my protection while on Emercian soil."

Bethany averted her eyes and nodded meekly. Karosyn could sense her Seneschal's mounting displeasure and concern, but chose to ignore both for the moment. "Now, is there more?"

Bethany raised her head, and in her keen expression, Karosyn discerned both anxiety and disappointment. "In her last report, First Stealth Ranger Sandalayne wrote that Lissom has created a...a personal guard that consists entirely of Majeeri women. These women swear loyalty only to her. She has named this guard the Mirhac Ehkar...which translates to cold shadow in our to tongue. All of them possess nearly inimitable proficiency in combat and many also wield arcane arts...and all are unquestioning engines of Lissom's will. As unsettling as this is, it is not the worst. Each of the Mirhac Ehkar conceals their identity behind pewter masks that have been inscribed with stylized scars similar to the ones inflicted upon the women of the Rha-Sheem by the mad prophet."

Karosyn could feel herself grown pallid and conceded, "This is profoundly troubling news, Elder Guide."

Bethany nodded and concluded ominously, "It has been a moon cycle since we last received a report from Sandalayne. Just yesterday, we received a communique from El-Sharom...informing us that First Stealth Ranger Sandalayne had been killed. The report was vague, but it claimed that she died while fighting militants in a remote corner of the Majeeri desert." With bristling indignation, she concluded, "This cryptic dispatch was not even written or signed by Lissom, but rather, by some autocrat whose name I did not recognize. After over a century of loyal service, Sandalayne was not even afforded that fundamental dignity...nor was her energy absorbed into the pattern." With a heart-wrenching sob, Bethany cried, "The cumulative sum of her life experience is lost to us, Mother."

Karosyn came to stand before the distraught blond and sinking to her knees next to her chair, enfolded Bethany onto her arms. She glanced at the troubled Martriza while whispering ultimately hollow words of commiseration to the weeping woman.

'Lissom what have you done?' She thought disconsolately. 'Could you truly have drifted beyond all hope of redemption?' Pushing Bethany to arm's length, Karosyn spoke with a certitude that she did not feel. "As of this moment, I will resume my duties as Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria. I will reach out to the council through the tether and bid them to come to Nalosan with all possible haste...ahead of the Ascentrix's arrival. It is still my intention to bring Lissom back to us...but should this prove impossible...we will discuss contingencies."

Bethany's relief was palpable, and she nodded dutifully. A knock came at the door and a liveried servant entered. Bowing, he reported, "Your highness, Master Wrey and his son have arrived for their audience."

"Show them in at once," Karosyn directed. Once the servant had departed, she turned to the red-eyed Elder Guide. "Listen carefully to what this pair has to say. I suspect that it may be directly pertinent to our situation. Once they depart, we will consider their tale at length."

Mystified, Bethany nodded, and the pair prepared to receive the cooper and his son.

3

Karosyn had returned to her throne, her Seneschal standing at her right shoulder, by the time that Lynon Wrey and his youngest son, Aeyon, were squired into the throne room. The Elder Guide remained where she had been seated during her dialogue with the restored Matrium. She eyed the pair of tradesmen with open curiosity as they made their tentative approach to the throne, wondering what about these two obvious commoners could possibly have warranted an audience with the Queen.

Karosyn watched the pair tentatively approach her receiving dais. Lynon Wrey was a solidly constructed man with a full shock of greying hair. He wore a plain brown coat and rough spun trousers that, while well maintained, were obviously old and long out of fashion. He held his wide-brimmed black hat in powerful hands. Clearly nervous in the opulence of Kammlogran's throne room, he anxiously rolled the hat's brim in stout fingers. 'This is clearly a craftsman who seldom has occasion to venture forth from his shop,' Karosyn thought, deliberately wearing her most disarming smile. 'It is men such as this who are the foundations of Emercia...determined and honest.'

Her gaze shifted to the cooper's son, Aeyon, who was a solidly built young man with a sublimely beautiful face and deep brown eyes that conveyed an impression of intelligence and curiosity. Though a clear shadow lay across his slightly furrowed brow, he was regarding Karosyn with a moon-struck expression of a child who has just witnessed his favourite character manifest out of the pages of a beloved book of fairy tales. Martriza had expressed the cynical opinion that this young man might have been the architect of his brother's disappearance...perhaps over a matter of fraternal jealousy. It required only one glance into those earnest eyes for the Queen to dismiss the notion.

The two came to a halt at the foot of the dais, offering the living vision ensconced on the throne ungainly bows. Wishing to alleviate their excruciating discomfort, Karosyn rose and descended the dais to stand before the pair over whom she towered by a wide hand. Turning to Lynon, she began, "Thank you, Master Wrey, for taking time from your busy day."

"It's...I...I don't know how to properly address a Queen," Lynon stammered.

Karosyn placed a finely boned hand on his shoulder and allowed a subtle burst of placating warmth to roll through his rigid flesh. "Let us dispense with formalities on this day, Master Wrey. You need not apologize as the ways of a Royal Court are, quite frankly, rather tedious. In truth, it is I who should apologize to you." When the cooper gaped at her askance, Karosyn elaborated, "As Queen, it is my solemn duty to make sure that the roads of Emercia are made safe for travel and commerce. Clearly, I have failed you in this regard, but you have my personal assurance that I will do everything in my considerable power to rectify that failing, which is why I have summoned you here today...to hear your son's account in his own words. You will be compensated for your material loss...and far more importantly, I will commit every necessary resource to finding your missing son and punishing the miscreant who committed this reprehensible crime."

"Thank you...your majesty," Lynon Wrey managed and Martriza could see that he did not doubt her sincerity for a moment.

Karosyn then startled everyone present by turning to Aeyon Wrey and drawing the young man into a tight embrace normally reserved for intimate acquaintances. Even Karosyn did not fathom exactly what compelled her into making this unprecedented egalitarian gesture. Perhaps it had been the pain that radiated from the young man like palpable heat. She inhaled his vital scent, her nostrils tickled by a pleasant hint of sawdust. She found herself relishing his solidity, but when she realized that he was standing as if petrified, she reluctantly released him and stepped back.

Aeyon's normally ruddy complexion had gone a hectic red, scarcely able to credit that the woman he idolized had actually embraced him.

"I'm sorry for the ordeal through which you were forced to suffer, Master Aeyon and I understand that recounting such a traumatic events can be...agonizing, but it is imperative that I hear your account...in your own words. I would have you spare no detail...no matter how small or inconsequential it might well seem. Will you do that for me, Master Aeyon?"

Martriza smiled, knowing that a thoroughly mesmerized Aeyon Wrey would have willingly opened his wrists for Karosyn had she asked. In anyone else, this uncanny ability to beguile would have been a cause for alarm. In the unfalteringly noble and benevolent Karosyn Nierosean it was simply astounding.

"I will do my best, your highness," Aeyon stammered and haltingly began to share his recollection of the harrowing ordeal along the highway. By the time Aeyon had concluded the tale, his voice was tremulous with emotion...brittle with self-loathing. He concluded by admitting, "While they took Tarim...I cowered in the ditch like a spineless craven."

Karosyn reacted to his scathing self-condemnation by gripping Aeyon's shoulders and shaking him briskly. With uncharacteristic vehemence, she insisted, "I will not have you speak of yourself this way again. If these assailants are as you have described them...and I do not doubt your word for a moment...all you would have accomplished by stepping onto the roadway would have been your utterly pointless demise. A suicidal charge against impossible odds is not heroism...it is idiotic folly. Had you stepped onto that roadway, you would have shared the same fate as your horses...and the rest of your family would have spent the remainder of their lives wondering miserably what had befallen their sons and brothers. I forbid you too succumb to the baseless self-contempt...am I clear! It is not helpful."

Aeyon's eyes had grown comically wide during this chastisement and he nodded obediently, though Martriza could clearly see the sense of relief that Karosyn's absolution had instilled in the young man.

'Having said that, I can still understand how devastating, how utterly emasculating this type of incident can be in those who suffer through them...especially for men, who are unrealistically expected to confront this type of malfeasance with fearless resolve. Aeyon, I do not want this interview to assume the air of an interrogation, but if I am to address this episode in the most effective manner possible, I have to gain a thorough understanding of precisely what transpired. I am going to ask you a few clarifying questions and when you answer, try to concentrate on detail...because the old adage is remarkably true; the devil is, indeed, in the detail."

"I'll try...your highness," Aeyon vowed earnestly.

"You described coming upon a tunnel of unnatural darkness on the highway...why unnatural?"

Aeyon nodded, his smooth brow furrowing in concentration as he groped for the words to properly convey this terrifying aberration. "It was like a tube and it appeared to be...swallowing light. Streaks of lightening shot along the inside of the tube at random intervals. When there would be a pause in the lightening, this section of roadway would become totally black."

"You then said that the horses began to draw the wagon toward this aberration...of their own accord?" Karosyn asked intently.

Aeyon considered this for a moment and amended, "Tarim couldn't rein them to a halt, but it was clear that they were frightened and didn't want to go anywhere near that tunnel. Something was drawing them forward...something they could not resist." Here Aeyon's handsome face constricted and he added thickly, "That was when Tarim pushed me from the wagon."

Karosyn gently placed an index finger beneath his firm chin and lifted his gaze to hers. "You promised me that you would not permit self-disdain to jaundice your account, Aeyon. I am a woman who holds promises, both given and received, in high regard. If we are to be friends, it is important that you understand this." Aeyon nodded solemnly, while a bemused Martriza exchanged a quizzical glance with Bethany.

"Okay, just to dispel any confusion...it is your belief that the horses were drawn forward by compulsion...against their will?"

Aeyon nodded resolutely.

"Very good, Aeyon. You said that your attackers were women, yet also claimed that they were, all three, concealed from head to toe. This question is critically important, so think hard Aeyon. How can you be certain they were females?"

Aeyon pondered this and as he did, his smooth cheeks began to colour and Karosyn could sense his mounting embarrassment. "The woman who used sorcery spoke...her voice was feminine."

"And the other two...did they speak also?"

"Only one and her voice was harsh...neutral."

"And still you contend that all three were women...how can you be so certain?" Karosyn persisted and Martriza was surprised by her assiduous pursuit of this particular detail...like a hound that has been mesmerized by a particularly enticing scent and refuses to relent in pursuing its source.

Aeyon's colour continued to deepen, but he forced himself to meet those ineffably lovely eyes. "The magic wielder wore a red cape over fitted armour. The other two wore only black fitted armour. The three were slender, but their bodies possessed...a woman's attributes."

He averted his eyes, deeply ashamed at admitting that he had noticed something so...so vulgar in the midst of a crisis. Karosyn, who could ill afford room for doubt, persisted tenaciously, "Specifically, you mean hips, bosoms and derrières of a woman?"

"Yes," Aeyon agreed, taken aback by the Queen's frankness. Karosyn cast a decidedly sour frown at Bethany.

To Aeyon, she encouraged, "You're doing very well, Aeyon. Only a few questions left." The Queen was privately unsettled by her visceral response to this beautiful young man, who she wanted to enfold in her arms and kissed until she'd exiled his pain. Shaking her head, Karosyn requested clarification on a perplexing aspect of the apprentice's tale. "When your brother moved to confront the sorcery-wielder, informing her that the wagon carried nothing of significant value...her response was most puzzling."

If Aeyon lived to be a hundred, he doubted that he would ever succeed in banishing those hateful words from his mind. "She told Tarim that she wanted his precious hatred and that she would have every drop of it." Tone edged with desperation, he entreated, "I don't understand...what did she mean, your highness?"

Karosyn again caressed his shoulder. "I'm uncertain, but I have every intention of finding out. Now, one final question and then you may return to your shop. When the sorceress destroyed your horses and haulage cart, can you describe the means she employed again."

Here, Aeyon swallowed, clearly mortified by what he had witnessed. "They were consumed by green flames...that were eerie and wrong somehow. The animals...their torment was brief. Those flames...they erased every trace of the horses from existence."

Karosyn retreated three paces, extended her long right arm and curled her fingers into a loose fist. The very air in the throne room seemed to congeal and a transfixed Aeyon could feel the flesh at the nape of his neck rise into hackles. Karosyn abruptly splayed her fingers and a brilliant green spark erupted in the cusp of her palm. All others in the room, including Bethany Denay, gasped in horrified incredulity when that spark erupted into a column of blinding flame. Standing the height of a tall man, it writhed and hissed in Karosyn's palm. Calmly, despite the terrifying force she held, the Queen inquired, "Was it flame such as this?"

Robbed of his faculty of speech by the agonizing memory, Aeyon merely nodded. Karosyn pursed her generous lips ruefully and snapped her fingers closed, extinguishing the writhing tower of deadly bale fire.

Again, Karosyn cast a decidedly hostile scowl at the Elder Guide, who was regarding the Matrium as if seeing her for the first time. Karosyn stepped closer to Aeyon and again drew the younger man into a prolonged hug. Martriza witnessed this unusual tactile overture and could not decide if this pleasingly handsome young man had roused the Queen's natural maternal instinct...or something else. Karosyn released the clearly enthralled Aeyon and observed kindly, "Thank you, Master Aeyon. I know how difficult this recounting has been...but rest assured, you have provided me with several valuable insights that will help me move this investigation along quickly."

"Do you think you'll be able to find my brother, your highness?" Aeyon inquired, hope warring with anxiety in his conflicted tone.

Karosyn found that she fervently wanted to assuage that anxiety, but not wishing to proffer false hope, she replied sincerely, "If Tarim Wrey yet lives, I will do everything in my power to reunite him with his family. On that, Aeyon, you have my solemn vow."

The young man nodded, and the Queen turned her attention to Lynon Wrey, her tone assuming a formal edge. "Master Wrey, I thank you for your time and I will allow you to return to your business. My Seneschal shall arrange for a carriage you return you to the Coopery. She will also dispatch a clerk to settle the matter of compensation for loss of property. I will personally insure that you are kept apprised of developments in the search to find your missing son." Turning back to Martriza, she instructed, "If you would escort these gentlemen to their carriage."

Perplexed by some of the revelations this peculiar interview had yielded...and the odd mood that had settled over the Queen as she'd questioned young Aeyon Wrey, Martriza quickly moved to comply. She gestured toward the throne room doors and the trio made their way along the runner carpet. Martriza's perplexity deepened to profound dismay, when the Queen hurried after the departing trio, her attention riveted squarely upon the younger Wrey.

Karosyn took the young man's hands in hers and with her exquisite face adorned with an intense, but indecipherable emotion, intoned, "I can sense your pain and distress, Aeyon and it grieves me deeply. Should you need to speak of this...or of anything else that might trouble you...I want you not to hesitate in reaching out to me. Inform the main gate guards and they will send word to me. I will have Seneschal Odain inform the watch commanders of this arrangement. Aeyon, I do not offer this out of some egalitarian sense of obligation, but the sincere desire to offer you solace. Also, if it is not an imposition, I would be very pleased if you would take dinner with me some evening soon."

Cleary overwhelmed by an invitation, given by a woman whom he had long idolized as a symbol of virtue, Aeyon found himself at an embarrassed loss for words. He stole a brief glance at his father and the imposing Seneschal, who were both regarding him with a flummoxed expression...as if he'd materialized out of thin air.

Understanding that he was gaping as if mentally enfeebled and that a response was expected, he managed, "I...I would be honoured beyond words, your highness."

Karosyn clapped her hands in genuine delight and offered Aeyon a radiant smile that set the astounded young man to blushing furiously. "Excellent, then you may expect to hear from me soon."

Offering Lynon Wrey a slight nod, Karosyn turned and strode toward Bethany Denay. Gape-jawed and moon-eyed, Aeyon watched her move away in a liquid sway of tight hips and a dizzying swirl of skirts. His father then tugged at his sleeve and the pair made their exit. Aeyon could feel the intimidating Seneschal's disapproving glare on the side of his face as the trio made their way out of Kammlogran.

4

In Kammlogran's carriage depot, the two Wrey's stood in silence, both gazing about in wonder, while the clearly displeased Seneschal arranged for their transport back to the Coopery.

When they were both ensconced in the relatively humble conveyance, Martriza leaned through the opened door and fixed a bewildered Aeyon with a withering glare. "Queen Karosyn is an exceptionally kind and compassionate woman, who cannot bear to see those around her suffer...and who will go to extraordinary lengths to ameliorate that suffering. Though she was totally sincere in her offer of a...wailing wall, she is also a Queen and thus her time is immeasurably precious. As her Seneschal, it is my duty to protect her from those who would seek to take advantage of her kindness. Take me at face value when I tell you that it is a duty I take very seriously. I trust you grasp my meaning, Master Aeyon. I do not expect to see you within Kammlogran's walls again."

In the face of this flagrant belligerence, Aeyon swallowed with an audible click and acknowledged this thinly veiled threat with a slight nod. Martriza slammed the door with a parting scowl and the carriage moved toward the ramp.

As they began the careful descent down the long ramp, Aeyon turned his bewildered gaze to his father, who was regarding his son with an inexplicable mixture of exasperation and something that might well have been pity. "Well, it seems that you've captured the fancy of a Queen, lad...but earned the intense dislike of those who serve her. You and I are common folk and we have no place in that company. If you deceive yourself into thinking otherwise...it will be the whole family who will pay."

Lynon then shifted his gaze to the window and the passing city streets beyond. Pondering his father's words, Aeyon felt certain that he had spoken truthfully. As they made their way back to the comfortable familiarity of the Coopery, Aeyon Wrey felt certain that he would never set eyes upon the enchanting Queen again.

5

Bethany rose to meet the restored Matrium (a titled that far exceeded being a mere Queen from the Elder Guide's devout perspective), regarding the approaching Karosyn with a curious half-smile. "You seemed rather taken with the young man, Matrium."

"Not taken, as you put it...but I simply commiserated with his plight," Karosyn corrected, in a tone that was slightly defensive. In truth, she, herself, had been rather startled by the compelling affinity she'd felt for the young Aeyon Wrey, who was intelligent, earnest...and pleasingly well-constructed. Seeing the decidedly sardonic twist of Bethany's lips, Karosyn elaborated, "It suddenly occurs to me that we who call ourselves monarchs deign to rule over those, whom we disdainfully refer to as commoners and even peasants. Yet, we interact with our subjects seldomly and only at a distance...waving at them during public ceremonies as if simply acknowledging their existence is some great egalitarian gesture."

Karosyn shook her head in dismay, which the perceptive Denay recognized as heartfelt. After a moment, the Queen continued, "We exercise absolute authority over their lives while remaining blithely ignorant of those lives; their dreams and fears...the things that bring them joy or cause them misery. Without that understanding, our presumption of rule is a deplorable travesty. If I could take the opportunity to come to know this young man...to legitimately divine his nature...perhaps I could have a conduit to the hearts and mind of those over whom I've been given rule."

"A noble sentiment, Matrium," Bethany returned with a slight bow, though the Elder Guide privately suspected that the beautiful woman's motivations were perhaps slightly less...virtuous.

A frowning Seneschal re-entered the throne room just then and the tone of the discussion assumed a heightened gravity. The Elder Guide remarked, "I had no ideas you could conjure bale fire, Matrium?"

"I can, obviously," Karosyn allowed, "but because of the grave dangers inherent in wielding such vile dark sorcery, it is not something I choose to do frivolously."

"Why is this type of sorcery any more...dire than any other type of offensive magic?" A mystified Martriza inquired, fascinated despite her strong aversion to sorcery.

Bethany rolled her eyes at what she perceived to be a genuinely foolish query. Karosyn, who was all too familiar with the average Emercian's aversion to arcane arts, explained patiently, "Bale fire is...an abomination. In fact, it is theorized that it's indiscriminate use could well immolate the very fabric of the world. It is also subtractive magic...like the kind wielded by an Ascentrix."

"I'm afraid I still don't entirely understand," Martriza frowned, "What is subtractive magic?"

"It is a kind of sorcery that derives its power from every living thing around it...essentially leeching life energy from those living things. Bale fire is the most powerful expression of subtractive magic and supposedly holds the potential to reduce the world to a lifeless husk." Karosyn nodded gravely when her Seneschal shivered perceptibly. "Fortunately, only the most powerful sorcerers can wield bale fire."

Martriza's eyes narrowed, gaining a fresh insight into the complex nature of the woman she served as she observed, "And therefore...you are amongst the world's most powerful sorcerers."

Karosyn shrugged as if this astounding fact was of little consequence. To Bethany, she offered apologetically, "I'm sorry for alarming you, Mother Guide, but I had to be certain that Master Aeyon had not misconstrued just what it was he'd witnessed that night."

"This is an extremely disturbing development, Matrium," Bethany observed grimly, causing Martriza to scowl ruefully at the obstinate woman's new insistence on not using the appropriate honorific when addressing the Queen.

"All the more so because I believe that this attack was conducted by a battle mage and two stealth rangers," Karosyn interjected soberly, causing Bethany to gasp in negation.

The Elder Guide then leapt to her feat, clearly affronted by the allegation. "Matrium, none of the Sisters serving Gyzarayne in Emercia would commit such an odious act!"

"Perhaps," Karosyn retorted with equal vehemence, "but perhaps these particular sisters have come to Emercia from another shore...Majeer, for example. Still, I would have you investigate every Battle Mage capable of wielding bale fire, Elder Guide."

"That list will be short, Matrium."

"Nonetheless, I would have you turn a scrutinizing light on those who can...if only to allay all suspicion."

Bethany frowned, but nodded, clearly displeased by the direction this discussion had taken.

"I'm still not certain I understand, your majesty." Martriza questioned, casting a quick, baleful glare at the sister. In these vexingly petty jabs, Karosyn discerned the perceived conflicts of interest that might well arise should she proceed with her intended course of action. "You are suggesting that this abduction may have been the work of the Sisters of Esotaria based in Majeer? To what purpose and under whose authority?"

"Nothing in Majeer happens without Lissom's sanction!" Bethany muttered. "This Gheldazara Eram may be the Matron of the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen, but Sandalayne always insisted that she was Lissom's pliable puppet and I see no reason to doubt this assessment. While this incident along the coast may not be the work of the Sisters posted in Majeer...the same may not be said of this Mirhac Ehkar. As I've mentioned, their fanatical devotion is focused squarely upon Lissom. Even this peculiar moulded armour the young man mentioned is consistent with what is described in Sandalayne's report."

"Again, to what purpose? Abducting commoners along the Queen's highway seems like an unnecessarily oblique strategy," Martriza observed, feeling as if she'd stumbled into a convoluted web of intrigue...the purpose of which seemed indecipherable.

"There are many possible explanations, all of which are troubling." It was Karosyn who offered this grave remark. "It could be misdirection or an attempt to sow discord between the Emercian crown and the Sisters of Esotaria or even to instil fear in the general population: any of these explanations may be plausible. My instinct, however, is cautioning me that this incident may be something else...a small aspect of a nefarious scheme."

She settled her gaze on Bethany Denay, its intensity making the Elder Guide squirm, "Do you promise to submit to my authority in handling this matter, Elder Guide...along with the council in Dortizirian?"

"Unequivocally, Matrium...as will the Council. You need only provide us with direction and your will shall be served," Bethany promised, clearly grateful that the onus for confronting this crisis had been passed to Karosyn.

"I want to reiterate...it is my intention to guide our Ascentrix back into the light. Having said that, while I remain optimistic, I cannot ignore the possibility that Lissom is coming to Nalosan with hostile intent." The steel of resolve stole into those limpid blue eyes and Karosyn concluded, "We will move forward with a keen desire for reconciliation and peace...while furtively preparing Emercia and the Sisters of Esotaria for war."

The stark gravity of the Queen's declaration plunged the throne room into a oppressive silence as the other women grappled with the grim ramifications of Karosyn's directive...and the ominous possibility of war with the most powerful living creature on the face of the world.

Watching Karosyn, this normally placid and unflappable woman, Martriza could sense the nascent stirring of something hard and fiercely determined in the normally tranquil Queen. To the Elder Guide, the Matrium instructed, "We must move forward with a sense of extreme urgency. I will leave it to you to inform the Council of my decision to resume my role as Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria as well as my full expectation that they will submit to my authority. They will then inform Lissom that they will heed her summons to Nalosan. Once this is done, they will select two cadres of Dortizirian's most seasoned Battle Mages and Stealth Rangers and have them sail to Emercia...but they will not land in Nalosan. Rather, they will land in Port Lyring along Emercia's North-Eastern coast. I will make arrangements to have the Council members transported over land to our summit with the Ascentrix. The four cadres of Sisters will remain in Port Lyring and await my summons should events take a hostile turn here."

Bethany nodded her understanding and Martriza was astounded by how quickly the proud Sister had submitted to Karosyn's authority. Demonstrating a remarkable composure in this, the first genuine crisis of her reign since becoming sole monarch three decades earlier, Karosyn continued to succinctly set forth her expectations, "I still expect you to compile a list of every Sister presently in Emercia who is capable of wielding bale fire. At the very least, they must be watched...but more direct action may be required should it be determined that their loyalties are suspect."

Bethany swallowed, perceptibly shaken by the fast-breaking reality of the situation into which they'd plunged. Martriza could not help but wonder if, as this Council had plotted and schemed, they were genuinely prepared for a turn of events that may goad them toward open warfare with their Goddess' emissary?

Karosyn continued to issue instructions to her clearly dazed new subordinate and the Seneschal knew that she could expect a similar storm of edicts once Karosyn had dealt with her Elder Guide.

"I also need to know if this incident along the highway was isolated...or part of a broader pattern of similar abductions. As the Sisters now have chapter houses in every major city and town in Emercia...I would have you reach out to each. Instruct the Elder sister in each of these chapter houses to make discreet enquiries of the local city watch commander pertaining to any unsolved missing persons reports in recent months. If this Mirhac Ehkar is, indeed, responsible, this should expose their actions. We should focus our initial efforts on coastal communities."

"Will the watch commanders be cooperative?" Bethany inquired, clearly dubious about procuring cooperation with the local constabulary...many of whom were openly mistrustful of the Sisters of Esotaria.

"I will have the Seneschal dispatch edicts to every watch commander. This will obviously take time and time is at a premium. Your Elder Sisters will have to offer a compelling case for cooperation, while making it clear that Royal Edicts from Nalosan will be forthcoming...and that their Queen is expecting full and immediate cooperation with their enquiries."

Karosyn placed a hand on Bethany's shoulder. "I have imposed a daunting burden upon you, Daughter, but my faith in you is absolute. Go and set these arrangements in motion."

Martriza watched in sour disapproval as Bethany dropped to one knee and reverently pressed her lips to the back of Karosyn's extended hand. Then she rose and with one final bow of deference, hastily exited the chamber with a profoundly unsettled Martriza and a thoughtful Karosyn tracking her exit.

When they were again alone, Martriza asked anxiously, "Do you truly believe that Lissom is behind Tarim Wrey's abduction?"

Karosyn turned her regard on her Seneschal and in those expressive blue eyes, there now ranged a terrible storm of conflicting emotions. "I can no longer discount the possibility. If, as Bethany as alleged, Lissom murdered Sandalayne...then she truly has become mired in darkness."

Despising the despondent tremor in Karosyn's voice, Martriza cautioned, "My Queen, I fear this arrangement into which you've entered with the Sisters will be a divisive source of contention with all in your court...who are bound to construe it as a sign of divided loyalties."

"I have no other recourse, Martriza. If it comes to a conflict with Lissom, it will require every ally I can muster if we are to have any hope of survival. I am banking on your considerable skills of persuasion to sway them to my perspective," Karosyn replied distantly. Martriza, who was not entirely certain that she, herself, shared her liege's controversial perspective, only nodded. After a moment, unable to endure the aura of melancholy that had settled over Karosyn, the Seneschal requested permission to take her leave.

"Inform the Tribunes that I will address them in the morning and apprise each of my expectations in preparing for the Ascentrix's arrival," Karosyn instructed, though now her former resolve had given way to a distracted weariness.

"Should I report to you later...on the outcome of my meeting with the Tribunes," Martriza solicited, concerned by the guttering light in Karosyn's normally limpid eyes.

Karosyn's gaze strayed to the upper reaches of the throne room, where the commissioned portraits of the Monarchs of Emercia...every king and queen since the nation's founding...delineated the lofty reaches. They now seemed to peer down upon her, eyes alight with scorn. Her preternatural vision allowed her to see every beloved detail of Artumas' face. "No, you may report to my private chamber by the seventh bell tomorrow. I require a space of private time to make an accommodation with the lamentable prospect of having to wage war against a woman I raised from infancy...whom I love more than myself and my failing of whom has brought us all to this heart-rending juncture."

Unable to conjure the appropriate words of solace, Martriza offered the Queen a deep bow and hurried from the throne room.

Chapter Ten

1

After dispatching word to the Tribunes of a mandatory emergency session on the seventh bell of the evening, Martriza decided to seek a brief respite in her private quarters. In the years she'd served in the capacity of Seneschal, this was the first time an emergency session of Tribunes had ever been called. This occurrence coincided with the fact that Queen Karosyn was facing the first legitimate crisis of her four-decade reign.

As Martriza walked down the darkening halls of Kammlogran, the pages, who were engaged in lighting the castle's arcane crystals, quickly scurried out of her way. It required only one quick glimpse of the normally austere Odain to glean that she was in a particularly sour mood...perhaps in need of some unfortunate subordinate upon whom to vent her fury.

Behind this mask of harried ire, the indomitable Martriza was beset by a tempest of raging emotions and troubling contemplations. Her unwavering loyalty to Karosyn, who she believed was the greatest ruler a nation could hope to have warred with the certainty that the Queen's proposed course of action would prove disastrous for Emercia.

'How can I, in all good conscience, serve as an advocate for measures in which I have no faith?" she wondered, bewildered by the ethically compromising position into which she'd now been thrust. 'The wily Tribunes will see through my charade and pounce upon it like hungry jackals.'

Naturally, there had been other occasions, during her tenure as Seneschal, in which she'd found that she was privately at odds with the Queen's agenda. A conservative traditionalist by nature, Martriza had been initially leery of the benevolent Karosyn's agenda of sweeping social reform. To her surprise, time had revealed these implemented measures to be bold and visionary in moving progressive Emercia into the future.

'Still, had they proven untenable, the only thing that would have suffered was the royal Coffers,' Martriza reminded herself. 'The price of failure and miscalculation here will be far more exorbitant...a savage war waged on Emercian soil...or the compromise of the nation's political framework. The Tribunes will declare that providing a dragon with a den on Emercian soil is suicidal folly...and I agree. They will also insist that, by resuming her role as Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria, Karosyn will have violated her covenant to place no duty or allegiance above her loyalty to Emercia and its people. Again, I agree wholeheartedly.'

Another voice spoke on the tumultuous confines of her skull then, further fuelling her ambivalence. 'You cannot refute that Karosyn has proven uncannily astute in leading Emercia to its auspicious place as the most enlightened and prosperous nation in the known world...all while garnering universal respect. Can you truly call yourself loyal if you would lose faith in her judgment now?'

Martriza grimaced as she turned into the hall that led to her suite of rooms. This argument was not without its logic...but these current circumstances were unprecedented and Karosyn's intended response struck Martriza as dangerously erratic, born out of desperation and an obligation to something other than Emercia.

She surmised that the Tribunes would interpret Karosyn's precarious course of action in precisely the same way.

Stifling a moan of consternation, Martriza reached the double doors to her personal quarters. After offering a cursory nod to the two guards at her door, the preoccupied Seneschal entered her suite...well aware that she had less than two bells to resolve her crisis of faith.

2

Once inside, Martriza pressed the door shut and allowed her forehead to settle against the cool oak. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, relishing the silence that provided a moment of relief for the Seneschal, who was feeling abnormally beleaguered by her duty to the throne. Still, the onerous burdens of the day would not be held at bay. In addition to the thorny path along which the Queen had proposed leading Emercia, there was the troubling matter of Karosyn's puzzlingly visceral reaction to the cooper's son. True, the young man was exceedingly handsome, but in the years during which Martriza had served Karosyn, the Queen had seemed completely aloof from such temptations...despite being constantly surrounded by the most beautiful and intriguing men...and women one would expect to find in arguably the most powerful court in the world. Yet, in the presence of this common apprentice, the demure Queen had conducted herself like a fawning, smitten schoolgirl. In light of the extraordinary pressure being exerted upon the Queen, Martriza found Karosyn's aberrant behaviour worrisome.

Martriza fetched a weary sigh, feeling blessed for the small space of solitude in which to regain her composure. She well near screamed in panicked terror when out of the cool gloom, a voice, rife with sardonic amusement, declared, "It would appear that someone is having a most trying day indeed."

Disguising her shock with outrage, Martriza whirled about to be confronted by a sight that left her momentarily speechless. Nestled on a cushion in on of the chamber's deep window casements, absently leafing through one of Martriza's precious leather-bound books, sat the frivolous, impertinent young woman who Martriza had noticed stalking the castle's halls over the course of the last month. She snapped the book, which Martriza recognized as a respected treatise on political doctrine, shut and casually tossed it into the shadows.

"How can supposedly intelligent men scribble such shallow, self-validating dross?" She turned her pale green eyes upon Martriza and added derisively, "And why would such a clever woman waste her time reading it?"

The rough handling of her cherished book and the woman's scathing contempt broke Martriza's paralysis. In a voice tremulous with outrage, the austere Seneschal retorted, "Perhaps you will enjoy the diversion of reading such dross after I've had my guards toss you into Kammlogran's dungeon."

The woman slid nimbly from the casement and stalked toward Martriza, her pretty face set in an infuriatingly arrogant smirk. While comparatively diminutive, the woman exuded physical power. The dun coloured asymmetric robe she wore left one hip exposed. The scandalous garb beneath reminded Martriza of a translucent body stocking. It clung obscenely to the woman's legs, which evoked images of carved pillars of granite.

As she converged upon Martriza, the Seneschal discerned a peculiar liquid quality about the woman's movements that was thoroughly beguiling. Trying to identify this peculiar aspect, the perceptive Odain concluded that the woman never seemed to fully occupy a specific space at any one instant. She was reminded of a natural water spout that ebbed and flowed as the pressure driving it swelled and abated. The effect was both fascinating and disconcerting.

She stopped three paces from Martriza and declared confidently, "I doubt the queen would let me languish in a dungeon. Besides which, I've tenderized enough of Emercia's great warriors during this last moon to predict that summoning the guards will not end as you envision. As I mean you no harm, why not avoid that unpleasantry and allow me to tell you why I've sought you out."

Curiosity and the certitude that the woman had not embellished her capabilities compelled the Seneschal to step closer. Ruefully, she remarked, "The Queen had been uncharacteristically evasive in sharing the reasons for your vexing presence. I took the liberty of making my own inquiries...Princess Czefrina...or should I say, disgraced Princess Czefrina. Why exactly were you tossed out of Lamia by your brother, the king?"

If Martriza had expected that her disclosure would unsettle the intruder, she was to be sorely disappointed. Czefrina shrugged her muscular shoulders and remarked, "A minor family disagreement...which will soon be forgotten."

"But one of which I am certain that Queen Karosyn is unaware," Martriza retorted with a vindicated grin. "Just as she is unaware that you've financed your journey to Nalosan by playing at highwayman and relieving travellers of their coin. That particular disclosure would be sure to rankle the Queen's rigid ethically sensibilities."

Czefrina frowned, displaying nervousness for the first time, but nonetheless countered, "Then you might also contemplate how she would construe her Seneschal's decision to furtively investigate her interactions...interactions which she quite obviously wished to remain private."

Martriza scowled in the face of this adroit counter and the two women glared at each other for several moments.

Martriza stepped closer, employing her taller stature and daunting manner to attempt to intimidate the smaller woman. "I can't possibly imagine what would compel the Queen to interact with a unsavoury, dissolute wretch, who seems better suited to a grimy ale house than a Royal palace. Karosyn is a kind and compassionate soul, whose benevolence, on occasions, blinds her to the glaring truth of shameless opportunists. I am not so easily deceived and one of my duties as Seneschal is to ward her against these morally bankrupt leeches. For your own sake, you would do well to believe that this is a duty I discharge with great zeal." With sardonic disdain, she added, "Princess."

Czefrina merely grinned in the face of this litany of insults. Pale green eyes twinkling, she stepped closer and peered up into the taller woman's roiling eyes. "I see the way of it now. You are amongst that rank of sad species of officious bureaucrats who fancies that they are infinitely wiser than the monarch they serve. Harbouring the pathetic delusion that they would have been far better suited to the throne than their king or queen, these petty creatures cling to the belief that they are fated to spend their lives correcting the mistakes of those flawed kings and queens to whom they've been shackled."

With a satisfied grin, Czefrina retreated a pace before delivering the final barb. "All of that is tempered by the fact that you are hopelessly in love with her. Soften that preposterous expression and loosen up that starched corset and you'd be a comely wench. It is not unthinkable that you might actually succeed in seducing the ethereal Karosyn to your bed."

Martriza's colour deepened to an outraged scarlet and she raised her slender right arm with the intention of slapping the salacious grin from this galling creature's face.

Martriza's clumsy blow succeeded only in rustling the air as the diminutive blond appeared to vanish. She slid to Martriza's right and seizing the woman's right hand, Czefrina smoothly extended the other woman's slender right arm and bent her hand back painfully at the wrist. She continued to exert a steady pressure on the hissing woman's wrist, forcing Martriza to bend forward at the waist until her torso was parallel to the ground.

She then draped her heavily muscled leg over the back of a sputtering Martriza's head and bent her knee until her muscular calve clamped around the Seneschal's throat. Martriza found that she was inextricably caught in a constricting vice of dense muscle. Black flowers bloomed before her rapidly fading vision and from somewhere above, she heard Czefrina declare affably, "I trust that you realize that I could snap your neck with the casual flexing of leg muscles. I could then exit as I entered, and the queen would be left wondering which of the ambitious courtiers killed her loyal lapdog. Fear not, Seneschal...I have no intention of hurting you. I merely wished to demonstrate that violence is a game for which you have no aptitude."

The prison of muscle withdrew and Martriza's arm was released. The Seneschal gasped and stumbled, but strong hands gripped her shoulders and she found herself being guided deeper into the gloom of her suite and gently ushered into a chair near the cold hearth.

As a bemused and shaken Martriza massaged her neck, she watched warily as Czefrina expertly lit and banked the fire. She then came and knelt beside Martriza's chair. Reaching for the hand she'd abused, Czefrina began to tenderly massage Martriza's thin wrist with the pad of her thumb. In a voice that was earnest and grave, the Lamish princess entreated, "Please, let us set aside this futile chest beating and posturing and allow me to explain why I've come to you."

"Very well...speak then," Martriza invited gruffly, though she could not entirely subdue the quaver in her voice that this unpredictable creature had provoked.

"I came here to ask if there was a way in which I could be of service to you."

Stunned to incredulity, Martriza shook her head. "Serve me...in what capacity? Even if I was so obtuse as to think that you could be of some service to me, why would I ever trust you?"

Czefrina continued to compress Martriza's wrist while offering the intimidating woman a tentative smile. "I am without equal in matters of violence...and stealth. In my time here, I have discovered how to move about this dreary old castle...and be privy to the most confidential discussions without being seen or heard. It is why I know that, while projecting the image of serene normalcy, the Emercia's throne is teetering in the edge of a severe crisis...thanks to the shadow that gathers in Majeer."

"Why not offer your support directly to the Queen?"

"Because she is...leery of me. She sees me as erratic and without virtue, and while you may regard me in precisely the same light...you are enough of a cynical pragmatist to see that I can still be valuable!" Czefrina observed with a self-deprecating grin.

"You're a shrewd creature, aren't you," Martriza countered, though a thoughtful gleam had stolen into her baleful glare. "Still, Why should I risk trusting you...and why would you risk becoming involved in Emercia's predicament?"

"You can trust me because I have no personal stake in this drama. Frankly, I'm growing bored with pummelling the misogynistic presumption from hapless males and I seek a distraction. In you, I sense a woman who can appreciate my unprecedented talents."

Martriza reached forward and snatched Czefrina's wrist. Leaning closer, she rasped, "You wish to earn my trust? Then tell me what exactly has brought you to Nalosan...and the nature of this arrangement you have with my Queen."

Czefrina's generous mouth twisted uncertainty and the Seneschal could see that she was reluctant to divulge details of her accord with Karosyn. Determined to extract this information about this suspect arrangement, the exclusion from which privately galled the Seneschal, Martriza persisted, "Tell me...or skulk back into whatever rat hole allowed you to gain entry here...and trouble me no further!"

Sensing that Martriza would not be deterred, Czefrina fetched a beset sigh. "Very well. I came to Nalosan seeking Queen Karosyn's help in...entrapping a living legend for whom she harbours a fondness. Once I have humbled this mythical creature, in the most delicious ways imaginable, it is my intention to slip a velvet collar and leash about her neck. I will then return to Lamia and claim the throne that the ridiculous concept of order of birth has denied me."

"You speak of Lorio!" A clearly nonplused Martriza exclaimed. Her shock segued into a baffling expression of pity and she observed, "Lorio may be a legend, but she is also a lethal viper. If you seriously entertain the ambition of slipping a collar about her neck...I suspect we will discover your bloated corpse floating in the Bay of Imerlac in the near future."

Czefrina's face blanched in indignation's and she retorted defensively, "You underestimate me, Seneschal."

In a somber voice, Martriza related a tale she'd been told as a young girl. "My grandfather was a Captain in Myrhia's cavalry and he was part of the force that Fist Tormal bravely led to Othgol to surrender during the vile whore's invasion of the CornerStone Nations. He was in that plaza in Othgol on the day that Myrhia and Islena Doraux led the Enchantress' conquering army back from the Land of Shades. He witnessed Lorio's brave attempt to assassinate Islena...and the unspeakably savage battle the two waged when she failed. My grandfather was a stoic man...irreparably damaged by the horrors of Myrhia's evil war. I was surprised when he told me this tale...he seldom spoke of those years. But even now, twenty-five years later, I can still recall the animation, the repugnance in his voice and the light in his eyes as he recounted this story of the pair's grim fight. Despite the contention that Islena was the one of prophecy...purportedly the most powerful entity in existence...Lorio battered Doraux until she was helpless and at her mercy. She would have killed Doraux had our great saviour not resorted to sorcery to turn the tide."

As Czefrina listened to this infamous tale from the time of legends, her visage grew pallid. Flatly, Martriza concluded, "Whatever you may think yourself to be...you are not Islena Doraux. Lorio will devour you." Then the Seneschal shrugged and offered the Lamish Princess a sly smile. "Still, your delusional ambition is of no concern to me...provided it does not impact upon my Queen."

"You have my word that it will not!" Czefrina interjected vehemently. Martriza allowed herself a private smile, believing she had captured the advantage over this sly creature.

"Very well, I may have a purpose for you...once we've dispensed with your gesture of fealty."

Czefrina grimaced as Martriza relished her victory. "You will remove my shoe, kiss my foot with fawning reverence and then pledge to serve me with absolute discretion and strict adherence to my instructions."

Czefrina recoiled and snarled, "You would dare try to humiliate me?"

With equal vehemence, Martriza countered, "Do you not think I suffered humiliation...and fear, when you had me bent over like a tavern slattern, with your leg about my throat, poised to snap my neck?"

Czefrina considered this for a moment and signalled her capitulation with a tight nod. Martriza smiled encouragingly before extending her slender right leg and pulling up the hem of her gown to expose a shapely calve. "Now, remove the shoe and kiss my foot. Then, offer your oath. Mind now, I would feel ardour in your kiss, Princess...no quick peck."

Those green eyes flared menacingly, but Czefrina nonetheless complied. She removed the expensive satin shoe and carefully placed it on the tiles. She then took Martriza's slender ankle in fingers that shook slightly and closing her eyes, bestowed a lingering kiss on the supple flesh atop Martriza's foot. The Emercian woman laid back her head and smiled, savouring the impudent brat's gesture of submission.

'There is dire peril in succumbing to this manner of compulsion,' she cautioned herself. 'One that leads into darkness from which there is no easy return.' Disguising the pleasure, she derived from the sensation of Czefrina's warm mouth on her skin, she declared brusquely, "Sufficient...now offer me your oath!"

An ashen-faced Czefrina sat back on their haunches and complied. Martriza nodded her satisfaction but then waggled her foot. "Replace my shoe."

The humbled Lamish Princess scowled, but nonetheless did as directed...vowing to herself that she would extract tenfold vengeance for this abjection. Despising the satisfied smirk that the Seneschal made no effort to conceal, Czefrina rose gracefully to her feet and slid into a nearby chair without awaiting leave to do so.

'This one is spirited,' Martriza thought. 'Goading her too freely might be imprudent.'

"What would you have me do, Seneschal?"

"There was an...incident along the Queen's highway...one that has roused a great deal of concern." Martriza then spent the next half bell providing a meticulously detailed account of the attack on the Wrey shipment. She then shared what she construed to be the pertinent details of Karosyn's subsequent discussion with the Elder Guide, knowing that by doing so she was committing a flagrant violation of her sworn oath of confidentiality in matters of the Queen's business.

'Sadly, this will hardly be your most grievous transgression before the day is done,' an unfamiliar voice predicted in a tone if augury.

Czefrina listened to the intriguing tale attentively and when Martriza fell silent, the Lamish Princess offered an observation that, for all of her vexing impertinence, demonstrated that she possessed a keen mind. "From what you've described, I would have a tendency to think that these assailants deliberately allowed the boy to live."

"Plausible, I suppose...but to what end?" Martriza wondered thoughtfully.

"Two possible reasons, though both are flip sides of the same coin; either the perpetrators wanted to give the impression that the Sisters are responsible. Conversely, the strange attire and the ostentatious use of bale fire could be a play to make one believe it isn't the Sisters." Czefrina's lovely eyes narrowed and she added, "There is a third, even more disturbing possibility...perhaps the assailants were completely indifferent to the boy's survival. That, were it the case, would imply that they were also indifferent to Emercia and its possible response."

"Which would bespeak a tremendous arrogance," Martriza observed, her tone mordant.

Czefrina shrugged. "Or supreme confidence that they are essentially invulnerable. All of this conjecture does nothing to address the salient question; why do this...why randomly abduct a simple tradesman, destroying his wares with such contempt. Am I correct in surmising that this is a question you would like me to delve into? I do so love an intriguing mystery."

Martriza sat back in her chair, absently stroking the hollow of her left temple realizing that her initially impression of this rapier keen woman's nature had been woefully incorrect. "I think you would be well suited to the role of investigator with the city watch."

Again, Czefrina shrugged and admitted blithely, "I am a Princess with the calculating mind of a felon."

"And the ethical sensibilities to match, no doubt," Martriza chided to which Czefrina only shrugged and smiled. The Seneschal then struck directly to the heart of her misgivings. "This Aeyon Wrey's account troubles me...as if he had distorted the truth or intentionally omitted key details."

Czefrina's brow furrowed. "So you suspect this Aeyon fabricated the account purposefully?"

Martriza nodded, privately still not certain about the cause of her ambivalence toward young Aeyon Wrey. Czefrina then articulated her doubts about this notion. "It seems to me that it is unlikely that a cooper's son could concoct such a lavishly detailed fabrication. More improbable still is the part where he would cast himself as a craven, who cowers in a ditch while his brother is taken by female brigands."

Martriza scowled, displeased by Czefrina's obvious skepticism. "I want you to get the boy alone and question him...to insure that he is not omitting some crucial detail."

Czefrina's grin became sly and knowing. "And just how vigorously would you have me question young Aeyon Wrey...should he survive the experience?"

Gleaning the dark implications of this query, Martriza stiffened. "He is not to be harmed...at least, not overly so. Another bewildering facet of this incident is that Karosyn was particularly taken with the commoner. I have served the Queen for many years and never have I seen her conduct herself with anything beyond congenial decorum...not the slightest intimation of anything more personal. Today, she seemed...smitten with this young man: drawing him into prolonged embraces in the name of bestowing solace, caressing his shoulder and speaking to him in a...a most familiar fashion that was...unseemly."

"Are you mistaking commiseration for attraction, Seneschal?" Czefrina inquired, scarcely able to imagine Karosyn conducting herself in anything other than a thoroughly decorous manner.

Martriza frowned, her puzzlement bleeding around the edges of her ire. "She actually invited him to come back and dine with her...at his leisure!"

Czefrina whistled and inquired, "Is he handsome?"

Martriza's frown intensified as if this query was especially vapid, but she allowed, "In a crude fashion that commoners can occasionally be." She shook her head and added, "It's almost as if Karosyn has been beguiled. You may think it a frivolous concern, but I am genuinely troubled by the effect this inconsequential man-child has cast upon the Queen."

"I suspect that your Queen...perhaps one of the most stunningly beautiful woman alive...has chosen the life of an object of art...something to be admired, but never touched." Czefrina offered Martriza a frank smile. "She is still a woman, so perhaps she's decided to descend from her pedestal and indulge in a common distraction."

Scandalized, Martriza sputtered, "She would never debase herself such...and with a...a commoner!"

Czefrina shrugged as if indifferent, but came to the impulsive decision that she might sully Karosyn's prize. The deliciously spiteful thought made Czefrina feel positively randy and she was suddenly anxious to be off on her assignment, but felt compelled to ask one final question...if only to unnerve her new benefactress. "And once I've extracted answers from Aeyon Wrey...should I then shift my attention to this Bethany Denay?"

A look of near apoplectic horror dawned on Martriza's angular face and it was all that Czefrina could do not to bray derisive laughter. "You'll do no such thing! In the crisis that seemed bound to come, we will require the Sisters' aid. To even suggest such a blatantly precipitous course of action hints at an utterly reckless instability."

"Unless, of course, this Aeyon Wrey is a puppet and it was the Sisters who engineered this bout of theatre on the highway." Again, Czefrina shrugged as if indifferent. "Ah, but you are the sage one in these matters and of course, I will defer to your judgment."

There was no mistaking the flicker of doubt in the Seneschal's shrewd gaze. "Even if I was so daft as to sanction this folly, Bethany Denay could quite literally turn you inside out with arcane power."

Now Czefrina's grin became predatory. "A furtive approach, a leather sap behind the ear and subsequent immersion in an unfamiliar environment: these things can terrify the most intrepid of hearts."

Had there been a sly admonition for her in this brash claim? Martriza thought there had and discerned that this rash creature would require deft handling like a poisonous viper. As if discerning the Seneschal's thoughts, Czefrina grinned, "I'll leave it with you to ponder while I question Aeyon Wrey. Provide me with his location and I'll be about my night work."

Martriza provided her new tool with the location of Wrey's Coopery, after which Czefrina rose and ventured deeper into the Seneschal's suite of rooms. Intrigued, Martriza followed until the Lamish upstart paused before a section of unadorned stone wall in the passage that led to the suite's bedchamber. Offering the mystified Odain a sly grin, Czefrina depressed three stones in rapid succession. In response, a subtle metallic click echoed along the hall, followed by the grating rumbled of stone on stone as a narrow section of the wall swung into the darkness.

Czefrina stepped into the musty passage and Martriza followed tentatively into the near total darkness. She emitted an airy gasp when the Lamish Princess gently took hold of her slender left wrist and revealed, "These passages can quite literally lead you to every corner of this monstrous castle. If mapped out, they would be a spy or assassin's treasure." Her disembodied voice became puzzled and she added, "What might have motivated a king or queen to include this network of passages in the construction is beyond me...paranoia and obsessive mistrust, I suppose. One could become hopelessly lost in these dark spaces and it would be a hundred years before their mouldering bones were ever found...if ever. Death within theses walls would be horrible and lonely. Something you may wish to ponder when you decide how to treat me as this relationship develops."

Martriza attempted to disengage her wrist, but powerful fingers held her fast. "Don't fret, Seneschal. I'm not so cruel as to consign you to such a horrible fate. If you ever truly vex me, I would likely just put a dirk between your ribs and be done with it...or use these legs of mine to snap that delicate swan's neck."

Feeling vulnerable at the edge of this lightless maze, in the company of this erratic, frightening creature, Martriza whimpered, "Please, release me."

Czefrina stepped back into the half circle of muted light. "Come now, you are my benefactress. I wouldn't hurt you. If time allows, I would like to give you a tour of the...shadow corridors. I believe you would find the experience quite...informative. I have an uncanny sense of direction and promise not to let go of your hand...though I can't promise not to kiss you or take other intimate liberties along the way."

"You...you are incorrigible!" Martriza stammered.

"You can't possibly begin to imagine," Czefrina responded, deliberately laying her hand on the taller woman's firm left breast and gently pushing her out into the hallway. "I'll report back once I've extracted answers from the pretty man."

With this, the door swing slowly shut, leaving a thoroughly disconcerted Martriza Odain alone.

"What dark shadows have you allowed into our midst, Karosyn?" She whispered before stumbling back and sliding down the wall. She allowed her forehead to settle to her knees and wrapped her long arms tightly about her folded knees, waiting for the anxious tremors to subside.

3

By the time that Martriza strode into the Hall of Tribunes, she had managed fully regain her badly upended equilibrium. She had even managed the rather astounding feat of deluding herself into believing that she had emerged with the upper hand in her arrangement with the unsavoury Lamish Princess.

Martriza paused just inside the threshold, while two liveried attendants closed the doors to the large hall. The Seneschal swept her keen-eyed regard around the lavishly appointed hall that was lined with portraits of past Consuls and Tribunes, who had figured prominently in shaping the political landscape of their respective eras.

No one was certain which reigning monarch had conceived the Hall of Tribunes, but it was an institution without duplicate in the entire Antiquated World...a reminder that Emercia was the most progressive, enlightened country in that world. No monarch was allowed to step within the walls of the Hall of Tribunes, leaving Tribunes free to discuss and debate matters of state in privacy. The Seneschal or Regent of the day served as the sitting monarch's liaison in the hall, but were required to provide advance notice if they intended to be present during any particular session.

Being the egalitarian visionaries they were, both Artumas and Karosyn endorsed and propagated the concept. Not surprisingly, the Hall of Tribunes had been abrogated during Myrhia's reign of tyranny.

On what would prove to be a lamentable day for this venerable institution, it members inebriated with their own self-importance, would overstep its bounds...and seal its demise.

None present suspected this imminent turn of events as the Seneschal convened the meeting...Martriza least of all.

After Czefrina's departure, Martriza had gathered herself, changed into a burgundy gown and matching sequinned shoes that despite their delicacy, still managed to lend the Seneschal a dour, austere aura. Now, as she stood before the fourteen Tribunes, preparing to convey edicts that were bound to provoke outrage, the Lamish Princess' stinging evaluation echoed in her mind. 'You are amongst the ranks of that sad species of petty, officious bureaucrats who fancy that they are infinitely wiser than the monarchs they serve.'

As Martriza stood surveying the collection of eleven men and three women, she wondered if there was one amidst the group who was not guilty of the same offence. "I apologize for my later arrival, but I was detained by an urgent matter that is directly relevant to the Queen's new edicts, which I will presently set forth."

Under normal circumstances, Martriza Odain was a skilled orator, whose logic and passion could quite literally bludgeon opposition into capitulation. Now, in the face of the gravest crisis to face Emercia in four decades, these rapier skills of persuasion were nowhere in evidence. Martriza conveyed the Queen's edicts in a flat, mechanical monotone that intimated a personal ambivalence for the measures Karosyn intended to impose.

This projected ambivalence only served to fuel the already raging pyre that these contentious edicts roused in Karosyn's Tribunes.

When Martriza concluded her listless account and fell silent, the Tribune of Trade, Egan Vyrol, an often unapologetic opportunist, surged from his seat. "This is unconscionable. The Queen has brought a festering conflict to our shores...a conflict in which Emercia should have no part. These ludicrous edicts will compromise our nation's security...they will undermine its integrity. Ceding land...however small that parcel may...be to a foreign institution that has no loyalty to Emercia...it is reckless and frankly, odious.

"Let us not forget that the queen spent two hundred years in the service of the very institution to which she would now surrender Emercian soil...if the tales are to be believed," Niehan Meer, Tribune of Commerce, added in a matter-of-fact tone, further fanning the flames of discord.

Surprisingly, Enara Hafey, Tribune of Women and Children's Welfare...a portfolio that Karosyn had personally created and to which she'd raised Hafey to the position of its first Tribune, proved to be Karosyn's most vociferous and inflammatory detractor. "The Queen has violated the sanctity of her obligation to the people. No one in Emercia will accept a Monarch with divided loyalties. Her primary loyalty...indeed, her only loyalty, must be to Emercia."

"I might point out that her appointment of a Queen-in-Absentia is meant to ward against precisely this concern," Martriza pointed out without the slightest hint of animation. Then, with slightly more emotion, she added, "Do you also question my loyalty, Tribune Hafey?"

The colour quickly drained from the Tribunes face and she sputtered, "Of course not, Seneschal, but...but a Queen can't be seen to have any priority other than to the nation over which she rules."

Again, Tribune Vyrol rose to castigate Karosyn's seemingly flawed course of action. "Emercia has always prided itself on remaining aloof from religious sectarian squabbling. By providing these Sisters of Esotaria with crown land upon which to construct a seat of power and more incomprehensible still, proposing to resume an active role in the order's hierarchy...she is creating a bias that will prove insufferable to the other orders. This ill-considered act might well incite them to civil disobedience. It is provocative and irresponsible."

Others joined their indignant voices to this litany of condemnation of the woman who, in the final analysis, raised Emercia to the very apex of civility...until those outcries became a storm of sedition.

Martriza knew that she should have obliterated this nascent stirring of rebellion beneath her heel...could easily have quelled this defiance with a few words of unequivocal support for the Queen's edicts.

'When does loyalty become mindless subservience? Do I not become an instrument of tyranny when I repress all opposition to ideas to which I do not at all subscribe...that I, in truth, find repugnant and potentially disastrous?' Even as these dangerous queries took shape in her mind, Martriza recognized them as facile Sophistry.

She became aware of an intense gaze on the side of her face and turned her head to see Matrick Kyrin, Karosyn's handsome Military Tribune, watching her with a rueful scowl. The Seneschal realized with burgeoning anxiety that the Commander of Karosyn's military had offered no opinion on the contentious edicts. Yet, something in his unblinking gaze made it implicitly clear that he was unimpressed with the indulgent posture of tolerance that Martriza had taken thus far during the session.

Suddenly feeling the need to offer a desultory attempt to rein in the Tribunes, Martriza related, "The Queen is intractable in her insistence that these edicts be implemented at once. She will be meeting with each of you on the morrow to hear specifics on how best to implement these measures. What's more, she has already dispatched an invitation to the Ascentrix...which had been accepted...so there is little to be gained by futile debate."

The answering torrent of outrage was led by the strident voice of Tribune Meer, who blustered, "That the queen would undertake such a precipitous course of action without affording her Tribunes a single word of notice is a grievous affront to the men and women who have served her with such loyalty and devotion!"

"Apparently, in Karosyn's court, these qualities are not reciprocal!" Vyrol added with an ironic self-righteousness that nearly made Martriza burst into laughter. Vyrol's only loyalty and devotion were to the consolidation of his personal wealth and power. To the gathering, Martriza offered a decidedly timid reprimand. "It seems that you have collectively forgotten your roles. You have no real authority and your function is to serve the Queen's will and offer guidance...as solicited. Queen Karosyn is under no obligation to consult with this body prior to enacting any decision in how to best rule Emercia."

"Then we are lost," Tribune Hafey lamented dramatically, her tone woeful. "As this abduction along the highway has clearly demonstrated...the Queen has dragged us in a convoluted maze of her past afflictions. I fear that Emercia may well burn for her misjudgment."

A doleful pall settled over the group, who seemed resigned to the inevitable. Like a sleeping man being pulled back from the precipice, Martriza breathed a sigh of relief, perhaps believing that she had averted personal damnation.

A single voice shattered the troubled silence then, moving the Tribunes down the path to insurrection. "I do believe there is an alternative."

4

Every head swivelled to see that it had been Birick Fol who has offered this observation. A small, rail thin man, with a hawkish face and a ring of wispy, unruly white hair, it was often easy to forget that Fol was present. Fol was the Queen's Keeper of Coin, a role that the bespectacled man discharged with a miser's zeal. If the matter under discussion did not involve expenditures and taxation, Tribune Fol remained silent...aloof...as if only matters of gathering and disbursing coin had any genuine value.

Now, however, he rose slowly, his shrewd blue-eyed gaze sweeping speculatively across those seated about the table. "If there is a festering dispute, it is between the Sisterhood of witches, Karosyn, their Matrium and this Ascentrix. It is an Emercian concern only because of the fact that the three parties will come together within our borders."

"One of whom happens to be the Queen," Martriza pointed out, gleaning the direction this particularly seditious thread of discourse was about to take.

Fol offered the Seneschal a thin smile. "Monarchs come and go, but Emercia perseveres. As I have no real aptitude for circumlocution, I'll be blunt. It is a simple matter to avert a potentially catastrophic settling of accounts on our soil. The two residing parties must be removed from our soil. The Sisters' permission to reside on our soil can be revoked and they can be compelled to leave Emercia, by force is that is what is required."

"And what of our Queen?" Martriza inquired, loathing her willowy tone.

"She can abdicate of her own volition and if she refuses, it is incumbent upon this body to see her deposed and exiled."

Though a gasp of shock reverberated throughout the hall, Martriza noted that a contemplative gleam had stolen into every eye. Only Tribune Kyrin sat sporting a sour frown of earnest bewilderment on his lean, angular face. Martriza could feel her heart thundering in her chest as she petitioned, "How exactly would this extricate Emercia from its predicament? Who would assume the throne in Karosyn's stead?"

Fol answered with a cynical smile in response as to this disingenuous query and replied with a sardonic huff, "Why, you of course. With this edict naming you Queen-in-Absentia, you have virtually been given her endorsement. Your first decree as queen could be to eject these accursed foreigners from our shores. You could then dispatch a communique to the Ascentrix informing her that another venue is required to resolve their differences...Dortizirian seems appropriate as this is the burrow from which these vipers all skulked. Emercia would this have thrown off the yoke of foreign influence."

For a tense moment, Martriza did not respond. With the exception of Tribune Kyrin, every head was bobbing with varying degrees of enthusiasm. She understood that it was her obligation to quell this budding insurrection here and now...to summon the palace guards and have this entire lot jailed for treason. Yet, she wavered in that single moment of vacillation, Martriza Odain uncoupled from her long and fervently held convictions and principles. Affecting a stern, disapproving tone, she announced, "I will return to the Queen with an entreaty that she change her course of action. If she should remain intractable, I will put forth your recommendation that she abdicate her throne for the good of Emercia."

"And if she is not...receptive?" Egan Vyrol asked pointedly.

"Then...we shall see!" Martriza replied evasively. "This meeting is done. I will carry your recommendation to Queen Karosyn in the morning...and report back in the afternoon."

Her tone made it exceedingly clear that there was no latitude for further dialogue. The Tribunes filed from the room and Birick Fol paused beside Martriza and offered, "You now carry the hope for Emercia's future on your capable shoulders...your majesty."

Then he was gone, leaving Martriza alone with Matrick Kyrin. He glanced at her with a mixture of revulsion and dismay. "I do believe your shocking inaction in quelling these fools has just sentenced the lot of us to death. I will tell you this; the Queen's army will have no hand in this sedition. I predict that you and this band of insurrectionists are about to see a side of our benevolent queen that will make you weep and cower like frightened children."

With this terrifying bit of augury offered, he stood and stalked from the room, leaving Martriza alone to contemplate the dark path onto which she so skilfully been coerced.

Chapter Eleven

1

Spring gently segued into glorious summer in Cortrin and with it, a comparative calm descended on Lorio's life. After the traumatic events in the forest and on the thoroughfare, where Lorio had prevented local thugs from abusing Lamish travellers, the immortal had been certain that Opheile would be tenacious in having Lorio disclose the sordid details of her life. She was both surprised and initially relieved when Opheile awoke the next morning and went about her normal routine, not once making reference to the previous day's dramatic events. That relief had gradually segued to concern when Lorio discerned a subtle change in Opheile's behaviour toward her.

Those subtle expressions of affection and love that had characterized the blue-eyed beauty's interaction with Lorio became perceptibly less frequent. Though not overtly conspicuous, Lorio could not help but be cognizant of the subtle signs of emotional withdrawal as if Opheile was slowly disentangling herself from the perplexing Driss...one delicate emotional thread at a time.

'And being keenly aware of this gradual pulling away, still you cannot bring yourself to lay your soul bare before this gift you've found...knowing full well that you love her every bit as much as you loved Issidris Il,' the sorrowful voice of gentle Karosyn chastised. 'You fear that to expose your identity...your tempestuous nature...will alienate her, but can you not see that, by holding her at arm's length, you are losing her by slow degrees? I fear that you will not survive this loss, Lorio."

Still, inexplicable even to herself, Lorio could not bring herself to be forthcoming...and the subtle signs of Opheile's emotional withdrawal became more difficult to ignore with each passing day.

2

For a long time, Opheile had doted on Lorio, enveloping the immortal in the warmth and serenity she seemed to exude like fire in a winter's hearth. After that unsettling day, that began to change...the sense of envelopment waning slowly. Opheile had promised to make love to Lorio in each of the forest's sanctuaries she'd discovered. After the horrible debacle in the forest, Opheile had never once broached the topic.

Prior to that day, Opheile had been a passionate and rather voracious lover, ever creative in her desire and schemes for enticing a willing Lorio to her bed. Though they had made love as frequently following that day, Opheile's lovemaking assumed a cursory aspect as if having the unyielding hieroglyph in her bed had become part of an increasingly banal routine.

As disheartening as this turn of events was, it was Opheile's curtailing of the small gestures of affection, that she'd lavished so freely on Driss, which declared that something was rapidly going awry in their seemingly fate-kissed union.

Prior to that dark day, Opheile would fuss over Driss before seeing her off to her day's labour at the haulage hard. Since that day, Lorio's lunch sack and clothes were always ready, but more often than not, the Inn Mistress would go off to prepare for another busy day managing the Glass House.

Upon Lorio's return, Opheile had habitually greeted her with an ardent kiss and embrace, not caring who might witness these gestures of obvious affection. Now, Opheile would acknowledge Lorio's return with a slight wave and a wan smile, before carrying on with whatever she'd been engaged in prior to the immortal's return.

Though they dined together, that gregarious animation and scintillating sense of humour that had made Opheile's company such a joy had become a muted facsimile of itself.

Yet, it was an incident (just a few days prior to the next defining juncture in the pair's shared journey) that made an increasingly frustrated and fearful Lorio realize that her contented life with the beguiling Opheile Seznoire had become a charade. In the years they had been together, the pair had looked forward to the one day a week when Lorio did not toil in Emon Yar's haulage yard with keen anticipation. On those days, they would while away the time by enjoying the adjacent bath house, shops, bazaars and bistros...and of course, liberal doses of indolent lovemaking.

As the next idle day approached, Lorio had casually asked Opheile how she'd like to pass the time. Opheile had regarded Lorio with a distracted smile, that had become her signature expression when interacting with the immortal, and revealed, "I have some matters to attend to that day...rather pressing matters. So I'm afraid you'll have to distract yourself."

"They can't be put off until the next day?" Lorio asked, loathing the pleading, plaintive edge in her voice, but burgeoning panic made her unable to rein it in.

"I'm afraid not, Driss," Opheile had replied, offering no further elaboration.

The immortal had spent the next few days brooding over this breaking of what she'd come to regard as sacred tradition. The darker aspect of her nature had insisted on concocting possible furtive motivation for what Lorio construed as Opheile next step toward abandonment. Unsurprisingly, this unholy exercise had yielded the most sinister scenario of betrayal; Opheile had found a more forthcoming lover to take her place.

It had been the spectre of Islena Doraux who had stirred to lambast her then, heaping her derision upon the immortal, "What an absolute fucking coward you've become...a tentative, mewling bitch! You're afraid to reveal who you are...afraid to demand an explanation for this woman's sudden reticence. Now, you've actually sunk to the level of petty jealousy...a spiteful craven preparing to skulk after a woman who has apparently lost interest in your tedious antics. If the ferocious beast, who once beat me bloody and held me over a piece of jagged glass on that plaza in Othgol, could see what a coward you've become...she would crush you like a bug under heel...and piss on your chilling corpse."

As much as she knew this scathing castigation to be the unmitigated truth, Lorio realized that it lacked the efficacy to prevent her from shadowing Opheile that day.

When the day arrived, Opheile, as was customary, was up first, moving about their bed chamber with her usual efficiency and grace. Lorio lay on her stomach, feigning sleepiness. While she watched the delicate butterfly float about their shared bedchamber, anxiety and love warred bitterly in her troubled mind.

"So, how will you spend the day, Driss," Opheile inquired in her new distracted fashion as she drew a brush through her rich, chestnut brown hair.

"Since you're leaving me to my own devices, perhaps I'll just be a laggard and just laze the away the day in bed," Lorio replied with a slight intimation of dissatisfaction.

Opheile set her brush aside and regarded the immortal with a expression of exasperated affection that she wore on the occasions when she felt Lorio was being childish. She then crossed the room and sat on the bed, setting her right hand on Lorio's firm derrière, which she squeezed appreciatively. "Don't pout, Driss. Let's take supper out tonight and perhaps even a bath next door. If you are really eager for distraction...there are three cases of ale that could be moved from the cellar.

"As you would command me, task mistress," Lorio returned tartly. Opheile swatted her bottom and after bestowing a tender kiss on her cheek, resumed her preparations to depart. Once she was fully attired in a conservative beige dress, the cut of which did nothing to mute her extraordinary beauty, she presented herself for Driss' inspection and inquired coyly, "How do I look?"

"Very much like someone I'd like to drag into this bed...and never let out," Lorio murmured, sudden sorrow lancing her scarified heart.

Opheile offered Lorio an indecipherable smile and took her leave. The instant her keen ears discerned muffled footsteps retreating down the carpeted hall, she was out of bed and throwing on the clothing she'd prepared the previous night; leather boots, a hooded tunic, despite the summer closeness, and rough spun trousers...each item a nondescript brown. She then exited the suite of rooms she'd shared with Opheile and ducked down the back stairs and out into the narrow alley that ran behind the Glass House Inn.

Hurrying across the mostly deserted street, Lorio sequester herself in the gloom of an alley that looked out upon the Glass House Inn's main entrance. As she waited for Opheile to emerge, the immortal was accosted by a steady procession of damning condemnations, which she chose to ignore. She was, after all, acutely aware that this behaviour was deplorable, tawdry and unsavoury.

'Ah, do not neglect to mention...unspeakably pathetic,' the voice of Arminda chirped blithely.

As Opheile emerged, her face set in lines of purposeful determination, Lorio decided that she would not debase herself further should it turn out that Opheile had embarked on a romantic dalliance. There would use no dramatic confrontation...no raging tirade. She would savagely repress her desire to throttle Opheile's new paramour into a bloody, twitching heap. Instead, she would salvage what she had left of her fracture dignity, return to the Inn to gather up her meagre possessions and simply fade off.

Initially, she imagined that she could simply find other lodgings, perhaps in the seedy quarter of Cortrin, where the elegant Opheile would never have occasion to set foot, and continue to labour in the haulage yard. This preposterous notion drew a disdainful laugh from Lorio. She knew that she could never remain in Cortrin, knowing full well that Opheile...her Opheile was embarking on a new life without her.

'Considering what she has come to mean to you...would anywhere in the world be far enough?' she wondered, feeling despair tighten about her heart like a hangman's noose.

Opheile descended the inn's steps and headed in the direction of Cortrin's high streets. Lorio waited until she was a block or so ahead and then hastened after her.

There then followed a day that was the longest and most peculiar of Lorio's long, incredible life.

As was their habit when together, Opheile meandered in and out of shops, though Lorio noted that she made no purchases. Lorio trailed after the beauty, watching from the shadows, expecting that every person who crossed Opheile's path would be the one who had supplanted her. Though the scintillating beauty garnered a steady current of appreciative stares, no one spoke to her other than to offer a polite greeting in passing.

As the city bells declared the arrival of midday, Opheile found a shaded bistro and was seated at a small wrought iron table.

'Now...now she will meet the person who will soon replace me!' Lorio thought as she watched closely from the shadow of a nearby boutique. Body made livid by tense anticipation, the immortal watched as the other woman ordered a light lunch and the iced lemon drink that was currently the rage in Cortrin.

Lorio's expectant tension gradually relented as time passed and no one joined the solitary beauty. After a time, Opheile finished her lunch and signalled for her server to bring the cheque.

A terrible epiphany assailed Lorio then and though she would not have credited it as conceivable a short time ago, this revelation was more devastating than a conformation of her suspected infidelity.

'She wasn't coming to meet somebody...she simply wanted to avoid spending the day in my company,' Lorio realized, the thought resounding in her mind like a death knell. She could not repress the moan of anguish that escaped her lips as she slid down the wall and onto her haunches, where she buried her face in her hands.

'Look at what you've been reduced to, old friend...alone and weeping in an alley like a powerless, broken thing,' Issidris' ghost observed, her tone doleful. 'Yet, if you could call on that boundless wealth of courage I know you possess, you could retrieve this precious union with a simple gesture of candor. What's more, you and I are worldly enough to understand that not all things are what they first appear to be. Look carefully...'

Struggling to heed Issidris' sage advice and master her despair, Lorio complied. brushing absently at her tears, Lorio pushed herself to her feet to find that Opheile had already left the bistro.

Lorio emerged from her place of concealment and trailed after Opheile, who was striding briskly down the thoroughfare, her accelerated pace suggesting that she had a specific destination in mind. 'See, Issidris,' she thought morosely, 'perhaps somethings are exactly what they seem.'

Issidris offered no rebuttal and Lorio continued to pursue the woman to whom she'd forfeited her soul. Further along the thoroughfare, Opheile turned into a quaint, tree-lined side street.

Lorio paused at the corner to see Opheile standing on the cobbled walk, staring intently up at the elevated entrance to a three storey building. Something in her posture intimated a certain reluctance to enter the building and engage in whatever business she had come to conduct.

'A flicker of guilt,' Lorio thought hopefully, mindful of a host of factors that made the probability of a tryst unlikely. After a moment, Opheile mounted the steps and vanished into the building's interior.

Lorio then hurried up the streets and stood staring up at the building, which was constructed of dark stone and trimmed with meticulously polished dark wood. It became clear to the immortal that this was a place of business, but nothing in its vaguely off-putting exterior betrayed any indication of what manner of commerce might be conducted within its walls.

On ornate sign was discreetly mounted on the stone balustrade at the base of the stairs, but as usual, the baffling symbol's mocked Lorio's inability to decipher their mystery.

A young man was coming toward her and she greeted him with her most fetching smile, before inquiring in a vapid voice, "Excuse me, young master, might you tell me what type of business this might be?"

The man stopped and regarded the statuesque beauty warily, his gaze sweeping over her peculiar clothing. That wariness gave way to a decidedly forward leer when he absorbed the full scope of her beauty. His eyes again crawled infuriatingly down the length of her nubile body, his thin lips twisting into a moue of distaste in reaction to her masculine garb.

"The business, sir...do you know what kind it is?" Lorio repeated. something in tone curdled his lecherous grin and his eyes snapped up to meet hers...which suddenly reminded him of burning coals.

He took an involuntary step away from the woman, who suddenly exuded an unsettling aura of menace despite the enormity of her pulchritude. His haze shifted to the small sign and he reported, "This is a barristers and solicitors office."

When Lorio only continued to regard him vacantly, he rolled his eyes and grumbled, "A lawyer's office. Can you not read the sign, woman?"

He then hurried away, shaking his head in disdain. Lorio closed her eyes as the lifelong shame of her inability to acquire even a rudimentary grasp of reading or writing assailed her anew. When she recovered from this latest incident of random cruelty, Lorio crossed the street at an angle and waited in the shadow of a venerable oak tree for Opheile to emerge.

As one bell lengthened to become two and still Opheile had not left the lawyers office, Lorio grappled with the mystery of why her lover would visit such an establishment in the first place. She could conjure none that would involve her and with no small measure of relief, concluded that perhaps Issidris had been correct in her assessment of the situation.

'As I advised, old friend,' Issidris offered and in anyone else, this may have seemed smug. From Issidris, it could only be a flat statement of fact.

It was late afternoon before Opheile stepped out onto the landing, accompanied by a short, portly older man with mutton chop whiskers and an impeccably tailored topcoat that failed to conceal his considerable paunch.

The pair spoke cordially for several moments and Lorio used the opportunity to hurry to the corner. Once she reached the thoroughfare, the immortal broke into an open sprint, heading back to the Glass House Inn...uncertain how to construe the ambiguous revelations of her surreptitious misadventure.

3

The afternoon had all but given way to evening when the door to their shared suite of rooms opened and Opheile Seznoire glided in, appearing as fresh as she had before setting out that morning.

'Immutable poise,' Lorio thought as she watched Opheile from a chair near the window. Upon seeing Lorio, she hurried over to the immortal and bestowed a distracted kiss on a bemused Lorio's upturned cheek. She then set out removing her jewelry and dress.

Trying to feign a bored, cursory interest, Lorio remarked, "You were certainly gone for a long time...was your day...fruitful?"

Opheile paused and regarded Lori with a slight frown. "What a decidedly peculiar choice of words, Driss...but, yes...my day was productive. There was an urgent matter concerning the Inn that I had to attend to. Other than one small formality, the day was most productive and you...how did you spent your idle time?"

Lorio shrugged and pouted, "I pretty much lazed about all day...it was rather boring, really. Oh yes, I did move your casks of ale.

Opheile thanked her and continued to strip out of her clothing. Lorio watched and with no prior hint of intending to do so, blurted, "Opheile, is all well with you?"

She offered a prayer of thanks that she had not actually said, 'Is all well with you?'

When Opheile fixed Lorio with a perplexed stare, the immortal offered feebly, "You seem distracted...these last weeks."

Opheile floated gracefully across the room and with a faint smile playing at her lips, she made a protracted show of removing the last of her clothing. Standing brazenly naked before Lorio, the fading light spotlighting her enormous beauty, Opheile breathed, "I know I promised that we'd take supper out tonight, but I've decided that I would rather we languish in a hot bath...and then we can spend the rest of the night in our bed as I demonstrate just how well things are with me."

She then began to divest a mesmerized Lorio of her clothing. Even as the immortal fell under Opheile's spell of carnal sorcery, it occurred to her that Opheile had deftly avoided her query.

4

The darkness was absolute...undiluted by even the tiniest intimation of light, as if he'd been entombed in the bowels of the earth where light was but a whispered myth. On the periphery of his cognizance, Tarim could hear a soft moaning. The sound was forlorn...a thing of perfect despair and negation.

Tarim Wrey was not certain how long he had captive in this lightless gaol of horror, but he had still not tumbled to the piteous stature of abject misery as those wretched creatures who whimpered like broken animals.

'Yes, but how much more of these sessions can you endure before you are the same...just another broken beast bonded by systematic emasculation?' Tarim shook his head in response to this dismal query...a notion too evolved and philosophical to be his own.

How long had it been since they had come for him...hours, days? He could not say with any degree of accuracy. Time assumed an elastic quality when one was immersed in perfect darkness. As slippery as an eel, it defied his faculty to measure.

He only knew that they would come for him again, and their harrowing torment would goad him another step closer to the inevitable moment when his sanity would fracture. Not wanting to dwell on the terror to which these female vipers had subjected him (were women really capable of such unmitigated cruelty? He had learned that they could be deceitful and manipulative, but this barbaric?). He turned to surveying the feel and sense of the environment in which he'd been imprisoned.

Tarim had ascertained that he was being held on a ship. He had further deduced that this ship was presently at sea, determining this fact as he could hear water lapping at the hull. He was also perceptive enough to understand that this vessel was not without its astounding anomalies.

He had never actually been aboard an ocean-going vessel, but Nalosan was a port city and sailors had frequented many of Tarim's favourite ale houses. Their description of ships...especially merchant ships that roved the coastal waters...were consistent. The ships they described were always cramped, dank, foul-smelling and often rat infested. They were fragile constructs that tossed and heaved, eternally at the mercy of their temperamental mistress, the ocean.

By contrast, this particular ship was unaffected by the ocean's shifting mood. It neither pitched, nor bobbed and Tarim had initially concluded that they might be anchored in a secluded cove. This impression was dispelled by the slap of waves on the hull that, no matter how intense, were not condign to buffeting the vessel.

The air was unusually dry and utterly devoid of smell...a peculiarity in itself.

On impulse, Tarim stood and began to explore the confines of his cell. He could spread his long arms in any direction and not touch the walls of the enclosure in which he was confined. Likewise, he could stand erect and not crack his head on the support timbers, which meant that the ship's hold was unusually deep.

He extended his arms in the other direction and when his fingertips found the wall, Tarim discovered that its surface was perfectly smooth...as if it had been lacquered. The wood was cool and dry as glass. He sank to his knees and groped about in the darkness, but could find no trace of dampness or moisture as if this vessel had never actually seen the water.

The condition of the ship was a disturbing anomaly and Tarim would have dismissed it as impossible, had it not been for the sleek black ships that occasionally occupied Nalosan's harbour...incredible vessels that he had seen with his own eyes.

It had been Aeyon who had informed Tarim that these mast-less vessels belonged to the Sisters of Esotaria...the arcane order of witches who had taken up residence in Emercia at Queen Karosyn's invitation. Tarim remembered that the inquisitive Aeyon had been fascinated by the mysterious ships, but he had regarded them as vaguely troubling and then there was the matter of the women who commanded them. Beautiful, aloof and steeped in mystery: there had always been a undefined quality about the Sisters of Esotaria that had aroused deep disquiet in Tarim Wrey.

Whenever he would encounter one of these unfathomable creatures in the streets or on the great plaza at the foot of Kammlogran, he would give them a wide berth, although he would normally be draw to such beautiful women. There was something in their serene gazes and their leonine grace that evoked comparisons with great predatory cats that passing circuses would exhibit when in the city.

"Is this who is holding me then...were my misgivings justified?" He whispered, conjuring images of the magic-wielding women who had confronted him and his brother on the coastal highway. Thinking of Aeyon aroused an intense anxiety in Tarim. Though diametric opposites in many ways, Tarim loved his earnest, too-serious younger brother and prayed that Aeyon's had escaped. If so, at least it would bestow some meaning on Tarim's torment.

Without prior warning, the door to his cell swung open, declared only by the rush of cool air into the confines of his cell. Invisible hands seized him then and Tarim found himself being dragged out into the corridor. He made no attempt to resist his captors, who evidently possessed the faculty of sight in total darkness. He had learned swiftly that resistance was futile, and its wages were excruciating agony inflicted by a single light touch.

He could glean that he was being dragged along by two female jailers, who were guiding him to the now familiar place of torment.

They maneuvered him unerringly into a larger chamber and released him, receding into the background like predatory lizards sinking deeper into dark water. Even though he had become intimately familiar with what was to follow, the process was still profoundly disconcerting.

Invisible currents of air snaked around his ankles, wrists and waist and proved every bit as irresistible as they were repulsive. His arms were jerked into the air and his legs were splayed until her resembled he resembled a living X, constructed of flesh, bone, muscle and quaking viscera.

Next came the flare of synapse-searing silver light. Blinding in magnitude and made all the more so because of prolonged imprisonment in total darkness. Tarim forced his eyes closed against the anticipated eruption, but his eyelids were not commensurate to the task of filtering the eruption to bearable levels.

He moaned in response to the incisive pain and waited for the brightness to ebb back to tolerable levels. After several moments, he cracked open his eyelids to find that he was now enveloped in a globe of muted yellow light beyond the periphery of which the darkness was absolute.

Tarim was utterly naked, his limbs bound by invisible restraints and stretched straight, leaving him in a position of abject vulnerability. His flaccid manhood dangled plum like a pendulum...a convenient target for his depraved captors to abuse and exploit, though to what end, Tarim had yet to surmise.

And of course, she was there and as was the custom, the first sight of his tormentor caused his breath to congeal in his chest and his heart to palpitate as if it might break free and fly away from this horror.

His tormentor was diminutive and compact...thin to the edge of emancipation. She was attired in a black, highly reflective armour the likes of which Tarim had never seen prior to the night the she-demons had taken him on the highway. It adhered snugly to a body that evoked images of intertwined vipers.

The woman wore a pewter mask, inscribed with filigreed patterns which Tarim had come to suspect were meant to resemble scars of some manner. The notion that someone would elect to use a symbol of disfigurement as an ornamentation was both perplexing and chillingly disturbing.

"Shall we begin, pretty man?" She purred, her voice an incongruent blend of velvet and grinding stones. Slowly, with the deliberate air of ceremony, she removed her pewter mask, before extending her thin right arm and splaying her fingers. The disturbing mask simply floated into the darkness as if it was no more substantial than a shade.

Then she turned that terrible visage upon him and Tarim grimaced despite his best effort to remain impassive. He could glean that she must have been enormously beautiful once...perhaps a millennium ago. Now, however, her face evoked images of a thin piece of leather that had been stretched to the tearing point and left out in the scorching sun for eternity. Her prominent cheekbones appeared to stretch the skin even further...lending a grotesque aspect to her already unsettling visage. Only those large, limpid blue eyes conveyed any hint of vitality. They conveyed a voracious hunger that was dreadful to behold and stood in sharp contrast to the pitch-black hair that framed her face.

Seeing his prominent revulsion, his tormentor floated closer and casually collected his manhood in her small right hand. She administered a few languid strokes, while inquiring sweetly, "Come now pretty man...do you find my face that unnerving? We both know that this tool is without conscience and will spill its seed for me soon enough."

"Only through foul sorcery!" He rasped, though the nascent throbbing in his traitorous groin belied his protest.

"Sorcery fuelled by the fires of lust, pretty man," she cooed and released his rising member.

"What have you done with Aeyon...where is my brother?" He demanded and though he'd posed this query at the commencement of every torture session and knew it would garner no meaningful reply, Tarim had come to realize that thoughts of his brother had become a talisman to fortify him against the hellish ordeal that was to follow.

"You have no brother...because you are a puppet. Puppets have no siblings...not fathers and mothers. They are marionettes, given life only through the forbearance of the one who pulls their strings," she returned by rote as if amused by what had become a ritual prior to the commencement of the horror. She regarded him, those emasculating blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "Of the others beneath my hand, you are certainly the most entertaining. The others merely glower their futile defiance...or whimper and plead. Whatever their posture...they inevitably break. You persist in posing your silly questions. Beneath that feckless exterior there actually dwells a core of mettle. If I did not have urgent need of you, I would be tempted to keep you as a pet and have you devote your life to pleasing this body you pretend to abhor."

She went of in peel of sardonic laughter. Ignoring her truly mortifying thought, Tarim inquired gravely, "Are you one of them...the Sisters of Esotaria?"

His tormentor's feigned mirth vanished, and she tilted her head slightly, her daunting eyes narrowing into speculative slits. She came closer, taking his face in thin fingers that, nonetheless, bit into his flesh like iron pincers. "What a clever little man you are, though I would caution that being clever...and utterly powerless...is not an enviable position in which to find yourself. Better to be a dullard, who accepts his circumstances without question or contemplation."

She released him and receded into the darkness, remarking menacingly, "Now, let us see if you are still so inquisitive when I am done with you."

A sudden crackle of puissance heralded the arrival of the instruments of torture, which Tarim had come to loath and dread with every fibre of his being. It appeared to coalesce out of the very floor boards, rising swiftly to envelope the captive in a vertical tube of muted golden light. An instant later, the fully manifested tube, which spanned from floor to ceiling and made Tarim feel as if he was a collected specimen, began to rotate slowly.

Shortly thereafter, the first of the hateful coloured tiles appeared on the surface of the diaphanous tube. Tarim, who by his own admittedly flawed accounting, had been subjected to this harrowing ritual over a dozen times, was painfully well acquainted with the specific nightmare associated with each of the coloured tiles. Each had been conceived as an instrument of terror designed to evoke a specific response from its victim. Tarim, who had come to catalogue them thoroughly, had learned to fear some more than others. Yet, each tile was a paving stone along a path into horror the end destination of which he had yet to discern.

Eyeing the ever-shifting tiles warily, he conjured the temerity to demand, "Why are you doing this to me? What is it you want? If you would just tell me...perhaps this wouldn't be necessary."

For the first time since the ordeal began, the desiccated woman stepped back into the circle of light. Her weathered face was set in a grave expression, tempered by an emotion that might well have been indulgence. "You certainly are fond of queries, aren't you pretty man?"

The first tile...a blood red one...leapt out of the rotating column and conformed to the curve of Tarim's right thigh. He screamed in agony, the tile burning his flesh like a molten brand, though he knew his body would display no outward sign of trauma when the ordeal concluded.

The pain abated and, in its wake, came a flood of vividly gruesome images in which he bludgeoned each of his family members until he was spattered in blood and gore and they had been reduced to oozing sacks of pulp at his feet.

Try as he might, he could not dispel the reality of this illusion. When it finally faded, Tarim found her watching him closely, an amused grin playing at her thin lips.

"When you were first abducted, you were told that what was required of you was your hatred," she reminded him. "That explanation was...incomplete."

A second tile leapt out at him...this one a pale yellow. It completely enveloped his flaccid manhood. The flood of sensations it evoked were pure sensual euphoria and Tarim's member was swiftly transformed into a curving piece of statuary. His breathing came in ragged gasps as he watched himself indulge in a carnival of sexual perversion that aroused him just as they repulsed him. His tormentor loosed a peel of disdainful laughter when Tarim's seed burst forth like water through a ruptured dam and spattered the floor at his feet. "Well, you've long proclaimed yourself to be a hedonist. Your reaction to these scenarios of depraved perversity is proof that you did not exaggerate."

"If you want my hatred, you can stop now...because I've never despised anyone or anything more," he croaked, knowing that he was inviting this monster to unleash the full spectrum of her evil upon him, but unable to restrain his rancour.

To Tarim Wrey's disquiet, she threw back her head and laughed boisterously. "What you feel now is nothing more than a child's dislike. Still, we both know that, if I commanded it, you would crawl to my bed with your tongue lolling like a randy hound and your cock throbbing for the need of me...whatever delusions you might harbour to the contrary."

"You really are a deranged bitch!" he spat, shuddering in revulsion.

"Much to your eternal woe, pretty man...you may be right," she agreed amiably and unleashed an unprecedented storm of tiles that left him howling in agony until it seemed certain his throat would burst and his mind would permanently fracture beneath the vortex of black horrors that assailed him.

When it seemed inevitable that Tarim Wrey would vanish down the rabbit hole of insanity, the maelstrom of torment ended.

The diaphanous tube evaporated and the restraints that held Tarim followed suit. He collapsed to the polished wood in a boneless sprawl. Unlike the previous sessions, the hold was not plunged into total darkness in the instant before his jailers came to drag him back to his box. Instead, she stepped nimbly into the circle of light and pinioned him to the floor by pressing the leather sole of her left boot onto his neck. She then squatted down next to him and further unsettled Tarim by running her fingers through his perspiration-soaked hair in a perplexing gesture of affection.

"In answer to your query...what I require of you is your absolute devotion...a consuming totality of hatred that occludes everyone and everything else from your perception. I want to become your consuming addiction. When you masticate, urinate, defecate...and fornicate, I want you to see and think only of me. I want you to dive into the ocean of perfect hatred for me, Tarim Wrey. It is an ocean in which you will drown if you do not find a way to give expression to that immutable hatred. That's is what I want from you, Tarim and mark my word...it is what I shall have."

She withdrew her hand and Tarim deplored himself for the disappointment he felt as she did. To an unseen presence, she instructed, "Do not return him to his cell. Instead, have him bathed and properly groomed...then take him to my chambers." To Tarim, she purred, "Let me offer a small token of proof as to the veracity of my claim that you are mine to do with as I will."

She then placed the tip of an index finger in the hollow of his right temple and Tarim spiralled down into the void.

5

The day after Lorio had followed Opheile through the streets of Cortrin, to a barristers and solicitors office, commenced with a much welcome return to the state of things before that bleak day in the forest. Lorio had come awake to find Opheile dressed and scurrying about their bedchamber with her customary industrious good cheer.

When the brown-haired beauty had noticed that Lorio was awake and scrutinizing her silently, she marched over to the bed and literally pounced on the startled immortal. She kissed Lorio with an exuberance that left her dizzy, while Opheile's hands took liberties with Lorio's taut flesh. Yet, when Lorio moved to encircle Opheile with her legs and arms, the other woman rolled nimbly away. Wagging a finger, she teased, "Let that hunger built. Tonight, you can sate it like a glutton. Now, I have an Inn to run."

She moved gracefully to the door, where she paused and fixed Lorio with a solemn look that set her blue eyes gleaming like iridescent sapphires. "In answer to your unposed question from last night...all is well between you and me. Have no doubt, Driss...I'm yours!"

Then she was gone, leaving a thoroughly aroused and deliriously happy Lorio alone to ponder her parting pronouncement.

From the dark recesses of her mind, the ghost of Islena Doraux lamented, 'How had you allowed yourself to sink to such piteous depths? You, who have stood resolutely at the greatest juncture of the age...how could you permit yourself to sink to this sorry state. You've become an obsequious, grasping thing, constantly embroiled in this ridiculously banal domestic drama. It really would have been kinder had I killed you on the plaza in Othgol that day. To see what you've become is insufferable.'

"Or you simply could have remained here and loved me, Islena," Lorio retorted sorrowfully. "If you detest what I've become, then assume the burden of blame. Your abandonment made me what I am. Still, Islena, you've become an irrelevant spectre who lacks the good grace to remain silent."

'Bah, you always were a sentimental child,' Islena's memory spat derisively and though Lorio had no inkling of it then, this acrimonious exchange would be the last occasion in which this particular shade would speak to her.

Lorio would have been sceptical to have been told then that the day would come...perhaps centuries along the path in her journey...when she would come to miss this often disapproving voice.

6

Lorio returned from a day's toiling in the haulage yard to discover that Opheile was not in her customary station in the Glass House Inn's common room.

Eryth Nyr, the irrepressibly gregarious and sharp-witted barkeep, upon seeing Lorio enter the Inn, raised a slender arm toward Opheile's office. "She asked that I send you to her once you arrived."

Lorio raised a quizzical eyebrow, but Eryth turned away without further elaboration. Perplexed and suddenly feeling anxious, Lorio made her way to Opheile's office and knocked before entering.

Opheile rose from her chair and chided lightly, "No need to knock, Driss...it's not as if I'm engaged in something sordid...at least, not without you." Her tone grew solemn then as she added, "Besides which, this place is as much yours as it is mine."

Lorio stood in the doorway, hearing Opheile's voice as if from a vast distance. In the course of her long, turbulent life, Lorio had stood in the rarified presence of the most spectacularly beautiful women in the world (she, herself, being amongst that rank, though her savagely-abraded self-esteem would not permit her to acknowledge the fact).

Standing before her, Opheile Seznoire paled the lot to plainness. Shimmering like the rarest of diamonds, Opheile was the living embodiment of feminine perfection. Her chestnut brown hair spilled over her shoulders and down her slender back in a cascade so lush and rich that it appeared to be its own living entity. Her sublimely perfect face, on this afternoon, was further enhanced by an expression of resolve that made the intrepid immortal tremble.

This enchanting effect was completed by a midnight blue satin dress that clung lovingly to Opheile's nubile body. High-collared, it fell to a conservative length at Opheile's slender ankles. The dress was asymmetric in design and featured a slanting row of delicate gold buttons that ran from the hollow of her shoulder, over her full breast and down to the hem. Each button was inlaid with a gemstone of the deepest blue. A small, blood red rose had been embroidered into the fabric around each button of the exquisite garment.

Regaining a small measure of her composure, Lorio stepped over the threshold and closed the door, trying to sound nonchalant as she remarked, "You look as if you're about to set off to a royal gala."

"I had an important business meeting today...and so it seemed appropriate."

"It's stunning...fitting for the woman wearing it," Lorio offered and Opheile fielded the compliment with a graceful smile. Hating the note of helplessness in her voice, Lorio noted, "You never mentioned it last night."

Opheile's smile became provocative. "I think I was rather preoccupied with loving you into a stupor. This involved a surprise...one that is focused on you, Driss...so sit. You and I have much to discuss."

Lorio pursed her lips to hide her nervousness, but nonetheless complied, settling into the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

Opheile fixed the immortal with an acutely grave look and drawing a deep breath to calm her quavering pulse, began "I want to start by apologizing...by telling you how deeply sorry I am for the way I've treated you these last weeks. Can you forgive me, Driss?" hurriedly, she added, "If you can, I vow that we will never have this particular unfortunate discussion again."

Gazing up at the shimmering vision across the desk, Lorio knew that there was no transgression for which she would not forgive Opheile Seznoire...a supposition that would be sorely tested by what was to follow. Minimizing the anxiety she'd felt these last months, Lorio allowed magnanimously, "You have seemed distracted..."

Opheile pursed her full lips and scolded, "Don't trivialize my behaviour, Driss. I've been a cold, distant bitch and I know it confused and hurt you...hurt the person I love beyond anything or anyone. It will hardly excuse my behaviour, but I need you to try to see why. Will you do that for me, Driss...please?"

Seeing Opheile belittled by doubt twisted Lorio's vitiated heart in ways so complex she could not completely fathom the reasons. It also evoked less generous emotions...such as relief and satisfaction. "There are a few things I enjoy more than listening to you talk, except for sharing your bed of course. I'll listen, Opheile."

Opheile's offered Lorio a crooked, decidedly jittery grin. "After we conclude this discussion, that is precisely where I intend for us to end up." Her expression became somber and she struck to the heart of the matter. "Even as a little girl, I always prided myself on being strong and resourceful, a person who was tenaciously determined to chart my own course. I refuse to sublimate my will to anyone...especially myopic men who regarded me as a trophy possession...thinking that their wealth conferred upon them the right to do so. Something tells me that you are a woman forged from the same unyielding iron, Driss."

Lorio beamed a predatory smile and allowed, "I've left a trail of broken men who would confirm as much."

An image of Esuruban bloomed in her mind and that grin became a frown rife with pain. Opheile nodded, "Then you'll understand that this desire to be completely autonomous...to be self-sufficient...has become the very foundation of my identity. That all changed the moment I found myself lying at your feet that day in the forest."

She raised her hand to forestall Lorio's inevitable objection. With an incredulous shake of her mane, Opheile continued, "Once I surmounted my foolish fear that you weren't going to stake me to the grass like a bug pinned to a board, I experienced a surge of...arousal unlike anything I'd ever felt. It obliterated my every self-perception. Gazing up at you...seeing the bastion of strength you were...I wanted to capitulate to you...to become utterly subservient. This spontaneous desire to forfeit my will...my precious independence to another person was so shockingly alien that it filled me with dread."

"I would never ask that of you, Opheile, never!" Lorio insisted fiercely.

"But you see, Driss...this really has nothing to do with your expectations...it was strictly about me and my reaction to this aura of irreducible strength you exude. The way you humbled those men later only augmented the effect...though I've always deplored violence."

She sighed and averted her gaze to her folded hands. "So, over these last weeks, I've grappled with this radical shift...this absolute reconfiguration of my fundamental beliefs. That is the first thing I need to tell you today, Driss; I've embraced this new perspective completely and without reservation. I'm yours and I surrender to you...to your will and desires...to your guidance. You need only ask, and I'll do anything in my power to satisfy your needs."

Lorio shook her head, utterly flummoxed by Opheile's declaration of capitulation. Quietly, she insisted, "I want you to be just who you are...to lavish me with your wisdom and serenity. You think I'm strong, but you have no idea how insecure I am at times. Other than Issidris Il, I've never given a sailor's fuck what anyone thinks of me. Then I met you and Opheile, there have actually been times when I've cringed at the thought of disappointing you. Even Issidris couldn't make me feel that way. She was the strongest human being I've ever met. Her strength kept me grounded...kept my ugly demons at bay. Your self-assurance, grace and composure...these things bring out the best in me. Please, Opheile...don't let that change...for both our sakes."

Opheile absently brushed a tear from her eye, but nodded vigorously. "Do you forgive me, Driss?"

"Yes...and if you do need me to command you, then I'll instruct you to do this one thing...love me always!"

Lorio started in alarm when Opheile Seznoire, this paragon of serene composure, buried her face in her hands and began to sob unabashedly. Not certain how to respond to this unprecedented loss of control, Lorio silently sat by and allowed Opheile's outburst to run its course.

After a time, Opheile raised her head and offered Lorio a red-eyed, sheepish grin. "I'm sorry, Driss...I've felt wretched these last weeks, but now that I've accepted that you and I are bound together...and that I've come to need you are much as I need the air to breath...I find that I'm deliriously happy."

Lorio's, whose relief was enormous, as if a gigantic millstone of doubt and uncertainty has rolled from her shoulders, merely smiled.

Opheile's expression became sober, perplexing Lorio. "In the spirit of this bond we're forging, I've decided that I won't persist in trying to compel you to divulge your past. Instinct is telling me that much of your life has been painful beyond reckoning...and I would not have you rip open those old wounds to satisfy my curiosity. Your past is history and some history is best left forgotten. To me, you are Driss and my only concern is for our future...which I vow will be a joy."

Now it was Lorio's turn to be choked with emotion. Tearfully, she murmured, "Thank you, Opheile."

To her bemusement, Opheile's expression darkened then...a grave frown nuanced by dread. "what's more, Driss, it would be hypocritical beyond reason to demand that you divulge your every skeleton and ghost, while I continue to harbour one that most would consider damning beyond salvation."

The room fell silent after this decidedly ominous remark...a preface to a dialogue that held the potential to reduce their bond to rubble. Still, Lorio marshalled the courage to prompt, "Speak freely, Opheile...if you wish, but as you've said, the past is the past and I, for one am perfectly content to let it remain there."

Dark resolved flashed in those great sapphire eyes and Opheile growled, "I want to begin by telling you that I'm not the least bit ashamed of what I'm about to share...despite how the world might judge me...despite how even you might judge me, Driss." Her tone softened, and she added with a slight smile, "but should you grant your acceptance, if not your understanding...I will spend what remains of my life showing you my gratitude."

"Opheile, believe me when I tell you that I am hardly the person to pass judgement on other people's lives," Lorio returned in a voice made somber by the recollection of her cumulative sins.

Acknowledging this with a slight nod, Opheile lifted her chin defiantly and plunged ahead. "Driss, I lied when I told you that Czarin and I left our family home in Norhynan in search of a grand adventure." Here, Opheile hesitated, her intense regard set fiercely upon the immortal as if weighing her capacity to absorb what was about to be divulged. Lorio experienced a dread chill dancing lithely along the length of her rigid spine. She sensed that this narrative was beckoning her to set forth down a dark road to an odious disclosure. Opheile's next revelation, delivered with neither remorse or apology, confirmed her worst suspicions.

"He and I were banished from the family home and disowned as deviants...reprobates...a disgrace to the Seznoire name. You see, Driss, from our teenage years, Czarin and I were lovers and when it was discovered by our parents, they cast us out like something filthy and vile."

The colour drained from Lorio's face at this recalcitrant admission of incest. She could feel her stomach roiling as she stammered, "You laid with...with your own brother?"

Lorio's tone, rife with judgemental incredulity caused Opheile's lovely face to blanch, but she confirmed flatly, "Yes."

Lorio absently dragged a hand across her mouth, her fingers leaving livid trails across her olive skin. A fragment of memory manifested in her thoughts, the unspoken horror of Issidris' childhood with her monstrous father and brothers. Lorio seized onto the dreadful recollection like an instrument of deliverance and she snarled, "Did the bastard rape you, Opheile. If he did, I'll dig up his bones and grind them to dust. Then, I'll scatter them at the bottom of my chamber pot."

Opheile recoiled as if struck. Throwing back her chair, she marched around the desk and drawing back her right hand, Opheile, the great pacifist, slapped Lorio's face with all the force a lifetime of indignation could muster. Colour hectic with an unprecedented fury, she seethed, "I will not have you characterize the love we shared in such a scurrilous light...as if he was an incestuous rapist. I will not...do you hear me, Driss! After all of the pain he and I endured for the pure love we shared, I will not have it reduced to something so base and vulgar. Czarin was...was not a monster deflowering a helpless innocent. If you insist on characterizing him that way, then despite the enormity of the love I feel for you...you can get out of my sight and never let me set eyes on you again!"

Lorio gaped up at the fuming Opheile, dark eyes impossibly wide, mouth agape and hand pressed to her cheek. To the shock and dismay of both women, especially Lorio, whose normal response to having been struck would have come in the form of swift and devastating retaliation, the immortal burst into tears.

She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, sobbing unabashedly as her world seemed to crumble to ruins. She would have sworn that she could forgive Opheile any transgression, but in the wake of this confession of what she regarded as the blackest of perversions, Lorio wondered if her newfound sanctimony could ever accept something so deplorable.

Opheile stood motionless, staring down at the sobbing Driss, immobilized by how quickly and thoroughly she had made a debacle of what she had hoped would be an intimate moment of candid sharing...one that would bring the two ever closer. Tentatively, she reached out and laid a hand of Driss' trembling shoulder. When the weeping woman did not reject this overture, Opheile encircled the immortal's muscular shoulders and drew her into an embrace. They remained in this position, Lorio sobbing with her face pressed into Opheile's flat belly, while the standing woman tenderly stroked Lorio's hair until the sobbing woman had expended the last of her tears.

Lorio briskly disengaged from Opheile's embrace and sat back in her chair, roughly brushing the tears from her cheeks. Feeling dejected and broken, she wanted only to flee, but forced herself to meet Opheile's gaze. The maelstrom of pain in those great blue eyes kept her bound to her seat.

Opheile squatted down next to the distraught Driss and taking her left hand, pleaded, "Let me tell you this story, Driss...something I've never shared with another living soul. At its end, if you decide that I am foul beyond tolerance, then we can at least part on amicable terms. On the strength of all we feel for each other, can you do this for me, Driss?"

"Yes," Lorio replied morosely. "I'll listen, but I must warn you...this...this aberration is something that I can never condone," When a wounded grimace of pain and anguish lanced Opheile's expression, Lorio added, "but perhaps I could learn to how you felt it if you could help me understand."

The light of undiluted relief dawned in those great blue eyes and Opheile kissed an unresisting Lorio's cheek. She then returned to her seat and groped for the eloquent turn of phrase that would enable Lorio to grasp the purity of the love she'd felt for her brother.

"Do you consider me beautiful, Lorio?" She began, a perplexing, seemingly needless query that vexed the dejected immortal.

Sullenly, she replied, "I know that you neither suffer from lack of self-esteem, nor does your vanity require constant affirmation. Therefore, I'll assume there is a specific point to your question and so I'll answer candidly; you are the most beautiful woman I've ever set eyes upon."

Opheile allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. "Czarin was my mirror reflection...perhaps even more beautiful in the way men can be when they're perfect. What's more, he was naturally gregarious and disarmingly charming...blessed with an exuberant genuineness that is all too rare in humans."

Opheile chuckled softly, the love she harboured for her brother shining prominently in those luminous blue eyes. "It is fascinating to think what might have happened had you found your way to the Glass House Inn when Czarin was still alive. My instinct tells me that you would have found your way into his bed, leaving me a jealous observer, albeit it a deliriously happy one."

"Not likely," Lorio muttered, privately affronted that Opheile could even suffer the thought of her in another's bed. "My history with men is pretty abysmal."

Opheile's expression became sober, recalling the emasculating beatings Driss had administered to the men on the thoroughfare. "Czarin was a dreamer, a capricious boy, whose head was filled with grand and elaborate schemes. Even as a boy, he exuded a quality...one that is not easily articulated, but was infectious. He could make those around him share in his enthusiasm. Conversely, I was the strong one...the serious-minded pragmatist who was always looking to concoct ways of making his grand schemes reality." Here, she paused her narrative and focused her recalcitrant gaze unblinkingly upon Lorio. "When we were teenagers, I decided that he would be mine. I set out to traduce him and you know all too well, Driss, how fiercely determined I can be when motivated."

Lorio conceded the point with a nod and then posed the query that seemed so logical in the face of something so perverse, "but why, Opheile, why embark on a relationship that was so blackly stigmatized as unnatural in every corner of the known world? Why risk being shunned and condemned as a deviant, when either of you could have had anyone of your choosing?"

Opheile's demeanour became forlorn then as if Lorio's fraught query had inflicted irreparable damage on the thing that bound them together. Still, she attempted to make Lorio understand. "I say our love was perfectly natural. We spent nine months in a shared womb and were nourished by the same blood. Czarin and I were halves of the same perfect whole. How could I possibly have forsaken him for anyone else? The very notion is preposterous. We loved each other without reservation and so I decided that we would also love each other, free of the limits which society would impose upon us."

Sensing that there was no latitude for contradiction in Opheile's skewed logic, Lorio merely nodded. Finally, she inquired, "And your parents eventually discovered what existed between you?"

Opheile's beautiful face constricted into a scowl. "It was my mother who discovered us in my room one stormy afternoon, when we were seventeen. She was naturally appalled and hysterically accused us of bringing the accursed one's blight down upon our house. Despite being a nation of thinly-veneered savages, Norhynan is a hypocritically puritanical country. My father arrived and after hearing my wailing mother's tale, he...like you...assumed that Czarin had been the instigator of this incestuous perversion. He had dragged my unresisting brother out into the estate stables with the intention of flogging the demon from Czarin's flesh."

She paused, her eyes ablaze, and disclosed, "Neither of my parents had any conception of how assiduously I would protect the things I loved. My mother attempted to stop me from going after the two men...and so I left her unconscious on the bedroom floor. When I found the two in the stables, Czarin was sprawled on the ground, his mouth bloody. My father loomed over him, spewing venom. A sort of madness possessed me then and seizing a leather riding crop, I attacked my father like a Redian berserker. I flailed at him until he fell and continued until he was a bloody, whimpering heap. I may well have killed him had Czarin not seized me in a bear hug and pulled me off. When a semblance of coherence returned, I recall glancing at my father and then levelling the riding crop at a visibly terrified Czarin. I recall telling him...you and I have been bound together by what's happened here today, Czarin. This blood has sealed our union and we will be bound until death, brother. Now, prepare three horses. Czarin had nodded meekly and while he did as bid, I returned to the manor and gathered what loose coin I could find in our father's study."

Lorio regarded Opheile with gape-mouthed incredulity, as if the serene pacifist had revealed that she had once been Islena Doraux. The idea that delicate Opheile Seznoire had once beaten someone bloody...much less her own father...seemed as improbable as discovering a second sun in the sky. After a moment, Opheile resumed her astounding, dark account. "We fled, living in constant fear that we would be found and dragged back to answer for our sins. After several months of running blindly, it occurred to me that our pious parents would rather wash their hands of us than risk the humiliation of seeing our sin exposed for public ridicule. Czarin seemed content to allow me to steer our course and so I turned our energy to deciding how we would make our way in the world."

"And so eventually, you found your way here...to Galloway...to Cortrin?" Lorio asked, suddenly feeling enormously weary.

"In time, setting false modesty aside, people blessed with our beauty and charm have an aptitude for attracting coin. By the time we made our way to Cortrin, Czarin and I were quite well off. The Glass House Inn was a ramshackle, failing enterprise, but when Czarin first set eyes upon it...the Inn became his dream. As always, I facilitated his dream and the Glass House became our blissful reality."

She pointed toward a desk...the match for her own. "That desk once faced mine...when Czarin was still alive. With a fire dancing in the hearth, we would pass the cold winter nights and rain-swept summer evenings mapping out our vision for the Inn...this symbol of the love we held for each other...and oh, the dreams we shared, every swatch of paint...every length of fabric and every piece of linen and lace: these things we selected together on those nights."

"And in your years here...no one suspected?" Lorio asked quietly and when Opheile greeted this query with a perplexed arching of her right eyebrow, Lorio elaborated, "Two beautiful siblings with no visible emotional relationships...living and working together. It seems inevitable that this might stir a small amount of ugly gossip after a time."

"We were fanatically discreet and if there was gossip, we provided no fodder to keep it fed," Opheile insisted. "I maintained my rooms and he maintained his...the very suite where your Issidris' memory now resides. We never visited each other's rooms."

This gave Lorio a start, like the unwelcome whisper of fate's inimical design. To mask her disquiet, she asked, "But you and Czarin were still intimate?"

Opheile shot the immortal a humourless grin. "You know my appetite all too well to even ask. We made love as frequently as opportunity would allow...in those serene places I spoke of...such as the one where you taught me a hard lesson about my limits."

'I...I have become her substitute Czarin,' Lorio realized and was struck by a shocking epiphany, for which she had absolutely no tangible evidence. Nonetheless, Lorio knew that this horrible notion was the irrefutable truth. When Czarin Seznoire had suffered his chance wound in the Inn's cellar...a wound that had festered...he had deliberately concealed it from Opheile. He had not done so out of cursory, foolish male pride. Czarin had seen his agonizing end as a cold means to extricate himself from the shameful incestuous snare in which his infinitely stronger sister had bound him. Lorio did not articulate this bleak theory, knowing that to do so would permanently banish her from Opheile's presence...a turn of events she could still not bear to suffer, despite this abhorrent revelation.

Instead, she demanded, "Why have you told me this, Opheile...what is it you hoped to gain?"

The normally unflappable Opheile spent several moments studying Lorio's expectant face, trying to compose a logical explanation for the complex blend of emotions that had compelled her to divulge this dark secret to a woman who was disinclined to reciprocate "I've spent the last weeks since that day in the forest agonizing over this decision...as well as what I hope will follow...if you can make an accommodation with what I've divulged here."

When Lorio raised a quizzical eyebrow in response to this cryptic other matter, Opheile lifted her hand in a request for patience. "After vacillating for weeks, I decided to plunge ahead and reveal this one definitive truth. I did it for a variety of reasons. I wanted to demonstrate that I trust you completely...without reservation. I trust your discretion, even though I have provided you with the means to utterly destroy my reputation...the life I've built in Cortrin. I also want you to see me for precisely who I am...every nuance laid bare for your examination.

When Lorio grimaced, thinking that this was a circumspect jab at her own refusal to be forthcoming, Opheile rose and hurried around the desk. She gripped Lorio's muscular shoulders and shaking the immortal for emphasis, reassured, "Driss, I was being truthful when I stated that we need never discuss your past. I need only glance into those beguilingly dark eyes of yours to divine the pain and scars whatever life you led has inflicted upon you. The particulars don't matter...only the solace I can provide."

Opheile spontaneously bent forward and bestowed an ardent kiss on Lorio's partially open mouth. Lorio stiffened, but then her resistance melted beneath the fervour of Opheile's kiss. After a long moment, a ruddy-cheeked Opheile retreated a pace. "Finally, I told you because I couldn't endure keeping the love I felt for Czarin a secret any longer. They say that to carry a secret shame is a terrible burden to bear, Driss, but I will tell you from agonizing personal experience...concealing the heart's great joy and grand passion is far worse."

Opheile fell silent, leaning back against her desk, those long, aristocratic fingers clutching the edge with white knuckled intensity that belied her casual posture. Her stunning body, tightly wrapped in shimmering satin, enticed Lorio like a siren's song.

'Lorio, you must see that there is no transgression for which you would not forgive this woman,' the voice of Issidris intoned with unusual urgency. 'Do not risk losing her over an issue of morality that, with her brother being long gone to his grave, is no longer relevant.'

'Issidris...always the sage one,' Lorio thought, feeling an acute twinge of loss. To Opheile, she intoned gravely, "I can never condone what passed between you and your brother. I have witnessed the ravages of incest too often to ever regard it differently." Opheile sagged perceptibly, crestfallen in the face of this chastisement. Lorio smiled and reached for the other woman's right hand, squeezing it affectionately. "But as you've asked, I can accept it...make an accommodation with the fact that you cherished Czarin and needed to give expression to that love."

Opheile covered her eyes with her left hand and began to weep. Around the ragged edges of her tears, she managed, "Thank you, Driss. I vow on my life, that there are no further skeletons in my closet. I will devote the rest of my life to proving that you have chosen wisely."

Recalling the previous day's visit to the solicitor's office, Lorio prompted, "You mentioned another matter..."

Opheile offered Lorio a tentative smile and after absently brushing a tear from her eye, she twisted lithely about and retrieved two documents from her desk. "I mentioned that I had an important meeting today. My appointment was with my lawyer...to draw up and amend this document."

She handed the first document to Lorio, whose expression became glum as she studied the perplexing symbols. The mystery of written language had always confounded her most determined efforts to unravel it and so she handed the document back to Opheile and mumbled apologetically, "I...I can't read, Opheile."

Opheile regarded Lorio silently for several moments and then vowed solemnly, "That is something that you and I will change together, Driss. This first document is a deed and land title to the Glass House Inn. At my direction, my lawyer has added your name to the deed, effectively making you co-owner of this property. The second document is my will and it names you as the sole heir to my estate. Upon my death, the Glass House Inn will be yours...alone and unencumbered." She smiled sheepishly and admitted, "A last name was required and thus you have become Driss Seznoire. Legally, you are now my first cousin, though in my eyes...you are now my spouse. I suppose this means I really do have an aptitude for defying taboo conventions."

This stunning disclosure, an affirmation of staggering trust, left Lorio flummoxed and tongue-tied. A stark, horrifying image revisited her then...of Issidris, blood and bile boiling from her lips like lava. Seized by total panic, Lorio sprang from her chair and demanded, "Are you sick...dying. Tell me, Opheile!"

Privately bemused by Driss' apoplectic reaction, Opheile assured her, "I'm perfectly fine, Driss."

"Then why this...why have a will drawn up?" Lorio persisted.

Nonplused, Opheile returned, "Simple prudence, to begin with, but it goes far beyond that. I need assurance that this Inn finds its way into loving hands...when I'm gone. Some express their undying love and passion through poetry, music or art. The Glass House Inn is a symbol of the love that Czarin and I shared...the dreams we had and the love we felt for each other. In whatever life might come after this one, I need to know that there is someone who will tend this symbol...who understands its significance. More than this...I need to know that you will have a foundation...a place in the world once I'm gone."

There was an intimation in this impassioned monologue that troubled Lorio. Suspiciously, she demanded, "You speak as if it's a certainty that you'll die before me."

Opheile stood up and gently taking Lorio's strong fingers, moulded them to her tight hips. A coy light dawned in those sapphire eyes as she observed, "You always claim that I'm a wise woman. Then credit me for being one now. It's obvious to me that you are no ordinary woman. I see the aura of the eternal hovering about you, Driss...and it tells me that you will be here long after everyone about you has crumbled to dust. The day will come when I will go to my grave, content in knowing that I was your source of light for a time."

Abruptly, Lorio experienced a disorienting moment of dislocation. Assailed by a powerful wave of vertigo, she found her consciousness ripped free of its moorings and flung toward the heavens, though still connected to her physical body by a barely visible tether. This evoked recollections of other visible episodes of dislocation, but they were too ghastly...to soul-eviscerating...and with a tremendous exertion of will, she banished them from her mind.

When she had regained her equilibrium, Lorio gleaned that she was hovering high above the world. The world upon which she gazed was not the present world, but rather a continuum spread out along the infinite arc of time. All beneath her was ensconced in purple shadow, save for a narrow ribbon of light that illuminated a meandering procession of figures. The first figure blazed in blinding argent light...a virtual colossus that towered high above the others that followed it.

'Islena Doraux!' Lorio quickly deduced and next came three figures she recognized all too well: Esuruban, Issidris and Opheile. Each was enveloped in a muted globe of different coloured light. Beyond Opheile, there stretched an endless procession of figures, all partially obscured by varying shades of shadow...a procession that stretched away into infinity.

'Each of these people you will come to love to varying degrees...and for varying lengths of time. They will each flare and then fade for such is the fate of one whose journey has no end,' a voice declared, its fulminating rumble shaking the heavens.

As she watched, each figure's light melded into a homogenous yellow glow...eventually losing any uniqueness...any individuality. Only Islena Doraux, a veritable force of nature, resisted this melding. The implicit message of this terrible vision was depressing clear. Over the long millennia, those whom she had cherished would become a nameless blur...their memory indistinguishable from the next.

Feeling more desolate than she ever had, Lorio plummeted back into her body. Opheile was watching her closely, an expression of deep concern causing her to frown. To disguise her intense disquiet and dejection, Lorio stammered, "Opheile...I know nothing about running an Inn!"

The beauty took Lorio's face in both hands. "That is why tomorrow you will end your employment with Emon Yar. It will require ten able bodied men to replace you, but that is his concern. You will begin your apprenticeship here. Be forewarned, Driss...I will be a harsh taskmistress. I will teach you how to read and maintain account ledgers...and more challenging still, I will teach you how to be a gracious host."

She offered Lorio a decidedly provocative grin. "I will devise the most delicious punishments should you not meet my expectations. Now come, spouse, this dress is simply too exquisite not to flaunt and we have a glorious future to celebrate. Let us make you presentable and then go out and take Cortrin by storm."

Grateful to see the return of Opheile's vivacious exuberance, Lorio pushed the horrifying presentiment from her mind and allowed Opheile to lead her out into the night.

In the room where Czarin Seznoire had wrestled with his nagging demons, the trappings of Lorio's past waited patiently.

7

Tarim came awake with a frantic start, his heart galloping wildly in his chest. Gasping on the edge of open panic, his disoriented gaze surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings in which he now found himself. The first significant discrepancy he noticed was that the large chamber was not immersed in total darkness, but rather a gloom that allowed him to take stock of his present circumstances.

He frowned in consternation upon realizing that he was bound and immodestly naked and spread eagle on a large bed. The satin sheets were cool and sensual against his bare flesh, which appeared pallid by contrast.

Around the large chamber, Tarim saw several pigeon hole, wooden bookcases, filled to capacity with scrolls. He twisted slightly to catch a glimpse of a large writing desk, covered with books and writing implements, along with a host of other devices that, though apparently innocuous, filled Tarim with a low-level dread. Whoever the occupants of this chamber might be, it was evident that they were academically inclined.

And then the harrowing recollection of his earlier ordeal flooded back into his conscious thoughts and he uttered a despairing groan. He seized on the anomaly of the last torture session. She had deliberately revealed herself to him...the instigator of his torment. They had engaged in a bizarre dialogue, during which she had hinted at the purpose behind his abduction. She had spoken to him in an unfathomable affectionate manner as if amused by his particular degradation.

And now he was here, bound to this bed like a play thing from an erotic fantasy. The very notion of engaging in any form of intimacy with this wiry, desiccated shrew was beyond repulsive.

In the gloom beyond the foot of the bed, the two pocket doors fled back into their housing and a deluge of light spilled into the spacious captain's chamber.

Tarim raised his head and gasped in naked wonder at the beguiling creature striding intently toward him. With hair like loom spun gold tumbling about her shoulders in cascading waves and large, limpid blue eyes blazing with a ferocity that was at once terrifying and wildly arousing, she was the living quintessence of Tarim Wrey's female ideal.

The air grew sultry, suffused by a lust that washed over Tarim like a tidal wave. This amalgam of female perfection wore a green and gold satin robe with jagged slashes of sky blue lightening arcing over the swell of her full breasts. A slight shrug of her square shoulders and the robe slid off and billowed out through the doorway, just before the doors slammed shut.

The chamber's interior did not plunge into darkness. Indeed, this sensual vision became enveloped in a golden effulgence that proffered her nubile body in all of its splendour. Full breasts bouncing and curving hips swaying hypnotically, she never slowed her pace and as Tarim drank in the poetic dance of her thighs, she crawled onto the bed like a great predatory cat, about to devour a succulent morsel. Straddling his torso, she gesticulated and Tarim was suddenly released from his restraints. Taking his wrists in hand, she moulded his fingers to her full breasts. Tarim sighed in pure delight as she leaned forward, pressing her turgid nipples into his warm palms. That sigh became an atavistic groan of pure pleasure as she sat back and absorbed his considerable length in a single stroke.

She began to move, the languid undulations of her hips evoking the sensation of tropical waters breaking on a golden strand of beach.

Utterly enthralled, Tarim peered up into those great blue eyes that seemed to fill the very limits of the world itself.

8

When coherence next returned...a syrupy re-emergence into awareness...Tarim uttered a thin groan. He felt utterly enervated and his body ached as if he'd spent an entire day loading oaks stave barrels onto a haulage cart. He eventually became cognizant of scrutiny and opened his eyes to find his terrifying inquisitor watching him curiously.

Tarim screeched and attempted to scramble away...only to discover that something had usurped control of his unresponsive body.

"Look at me," she commanded and though her tone had been soft, it carried a note of absolute authority that would not be denied. She was curled casually on the bed beside him, wearing her customary black regalia that was contoured to her wiry body like a second skin. The vulnerable areas of her body were shielded by mounded black panels, composed of a material that Tarim did not recognize.

"I'm going to return control of your flesh to you, but should you do anything foolish...it will come at the expense of your left eye. Do you understand?" This dire warning had been delivered in a placid voice that was incongruent with the barbaric promise it conveyed, informing Tarim that this woman was utterly ruthless and totally mad. Having no doubt that she would have no compunction about making good on her gruesome threat, Tarim nodded.

"What is your name?"

"Tarim...Tarim Wrey," he replied, wondering why he was being subjected to this particular treatment.

"Tarim Wrey," she echoed. "There is a pleasing feel to this name...in my ear and on my tongue."

This decidedly peculiar remark caused Tarim to arch an eyebrow. As he studied her face, Tarim realized that his initial impression of the woman's physical appearance had been incorrect. She now evoked images of a beautiful flower that had been dried and pressed between the pages of a capricious maiden's diary. Though its moist vitality was gone, intimations if its original beauty remained.

So, it was with the intransigently hard creature before him. The blink of an eye and her lean, angular face underwent a swift transformation. Tarim found that he was gazing into the large, luminous blue eyes of the wheaten-haired goddess that had so skillfully loved him to aching exhaustion.

"Her name is Lissom," a disembodied voice informed him. "It can mean graceful beauty and as I know you'll readily attest, it is a fitting name. She is the incarnation of ripe female perfection...a fantasy made for pleasures of the flesh."

The vision faded, and his inquisitor revealed, "My name is Lissom as well and she and I are one...two aspects of the same extraordinary whole. Hers is the beauty of form...while mine is the beauty of unadulterated power."

Tarim greeted this disclosure with an incredulous shake of his head. Was she truly suggestion that she had been the one who had seduced him. Lissom chuckled and collecting his flaccid manhood in her right hand, she began to stroke him slowly. "I am both...or neither. Which is real and which is the masterful illusion? When you were thrusting inside of me, could you make the distinction. Mine, Tarim Wrey, is the power to forge your reality as I see fit."

"Why are you doing this to me?" He pleaded, loathing the weak edge that resonated in his quavering voice.

She leaned closer until their faces were a mere finger's width apart. "Frankly, I'm fascinated, Tarim Wrey. Yours is a unique perspective." She tapped the hollow of his left temple. "You have an ardent love for women that is not confined to the normal lusts associated with this appendage. Nor do you perceive us as a slave to the comforts of your hearth and home. While you love the firm warmth of our breasts and the velvet embrace of our womanhood...so too do you adore the sound of our voices and the patterns of our thoughts. I assure you, Tarim Wrey, this is an unprecedented perspective in the world of patriarchal exploitation and ugly misogyny. Thus, because you genuinely adore women, not just for the bounty of our flesh, but for the beauty of our spirit as well...I shall show you a measure of...leniency."

Tarim merely stared at her, uncertain how to process this unexpected compliment. Peripherally, despite how much he feared and despised this creature, he realized that he had become throbbingly erect beneath her languid touch.

She moved closer still, until they were pressed snugly together. She draped a thin leg across his hip and informed a dumbfounded Tarim, "I have broken hundreds of men on these ships...reduced hard men to whimpering, mewling children...empty vessels that I then filled with hatred. Yet, I have not managed to break...a soft-hearted, capricious little man with a fool's idealized view of women. I was then visited by a stunning epiphany...perhaps I truly didn't want to break you, Tarim Wrey."

She rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips. Bending forward, she whispered into his ear, "I've decided that I am going to keep you for a pliable toy. There are others methods to break a man but hatred. I will have your moon-eyed, fawning adoration, Tarim Wrey." With this, Lissom quite literally reached into his skull and reconfigured his malleable mind for exactly that purpose.

Chapter Twelve

1

As she made her way through the darkened, deserted streets of Nalosan, it occurred to her that good Queen Karosyn did not know her city as well as she would proclaim. There was no contesting that Nalosan (and Emercia as a whole) was probably the safest city on the entire Eastern Continent.

The virtuous queen would have no doubt elucidated, at great length, that this unparalleled degree of safety could be attributed to her bold egalitarian reforms and her sickening philosophy of inclusive compassion. Perhaps there was even a degree of truth to be had in the notion that there was a direct correlation between Emercia's unprecedented enlightenment and the exemplary safety of its streets and highways.

Still, if Karosyn genuinely subscribed to the belief that compassion and inclusion could expel be the darkness...those ugly base urges such as jealousy and avarice...from the nation's collective psyche, then she was truly a delusional fool.

These traits may ebb and flow with prosperity, but they were impervious to eradication. Czefrina could personally attest that they grew in the dark clefts of the soul like rank weeds that could never entirely be extirpated. She was self-aware enough to know that her personal demons...resentment, malicious spite and dissolute lust...circled constantly in the dark fringes of her tumultuous mind, waiting patiently for the inevitable moment when they would usurp control of her actions.

She need only recall the way she had beaten her own brother bloody, just before her exile, to prove this lamentable truth. If further affirmation of the power of her dark proclivities was required, Czefrina need only conjure the vivid images of the night she'd robbed a nobleman's carriage on an isolated stretch of road near Ryazan Heep in Norhynan. The two escort guards had not been particularly skilled and Czefrina had swiftly disabled them in a dervish of fists and feet after bursting from her place of concealment along the road.

The pleading, whimpering nobleman she had sent into twitching unconsciousness with the pommel of her dirk. She had then divested the nobleman of his jewels and coin. Even as she'd committed this act of flagrant piracy, Czefrina recalled that she had deflected blame for her criminal behaviour onto her brother, King Izrin. Had he not been a parsimonious bastard and provided her with sufficient means to sustain herself after her exile, she would not have had to resort to such vulgar means of procuring coin.

Though part of her mind recognized this for the facile rationalization it was, that understanding lacked the efficacy to prevent her deplorable actions.

'Ah, but that had not been the worst of it,' she thought candidly as she stalked through Nalosan's darkened, drizzle-soaked streets toward the unsuspecting Aeyon Wrey. The inner darkness that had inspired her next actions on that odious night had been exclusively hers...an ugly manifestation of her inherently flawed nature.

One of the guards she'd disabled had fallen to the gravel roadway. His left shoulder had been dislocated by his fall from his horse. He lay on the gravel roadway, clutching his arm and groaning softly, just as Czefrina had emerged from the carriage, purloined bounty in hand.

She could easily had made off, basking in the afterglow of a perfectly executed heist. Instead, her gaze had fallen on the vanquished escort guard and the demon of malicious cruelty had usurped control of her mind. Stalking over to the defenceless man, Czefrina had ground the heel of her left boot down on his injured arm.

The resulting wail of pristine agony had been a shrill howl that had spiralled up into the night sky.

After relishing the broken man's torment for a moment, Czefrina removed her boot from his shoulder and pressed it down on his chest. Leaning over her bent knee, she sneered, "What s pathetic little gelding you are...an insufferable disgrace to your profession. It's intolerable really...and so I won't."

The weeping man had pleaded and screamed as attacker had seized his right wrist and forced his hand onto the gravel. In one fluid motion, she'd drawn her keen dirk from its sheath and dispassionately removed his thumb. She had casually tossed the severed thumb into the foliage as the guard had sunk into the void.

Czefrina had repeated this act of shocking savagery on the unconscious man's other thumb. After reprising the horror on the other guard, who did not stir during his maiming, Czefrina had loped off into the night, blithely humming a refrain from her childhood.

Even now, as she slid down a narrow alley, Czefrina could not be entirely certain what had inspired this evil and unnecessary act of mutilation. She did, however, know that within her there dwelled a repellant, wicked beast whose appetite must occasionally be sated...lest it run amok. Rather than wring her hands and bemoan her fate, the cold pragmatist in Czefrina's nature accepted this grim truth...and made the required accommodation that kept her conscience clear.

'You believe your great progressive vision has purged the darkness, poor ingenuous Karosyn,' Czefrina thought disdainfully as she came to the edge of an alley, perpendicular to which ran a street in the shadow of what was cynically referred to as Artumas' wall. 'The beasts have merely receded deeper into the shadow and become more discriminating in when and where they strike. These denizens of shadow are resistant to change...indifferent to the espoused virtues of equality...of fair play. We are predators that care only for our appetites. I am a predator far cleverer and more dangerous than most and you, noble Queen, have unwittingly invited me into your pasture.'

'Yes, but why have you come to Nalosan...and what really do you hope to find here?' a solemn voice inquired in her mind with a gravitas that demanded candor. Czefrina stopped abruptly, the query disconcerting her...inviting her to turn the harsh light of introspection on her black soul.

Flummoxed, Czefrina realized that she had never given the idea of personal motivation anything more than desultory consideration. Impulsive (Nayoro might have instead used the word immature to describe her mercurial granddaughter) by nature, the idea of seeking out the legendary Lorio had simply bloomed in her mind one day...and Czefrina had embraced it with her customary zeal. The underlying motivation had seemed...incidental.

Now, standing in the oily dampness of a Nalosan alley, engaged in a game of subterfuge, on behalf of a woman she abhorred, what exactly did she hope to gain by ensnaring the truant Lamish Icon?

She considered the various possibilities, discarding each as she went. Did she see bringing a subservient Lorio back into the fold as a way of usurping her brother's throne? Czefrina smiled beneath her sheer veil. She cared nothing for a crown and was honest enough to recognize that she would be suffocated by the daily tedium of rule.

'Very much as Lorio had been during her sad tenure as Queen,' the rather doleful voice of Nayoro lamented...and suddenly a bright, clarifying light blazed to life in Czefrina's mind.

Her grandmother had been circumspect when speaking of Lamia's first Queen. She had been careful never to overtly criticize the woman whom she had served as regent...and then succeeded as Queen.

Only once had Nayoro ever spoken candidly about Lorio to her granddaughter. In retrospect, perhaps, she had divulged this insight after seeing something of Lorio's tempestuous nature in her granddaughter. Czefrina suspected that this lapse had been intentional, meant to serve as a cautionary tale. At the time, the impressionable young girl had been beguiled with Lorio's legend, obsessively speaking about the heroine Queen as if she was an embodiment of the noble, universally renowned Karosyn.

It had been a slow, rainy afternoon in dreary Brexiter when Czefrina had found herself alone with her grandmother...in her modest study, where she had spent a good portion of each day since the death of her foreigner husband.

Perhaps, intending to dispel a young girl's ingenuous misconceptions, Lorio had dispassionately catalogued Lorio's shortcomings and failings as queen of Lamia (though she would exclude mention of Lorio's lewd carnal excesses). By the conclusion of this extensive recounting of Lorio's erratic, often dark nature, Czefrina had been reduced to tears. While Nayoro had always assumed they had been tears of disillusionment, Czefrina had wept in sympathy for the poor woman, whom circumstances had abused at every turn.

Now, with her own demons and dark proclivities fully manifested, Czefrina felt a strong empathic link for a woman upon whom she had never set eyes. Therein, she discovered the primary reason she was seeking to find...and bind...the legendary Lorio. She was seeking a kindred soulmate who would not condemn her for her often violent excesses, but who would understand them intimately. Together, they could either help each other repress their demons...or revel in them.

Feeling invigorated, Czefrina stepped out into the street. She had taken but a dozen steps when the barely audible sound of carefully approaching footsteps tickled her sensitive ear. Three figures were converging upon her...one from behind and one from either side of the street. The lightness of their steps declared them to be footpads, likely thinking that the diminutive, solitary figure could be easy prey.

Her smile became feral and Czefrina...the pale shadow...prepared to unleash mayhem.

2

When the last of the footpad corpses had been dragged into a nearby alley, all sporting broken necks and missing hands, Czefrina resumed her journey toward the Wrey Coopery.

Czefrina understood that situations like the one into which the hateful Martriza had coerced her, could easily incite her darkest demons. The Seneschal had been explicitly clear in telling her that the boy was to come to no real harm during her interrogation. Evidently, the rigidly prudish Karosyn had taken a special liking to the apprentice tradesman.

It was fortuitous then that fate had elected to impose the footpads in her path. Hopefully, their brutal deaths would prove sufficient to keep her demons in check when she encountered Aeyon Wrey and conducted their business.

Thoughts of Martriza Odain conjured the abject image of kneeling at the Seneschal's feet with the taste of her foot on Czefrina's lips. As she stalked toward the Coopery like a giant cat, Czefrina vowed that she would someday gain the advantage over Martriza. On that glorious day, she would make the hateful bitch kiss something far more pungent than her foot...and at great length.

3

Ignorant of the peril converging upon him, her quarry stood before a brightly flaming forge, staring absently into the dancing flames.

Three small brands, all bearing the WC insignia, were heating toward a molten glow in the flames. Once they had reached the desired temperature, Aeyon would emboss the Wrey Coopery symbol into each of the brandy casks he was crafting.

The Coopery was alive with the exuberant crackle of fully stoked fire, its air fragrant with the scent of lightly toasted oak. Once the first brand had reached the desired glow, Aeyon retrieved it from the forge and carried it over to the work table, where two dozen brandy casks sat face down in a line.

Blessed with exceptional coordination and dexterity, Aeyon carefully positioned the glowing brand over the centre of the barrel bottom and pressed it firmly into the wood. As the tang of burning oak filled his nostrils, Aeyon held the brand firmly in place until it had sunk into the wood a sufficient depth to accommodate the stylized WC that was affixed to every Wrey barrel, cask or bucket.

Just as Aeyon embossed every cask with loving pride, so too did he strive diligently to emboss every detail, nuanced glance and utterance of his incredible meeting with High Queen Karosyn into his memory. He was certain that he would cherish these vivid recollections and reminisce over these precious memories throughout whatever life fate chose to bestow upon him.

Aeyon had always expected that he would live a life very much like his father's and his father's before him. The prospect of being a tradesman, finding suitable wife and raising a family was perfectly acceptable to Aeyon. If he lived his entire life within the confines of Nalosan, save for the occasional delivery excursion, so be it. Despite this modest vision for his future, Aeyon was also determined to embrace a broader perspective of the world. He loved to read...to voraciously consume books that might help him gain a greater understanding of the forces that shaped the events beyond his own tiny corner of the world.

Aeyon had always been intrigued by his brother and sister's tales of life in the Royal palace...as if their stories of intrigue and power were windows into a world he could scarcely begin to imagine.

Aeyon was particularly enthralled by Noriza's stories of her service to Queen Karosyn, whom she characterized as serene and kind beyond measure. Of course, Noriza had went to great lengths to describe the Emercian Queen's captivating beauty.

Though the impressionable Aeyon had come to revere the Queen for her great campaign of enlightened reform (much of which, admittedly, he did not entirely comprehend), Aeyon had only ever seen the Emercian Monarch from a distance.

Nothing in his sister's tales had prepared Aeyon for the profound impact of standing in Karosyn Nierosean's enormous presence. Hers was an elegant beauty beyond the faculty of words to describe. Yet, beyond this imposing pulchritude was another less easily qualified characteristic that was simply irresistible. When Aeyon had first peered into those limpid blue eyes, so placid and kind, he had been suffused by a warmth that had completely banished his anxiety at the prospect of being brought before a woman so high above his station.

When she had promised that she would do everything within her considerable power to bring Tarim home, Aeyon did not, for moment, question her sincerity because the aura Queen Karosyn cast invited faith and loyalty.

When, astonishingly, the Queen had embraced him, Aeyon felt as if he'd been enveloped by divinity itself. Her fragrance, the intensely intoxicating sensation of her firm body against his; these were things that he would privately treasure until his dying day.

When he allowed himself to reflect upon the interview...especially the last moments before he had been escorted from the throne room, Aeyon found that he was left dumbfounded. There had been an inexplicable familiarity about the queen's demeanour...a need that had went beyond obligatory courtesy. Her desire to further make his acquaintance seemed genuine...if completely unfathomable.

'She actually invited me to take supper with her!' Aeyon marvelled, flummoxed that a small creature such as he had been invited to dine with arguably the most powerful woman in the known world.

Aeyon would have loved to share this incredible tale with Tarim. No doubt his older brother would have accused him of being hopelessly delusional...before prodding him to provide every detail of the encounter.

Aeyon winced, wondering grimly if he and Tarim would ever share their chiding banter again.

When the insignia had been embossed, Aeyon returned the brand to the fire.

A dreamer he may be, but a fool he was not. Aeyon harboured no illusion that he would ever see the benevolent queen again. Her austere Seneschal, who was very much how he had always imagined aloof nobility to be, had made it explicitly clear that she fully expected him not to exploit the Queen's generosity and kindness.

That certainty was further emphasized by his father upon then pair's return to the Coopery. As they had made their way back into the building, Lynon had suddenly stopped and fixed his son with an intense gaze of appraisal...as if Aeyon had become a denizen of the Land of Shades.

"You seem to have made quite the impression upon the Queen," the Elder Wrey had remarked, his tone vaguely accusatory. He had then shifted his gaze skyward, where fast moving clouds scudded across the fall sky. "Be wary of commingling with nobles...especially Royals, Aeyon. No matter how friendly they might seem, we common folk are just tools in their eyes; something to be used when required...and then cast aside when we no longer serve any purpose. For all of her honey-tongued words, this Queen Karosyn is no different."

With this particularly cynical admonition delivered, Lynon Wrey had left his bemused son gaping after him as he'd entered the Coopery.

Though Aeyon would never have claimed to be a sage in the ways of fate, he surmised that this fickle force dispensed scant few extraordinary moments to small men such as he.

Knowing this, Aeyon vowed that he would cherish his moment with Queen Karosyn Nierosean as if those few moments were the rarest of treasures.

Feeling suddenly weary, Aeyon cast a discouraged glance at the remaining casks, which he had promised to have ready for shipment before returning to the family home. He placed the pewter insignia before the branded cask and turning on heel, marched through the deserted shop. He pushed through a side door and out into the evening darkness, hoping that the damp night air might banish his fatigue.

The yard into which he entered was enclosed by a brick wall, exterior entry into which was gained through a stout double wooden gate, which was presently chained and locked.

The space was reserved for covered storage of the iron components that were used in the construction of crude storage barrels.

Aeyon leaned against the wall next to the exit door, inhaling the damp night air slowly and deeply. A dozen different unwelcome thoughts clamoured for his attention, but he laboured mightily not to grant them audience...knowing that the effort would inevitably prove futile.

"Ah well, now isn't this a happy turn of events?" A disembodied voice declared blithely from somewhere in the darkness to the right and above the place where a startled Aeyon leaned. "You've saved me the bother of having to find you."

There was a mocking tone in that sanguine voice that evoked a deep shiver in Aeyon's viscera. Other than hinting that the speaker was female, something in the sardonic chime also suggested that she would derive a great deal of satisfaction from the misery of others.

The second association that manifested in Aeyon's mind was a comparison with the three female she-demons who had taken Tarim on that godforsaken highway.

His gaze snapped skyward, to find a silhouette standing on a pile of wooden crates twice Aeyon's height. The figure stood with hands on tilted hips and though he could distinguish nothing of her features in the darkness, Aeyon knew that she was regarding him with a disdainful grin.

Then, as the stupefied apprentice looked on, the woman executed a slow, twisting cartwheel off the side of the crates. She landed lightly on the balls of her feet, a dozen pace from where an incredulous Aeyon gaped.

After offering her quarry a theatrical bow, Czefrina's feigned levity vanished and she growled, "I have questions for you, boy...and I must warn you that declining to answer simply isn't an option."

"You're one of them...one of the women who took my brother...aren't you?" He rasped, fury rising in his throat like hot bile. "What have you done with Tarim?"

Those two fraught queries, posed with such bewildered confusion and indignant anger, informed Czefrina that the interrogation wasn't necessary. The boy's outrage was too raw and visceral to be feigned and the tale he had shared with the Queen was the truth as he recalled it. She was pondering just how to bring this squandered waste of time to a graceful end, when Aeyon exploded toward her as if shot from a canon.

Closing the distance between the pair in a blur, Aeyon managed to achieve what a legion of skilled Emercian warriors had failed to do beneath Kammlogran.

He caught the startled Czefrina flat-footed, wrapping his heavily-muscled arms around her tiny waist and seizing her up in a constricting bear hug. Shaking her from side to side like a tenacious hound with a rabbit in its jaws, he again demanded through clenched jaws, "What have you done with Tarim? Why are you doing this to my family?"

Finding herself in a completely unfamiliar position of disadvantage, Czefrina gasped like a deflating balloon. Her ribs issued a strident protest beneath his crushing vice and she cursed herself as an inept fool for carelessly permitting herself to be ensnared by someone totally lacking in martial skills.

A glacial calm descended upon her then and she wrapped her muscular arms around Aeyon's head and those oak tree thighs around his torso, just beneath his short ribs. "So, you like to squeeze, little man? Let me show you how it's done."

In the next Instant, Aeyon found that he was being assailed by a crushing pressure that conjured images of wheat being pulverized by millstones.

Czefrina beamed a viper's grin, feeling Aeyon's muffled expression of pain against her left breast. She intensified the pressure on his head and ribs until he finally relinquished his bear hug.

They remained in this position for several moments, Aeyon's arms hanging limply at his sides, while Czefrina applied a relentless pressure like a basilisk. Finally, she leaned back and gripping his chin in pincer-like fingers, demanded, "Now, are you going to be a docile little man and stay still while I make a graceful exit?"

Aeyon nodded slightly and the woman sprang lithely away, but before she could retreat a full pace, he lunged wildly, attempting an open-handed blow that struck only air.

"Never twice, foolish little naive," Czefrina snarled and struck him with three rapier precise blows to critical points at his temple, neck and left armpit. Though delivered with only her index and middle fingers, the blows seemed to paralyze Aeyon's entire body and he collapsed to his knees before her.

Suddenly enraged and sensing her inner demons clattering at the cages, she stalked in a circle around the immobilized young man, randomly delivering strikes to nerve clusters that raised his pain to unbearable levels. Looming over a totally helpless Aeyon, Czefrina fumed, "Fucking craven. I hear you cowered in a ditch while those bitches took your brother. Did you think that trying to fight me would reclaim your tattered manhood?"

Mordant barb delivered, she snapped a short sickle kick to the back of his head. The impact bounced the side of Aeyon's face off the slick stones, leaving him bloody and unconscious.

Czefrina stood over the unmoving young man, trying to repress the powerful urge to stomp his skull to bloody shards. She tilted her head and drawing back her hood and pulling down her translucent veil, she raised her face to the drizzle. It washed over her skin, cooling her fury and dousing her dark compulsions.

When she could trust that she had mastered her anger, Czefrina shook her head in bemusement, wondering how she had become so erratic. What weakness of character caused her to constantly succumb to these idiotic diversions and distractions?

Her sole priority...her one driving exigency should be slipping a velvet collar around the neck of a legend. Yet, she found herself embroiled in a clandestine game of subterfuge that would see that ambition laid to waste should Queen Karosyn learn of her role in this preposterous sideshow.

Sighing, she bent down and despite his solidity, effortlessly lifted Aeyon from the wet stones. Tossing the heavily-muscled man over her shoulder, Czefrina carried the unconscious young man into the Coopery. Inside, she moved over to the work table, where Aeyon had so recently been affixing the Wrey insignia to the brandy casks. Balancing the heavy burden in her right shoulder, she swept the casks from the table and then gently deposited him on the scarred surface.

Reluctantly, she checked the pulse at his neck, relieved to determine that it was strong and steady. Other than wounded pride and perhaps a small scar where his cheek had been abraded by the stones, Aeyon would emerge from this encounter unscathed.

Straightening, she studied the unconscious young man.

'So, you're the one who's surmounted the queen's demure and proper reserve and made her behave like a smitten schoolgirl...if Martriza has not embellished the tale. Well, you are a beautifully constructed toy.' This thought roused recollections of how Karosyn had humbled her beneath Kammlogran and that pernicious inner darkness began to stir. Bending forward, she roughly kissed Aeyon's slack mouth and fondled his dormant manhood through his rough trousers.

Breathing heavily and grinning like an errant child who had helped itself to forbidden candy, Czefrina cooed, "That is far more intimacy than you'll ever get from that living piece of art that everyone adores so deeply."

Then she fled before her inner darkness could consume them both.

4

As Martriza marched through the sparsely occupied halls of Kammlogran, pointedly ignoring the bows and curtsies of the liveried castle staff, she deliberately forced all thoughts of Karosyn's possible reaction to her tribunes' rebellion from her mind.

'You might do well only to speak of their demands for her abdication...and consider the mechanics of deposing the Queen only if she declines,' a sly voice advised, causing Martriza to frown and question the genesis for her willingness to go along with this decidedly nasty business of insurrection. 'You've been fiercely loyal to Karosyn for so long and yet you've acceded to deposing the very woman you've frequently proclaimed to be the greatest monarch in the country's long history. Now, you would betray her at the first hint of crisis? Are you really such an abhorrently venal wretch as that?'

This scathing condemnation did not cause Martriza's stride to slow or falter a whit.

'I believe your shocking inaction in quelling these fools has just sentenced the lot of us to death. I predict that you and this band of insurrectionists are about to see a side of our benevolent Queen that will make you weep and cower like frightened children.' Matrick Kyrin's dire prediction was absurd, of course. Karosyn Nierosean could no more be ruthless than a field mouse could suddenly transform into a great hunting cat. Despite this certitude, his words haunted her nonetheless, prompting the recently roused, ethically unencumbered side of her nature to remind Martriza, 'You never actually agreed to take a role in deposing the Queen.'

That was facile evasion, of course. Perhaps she had not advocated insurrection, but she had certainly condoned it by her inaction in quashing it as it stirred.

When she came to the short hallway that led to Karosyn's private audience chambers and suite of rooms, a guard informed her that the Queen was not in her chambers. Martriza frowned at this disclosure. Unless there was a Royal Gala or event, Karosyn was undeviating in her routine of spending quiet evenings in her chambers...reading, reviewing documents or sometime dining with her closest advisors.

Troubled by this sudden deviation, Martriza demanded brusquely, "Did the Queen provide any indication where she was going?"

"She did, Seneschal. Perhaps she was anticipating your arrival as she bid me to inform you that she would be in the minor audience chamber," the guard allowed, his expression neutral.

"The minor audience chamber?" Martriza echoed, immediately regretting having expressed visible confusion before a lowly guard, knowing that her display of uncertainty would be fodder for tavern gossip.

"Yes, Seneschal. She left in the company of weapons master Tranan, late in the afternoon," the guard further revealed.

Martriza nodded curtly and swiftly turned away lest she betray her utter befuddlement at this disclosure. As she stalked away, Martriza tried to imagine what the queen might be doing in the long unused chamber...and in then company of that simpering relic she insisted on keeping about like a living antiquity.

Martriza grappled with her vague, but steadily mounting disquiet as she negotiated her way through the now seldom used portion of Kammlogran . The minor audience chamber had been an instrument of slight used by former Emercian Monarchs to convey their displeasure with visiting royalty. Deciding that this practice was both tawdry, Queen Karosyn had abandon both the disrespectful treatment and the chamber that had housed it.

Guards lined both sides of the long corridor that led to the chamber. The presence of the fiercely loyal members of the Queen's Hand of the Way only served to exacerbate Martriza's disquiet.

The guard nearest the double doors offered Martriza a deep bow and quickly opened one of the doors to offer the Seneschal admittance, closing the doors behind the austere noble after she'd crossed the threshold.

Once her eyes had adjusted to the chamber's harsh glare, she was confronted with an extraordinary sight that left Martriza Odain gape-jawed, moon-eyed and rigid.

The Karosyn Nierosean she had always known was a decorous, elegant creature, who loved her delicate fineries: perfectly fitted gowns, under-stated jewelry and beautiful shoes. She was the very quintessence of refined femininity...which had always conveyed an intimation of vulnerability.

The woman before Martriza wore a simple, snug sleeveless tunic, form-fitting brown trousers and knee-high, flat-soled leather boots. Her lush honey blond hair was woven into a heavy cable braid.

As thoroughly shocking as Karosyn's appearance proved to be, it was the activity in which she was presently engaged that left the Seneschal immobilized and speechless.

Bathed in perspiration and face set in lines of grim determination, Karosyn wielded two wooden long knives and danced lithely between a triangle of sparring dummies, delivering surprisingly precise strikes in time to Garum Tranan's instructions.

The dummies were the type with a padded body set on a vertical pole that allowed them to rotate freely. Two horizontal rods had been inserted into the strike dummy's body, set at different heights. These poles were designed to deliver counter strikes whenever s blow struck the dummy's body.

To Martriza's incredulity, the Queen landed her blows in perfect accordance to an admiring Tranan's barked pattern, nimbly avoiding the dummy's counter strike with the lithe grace of a Suran dancer.

Even in her state of distracted amazement, Martriza noted how leanly-muscled Karosyn's long arms were and how her thigh muscles danced beneath those snug trousers as she moved.

Kyrin's grim prediction echoed in her mind again and Martriza was beset by a series of violent shudders. Tranan noted Martriza's presence and informed an engrossed queen of her arrival. "My Queen, Seneschal Odain has come."

Karosyn came to an abrupt halt and with obvious reluctance, set her long knives on a weapons littered table. Crossing over to Garum, she remarked, "Adequate, but I need to master more elaborate forms before I infuse my attacks with sorcery."

Clearly bemused, Garum shook his head and observed, "I honestly don't believe I've ever trained anyone so naturally gifted."

The queen clapped her doting weapons master on the shoulder before finally turning to acknowledge Martriza's presence.

There was an almost feral intensity blazing in those great sapphire eyes that only increased Martriza's discomfort. "Your majesty...what...what are you doing here?"

"Developing contingencies," the Queen replied with a wry smile and though she was dressed in rough spun clothing and sheened in perspiration, Martriza thought that Karosyn had never appeared more regal than she did at this exact moment. "I see many paths along which this situation with Majeer might evolve and I must be prepared for all of them."

"And you actually see one in which you would have to fight with weapons...like a common soldier?" Martriza inquired, her tone doubtful.

"Yes...the saddest contingency of all," Karosyn replied and offered no further elaboration. She scrutinized Martriza's face for a moment and observed soberly, "Judging by your rather grave expression, I take it that my edicts were not well-received by the Tribunes?"

In a voice that was a barely audible whisper, Martriza returned, "It was proposed that you be forcibly deposed and exiled."

"Was General Kyrin in agreement with this proposed course of action?" Karosyn demanded tightly, her question striking to the heart of the issue. Without the general's support, the Tribunes' great rebellion was little more than the toothless collective bleating of plaintive sheep.

Martriza merely shook her head, chilled by the fact that the queen had not posed the same question of her.

Queen Karosyn had always been a ruler governed by careful and measure deliberation when charting the course of Emercia's future. She attempted to weigh the possible consequences and ramifications of every edict...a tendency that often drove Martriza to distraction.

Karosyn's reaction to her Tribunes' defiance was swift and shockingly decisive. Turning to her weapons master, she commanded, "Summon First Hand Dioran and have him return with a score of guards."

Tranan offered his Queen a formal bow and after lashing the Seneschal with a blistering glare, hurried to comply. Turning back to a despondent and increasingly apprehensive Martriza, the Queen decreed, "You have misjudged me, Martriza and that is the deepest wound of all in this lamentable affair."

Sensing the incontrovertible truth of this assessment, Martriza bowed her head in shame. Minutes later, Garum Tranan, along with Captain Dioran and twenty fully armed guards, hurried into the abandoned audience chamber. The Captain listened attentively, the muscles in his jaws tightening in outrage, as the Queen issued her instructions. "Locate General Kyrin and escort him to my private audience chamber. Be courteous, but firm in making it explicitly clear that declining or delaying is not an option. Inform the General that I will attend him once I have dealt with the matter of my would-be usurpers. Also, have Kammlogran sealed. There is to be no exit or entry permitted without my express leave...no exceptions!"

Here, she paused and cast a severe glance at Martriza, a withering glare of which the Seneschal might have thought the serene Karosyn incapable. "Find each of the Tribunes and have them escorted to their hall. If they should refuse, your men may employ whatever force they feel is necessary to make them comply. If any have already left the castle, have soldiers dispatched to locate them and drag them back. No need for discretion...Nalosan and Emercia will know of their treachery soon enough."

Dioran bowed, his pale blue eyes alight with controlled anger that matched his Queen's own fury, and then hurried do discharge Karosyn's will.

Finally, Martriza summoned the temerity to speak in the way of what had become a ruinous debacle. "Please, your Highness!" She entreated, "allow me to retrieve this situation. Let me speak to the Tribunes again and make them see the error of their ways."

Karosyn flashed a predator's grin and stepped closer, until their faces were nearly pressed together. To her weapons master, she instructed, "Garum, please escort the Seneschal to her quarters where she will remain under guard until I decide what I will do with her. Should she resist, feel free to throw her over your shoulder...or drag her by the hair of her head...it matters not to me." To an openly frightened Martriza, she growled, "Perhaps the two of us can settle this grievance in the gaming yard, where I can demonstrate my surprising aptitude with those long knives you disdain."

Martriza's eyes widened in shock and as Karosyn turned away, Garum stepped forward and roughly gripping the resigned Odain by the slender wrist, unceremoniously hauled her away from the woman she had betrayed.

As swiftly as that, Emercia's fledgling rebellion died like wind in a teacup.

5

Bleary-eyed, fearful and surrounded by heavily armed guards, who viewed their mounting disquiet with cold detachment, the thoroughly demoralized Tribunes awaited their Queen's arrival.

Mindful of the baleful presence at their backs, not a word was uttered, but every eye flicked from face to face with grim anxiety...as if seeking someone upon whom to heap the blame for this calamity. Many had already retired for the night, smug in the certainty that their heroic and resolute actions would secure Emercia's future, when guards had burst into their suites and often literally dragged them to the Hall of Tribunes.

All throughout the castle, liveried staff, sparse in number due to the late hour, pressed against corridor walls as protesting or resigned Tribunes were dragged by. Soon, rumours that something momentous was afoot spread through the castle like wildfire.

Finally, Karosyn, still dressed in her training attire...now adorned by a simple gold crown...burst through the doors of the hall like a fast-breaking tempest.

To the contingent of guards, she instructed, "You may leave, but remain at the ready in the corridor." When they exchanged hesitant glances, she shocked all present by bellowing, "Now!"

They complied at once, leaving her alone with her would-be usurpers. Marshalling his contrived indignation, the shrewd Egan Vyrol started to rise, voicing his outrage as he did. "This is odious! You have no grounds to enter this sanctuary. It is..."

"Silence!" Karosyn roared, her voice a fulminating rumble that seemed to shake Kammlogran's very walls, where every portrait of past Tribunes and Consuls of note sprang from the walls, their ornate frames shattering into kindling as they struck the floor.

The power and resonance of the Queen's single word split the long, heavy oak table along its length...like ice on a lake in late spring. The sundered table collapsed inward with an agonized scream, leaving the Tribunes gaping in horror at its cleanly split halves. Every eye shifted to Karosyn, regarding her as if seeing the benevolent queen for the first time. Tribune Hafey had begun to weep, her pale hands trembling in her lap like newborn birds

"That you would use this chamber...granted to you by your Queen's goodwill as a gesture of inclusion...to plot and scheme like petty subversives is beyond reprehensible. I have erred in my desire to extend privileges to those I felt deserving of a free hand in helping rule Emercia...like an overly-indulgent mother who unwittingly spoils her children."

She paused and swept her intractable gaze over the humbled and fearful group of usurpers. "That is an error I intend to rectify...unequivocally...here and now. I am the supreme authority here in Emercia. You are nothing more than advisors and instruments to implement my will. Clearly, I have allowed you greater latitude than was prudent, leading you to believe that you have authority to shape events in my realm. Let me dispel your delusions of grandeur...I am Emercia. It's affluence...it's prosperity and regard in the world: these things are a consequence of my actions...my steadfast devotion to making my husband's vision for this country a reality."

"Yet, you would now lead us over the precipice with this ill-conceived invitation to this witch from Majeer!" Vyrol interjected, his expression a dissonant amalgam of defiance and resignation.

"Indeed? What a small-minded, myopic little man you are!" Shifting her withering gaze over the collection of chastened men and women whom she had trusted, she added contemptuously, "You all are."

She left her position at the head of the table and began to stalk around the hall, her baleful presence at their backs further unsettling the cowering Tribunes. "When Majeer last invaded the Eastern Continent, they did so at the behest of a mad zealot, who had command of an unprecedented host of skilled warriors...but no arcane power to speak of. They swiftly laid waste to a large swathe of land and would have conquered it all...had it not been for one person. Historians can paint whatever self-aggrandize portraits they choose, but it was Lissom, the Ascentrix of the Sisters of Esotaria, who abruptly stopped the juggernaut in its tracks...by cutting the head off the Majeeri serpent."

She paused and allowed them to absorb this fact and though the younger tribunes...those who had not lived through the bleak horror of that dark time...were clearly sceptical, none dared contradict this frightening new incarnation of their queen.

"Only a blithering idiot would dispute that Lissom is the most powerful living being on the face of this world. She has been invested with the power of a Goddess and she could level entire cities and have the earth open up to swallow entire armies. More terrifying still, she has accrued an army of mages and warriors the likes of which has never been seen. In Majeer, Lissom's gentle creed of Gyzarayne's theology has been...radically corrupted. It is my belief...my soul-immobilizing fear...that she is preparing to turn her harsh new gaze on the Eastern Continent, with a mind to exporting this warped brand of brutal zealotry. I can assure you...this would be a turn of events that no one here...especially the men...would be likely to survive."

"And yet, you invite her to our shores...to actually take up residence on our soil. You even offer to submit to this creed. How can we construe this as anything but madness?" Enara cried, her voice quavering on the edge of hysterics.

"By having faith in the judgment of the woman who has led this nation to the pinnacle of prosperity and happiness," Karosyn returned flatly. "I believe that, if Lissom can be enticed to leave Majeer, and whatever sly corruption dwells beneath its sands...I can guide her back into the light."

"And if you can't?" Vyrol challenged.

"Then I will end her...because I am the only living being who has a chance of doing so," Karosyn returned, exuding a ferocity that was entirely contrived. "Now, let us consider your sickeningly craven alternative. You seek to depose me and banish me, along with the Sisters of Esotaria. Then you intended to hide your heads in the sand hoping that the beast will look elsewhere to slake its thirst. This is a deplorable posture of cowardice that is unbecoming of Emercia...and utterly baseless in the bargain. Emercia will be the first nation to fall victim to Lissom's deprave theology...with or without my presence!"

Again, she paused to allow them to absorb this terrible truth...every pallid and ashen face informing her that she had made her point. Then she delivered her judgment on their grievous transgression...

"All of this elaboration is moot. Had you simply called for my abdication, I might have forgiven you...in time. I admit that I am duplicitous in allowing this hall to exceed its mandate. When you schemed to depose me...you became traitors...and that is how you will be treated."

They rose to protest, but a golden effulgence burst from Karosyn's chest, leaving the room's other occupants immobilized and mute. Now, naked terror blazed in every frantic eye. In a glacial, dispassionate voice, Karosyn declared, "In every other country in the world, your treachery would insure a short journey to the headsman's block or the gallows. This is my Emercia, where the notion of leniency is inviolable. You will not die, but through your treason, you have forfeited the right to be Emercian. You are hereby banished. As further proof of my compassion, I will allow you to liquidate your assets, gather your family and depart the country. You have one moon-cycle to organize your affairs, after which, if you have not left the country, you will be executed, swiftly and without further discourse. Now, go and begin your preparations...the sight of you sickens me!"

Without further protest, the fallen Tribunes rose and filed past their Queen, who watched them make their abject exit with a gaze as hard as obsidian. Vyrol attempted to muster a baleful, recalcitrant glare, but it was a pallid, ineffectual thing and they both knew it. Abandoning the effort to salvage his eviscerated ego, Vyrol averted his gaze and stumbled from the hall. The rest filed out, broken and despondent, until only Karosyn and Enara Hafey remained.

The woman lingered just behind her chair...eyes downcast and face set in lines of misery and desperation.

"If there is something you would say, Enara, do so now as this is the final time that you and I will ever exchange words," Karosyn prompted, her tone imperious and cutting...though she could feel this intransigent charade that she had projected begin to waver.

Enara nodded tentatively and before her courage could falter, she hurried over to Karosyn. She then fell to her knees and bowed her head. With trembling fingers, she reached out and touched the toe of Karosyn's boot in a gesture of absolute capitulation. In a shrill, tremulous voice, she pleaded, "Please, my Queen...Nalosan, Emercia...these are my entire life. I implore you...in the name of a mercy of which I am undeserving, allow me to remain in Emercia and join the Sisters of Esotaria. I will arrange to liquidate my assets and donate them to the Sisters. I vow, on my fractured honour, that I will faithfully serve the sisters until my dying day."

Karosyn, who was aware that the matronly Enara was without living relatives and who had, indeed, devoted her entire life to the betterment of Nalosan, allowed Enara to stew in her torment for several moments. Finally, she declared, "You will return to your chambers...and remain there until a sister comes to collect you. As the Sisters' Matrium, I will reflect on whether you are deserving of Gyzarayne's grace or if you will simply serve the order as a bondswoman."

Enara tilted her head toward Karosyn and beamed a weak smile of gratitude. Karosyn withdrew two paces and in a dispassionate voice that nonetheless lacerated the kneeling woman's heart, remarked, "Before you embark upon whatever life awaits you, I would like you to reflect on this; from the men, with their inherent sense of natural superiority and male presumption, this could almost be expected. In you, Enara, I earnestly believed I had a kindred sister, who viewed the plight of the poor, of women and children through the same kind and caring eyes. To discover that you had so little faith in me that you would conspire to help steal my crown is a keen wound that I will never forget."

Enara's eyes widened like broken shutters and then she burst into tears, burning her face in her hands to conceal her shame from the woman she'd betrayed.

Viewing Enara's dejection with forced indifference, Karosyn turned on heel and briskly strode from the room.

Outside the hall's doors, she instructed the waiting guards to allow the woman a moment to regain her composure before escorting her back to her chambers.

Feeling incredibly weary and despondent, Karosyn struggled to hold this oppressive pall of betrayal at bay. The potential catastrophe hovering over Emercia would not allow her the luxury of indulging her self-pity.

Gathering herself, she marched back to her private audience chamber where she hoped to discover the exact extent to which her Seneschal had facilitated this failed insurrection.

6

General Matrick Kyrin could well have been the living quintessence of what one would envision a military commander to be. With a ramrod posture, a lean, lithe body and thick silver hair, Kyrin regarded the world through intense blue eyes that seemed capable of boring holes in stone. He was possessed of a non-nonsense demeanour and had little tolerance of stupidity and even less for indolence.

Yet , in a less public setting, Kyrin displayed a wry sense of humour and an eclectic intellect that Karosyn found most engaging.

'Though not actually engaging enough to induce you to take further interest,' she thought caustically and frowned, wondering where such irrelevant thoughts found their origin.

When Karosyn entered the audience chamber, Kyrin rose hastily and offered his Queen a deep bow, before remarking, "Judging by the frenetic level of activity in old Kammlogran, it would seem that this night has been a wildly eventful one."

"It has at that, General, but the matter has been all but resolved," Karosyn allowed and then provided the general with a brief synopsis of all that had transpired.

Kyrin arched an eyebrow and with obvious admiration, remarked, "As always, you never fail to astound, your highness. You may well be the first monarch in this wretched world's history to suppress an insurrection without spilling so much as a single drop of blood!"

"None, save my own," Karosyn observed with a doleful grin, permitting her pain to show through for the first time.

The General acknowledged this with a slight nod of empathy before inquiring gravely, "Is the situation with Majeer nearly as grave as the Seneschal portrayed it to be?"

"It is," Karosyn confirmed, "and you and I will confer at great length on this matter in the coming days. on this night, I would require your unbiased assessment of Seneschal Odain's reaction to the Tribune's treasonous overture. Did she seem receptive...did she even encourage their scheme?"

The General pondered Karosyn's question at some length and when he spoke, his response was carefully measured and demonstrated a surprising degree of diplomacy...which was unexpected from a man who had devoted his life to a profession that began where diplomacy failed.

Gravely, he prefaced his remarked by admitting, "The Seneschal and I have had our differences over the years. I'm sure you know that she can be as prickly as a Megalin bush at times. When she loses patience with those she feels are being blatantly obtuse, Martriza can be shockingly abrasive. Still, I have an unflagging respect for Lady Odain because she is keenly intelligent, level-headed and can be made to see reason if you can adroitly present a contrary argument. She has always been a stalwart engine of your will...an inexorable force who bludgeons the whingers and skeptics into seeing the wisdom of your edicts. Tonight, however, the Seneschal presented your appraisal of the developing situation in Majeer and your proposed solution in a manner that was shockingly...docile and noncommittal. When the Tribunes laid forth their proposal for your ouster and exile, her response was cursory and puzzlingly tepid."

"And when they suggested that, should I refuse to abdicate, I should be overthrown and exiled...what was her reaction?"

Here, Kyrin met her gaze and with obvious reluctance, admitted, "She seemed...thoughtful."

Karosyn pursed her lips and nodded, her expression hardening against the distasteful prospect of what was to come. Darkly, she intoned, "Then perhaps your assessment of a bloodless quelling of this insurrection was premature, General."

Kyrin reacted to this harsh pronouncement with a frown. "Your Highness, May I have leave to speak freely?"

Karosyn considered the handsome man for a long moment, and as desperately as she wanted not to entertain his overture, she nonetheless nodded for him to proceed. "Your Highness, many of those in the Hall of Tribunes were driven by private ambition and ulterior motivations. They were reliable only so far as those ambitions coincided with yours. Tonight, those ambitions took a radical divergent turn. I confess, that I, too, am troubled by your decision to assume a dual role...that may present the impression of divided loyalties."

"And yet...you did not align yourself with the other Tribunes and call for my ouster," Karosyn pointed out, her voice taut.

"True, but I know you to be a woman of unflagging virtue and probity, who would never compromise Emercia's safety...or her husband's legacy. The point I am attempting to make, perhaps maladroitly, is that Martriza Odain's only ambition has been to serve your will...with a loyalty and zeal that is beyond question. You spoke of a dire crisis and I would contend that it would be imprudent to set aside such an invaluable resource at such a critical moment."

"Are you suggesting that I ignore her violation of trust, General...that I simply allow her to continue in her present capacity? I will remind you that, had this measure gone further, it would have been Martriza sitting upon my throne."

"An lamentable eventuality that neither I nor the Emercian army would have permitted to come to pass. In our eyes, you are Emercia...it's soul and conscience," Kyrin declared quietly.

This unequivocal declaration of faith was profoundly touching, and it was all the queen could do not to weep. To conceal her emotions, she turned away and admitted, "Thank you, General...you have no idea how meaningful your expression of confidence is at this moment."

"I think that perhaps I do."

She turned back to the General and something in his sober expression informed her that he was struggling to articulate a thought she might find...offensive. "General, if there is more you wish to say on this woeful matter, I am receptive."

Kyrin inhaled, a slow, dolorous drawing of breath that suddenly made him appear old. "Your Highness, it is hardly my place to provide critique of the edicts you decree, but in the matter of accepting the title of Matrium and naming your Seneschal as Queen-in-Absentia, is it possibly that you inadvertently placed Martriza in an impossibly compromised position? She was faced with the duty to execute a slate of controversial edicts, while being given the authority to prevent their enactment. Perhaps, my perspective is skewed, but would this not be akin to sitting a starving man before a lavish feast...and then bidding him not to eat?"

For a protracted moment, this earnestly posed query left Karosyn too dumbfounded to speak. In her attempt to mollify fears that her loyalty to Emercia might be compromised, had she foolishly created an irresistible temptation for her Tribunes to take action to insure it was not. Artumas had always told her that a ruler, once they had chosen a path, must display unflinching confidence in their choice. Karosyn had decreed that she could be Queen of Emercia and Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria without compromising her loyalties to either. Yet, the proposed creation of a Queen-in-Absentia intimated that she, herself, was not so certain.

'Yet another reminder of the perils of arrogant presumption,' she reminded herself. To General Kyrin, she remarked, "You speak true, General. I have erred and unfairly, I have put the Seneschal in an impossible position. I will heed your advice, Matrick and not squander a valuable resource...and precious friend. If you will excuse me, General...I will go to the Seneschal now and try to restore her faith. I will send for you in the morning and we can begin planning contingencies for Majeer."

Karosyn again offered the General her sincere thanks and bowing, he took his leave. Finally, alone, she sat behind her desk and closing her eyes, reflected on the day's discouraging events.

'Perhaps we all require the occasional epiphany to remind us that we are not infallible,' the ghost of her beloved Artumas suggested.

"Perhaps, but it has been forty years and still I make foolish mistakes," Karosyn remarked to the empty silence. "Let us pray that, in the reclamation of my lost daughter...my judgment proves sound."

Wanting nothing more than a hot bath and the sanctuary of sleep, the Queen rose and again left her chamber.

The matter of Martriza Odain could not be allowed to fester until morning.

7

Martriza sat in the chilled gloom of her darkened chambers, staring vacantly into the dying embers that had lost the efficacy to hold the chill at bay. In a rare bout of capriciousness, it occurred to her that the dying flames were a metaphor for the debacle she had made of her life. Like the flames, there had been a time when she had burned brightly, but unlike the ebbing fire, it was stupidity, not neglect, that would lead to her inevitable demise.

'How is it possible for one's life to fall to ruin...to come irretrievably undone in the span of a day's waking hours?' Hers had been a life of privilege. She had risen from humble provincial beginnings to become the second most powerful personal in the most stable and respected nation in the world. Then, traduced by the sudden prospect of obtaining more power, more respect, she had squandered it all...had become an tawdry ingrate.

' _Ah, but therein is the truth of the matter...the power you supposedly wielded was naught but an illusion. You, like the imbecile Tribunes, were simply instruments of Karosyn's will. Her benevolent nature...her liberal desire to see those who served her feel empowered and included; these things lulled the lot of us into overstepping our bounds. Now, see where our arrogant presumption has led us.'_

Martriza experienced an argent flare of resentment at Karosyn. Though she knew the bitterness to be irrational, a part of her blamed Karosyn for not being more typically Queenly in her dealings with those who served her. If only Karosyn's deportment had been more aloof...more imperious, would any of them had mustered the temerity to defy her?"

Martriza invoked an image of the Queen as she had appeared when her Seneschal had informed her of the Tribunes demand for abdication. The Queen's wholly unanticipated expression of glacial fury had terrified Martriza...and had filled her with elation at the same time.

This paragon of decisive ferocity...this was the Queen that Martriza had privately yearned for Karosyn to be. In all of her imaginings, she had never suspected that this decisive ferocity would be directed upon her.

Martriza tried to envision what form Karosyn's retribution might take and found that she simply could not turn the trick. Meting out harsh justice...a staple that defined the rule of most monarchs...was essentially unheard of in Karosyn's court.

To Martriza's chagrin, on the few occasions that required Karosyn to dispense justice directly, the Queen had turned the situation into an opportunity to impart a life lesson to the transgressors.

The frenetic activity beyond her door informed Martriza that such leniency would not be demonstrated today.

"Will she actually...take my head?" Martriza wondered aloud, the ghastly image this grim thought evoked causing her to shudder.

The answer to this disconcerting query was not long in coming. The double doors to her suite burst open and Karosyn strode in, enveloped in a blinding golden light. A simple gesticulation of her right hand and the doors slammed shut with a resounding bang. In the augmented clarity of the moment, Martriza noticed that a series of spiderweb cracks now marred the polished surface of the heavy doors.

As a glaring Karosyn converged upon a suddenly petrified Martriza, the fire in the hearth awoke with a brilliant flare.

Karosyn came to an abrupt halt and pointed to the carpet. "On your knees before your Queen."

Obediently, Martriza slid from her chair to her knees, gasping up at the daunting stranger with moon-eyed incredulity. Karosyn shook her head and demanded, "You have the audacity to look me in the eye...despite your odious act of betrayal. Avert your gaze to my feet and bow your head!"

After uttering a papery gasp, Martriza complied, her breathing now coming in ragged bursts. Karosyn stalked around the kneeling woman and after gathering Martriza's lush hair in her right fist, she roughly jerked it up to expose her Seneschal's slender neck. She ran a nail across the supple flesh and growled, "Such a delicate neck...will offer little resistance to a headsman's axe, I suspect."

Martriza moaned and despite her determination to accept her fate with stoic dignity, began to weep.

Karosyn quickly released Martriza's hair and stepped back several paces. When next she spoke, it was in her customarily placid voice...informing a flummoxed Martriza that the Queen's cold fury had been contrived. "Rise, Martriza...I derive no delight in seeing people in anguish...even in circumstances such as these."

Martriza attempted to regain her feet, but anxiety made her ungainly and she stumbled drunkenly.

Karosyn quickly grasped Martriza's firm shoulders and peered into her eyes with a searching gaze of appraisal that made Odain wish she could simply vanish. In a tight voice, tinged by sorrow, Karosyn inquired, "Is this what you would have of me, Martriza...a ruthless tyrant who employs fear and intimidation to bludgeon those who serve her into subservience? Is this what is required to earn your respect and loyalty? If so, then I fear I am not condign to your requirements and our time together is at an end."

She gently ushered Martriza over to her chair and then bid her to sit. "I have exiled the Tribunes, all but Enara Hafey, who will join the Sisters here in Nalosan. Rather than condemn the others to a life of penury, I have allowed them a space of time to liquidate their assets and take with them what they can. No doubt, you will construe this act of clemency as a sign of weakness, but I adamantly refuse to succumb to the dark allure of tyrant's justice."

She paused and offered a weeping Martriza a silk handkerchief from the pocket of the training uniform she still wore. "Then there is the painful matter of how I should best deal with you."

Despite her best efforts, Martriza could not repress the shudder of trepidation that coursed through her taut flesh. A part of her mind could not entirely credit that Karosyn's early performance had been complete theatre.

Karosyn noticed Martriza's apprehensive reaction and gently laid a placating hand on her shoulder. "Rest easy, Martriza. I am not a blood-inebriated monster, who resolves all matters with violence when there are other alternatives. My first instinct was to exile you along with the Tribunes, but General Kyrin correctly advised me that it would be imprudent to squander an invaluable asset...especially in the face of a looming crisis...and I concur."

A part of Martriza bristled at this reductive term of reference...at being reduced to a commodity. Yet, she had always hoped that Karosyn would adopt a more traditional perspective regarding her subjects and those who served her. It was her belief that a Queen should see her subjects as implements to be utilized as required with no thought given to how those implements might perceive their treatment. It was ironic that she would object to being treated in precisely this manner.

"To that end, I will present you with two choices. You may go into exile along with the others, in which case you will be given time to dispose of your assets, such as they might be. In addition, I will see that you receive a generous stipend for your years of service to Emercia...and the crown. Despite what has come to pass, I would never see you impoverished, Martriza. Incidentally, this particular dispensation will not be granted to the others."

"Your munificence is...without precedence, your Highness," Martriza remarked with a slight hint of disapproval that made Karosyn smile.

"There is another alternative, Martriza and it is my personal hope that you will accept it."

Despite her sinking dejection, this alternative intrigued Martriza and she regarded Karosyn curiously. She was thoroughly disconcerted when Karosyn actually knelt beside her chair and laid a hand on her right forearm. "You may elect to remain as my Seneschal...with slightly curtailed powers. This would require that you swear and oath of fealty...not to Emercia, but to me, personally. It would be necessary to swear this new oath before the full court, where it would serve as your acknowledgement that my interests and the interests of the nation are inextricably intertwined. If you are willing to make this one reasonable gesture of contrition, then we can put this matter behind us and move forward."

"Why...why would you ever grant me such a choice...after what I've done...your Highness?" Martriza asked, trying, but failing to grasp this woman's capacity for forgiveness.

Karosyn offered Martriza a crooked grin. "Again, you have General Kyrin to thank...something to recall the next time you find yourself at loggerheads with the General. He made me see that I was partially duplicitous in the night's lamentable drama. My Queen-in-Absentia proposal was conceived to appease those who have no right to question my integrity...making me appear weak and ambivalent. Essentially, he surmised that I presented you with a slate of unpalatable measures...and then granted you the power to subvert them...not an easy temptation to resist. Again, I concur."

Karosyn stood, her demeanour becoming cold and peremptory. "These are the choices set before you, Martriza Odain. I would have you take the remainder of the night to think carefully on them...and advise me of your decision on the eighth bell tomorrow morning in my private audience chamber. Should you choose to remain as my Seneschal, your first task will be to inform the new Ministers of the scope and limitations of their new position...in brutally unambiguous terms."

"Ministers?" Martriza echoed in confusion.

"The title of Tribune is hereby abolished...as is the Hall of Tribunes...as both imply an autonomy that is an illusion. You will make it explicitly clear to the incoming Ministers that their function is strictly advisory and administrative...as is yours. Should there ever be a further recurrence of this night's seditious scheming...my headsman's rusty axe will be given free rein to serve its purpose."

It required only one glimpse into Karosyn's blazing sapphire eyes to know that this threat was not idly given.

Quietly, Martriza returned, "I will consider your generous offer carefully, your Highness."

Karosyn nodded and for just a moment, the shadow of intense regret and sorrow rippled across her lovely face. Then she turned on heel and strode to the door, but before she could take her leave, she paused and without looking back, intoned, "I suspect that I will soon be forced to walk along a path that makes a mockery of my every principle and conviction...and I fear that I will become unrecognizable...even to myself, should I survive to see its end. In time, you may well regain my trust, Martriza, but through your actions tonight, you've forever lost my friendship."

Then she was gone, leaving a morose Martriza to ponder the full implications of this unbearable loss...like a woman banished to the shadow with no hope of a return to the light.

For several moments, Martriza simply could not move...could not think coherently...so profoundly had she been affected by Karosyn's seemingly infinite capacity for granting absolution.

'Are you a divine saint or a fool, Karosyn Nierosean,' Martriza wondered bleakly and then shook her head. 'What do I do with your unfathomable generous offer. Pride would dictate that I take your pittance and slink off to some comfortable obscurity, where I would soon hopefully be forgotten. The alternative is that I remain in your service and wear my badge of shame, forced to endure the sly, sneering disdain of those who would always brand me as a traitor. I would be eternally juxtaposed as a venal, imperfect wretch next to Karosyn's effervescent divinity. Perhaps this is exactly what I deserve.'

She was contemplating the aptness of this fate when the grating of stone on stone drew her attention from somewhere in the darkness.

Then, she recalled her earlier unpleasant scheme with the baffling Czefrina and it was all she could do to stifle a groan. The unsavoury princess strode into the light and before a flabbergasted Martriza could rise, the diminutive blond had settled roughly onto her thighs, facing the Seneschal, who was held captive by Czefrina's knees that squeezed tightly against her hips.

Sporting a malicious grin of delight, Czefrina whispered, "It seems that your star has plummeted, bitch!"

"Get...get off me...or I'll scream for the guards," Martriza sputtered, unable to mask her fear.

With bewildering speed, Czefrina pressed a palm to Martriza's forehead and jerked the helpless woman's head back. Her mouth gaped to form a perfect O and Czefrina forced the hooked index and middle fingers of her right hand into Martriza's mouth. With her thumb under the Seneschal's firm chin, Czefrina forced her fingers deeper, digging into the frightened woman's tongue, causing her to gag.

Beneath the shocking weight of her assailant's muscular body, Martriza was totally helpless and her eyes bulged in the face of this creature's lunacy.

Czefrina eased the pressure on Martriza's tongue and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "I'll not soon forget the humiliation of being forced to kiss your foot, cunt. I want you to know that I haven't decided if I'm going to kill you...or simply have you kiss my shapely ass at my leisure."

Martriza's eyes bulged further and she uttered a garbled entreaty. Czefrina's grin broadened and she withdrew her fingers. Leaning back, she gripped Martriza's shoulders and forced her back against the chair. With a satisfied smirk, she invited, "Go ahead and call for the guards. I seriously doubt they would intervene if I was to drag you naked by the ankles through the hallways of the castle."

"What do you want?" Martriza gasped, but her indignation was a brittle thing. She was completely at this deranged woman's mercy and they both knew it.

"It seems that good Queen Karosyn, being the nauseating paragon of virtue that she is, has chosen to offer you an olive branch. Personally, I would have strung you up in the plaza by those luscious tits of yours and let you hang there until the ravens had stripped every last ribbon of flesh from those traitorous bones."

Her depraved gin curdled into a menacing scowl. "In the event that you're vacillating over which of Karosyn's choices to accept, I want you to consider this; I will not act on my loathing toward you as long as you remain in the Queen's service. Should you choose to leave...to take the coin and run as it were...I will find you no matter where you burrow...and I will dissect you in the most horrific manner my depraved mind can conjure."

Martriza searched those pale green eyes and knew this threat was not idly given. "I'll stay."

"Prudent choice," Czefrina agreed and patted Martriza's cheek as if patronizing a chastened child. "I fully expect that you will serve the Queen's will like the overbearing, irascible bitch you are by bludgeoning any and all naysayers into compliance. I'll be about, lurking in the shadows, and should I suspect that your enthusiasm is waning, we'll revisit this conversation. Beneath all of this court finery, the bruises will never show. Do you understand, my pretty creature?"

"Yes," Martriza mumbled, the word resounding like abject surrender on her wounded tongue.

"Very good. the. I'll leave you to ponder what you'll say to Karosyn tomorrow...something fawning and putridly contrite would do."

She had nimbly dismounted the woman and was moving into the shadow when Martriza inquired hesitantly, "Why do you care if I serve the Queen?"

Czefrina turned back to her new thrall and admitted, "I haven't really decided yet. I just do...and for you, that's sufficient. Oh, by the way...the pretty man was telling the truth. I must confess, I did leave him worse for wear."

When she was again alone, Martriza slid from her chair and curled into a tight ball before the hearth.

Chapter Thirteen

1

Two women, gloriously naked beneath the late summer's sun, knelt one behind the other, in warm water that came to a point just above their navels.

The narrow river in which they knelt was no more than thirty paces across at its widest point. It flowed indolently around the frolicking women in the way of something that is assured of its existence. Deciduous trees of a dozen varieties, indigenous to this corner of sprawling Galloway, pressed insistently in upon the sandy banks. Their branches reached out over the slowly flowing water as if trying to intermingle with their kin from which they would remain forever separated.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves providing perfect harmony for Opheile Seznoire's susurrating sighs as she surrendered herself to Lorio's tender ministrations.

She leaned back against the other woman, her head reclining upon Lorio's right shoulder, with her slightly glazed eyes half closed and her mouth half open.

Opheile's lush hair was thoroughly soaked and glistened in the sunlight. Lorio had gathered it and draped it over Opheile's shoulder. She then kissed and nibbled the damp skin from Opheile's left shoulder to the nape of her exposed neck. Her tender attention elicited a series of airy sighs and soft moans from a completely enthralled Opheile as if she was an exquisitely crafted musical instrument and Lorio a virtuoso of inimitable skill.

Opheile's hands lay upon her thighs, her manicured nails scoring their taut flesh. Lorio's leanly muscled arms enfolded the beguiled Opheile, her strong hands moulded to the other woman's full breasts. She pushed them together and upward, causing Opheile to arch her back to augment the intimacy of the contact like two vessels gradually melting into each other. Lorio's thumbs described slow, geometric patterns over Opheile's turgid nipples, causing the ensorcelled woman's body to shudder violently.

They had come to yet another of Opheile's havens of quiet solitude, as she'd termed them, just as they had every week since the decorous Seznoire had shared the tale of her incestuous love affair with her dead brother. Initially, as she and Opheile had made deliciously slow love in each of these havens of quiet solitude around Cortrin, Lorio had been disquieted by the belief that Opheile was now reprising those illicit trysts, with Lorio standing substitute for Czarin. Weeks went by and that aversion faded. Though she could never condone what had passed between the siblings, Czarin's slow, gruesome death had effectively relegated it to the past. In truth, most would consider the love she shared with Opheile to be only slightly less unnatural and deplorable.

The intervening weeks between that afternoon and this day had been perhaps the happiest of Lorio's life. She had settled into a mundane, domesticated routine with Opheile that roused a sense of contentment in Lorio's scarified soul that verged on bliss...a state she would have dismissed as fallacious. As Opheile had insisted, Lorio had reduced her hours of employment in Emon Yar's haulage yard. At first, Opheile had been displeased that Lorio had not quit the yard outright, but she had been placated when Lorio had related that Emon had been on the verge of apoplexy when he had begged to her stay on a part time basis.

Lorio had acquiesced and since had settled into the routine of working two days per week in the yard (graciously pulling an extra shift if business through the yard was especially brisk). The other four days, she spent learning the business of running the Inn under Opheile's patient tutelage.

Emon and the two women had become fast friends and Opheile had insisted on inviting the dedicated bachelor to dine with the pair at least once per week.

And one day per week, come rain or shine, Opheile would lead Lorio to another of her havens, where the two women would lose themselves in the majesty of each other's exquisite flesh.

Surprisingly, in this quiet life of comfortable routine, the Daughter of Dust found perfect contentment.

She raised her lips from Opheile's neck and lazily swirled the tip of her educated tongue around the hollow of her lover's left ear. On impulse, she gave voice to her sense of perfect contentment. Later, as darkness again swept through her life like a black, scouring wind, Lorio would wonder if, by articulating her happiness, she had tempted fate...and thus been cursed. At this precise moment, however, enthralled by the magic of the moment...by the tender delight of having the woman she adored at her mercy, Lorio whispered, "Opheile, I've never been as happy or as peaceful as I am with you. In you and this life we share together...I've finally come to the place I've always searched for...even without fully realizing it."

Opheile rolled her head on Lorio's shoulder and regarded the immortal with those great blue eyes set in a speculative gleam. When she spoke, it was not to offer the obligatory reciprocal assurance. Instead, she surprised and perturbed Lorio by asking, "Never happier, Driss...not even when you rambled with your Issidris?"

Lorio could feel the intoxicating warmth of the moment dissipating. She pulled slightly away and grumbled, "Don't do this, Opheile...don't make everything a contest...a constant comparison. I won't have it...it's beneath you!"

Opheile twisted in Lorio's embrace and reached up to touch her right cheek with her fingertips. In a soft, yet vehement voice, she remarked, "I never want to supplant Issidris, Driss. I understand the importance of the role she played in delivering you to this moment...to me. I only want to stand as her equal...here and here."

She gently touched the hollow of Lorio's left temple and then placed a lingering kiss on Lorio's left breast that caused the immortal to toss back her head and groan. As she receded back into the placating warmth of Opheile's spell, the dispassionate part of Lorio's mind realized that this was the essence of Opheile's Seznoire's subtle, yet formidable power. Hers was the power to enchant, to traduce with a liquid gaze and a sultry whisper. Knowing this did nothing to attenuate her power.

Opheile's smile became mischievous...wanton. "I'll confess that I sometimes image that she is with us at these moments...and it makes the experience all the more sinfully delicious."

Lorio's eyes grew as wide as saucers and she shook her head in genuine bemusement, muttering, "You are truly and genuinely depraved!"

"A fault to which I will readily confess...but my depravity is only for you, dear," Opheile teased and twisting back into her original position, she reached back and gripping the firm swell of Lorio's derrière, pulled the immortal closer. "Now, Driss, I believed it's time to send those fingers meandering downward. Then, up on the bank...I believe I have rather urgent need of that tongue of yours...in the most scandalous places."

As always, Lorio gladly complied and their intermingled cries followed out along the ancient river.

2

Fall had come to Cortrin in the form of high, blue skies, across which scudded polished silver clouds, pushed along by cool, persistent winds. Enveloped in the warmth cast by her beguiling companion, Lorio seemed oblivious to this herald of winter's approach.

Lorio, so thoroughly submerged in this syrupy contentment, was also only peripherally aware of the physical and aesthetic transformation she was undergoing. During the vast majority of her life, the immortal had disdainfully eschewed feminine finery, preferring rough spun, practical clothing to what she considered ornamental drapery, meant to portray women as weak, vulnerable creatures.

Just as Opheile Seznoire had radically changed Lorio's perception of strength, so, too, had she altered the immortal's attitude toward enhancing her staggering beauty.

Opheile greeted this radical shift in attitude with unbridled delight. She showered the bemused (but privately giddy) immortal with a constant stream of presents...dresses sewn from material that Lorio could not even have named and delicate shoes and boots. Lorio even agreed to wear artistic little hats that were meant to sit on the head at preposterous angles, held in place by a complex arrangement of pins.

Opheile seemed in her glory as she fussed over the complaisant Lorio and as she studied her handiwork, she would gush exuberantly, "Driss, you are the most exquisite marionette one could ever hope to have. I sometimes feel positively dowdy in your presence."

Lorio would laugh each time Opheile would offer this absurdity. The idea that she could rival, much less surpass the magnitude of Opheile Seznoire's beauty was preposterous.

Yet, attired in the latest scintillating fashion, matching hat pinned to her lush mane, Lorio could not deny that her passing garnered a constant tide of appreciative stares. She was further shocked to realize that she quite thoroughly enjoyed the lustful weight of these gazes as they fell upon her.

When she did don her rough spun work clothes for her two days in Emon's yard, she now found the course material abrasive against her creamy, supple skin.

On the days that Lorio laboured to learn the surprisingly nuanced Inn business, she took pains to ensure that she sparkled like a diamond. Pleased by the speed with which Driss was coming to grasp her new purpose, Opheile began to dispatch the glittering beauty to perform various errands that encompassed every aspect of the inn's commerce, including the procurement of fine foods and linens, etc.

It was during the course of one of these solo errands that Lorio would be assailed by the first terrible intimation that her state of simple contentment was about to be blown over like a house of cards.

3

Lorio set out from the Glass House Inn just past the noon bell, Opheile's procurement list in hand.

Lorio was thoroughly surprised to discover that she enjoyed the intricacies of Inn business. Opheile had explained that, by dispatching her to collect goods and arrange for delivery of larger supply orders, Driss would soon become intimately familiar with the everyday materials and goods required to operate a reputable Inn...as well as coming to instinctively recognize the frequency with which these things should be replenished.

Infinitely patient and supportive, Opheile dedicated a space of time each day to the daunting task of teaching Lorio to read and write...no mean feat considering that the written word was like hieroglyphs to the immortal. Whenever Lorio's frustration would boil over as she struggled with the confounding spill of symbols across the page, Opheile would calmly placate the struggling woman, though it soon became apparent to Opheile that Driss' inability to decipher the riddle of written language would not be so easily surmounted.

To help Lorio better associate specific words with Inn goods, the clever Opheile had invented a pictorial code that made it easier for Driss to read a requisition. Whenever she would dispatch Driss to a supplier, she would scribe these symbols next to the items so that Driss would know exactly what she was being sent to collect...should questions arise in the course of a transaction.

Opheile never once gave even the slightest indication that she found this arduous labour vexing...for which Lorio loved her all the more.

"Don't be discouraged, Driss," Opheile would tell her on those occasions that Lorio's frustration boiled forth as she grappled with patterns of letters that stubbornly refused to resolve into actual words in her mind. "Be patient...we have time and remember, it isn't necessary to master the language to the point that you can recite romantic poetry like a Suran bard."

Here, she stopped and favoured Lorio with a luscious grin. "Though, if you do manage to achieve that impressive feat and wish to read it to me while we're gloriously naked in some secluded cove or clearing...I would be ecstatic."

Lorio shook her head in affectionate exasperation and muttered, "You are incorrigible."

"I am indeed," Opheile agreed primly. Her tone became sober and she vowed, "You will do this, Driss and I will help you...and I only require that you believe in yourself and not give up."

Therein could be found one of the salient truths of the matter...Lorio had never possessed any meaningful degree of faith.

...faith in her inherent goodness.

...faith in her relative worth.

...faith in her ability to achieve anything of enduring value.

Whatever strength she did possess had come from the few people who had ever believed in her: Artumas, Esuruban, Issidris and now, Opheile.

'And how often did you seemingly do everything in your power to demonstrate that their faith was misplaced,' she demanded of herself scathingly.

Fervently, she vowed that she would not repeat these odious blunders...though her conviction was a frail and brittle thing.

On this day, Lorio set out beneath a high, pristine blue sky and though the fall breeze was warm, it carried with it the admonition that change was imminent.

Lorio was resplendent in a lilac coloured dress with a snug bodice and a plunging décolletage. She wore dainty matching shoes with sensible heels for walking, complaining to the Inn's mistress that the thin heels she preferred were suitable for preening, but hardly appropriate for someone with any distance to walk. Opheile had greeted this with grumbling complaint with a hearty laugh before propelling Lorio into the street with a swat on the rear.

Thanks to the favourable weather, the streets of Cortrin were awash with men, women and children all happily engaged in the business of their daily lives...and Lorio felt perfectly content to be amongst their ranks. It was not so long ago that she would never have been able to credit possessing this contentment with the mundanity of a sedentary life...a life which she had held in scathing contempt since she had been a small child.

She walked through the crowded streets, head held high, posture perfect and purposeful stride unfaltering as she made her way toward the commercial district. A half-smile played at Lorio's generous mouth as she walked along with her face kept strictly forward. She was cognizant of the appreciative glances her passage garnered, but did not allow her gaze to wander as if she might be aloof or unimpressed with the attention.

Later, she would reflect upon just what it had been that had compelled her to shift her regard to the opposite side of the street at that precise moment.

Had it been the random meddling of sly fate...or had it been the whisper of a precious memory across the pliable fabric of her mind? Lorio would never be able to say with any degree of certainty, but she did know that this was the moment that the foundations of this life she had laid would begin to crumble like the illusions they quite possibly were.

Like a whisper barely heard on the periphery of her awareness, something enticed Lorio to turn her head to the opposite side of the thoroughfare.

What she glimpsed there caused her to come to an abrupt halt. The man behind her nearly collided with the transfixed Lorio. He fixed her with a baleful scowl as he moved around her, but the thoroughly preoccupied Lorio took little notice.

Mouth slightly agape, eyes wide with incredulity, Lorio was cognizant of her immortal heart as it palpitated wildly in her chest.

Moving doggedly along the crowded sidewalk was a diminutive figure, conspicuously attired amidst a sea of rustic seasonal colours. The figure's hair was as black as night and cut in a short, blunt style that spoke of little concern for such matters. Lorio's gaze slid to the square shoulders and bare arms, which appeared to have been chiselled out of stone. Despite the menacing incongruity the figure exuded, the pedestrians flowed around her as if she was an invisible protrusion of bedrock in a fast-flowing river of humanity.

The figure came to an immediate halt just as it came abreast of the mouth of a narrow alley...which was little more than a glorified gap between buildings and ran perpendicular to the wide thoroughfare upon which Lorio had evidently taken root.

Then, the figure turned its head to the left, providing Lorio with an unimpeded view of a blunt featured, taut profile that she recognized all too well...though it had been perhaps forty years since she'd set eyes upon this particular incarnation.

"Issidris?" The name slipped from her slightly parted lips like an airy incantation. In response, Lorio was swept up in a veritable landslide of achingly vivid memories...poignant recollections and sensory reminders that detonated in her fraught consciousness like exploding suns, nearly driving the immortal to her knees.

Along with this deluge of carefully sequestered memories came their companion emotions, impacting upon Lorio's surprisingly sensitive mind like the incisive bite of a whip. Her nostrils flared in recollection of Issidris' unique scent. Her ears perked up at the timbre of Il's husky voice. Her olive skin tingled beneath the palpable weight of those frightening brown eyes, so dark as to be almost black. Issidris had possessed an impassive gaze that could turn one's blood to ice water in their veins...especially when her cold anger had been roused. She vividly recalled the inexorable determination of Issidris' resolve once she had set her mind to purpose.

Yet, despite this imposing facade of diamond hardness and unflagging strength, Issidris was capable of a surprising degree of kindness...especially for the vulnerable and downtrodden. She was also capable of mercy, though her brand of mercy was of the stunted variety that might merely seem like a depraved variation of savagery to those unfamiliar with the remorseless anvil of stupefying abuse upon which Issidris had been forged as a small child.

In their years together spent rambling through the vast world of patriarchs and misogynists, Lorio had come to perceive that Issidris was a rare and precious gem concealed beneath a nondescript patina of daunting reticence.

When Lorio had last travelled in the company of this particular incarnation, Issidris had seemed invincible...impervious to any foe or hostile force. Time had brutally disabused Lorio of that childish delusion, but in the years she walked at this Issidris' side, the immortal had embraced it zealously.

On the heels of this rampant flood of images, and their requisite emotions, came the soul-obliterating sense of loss. Lorio could feel the void yawn open in her heart, like a deep wound that nothing could heal...not even the serene, erudite Opheile Seznoire.

This devasting epiphany roused a groan from the immortal, garnering nervous glances from other pedestrians, who gave the transfixed and clearly distraught beauty a wide berth.

Though seeming to last eternally, this eviscerating procession of resurrected memories and emotions unfurled in Lorio's frantic mind in the span of a few heartbeats. The sum total of Issidris Il's identity and the void her death had left in Lorio's life was brought into excruciating focus by this briefly glimpsed apparition. It's vitality...the pure and simple joy their life together had evoked; these things laid bare the preposterous, shallow sham of the trite cliché Lorio was presently attempting to live. It suddenly felt like her present settled existence was a spiteful repudiation of who she was...and the astounding life she'd lived in Issidris Il's company.

All at once, the figure turned sharply to her right and plunged into the narrow gap between buildings. Panic seized Lorio, swiftly and effectively shattering her paralysis. Mindless of the steady flow of wagons and carriages, Lorio cut across the thoroughfare at an angle.

Horses whinnied a plaintive protest at being sharply reined and a trail of pungent aspersions slithered after the immortal, though she paid them no heed.

She stripped off her cumbersome shoes as she ran and tossed them aside as if they were distasteful and vile...symbols of the charade she had allowed her life to become, perhaps.

Upon reaching the mouth of the narrow alleyway, Lorio hesitated. There was an inky quality to the thick shadows that suggested lurking menace. More confounding yet, Lorio was beset by the certainty that this was a path from which, once set out upon, there would be no coming back. Of course, there was nothing tangible to substantiate this fatalistic notion, but she could feel its veracity vibrating in her heart and viscera.

Never one to shirk in the face of the inexorable, Lorio plunged into the shadow.

The alley was, indeed, little more than a gap between buildings and would not have allowed the immortal to fully stretch her long arms out to either side. At the end of the first building, she came to a small open space that was poorly illuminated by weak, sallow light. Other than providing a rear entrance from adjacent buildings, the tiny confines could serve no other purpose that Lorio could discern. 'Other than shadow commerce best conducted out of sight of prying eyes.'

Pursing her lips, Lorio swept her gaze over the three other alleys that branched out from this open space. With no way to determine which direction Issidris (she had resolved that it really had been Issidris she had glimpsed...or, at least, her apparition) may have taken, Lorio rolled the dice of chance and raced into the alley that ran parallel to the thoroughfare.

She hurried through the gloom, unmindful of the cold, discoloured water that washed over her bare feet. The damp air smelled of excrement, urine and despair, but these things, too, she elected to ignore.

Fifty paces along, the alley took and abrupt left turn. Then another fifty paces further from the street, Lorio risked calling, "Issidris, stop if you can hear me...it's Lorio!"

Her entreaty echoed down the grimy stone gullet, draped in the vestments of futility.

All at once, she stumbled into a larger square, from which there was no exit, save for the one through which she had just entered.

Lorio came to a halt at its centre and spun slowly in place, dejected over having made the wrong choice back at the first junction.

'Or have I merely been chasing a spectre...a figment of my imagination...since I first saw Issidris on the street?' her mind whispered with a note of scorn. 'Is this not my way...to find a situation...circumstances that make me genuinely happy...and then contrive some idiotic pretext for undermining that happiness?'

"I know what I saw!" Lorio growled, her vehement words spiralling up through the damp air, toward the square of dull grey skies above her. 'Hadn't that sky been unblemished cobalt blue when I entered this fucking maze.'

Another disconcerting thought germinated in her dejected mind...one that was not without its plausibility. What if she'd been traduced...enticed into this alley by one of the innumerable enemies she'd accrued over the course of her often contentious life?

'Ridiculous paranoia,' the voice of Arminda spat disdainfully. 'You know what you saw...and felt in your bones. The only riddle to be deciphered is...what exactly does it mean?'

Lorio inhaled slowly and again swept her gaze over the surrounding buildings. Their bricks might once have been a vibrant red, but now they were a listless maroon, encrusted with centuries of accumulated grime and soot. The few windows to be seen were obscured by a thick patina of black dust that reminded the immortal of eyes...inscrutable, the lives within unknowable.

She stumbled over to the nearest wall, settling her back against the filthy brick with no consideration given to the pretty lilac dress Opheile had given her.

Somewhere during the course of her frantic chase, she had lost her grip on Opheile's provision list...or perhaps she had subconsciously tossed it aside...a repudiation of everything it represented.

Suddenly, she felt impossibly distant from Opheile and the serenity she engendered. At the same time, she felt hopelessly removed from herself...from the perpetually drifting itinerant she'd once been. Here, in the limbo of this dismal brick enclosure, Lorio felt as displaced from the world as she would have been in hateful Otaru Ree's purgatory.

Something tickled the hollow of her ear then...a slight eddying of sensation that grew until it became...ubiquitous, converging upon her from everywhere and nowhere at once.

The voice of her beloved Issidris Il filled the enclosure, at once calm, yet beseeching, "Lorio, you must recall what has been forgotten...awaken that which slumbers within you!"

This cryptic exhortation delivered, Issidris fell silent and Lorio could feel her presence withdraw. Lorio slid down the wall as she felt that beloved presence withdraw. She settled onto her haunches and allowed her forehead to drop to her folded arms, which were propped atop her knees.

She remained in this position as afternoon gave way to early evening. Finally, she rose on legs that were stiff and unresponsive. Casting off her terrible ambivalence, she accepted that it really had been Issidris who had reached out to her from across the insurmountable divide.

Lorio concluded that there had been a criticism couched in the spectre's message. In her desperation for a sense of purpose...of place, Lorio had rejected her own identity...becoming this weak, formless vessel of clay to be moulded at someone else's discretion.

She glanced down at her badly stained dress, suddenly despising its fragility...the needy vulnerability it implied. She wanted to rip it from her body and tear it to tatters. Then, she would walk naked through the streets of Cortrin...a bold assertion of her identity.

Instead, she started back the way she had come. Along the way, she spied the list partially submerged in a puddle. Back on the sidewalk, she collected the dainty shoes, which remained where they'd landed.

Not bothering to slip them back on her thoroughly dirty feet, she strode along the thoroughfare, indifferent to the stares of distaste her dirty dress and dishevelled appearance garnered.

Issidris...her Issidris...had come to her for a reason and in time, Lorio was confident that reason would be fully revealed to her.

4

It was late evening by the time that Lorio stumbled back to the Glass House Inn and her confidence in the precise shape of what had befallen her had waned significantly.

In its place had seeped a sheepish confusion that welled exponentially as she stood before the doors of the inn's main entrance.

Electing not to evoke a gossip frenzy by entering through the front doors in her present state, Lorio circled to the rear and entered the Inn through the service door. It had been her intent to slink up the rear stairs and at least make herself presentable before presenting herself to Opheile. She had tried to conjure a plausible explanation for both her condition and extended absence, but could manage neither. The incisive Opheile could sniff out fabrication like a hound and Lorio dreaded what was likely to be a fraught discussion that would ensue.

Her hopes for a brief reprieve vanished the instant she stepped into the rear hallway that separated the inn's dining and common rooms from the kitchen and storage room. Opheile's office was also located along this hallway and as Lorio took a deliberately light step along the claret coloured runner carpet, the Inn Mistress called out, "A word in my office, Driss."

Though this summons had been delivered in Opheile's usual placid, composed voice, Lorio could clearly discern what may have been either anger or concern churning, barely contained, just beneath the surface.

As Lorio shuffled into the office's well-lit interior, still clutching her shoes in dirt-stained fingers, Opheile instructed, "Close the door please, Driss...we have a rather urgent matter to discuss." After absorbing the ramshackle condition of her companion, whom she'd taken into her bed and heart, Opheile arched an eyebrow and added, "perhaps, several matters actually."

She fixed Lorio with a keen gaze of appraisal. With her chin propped on her fists and her luminous blue eyes sparkling beneath the office's lamplight, Opheile resembled the head mistress of a girl's boarding school, faced with the unpleasant task of disciplining a customarily exemplary student.

The image made Lorio titter, primarily because she couldn't begin to imagine what life in a girls' boarding school would be like. Hers had been the harsh and indifferent education of the streets and open roads, where lessons were accompanied by pain and indelible scars.

Misconstruing Lorio's seemingly flippant grin, Opheile arched an eyebrow and inquired coolly, "Is something amusing, Driss...because frankly...I see nothing humourless in stumbling through our back door looking very much like a destitute street dweller. I was...concerned, Driss."

There was a never before heard proprietary note in this expression of anxiety and Lorio snapped, "Well, you shouldn't have been. I'm not a child!"

"It is possible to not be a child, but still be childish...infantile, even," Opheile retorted heatedly, but when a surprised Lorio recoiled as if she'd been physically struck, Opheile shook her head and raised a placating hand. "I'm sorry, Driss...that was insufferably condescending. I...I don't want this to become an acrimonious exchange...it's too important. forgive me, please."

Lorio waved her off, her own concern raised by her companion's obvious anxiety. She averted her gaze and it was then that she noticed that the office furniture had been rearranged, causing her to blurt, "You moved Czarin's desk."

The heavy wooden construct had been relocated from the office's far corner, where is had languished since Czarin Seznoire's grim passing. It was now butted up against Opheile's, the implicit symbolism touching the immortal deeply. "It seemed fitting," Opheile allowed. "You and I are partners to my mind and the Glass House Inn belongs as much to you as it does to me."

Lorio was forced to repress the spill of tears this gesture of generosity...of intimate inclusion evoked...and to avoid that eventuality, she asked thickly, "Has something happened, Opheile...you seemed upset when you first called me into your office?"

Those lovely blue eyes shifted to a single sheet of paper that sat at the centre of her highly polished desk...like a silent recrimination or the harbinger of some inimical fortune. "We'll get to that in good time but first, what happened to you, Driss...your lovely dress...it's ruined?"

The ungenerous part of Lorio's nature sneered at Opheile's pained reaction to the sullying of something beautiful. She loathed this spiteful, petulant aspect of her nature, but knew that it was a part of her character...one that she would never entirely exorcise.

"I'm...sorry, Opheile...everything just went wrong today. I...I lost your requisitions and ended up backtracking. After that, things got...fuzzy. I remember my stupid heel getting caught in a gap in the cobbles and I fell into a filthy puddle. Perhaps I hit my head, but the next thing I recall clearly was sitting with my back against a dirty wall in a squalid alley. I stayed in that position for a long time. I may have been frightened...or maybe embarrassed over having botched a simple task so thoroughly. It took me a long time to work up the nerve to come back to you. I'm sorry, Opheile."

She conjured her most contrite expression, hoping this partial prevarication would mollify her perceptive companion...while wondering when she had become so...obsequious. When Opheile pursed her lips, but offered no comment, Lorio inclined her chin toward the ominous sheet of paper and inquired, "Is that paper what's upset you?"

Rather than offer a verbal response, Opheile carefully turned over the large rectangular sheet. Bending slightly forward, she slid the page across the polished expanse of wood for Lorio's perusal.

Upon digesting the horrible reality of the artist's rendering that adorned the page, Lorio felt the beautiful illusion she'd constructed with Opheile implode like a house of cards. By a monumental exertion of will, she managed to stifle a groan of despair. Her only visible reaction to this shocking image was a slight furrowing of her smooth brow. To bolster this impression of perplexity, she demanded, "What...what is this?"

"While you were off on your...unfortunate adventure, two men came to the Inn. One was a representative of the local government...while the other was a Royal Emercian Messenger."

Lorio's vitiated heart contracted painfully in her chest and she could feel the relentless hands of her past reaching out to take her in their seemingly inescapable grasp. "I don't understand...what did they want?"

"They asked if I would be amenable to posting this in the common room. Not wishing to attract undo attention, I agreed to do just that...but, of course, did not. When the Emercian inquired if I had ever seen a woman resembling the one in the poster, I perjured myself and said that I had not. I'm uncomfortable with lies...and troubled by the need to spin them, Driss."

"I still have no idea what this is about, Opheile...what does the damnable rag say?" Lorio demanded, managing to sound aptly indignant."

Opheile's gaze bore into Lorio for a moment, who, to her credit, did not flinch beneath its palpable touch. Finally, Opheile sighed and read, "The Emercian Monarchy offers a substantial reward for anyone providing information that directly leads to the location of Lorio...one-time Queen of Lamia, heroine of the great quest and the Emerald Enchantress War."

Opheile then noted that the last hand-written section provided the local address of the authority where this information could be reported. She then settled back in her chair to await Lorio's reaction.

To disguise the extent to which she'd been disconcerted, Lorio collected the poster, thinking, 'Karosyn, you fucking meddlesome bitch...why now...after so long?'

She could feel the imposing weight of Opheile's scrutiny on her cheek and decided that a cursory dismissal was the best posture in this impossible situation. "You can't seriously be thinking that I'm the woman in this poster. Honestly, Opheile, have you ever met anyone less regal than me? By the light, I load crates in a haulage yard!"

Opheile mouth compressed into a jagged slash. "Quite frankly, Driss, I don't know what to think. Against all logic, every day I pass in your company, Driss...you become more of a mystery than the day prior."

Lorio rolled her eyes as if Opheile was being melodramatic. "Look, I'll admit that the resemblance is uncanny. Still, I'm no history scholar, but wasn't this Lorio queen of Lamia fifty years ago? That would make her at least seventy years old. Yes, I've had a trying day, but do I really look like an old woman?"

"I've always contended that you are substantially more than you represent yourself to be...more than this simple labouring itinerant persona you cling to," Opheile returned with a slight smile. "Nonetheless, this coincidence may create...complications."

"Complications?" Lorio echoed.

"The prospect of a reward...especially one dispensed from Royal coffers...might have every opportunist in Cortrin looking to capitalize. As you say, the resemblance is uncanny...and it will not go unnoticed. It might be prudent to maintain a low profile for a time, during which I will run the Inn's errands."

Lorio shook her head in consternation, but she knew the prospect of easy coin was a valid enough concern. She gathered her dishevelled hair in a long bunch and asked, "Should I cut my hair...maybe short as it was when we first met?"

"Running my fingers through the luxuriant mane is one of my private delights...so, no...that is a risk I am willing to take," Opheile replied with a crooked grin. Her expression became sober and she remarked, "I've always prided myself on being a strong, resolute woman, who deplored my every perceived weakness, labouring to root them out like pernicious weeds."

She rose slowly and drifted around her desk to stand before the immortal, who felt her heart contract in her chest in response to the doleful cast of those great blue eyes. "In matters of love, when I finally found it, I always assumed that I would be the dominant one...as I suspect I was with Czarin. I would dictate the acceptable terms and fully expect that my lover would ardently meet them. I fully understand how arrogant and naive that must sound, Driss, but I fully subscribed to that fallacy...because I was a strong woman who refused to compromise her worth. Now, you've come along and disabused me of my every illusion, Driss."

Feeling a welling panic in the face of Opheile's self-effacing confession, Lorio contradicted emphatically, "That's ridiculous. You're one of the strongest woman I've ever met...as strong as Issidris and believe me when I tell you...that's saying something!"

"Ah yes, the standard against which all things in your life are measured," Opheile observed, her tone acerbic, but oddly wan. "I realize that, when it comes to you, I am hopelessly weak...more than willing to be docile...fawning and obsequious, if that is what is required to keep you with me. I suppose that is just another aspect of love...part and parcel of its whole."

Here, Opheile paused to touch Lorio's slanting cheek bones with fingers that trembled perceptibly. "It's just as much a part of love as the bliss of being with you...this weakness that will make me ignore my every conviction, every prideful presumption I've held about myself. I know you're lying to me, Driss...or at the very least, not telling me the entire truth...which may somehow be worse. If I was the paragon of strength I fancied myself to be, I would demand that you reveal yourself to me...expose every dark corner. If you refused, I would toss you out on your shapely posterior and never give you another thought."

She dropped her hand and the luminous gleam in those exquisite eyes guttered. "We both know this is something I won't...or can't do because of the magnitude of this love I feel for you. I would rather accept the lies and embrace the humiliation...than lose you. This is how thoroughly you've captivated me, Driss. I console myself by clinging to the notion that you hide the truth...not out of a mind to deceive me, but because you can't bear the prospect of giving voice to the pain and trauma your life has imposed upon you."

Her expression hardened and Opheile concluded this bearing of her soul with a dire prediction. "Still, I will tell you that the day will inevitably come when you will be forced to lay your life bare before me, Driss...in every excruciating detail and I fear that, if you do not do so of your own accord, this ordeal will destroy us both. Considering the life and love we could share, that would be tragic beyond measure."

This eloquent and poignant outpouring seemed to suck the vitality out of Opheile...to diminish her. Desperately, Lorio attempted to assuage her pain. Clutching Opheile's slender wrist, she insisted, "Opheile, you are making far too much of this...of my past, which is a small and meaningless thing, really. As for this poster; I am no more a Queen than you are a milking cow."

"And today...what befell you?" Opheile inquired, her voice tenuous and distant.

Lorio shook the other woman's arm briskly. "Look, I lost the requisition and then took a tumble. I was shook up and embarrassed over how ridiculous you might think me. Look, I have to work in the yard tomorrow, but if the next day's weather cooperates, we'll go out to one of our secret places...and I'll tell you everything...and then I'll make love to you in ways that would make a Suran concubine blush. Please, Opheile...I'll answer every question you care to ask...just stop looking at me like a burden you can't cast off...please!"

Opheile regarded the immortal for a protracted moment and in those great dark eyes, she evidently found a sign of sincerity. With a sardonic smirk, she inquired playfully, "You're acquainted with the habits of Suran concubines then...and the things that would make them blush?"

"Through tales only, of course...though the stories were shockingly graphic!" Lorio quipped.

"You'll share these tales during your great unburdening then?" Opheile queried, her customary impertinent light banishing the listlessness of a moment before.

Lorio pulled the unresisting beauty closer and began to take liberties with her tightly bound breasts. "Let me lead you upstairs and after I've taken a bath, I'll take the rest of the evening to demonstrate. Be warned...after I'm done with you, there'll be no modesty between us. Suran concubines are notoriously uninhibited...or so I've heard."

Much to Lorio's relief, Opheile's smile became wicked and she growled, "How could I ever decline such a bold challenge?"

Lorio began to drag a willing Opheile toward the door, but the other woman stopped and cast a doleful gaze on Lorio's ruined lilac dress. "It really is a shame about this dress. I spent an entire afternoon deliberating over which one to buy for you. This one was extravagantly expensive, but it featured your abundant assets most fetchingly."

Lorio swatted Opheile's pert bottom and intoned huskily, "Don't worry, you'll appreciate those abundant assets far more when I'm out of this dress anyway."

With this, Lorio led the complaisant Opheile to their shared bed, where she devoted the remainder of the evening and a good part of the night to making good on her bold promise.

Even though Lorio had given her vow of candor with absolute sincerity, the inexorable hand of fate had other intentions.

5

Along with the next dawn came the harbingers of premature winter, the ancient plunderer that sought to murder the world by strangling it beneath a blanket of ice and snow...to leech away its vitality with bone-chilling cold.

As Opheile had stoked their bed chamber's fire...a chamber that was still enveloped in the sultry warmth generated by their prolonged and unrestrained night of lovemaking...she had cautioned Lorio that she must wear something appropriate for the coming storm. She found a hooded short tunic and handed it to Lorio. With her tousled hair loose and spilling over her shoulders and her blue eyes gleaming, Opheile resembled a mischievous wood nymph of some sort. It required all of Lorio's tenuous discipline not to drag the beauty back into bed and resume their wild romp.

Instead, she accepted the loose tunic and pulled it over her head. Impervious to the ravages of inimical weather, Lorio could have walked through a Sherak and been immune to its glacial kiss. Of course, like the vast majority of the truth of her nature, she had not shared this incredible fact with Opheile.

'And yet, you've promised that you would,' she recalled, 'but have you ever stopped to consider how she'll perceive you when your every last secret had been dragged into the light...as a terrifying aberration, perhaps?'

This harrowing prospect caused Lorio to shudder, a response which Opheile misconstrued to mean that the immortal was chilled. She drew the immortal into a tight embrace and ran her hands vigorously down her back and flanks. "I'll include a flask of hot tea with your lunch and see if I can find you a woolen scarf. My instinct is telling me that this coming winter is going to be a particularly harsh one. If you still insist on toiling in Emon Yar's haulage yard, I won't have you freezing while you do it. After I've dropped off yesterday's supply requisition, I'm going to buy you a proper winter work wardrobe."

Something in their nights of intimacy always seemed to rouse Opheile's maternal instincts...the need to coddle and pamper Lorio as if she was something precious. An impromptu thought germinated in Lorio's mind and she blurted, "Opheile, would you liked to have had children?"

Opheile's eyes grew as wide as harvest moons and a complex array of emotions rippled quickly across her exquisite face...melancholy and sorrow being the foremost among them. The immortal saw that her spontaneous question had struck a particularly sensitive nerve in Opheile's heart, and felt stupid and ungainly. Opheile quickly concealed her pain beneath the thin veneer of a smile. "Now, where did that come from?" She tilted her head toward the rumpled sheets and observed, "That is the one thing we can't manage there...though our children would be visions."

Knowing that she should desist, ascribe her query to self-indulgent caprice, something nonetheless prodded Lorio to persist. "I can't imagine anyone being a better mother...a better guiding influence than you. Especially for a daughter."

Again, Opheile was beset by a storm of fast breaking emotions that led Lorio to surmise that this was a question...an unrealized longing...that had privately preoccupied Opheile Seznoire for a very long time. Opheile's tone became brusque and she quickly turned away, hastening around the room to tidy items that had been displaced by last night's activity.

"Well, be that as it may, I hardly think you would allow me to take a surrogate to our bed and so the question is moot."

"But we could adopt a girl. I imagine the orphanages are bursting with abandoned children too young to be tossed into the streets. We could do something like that...I mean, if it was something you would want," Lorio pointed out evenly, mystified by this spontaneous broaching of a subject that had never once entered her thoughts in the time they'd been together.

Opheile stopped her fussing and turned slowly to Lorio. Though her expression was austere and reproving, there was no mistaking the speculative light that had dawned in those lustrous blue eyes. "Driss, this is hardly the time to open a discussion of this gravity...though I would be delighted to at least explore our feelings on the matter...if it was something you genuinely wanted as well."

She crossed over to Lorio and began to run her fingers over the immortal's hard shoulders. "I haven't forgotten your promise about revealing yourself to me. Perhaps this could be an aspect of that discussion, Driss."

Lorio greeted this with a distant nod and allowed Opheile to herd her downstairs, where she bundled Lorio out into the milky predawn light. Opheile glanced up at the pearlescent sky and with a shiver, offered with absolute certainty, "It will snow today. Don't exhaust yourself in the yard today. I have every intention of resuming where we left off last night." Her eyes assumed a thoughtful gleam. "You've given me much to think about. You've become my world, Driss...the source of my every happiness. The idea that we could become something...more...become a family and focus our passion and love on a daughter...our daughter. It makes me happier than I ever thought I had the right to be."

With this, she kissed Lorio ardently and gently propelled her out into the lane. She then retreated into the Inn and closed the door before the immortal could glimpse the spill of tears this most beautiful of fantasies had provoked.

Lorio stood stationary for a moment, thoroughly dumbfounded by the skewed course the morning had taken.

Shaking her head, she commenced her trek to the yards, not knowing that it was destined to be her last.

'You must recall what had been forgotten...awaken what slumbers within you." This grave imperative trailed after her like a wraith.

6

In the four years that Lorio had worked for Emon Yar, she had most appreciated his understanding that she be allowed to work in solitude, which thanks to the curmudgeonly yard owner's sly manipulation was the vast majority of the time. Perhaps he had quickly deduced that her extraordinary strength and endurance was something best kept as inconspicuous as circumstances would allow.

Lorio had liked to believe that Emon had went to these great lengths not just protect his best asset, but to spare Lorio from the ugly conjecture and far more detrimental effects she would inevitably suffer if word of her obvious exceptionality became common knowledge.

On the last day of her employment in the haulage yard, the task of keeping Lorio sequestered was made all the easier by the rapid approach of a massive winter storm.

"I have three carts of perishables that have to be loaded into the last bay before the storm hits," Emon informed her quietly as she approached the wicket to collect her day's assignment. "The temperature is sinking like a stone and if those crates don't make it into the insulated bay, the entire lot will be ruined. Still, Driss, I've sent the rest of the crew home and I can't ask you to do this if you'd rather get back to Opheile."

Lorio reached through the opening at the bottom of the wicket's wire divider and squeezed the old man's forearm in reassurance. "I'll have them in before you know it. Are you going home?"

"No, I think it's better if I stay and make sure the place holds up. I've food and plenty of kindlin' for the fire," the old man returned, though both were well aware that this yard was Emon Yar's life...his wife, his family and the only true home he'd ever had.

"All right. I'll get this done and then we can have a glass of those spirits you keep hidden in the back of that desk drawer," Lorio quipped.

"Saucy wench!" Emon retorted affectionately and stood near the office window and watched as she crossed the yard, back straight and head held high despite the howling wind that was raising a curtain of scouring grit and sand.

Yet, Driss crossed the yard as if she was impervious to its bite...which Yar had come to suspect she was.

The sprawling haulage yard had been the Yar family's enterprise for more generations than Emon could recall. Without siblings and children, the old man had confided to Lorio and Opheile, during the course of one of their frequent suppers at the Inn, that his greatest sorrow (and deepest fear, he had not shared) was of what would become of his yard once his life had run its course. Lorio had surmised that his anguish could be that of a parent who knew that the day of their ending was fast approaching, and they would have to leave behind a child, whom they feared might not be prepared to face the cruel and indifferent world in which they'd been abandoned.

Such was the great and terrible procession of mortal life, to leave behind the things we cherished to face the uncertainties of an unknowable future.

Yet, for Lorio...this immutable truth did not apply...or more precisely, a terrible variation of this maxim held sway over her unprecedented life. She would be the one eternally left behind to mourn the loss of everything she had ever cherished.

This abysmal prospect caused Lorio to stumble and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the sting of maudlin thoughts she had come to despise.

Something occurred to Lorio then and she came to an abrupt halt, gazing back over her shoulder at the distant office. As Emon had related this tale of his personal sorrow, he had been staring intently at her. Had his watery eyes been alight with a silent entreaty? In hindsight, Lorio now thought they had...laying forth an unspoken plea.

She pivoted slowly in place, surveying the haulage yard, where she had toiled for the last four years, as if seeing it for the first time.

The sprawling yard sat on a flat plain, adjacent to a thick deciduous forest. The structure, itself, was rectangular, open on the north exposure. The yard's office was located on the east end of the structure, while the building's length was comprised of an even dozen bays.

Consistent with Emon's love of his enterprise, the bays were well lit, rigorously constructed and maintained to the highest standard of functionality. The opposite end of the rectangle consisted of three specialty bays. Tightly insulated, these bays were used for the storage of temperature sensitive goods and perishables. Each bay was heated or cooled by arcane Metocan crystals...infused with arcane energy by the Sisters of Esotaria in Emercia. Emon had lamented that these crystals were frightfully expensive, but admitted that the benefits far outweighed the extravagant cost.

Thinking of the Sisters of Esotaria evoked images of Queen Karosyn and her accursed posters.

"Leave me alone, you bitch...why can't you just leave me alone?" Lorio grumbled and forced her thoughts back to Emon's unspoken entreaty.

Could he have actually been inferring that he would like her...to what...inherit or acquire the yard? That was preposterous...she possessed no aptitude for running a business.

'Perhaps not...but Opheile certainly does,' a sly voice pointed out. 'You could manage the day to day operations, while she oversaw the financial management of the enterprise.'

This improbable fantasy germinated in her mind like a fast-blooming flower...resplendent in its rather banal simplicity. If she had not misconstrued Emon's intent and if she expressed genuine desire to acquire the yard some day, Lorio had no doubt that Opheile would turn her formidable talents and boundless energy to making it a reality.

She would undertake this huge endeavour knowing that it would bind the two beyond breaking...and the roots of normalcy Lorio had once eschewed, but now craved so fervently, would grow deeper and stronger. In the yard, Lorio would forge her own identity and the two of them would stand as equals...not that she would ever consider herself deserving of Opheile Seznoire.

' _And your daughter...how she would come to look upon the both of you with admiration and pride. What an example you would both set for her; two fiercely independent women, thriving in a world where men controlled the unkind engine.'_

This thought, an incomprehensible construct of outrageous fiction and wistful fantasy, caused Lorio to beam an ebullient grin. The notion of this faceless child, upon whom both women could lavish their boundless love, evoked thoughts of Brannok Dur...the son she had met once in the fifty years since she had given birth to him in Otaru Ree's bleak demesne.

She was grateful for the howling wind that caught her wail of anguish and tore it to tatters before it could carry. Brannok, her beautiful son, was the great, lightless void in her soul. She wondered if she could ever look upon another child without seeing his spectre hovering over it.

To her astonishment, she realized that, for Opheile Seznoire, she would be willing to try.

She finally came to a line of three wagons, covered by heavy tarpaulins, that had been parked before the last bay. A section of wire fencing ran from the north corner of the bay to the yard's northern boundary, some three hundred paces distant.

It was these wagons that urgently needed to be unloaded. Lorio glanced up at the ominous sky, which was a low-lying mass of roiling clouds, etched with silver tinge that heralded the imminence of heavy snow.

Eschewing the stairs, Lorio leapt onto the chest-high loading dock in a single bound. She raised the designated bay's door, double chaining it in position as a precaution against gusting wind. She then removed the first wagon's protective tarp carefully folding it and placing it in the bay. Then she set about unloading the casks.

Lorio particularly enjoyed this manner of toil as it afforded her the opportunity to simply disengage her often fraught conscious thoughts. Instead, she could focus her attention on the simple mechanics of the task...lift, carry, place and repeat until the task was complete.

Today, destined to be as peculiar as the one that had preceded it, she could not hold the intrusive thoughts at bay.

Thoughts of Karosyn and her possible motivation for seeking the immortal out clamoured loudest for her attention. Knowing that nothing could be gained by entertaining the whys and wherefore, she thrust this disturbing consideration aside and instead turned her thoughts to Opheile.

The entrancing beauty had made love to Lorio with wild abandon, not relenting until she was certain she'd wrung every last cry and shiver out of both. Yet now, removed from Opheile's powerful aura, Lorio realized that there had been an air of desperation to the other woman's intense ardour. She had delved into Lorio as if seeking affirmation of the immortal's continuing tangibility...reassurance that theirs was an indivisible entity. Though enthralled to be so consumed, it also pained Lorio to see this magnificent jewel beset by doubt and uncertainty. She despised herself for her inability to make Opheile see that this intense need, this all-encompassing love was reciprocal...that the thought of her living without Opheile Seznoire's strength and serenity was beyond unbearable.

Ignoring the mounting portents, Lorio resolved that she would rectify this failing. Tonight, she would share every detail of her inglorious life with Opheile. Then, she would ask the sage Seznoire's opinion on Emon's possible intent, its viability and her willingness to help Lorio see it achieved. Finally, she would press Opheile on her amenability to adopting a girl, though she felt confident that the receptive gleam in those great blue eyes had been unmistakable when she'd first blurted this bold notion.

She saw it then, as the first spicules of snow began to fall, this wild, tumultuous adventure they would embark upon...this frantic endeavour of family-building, fuelled by the pristine love they felt for each other.

Beneath the euphoria of this elaborate fantasy, the daughter of dust finished her work. She conscientiously folded the tarps into their designated bags on the wagons and was about to start back across the yard, where snow was swiftly beginning to accumulate, when a single word of summons reached her ears above the howl of the wind, "Lorio."

She stopped abruptly. How long had it been since someone had spoken her real name...not since she'd fled Nalosan and Karosyn's cloying concern upon her return from Dortizirian?

She recalled this voice all too well and though it still rang with its obsidian edge, it caressed Lorio's ears like the sweetest of aria's.

It came again, exigent and undeniable. "Lorio, the time has come for us to talk."

The immortal pivoted in place, and despite the driving snow, her preternatural vision allowed her to see a figure standing just beyond the northern fence, its outline recessed slightly in the trees.

Without the slightest hesitation, Lorio was racing across the snow-covered yard. She scaled the fence at a dead run, landing lithely on the balls of her feet. Her breath rose in ragged plumes, inspired not by exertion, but rather by keen anticipation.

Then, like a glorious memory made tangible, Issidris Il was standing before her. Not the pale facsimile that had left her on Brinden Outlook, but the shocking engine of carnage she'd first met on the road to Dizar Kor.

"Issidris!" Lorio exclaimed, her spirit soaring euphorically. She sprang forward to scoop the woman into an embrace, but her arms closed on empty air and she nearly stumbled to her knees.

She recovered her balance and glanced at Issidris askance. A doleful smile spread over Issidris' blunt face and she confirmed, "I'm here in every sense but the tangible one, old friend."

Lorio's expression became suspicious...vaguely accusatory. "How do I know you're not some malign spectre intent on tormenting me?"

Issidris' dark eyes grew sorrowful and she replied, "How could the woman who went to such great lengths to save my life in that accursed swamp not see the truth standing before her?"

Lorio's suspicion and misgivings evaporated in the face of this emotionally fraught recollection. Her lovely face blanched and she moaned, "Issidris, you have no idea how much I've missed you?"

Issidris' smile became wistful and she declared, "I believe I do as being apart from you has been my one enduring sorrow. Still, I have watched you struggle to find your path. I have wept with glee at seeing you arrive at this beautiful juncture and find your way into the arms and heart of the beautiful creature who has brought you such happiness."

"You...you know about Opheile?" Lorio stammered.

"I believe that Opheile Seznoire is fate's dispensation for the unthinkable injustices you've suffered through the course of your life!" Issidris declared with her customary certitude.

Thus, the flickering entity was visibly shaken when Lorio tugged down the collar of her hooded tunic. Collecting the simple stone that hung in the deep valley between her breasts, she insisted, "No, Issidris...you were my dispensation. Opheile gives me the strength to cope with your loss."

Issidris' expression became somber. She drifted closer and placed her right palm on Lorio's cold cheek. The sensation was more the insinuation of contact than actual touch. Lorio hungrily turned her face into the diaphanous hand. With a hint of reproach, Issidris observed, "Then you do this extraordinary creature a grave injustice. She is a rare commodity in this wretched world...a serene and wise soul of unwavering passion and devotion. That she has bestowed these things upon you is...a precious gift. I was a sad and broken thing...like so, so many others this remorseless world seems to produce in such abundance. I was an outcast who learned how to cope, but I could never truly touch the world, Lorio...not even the woman I loved so completely."

"Why have you come, Issidris...after all of this time...why are you reaching out to me now?" Lorio asked, though the prospective answer filled her with atavistic dread.

Issidris tilted her head slightly, her thin lips compressing into a puzzled frown. "Just as you are unique...the only immortal in this world...so, too, is the relationship we forged on that bleak night behind the Laughing Widow Inn."

"The night I stopped you from harming yourself?" Lorio asked, clearly perplexed.

"More significantly, the night you asked me to be your conscience," Issidris returned with a crooked grin. "Neither of us could have known that, in this obligation, we had forged a bond that would transcend my death. When required, I can reach out across the divide and touch your world for a short time, just as I can monitor the course of your life." Her lips lifted at one corner and she added, "It's every intimate detail."

"You've seen...Opheile and I when we're together?" Lorio gasped, flummoxed by the idea of this ghostly voyeurism.

"I make a point of it at times. I cannot tell you how deliriously happy I am that you have found a companion who can fill your needs with such zealous ardour...and who loves you so passionately. My death was a small price to pay for that pleasure."

"Don't...don't say that, Issidris," Lorio entreated as tears slid from the corners of her large dark eyes...freezing as they tracked over her prominent cheekbones. After a thick silence, she inquired, "Issidris, this place where you are...are you happy there? Do you have company?"

Issidris offered Lorio an affectionate smile. "Yes, old friend, I am as happy there as I was during all those years I spent in your company. As for companions, I have solitude when that is what I require and good companions with whom to roam when I choose." She held her two hands up on either side of her head, with her palms facing behind her head. As she did, her smile became ebullient and she remarked, "As you may have noticed, I no longer carry weapons...for the first time since I was a small child, unaware of the world's inherent ugliness. In this place to which I have gone, there is no avarice, no envy or ruthless ambition...all of the base things that make the wielding of weapons a necessity."

Another tear, this one inspired partly by joy for Issidris and partly by sorrow of separation, slid from the immortal's right eye and she offered a hope, childlike and improbable. "Perhaps the day will come when you and I can be there together."

Issidris offered her beloved friend a fey, doleful smile and laid that capricious hope to waste. "Lorio, that is the one eventuality that...as desperately as we both crave it...can never be. By fate's design, you are immortal and this world must be the entirety of your existence. Should you perish, what awaits you is oblivion...and then I would truly lose you forever...a sorry turn of events I cannot bear. Still, do not mourn things that can never be. Instead, be thankful that we can still come together on occasion, knowing that the special bond we share is without precedent."

"A ghost and a hopelessly lost soul who can never truly touch each other," Lorio observed morosely.

"Just as it was when I walked at you side, old friend...and yet I believe we still found solace and joy in each other's company," Issidris reminded her and the two fell silent for a moment, the distance between them punctuated by the shriek of the wind.

Finally, Lorio repeated her query. "Why have you come to me now, Issidris?"

"Do you recall, as we were making our way to Brinden Outlook, I made you swear a vow?

"You made me promise that I would never confront Lissom should she fall from the light," Lorio said, completely the ephemeral Il's disturbing thought that sent a deep chill coursing along the immortal's spine that had nothing to do with the fast-breaking winter storm.

Issidris nodded gravely. "On the beach, that night I spent in your embrace before passing, I told you that yours was a future of endless possibilities. Your road has carried you into the arms of a person who is your perfect compliment...the tranquil breeze to your raging storm. I can't express how happy I've been watching you flourish beneath her light...her serene warmth."

Lorio stiffened, her grim premonitions of the last day, that sense of imminent ending, suddenly coming into jarring focus. Issidris' expression became grave, informing Lorio that these fears were not without substance. With a note of loathing, the apparition seethed, "Fate is a perversely fickle creature. On occasion, it may grant us our deepest longings, only to set them down upon a precariously thin sheet of mottled ice. Karosyn is beset, Lorio and though I have advised you to remain distant from her woe, I now see that you will be pulled into the coming vortex."

"You're saying now that I should give up this life I've built for myself against all odds...and go to her aid?" Lorio rasped, unable to repress her bitterness.

"Lamentably, Yes, because should you not confront the coming storm of your own volition, it will seek you out. Should that happen, it will be Opheile Seznoire, whom you love with all the fervour in your soul, who it will claim.

Lorio's face contorted into a rictus of agonized negation...a pain that was mirrored in Issidris' dark eyes. "And if I go, Opheile will be spared...will be safe?"

"Though your future is mired in brooding shadows, that much is clear. If it is of any consolation, I vow that I will keep vigil over her for the rest of her days." She hesitated as if in fear that she might choke on the words to follow and then added, "Even if you should perish in the cataclysm to come."

Lorio's mouth tightened in surprise, but then a resigned acceptance dawned in those great dark eyes, even as she felt her heart break and crumble to dust in her chest. Distantly, she heard herself inquire, "What is the thing I've forgotten, Issidris?"

Issidris reached out and placed a diaphanous finger on her keepsake. "It is the thing that was once as much a part of you as this keepsake has become."

"My quarter staff!" Lorio exclaimed, astounded to realize that it had been nearly a year since she'd spared a thought for the weapon that had once been a veritable extension of her flesh.

"Yes," Issidris confirmed and with a note of irony added a variation of the advice she'd given the immortal as she lay dying on the shore of Brinden Outlook. "To secure this future you've built, you must travel back along the roads through your past."

Lorio looked up at her beloved ghost sharply, but then nodded her understanding. "Will I see you again?"

"Yes!" Issidris replied with a reassuring smile.

Lorio managed a wan smile of her own and returned, "Then that is at least one thing that I can cling to. Once I've told Opheile I'm leaving, I'll go to Nalosan...to Karosyn."

Issidris greeted this with a nod and an affectionate smile, that could not entirely conceal her sorrow over this bitter turn of fortune.

Then like the spectre she was, Issidris Il was gone.

Lorio remained standing at the edge of the forest for a long time, while the snow accumulated around her ankles.

At last, after saying what would be her final goodbye to the yard where she had laboured for the last four years, Lorio began the trek home. As she traipsed through the gusting winds and blowing snow, Lorio tried to envision what form her parting from Opheile might take.

7

Opheile ploughed through the mounting snow drifts, her inner turbulence matching the fury of the storm that raged around her.

Despite the unfolding blizzard (of perhaps because of it; Opheile was not a woman who liked to be dictated to, even by the elements), she had sallied forth to drop off the supply requisitions and purchase appropriate winter clothing for Driss. All the way home, Opheile had been beleaguered by the illogical certainty that her purchase had been a futile waste. She despised being susceptible to such nonsensical paranoia...to the loss of her precious equilibrium. Driss had vowed to share her story...a tale which Opheile had come to suspect would be one for the ages...including a complete recounting of her complex relationship with Issidris Il, the ghost that hovered over their lives.

As she hefted the parcels up the stairs and into the Inn, the voice of Czarin Seznoire, quiescent for nearly a decade, suddenly blurted, 'You're being a fool, Opheile...and you were never a fool.'

She grimaced and then scowled, stamping her feet on the Inn's stylized welcome mat before stepping inside. Thanks to the inclement weather, the Inn's dining room was awash with patrons. Two servers danced the intricate ballet of service through the room, depositing dinners with a smile and collecting plates, all the while deftly avoiding grasping hands. Opheile sighed. A pert bottom seemed to be a temptation that men of this sorry age, irrespective of their age or station, could not resist.

She attempted to imagine Driss' reaction if a man was foolish enough to pinch her enticing bottom and a grin rose to her full lips. That grin quickly curdled when her gaze happened upon Eryth Nyr. The woman's expression was tight and vaguely troubled. Throwing back her hood, she hurried over to the other woman and inquired discreetly, "Is everything all right?" And as a natural progression, "Has Driss returned?"

"She has...perhaps three bells ago," Eryth disclosed and that troubled expression deepened as she added, "She went directly to her old room...and has been there ever since. She seemed...distracted."

Opheile frowned in response to this disclosure and announced, "I'll speak to her...and the Inn, all is well?"

Eryth nodded. "Like silk...as always."

Opheile, still lugging her burden, moved into the far hallway and mounted the stairs as a sense of grim fatalism bloomed in her frantic mind like a rank weed. She attempted to recall the last occasion that Driss had visited her sanctuary, but found that she could not. There had been several times that Opheile had considered asking Driss if she could rent the premium suite, but something had always forestalled the dialogue. Opheile had surmised that her reluctance had been inspired by the belief that, despite Driss' stoic toughness and seemingly impervious exterior, she possessed a vulnerable inner core that would always require a place where she could confront her inner demons in solitude.

She paused at the door and ignoring the inner warning that implored her to let matters lie, the dauntless Opheile stepped inside.

Within, she found Driss sitting in her chair by the window and something in her posture suggested that she had been there for a long time. Across her lap, she held a quarter staff...highly lacquered black wood with reflective silver sleeves fitted over either end. Though Driss was gazing vacantly through the window, where the day's milky light was beginning to wane, she absently caressed the weapon's polished wood, which Opheile had never seen before, as if it was her most cherished possession.

Abhorring the tremulous edge in her voice, she carefully closed the door and called softly, "Driss?"

Lorio became cognizant of Opheile's presence and drew a deep breath. When she turned to the woman she had come to love so intensely, Opheile recoiled. Those haunted dark eyes belonged to a stranger or a ghost.

Lorio had spent the quiet hours trying to conjure the eloquent turn of phrase that would soften the coming blow. Realizing that this was both absurd and impossible, the immortal fell back on her customary bluntness. "I'm leaving, Opheile...and because nothing will be gained by lingering, I'll be leaving tonight. I waited for you to say goodbye before I left."

Opheile's sapphire blue eyes grew impossibly wide and her face contorted into a mask of anger...and mounting panic. Casting off her parcels in a scatter, she staggered across the room, her serenity and litheness deserting her in an instant.

Grasping Driss' muscular shoulders, she shook the immortal briskly and rasped, "Of course, you're not leaving. What nonsense! What is this...this weapon?"

Lorio glanced directly up into Opheile's eyes and the other woman recognized the insurmountable wall of intransigence confronting her...and knew that this matter had been decided. In a flat, distant voice, Lorio disclosed, "This is the thing that I'd forgotten...the part of me that I must regain if I am to survive what's to come."

Feeling the onset of terror-induced panic, Opheile cried, "You're not making any bloody sense, Driss! If this about sharing the story of your past...then let's set it aside. Come and have dinner, please, Driss!"

"I have to leave, Opheile," Lorio returned flatly, despising the toneless intonation of her voice. This flat monotone seemed to suggest that she was speaking of some trivial matter of little consequence...not the heart-rending evisceration of this beautiful life they'd shared. Still, she knew that...should she succumb to emotion, her resolve would shatter like the brittle thing it was. "My past has caught up to me...and if it should find me here...it will be you who it devours. I would rather have my head struck from my shoulders than allow that."

"How can you possibly know this?" Opheile shrieked, now on the jagged edge of hysteria...an unprecedented loss of self-control that even Czarin's tragic, needless death had not roused. When Driss did not reply, only continued to stare back at Opheile with an expression of unmitigated misery, those great blue eyes narrowed in suspicion and she demanded, "This is about what happened yesterday, isn't it...the episode you lack the decency to share with me...despite this great love you profess to hold for me."

"Issidris came to see me yesterday...and again today. She made it explicitly clear that, if I don't leave to confront this shadow that's gathering...it will be you who suffers," Lorio forced herself to divulge, knowing how utterly ludicrous this metaphysical blather would sound to Opheile's pragmatic ears.

The slender beauty threw her arms up in incredulous consternation and in a voice seething with sardonic disdain, spat, "Issidris, of course...the beloved ghost that you drag behind you like a millstone...who has hovered over our lives like a black cloud. Now, she has evidently returned to drag you away from me. Do you have any idea how idiotic this sounds, Driss? If you want to desert me, don't compound my torment with this absurd pretext."

Displaying animation for the first time, Lorio sprang to her feet, rising temper turning her olive cheeks red. That anger turned to sorrow in an instant and the immortal burst into tears, pleading, "Can't you see how this is ripping me to shreds, Opheile. Don't ridicule me! I was so happy this morning. I was going to tell you everything...to ask you if you thought that Emon was hinting that I might eventually acquire his yard and if you thought it might be...be a good thing for us. I was going to ask if you wanted to adopt a daughter. Then Issidris appeared to deliver her warning...making it emphatically clear that it would be you who paid the price if I tried to shirk this obligation if have...that it would find me here."

Opheile had also begun to weep unabashedly now. She shook her chestnut mane and demanded coldly, "And what is it exactly that is bearing down on us, Driss?"

Here Lorio's certainty faltered and she confessed, "I...I don't know. She wasn't specific." When Opheile rolled those great eyes, Lorio growled, "Don't treat me like an imbecile. The first day we spoke, I told you that I had seen far more of this miserable fucking world than you have. These things...apparitions, portents; they are all too real. Issidris sees how deliriously happy you've made me...and she wants this bond we've forged to endure. That is why she came to warn me that I have to leave...to protect you."

To Lorio's shock and dismay, Opheile responded to this plea for understanding by slapping the immortal's face with all the force she could muster. Hysterically, she shrieked, "Do you think me such a coward that I wouldn't stand with you to face anything?"

Lorio gripped Opheile's lean biceps and pushed the other woman back against the wall with more vehemence than she'd intended. Opheile stiffened, fear tempering the furious indignation that glimmering in her reddened eyes. Lorio inhaled deeply, striving to strike the correct imploring tone. "You have taught me that a woman can be strong with force of will...with determination and serene nobility, but if my fears are proven valid, none of those things can ward you. I have to confront this alone. Once I've done that, I'll come back to you, Opheile...nothing could keep me away."

Opheile's generous mouth twisted into a scowl and she spat coldly, "I will not wait for you, Driss! I will not demean myself further by pining for your return while you go off to pander to your delusions. Remember that when you walk out my door. If you still insist on going...then get out of my sight!"

A strangled moan escaped Lorio's contorted lips, but she dropped her hands and stepped back. Feeling decimated beyond repair, Lorio turned away and while Opheile glared balefully, she gathered her small pack and quarter staff and started despondently toward the door.

She could feel the enormity of Opheile's anguish and its companion, towering fury crushing down upon her like a mountain.

She had reached the door, when Opheile called softly, "Wait, Driss."

Lorio turned back to the other woman, ravaged by the wan, lethargic cast of Opheile's eyes as she shook her head, "I'm not letting you walk out into the blizzard dressed like that. I had purchased warm clothes for your work in the yard...they're sturdy and will keep you warm...wherever you go."

With this, she crossed the room and began to collect her discarded parcels with a pale imitation of her customary crisp efficiency.

She took the pack and quarter staff from Lorio and laid them on her narrow bed. She then removed a pair of sturdy black leather boots from one of the bags and bid Lorio to put them on. The boots fit perfectly and came to her knee. They were adorned with heavy pewter buckles and stouts soles that would carry her as far as this journey required.

Once Lorio's boots were on her feet, Opheile gripped her arm and drew her erect. She then carefully tied a winter scarf around the immortal's neck before helping her into a full-length black coat. There was an air of solemn ceremony about the way that Opheile methodically fastened the heavy buttons of Lorio's cloak, never once meeting the immortal's tear-filled eyes.

Finally, she handed Lorio a pair of black, lined gloves before retrieving her pack and staff. Still not meeting Lorio's dejected gaze, Opheile linked Lorio's arm in hers and guided the immortal back down the stairs and along the hall to the Inn's rear entrance. She then opened the door to the service land and ushered Lorio over the threshold.

They regarded each other across this symbolic distance, a gap so vast that its immensity congealed the air in Lorio's lungs. When she's consigned Issidris to the ocean, Lorio had fervently believed that she would never experience such profound pain...such greater agony again. Peering into Opheile Seznoire's swollen, dazed eyes through the kaleidoscope of her own tears, Lorio now saw how wrong she'd been. Pain was a commodity, very much like love, the limits of which were infinite.

In a quavering voice, she managed, "Will you tell Emon goodbye for me, Opheile?"

Opheile merely nodded and when it seemed that she would speak no further, Lorio uttered an airy gasp and started to turn away. In a wooden voice, the exquisite woman, who had saved Lorio from oblivion, announced, "I said that I would not wait for you, Driss, but if you ever find your way back to my door, I'll set aside whatever has come after and take you back."

Feeling a surge of elation, Lorio seized Opheile's forearms and shaking them for emphasis, promised, "I'll come back, Opheile...once I've buried my past in the ground...I'll come back to you."

The two women regarded each other in silence, each beset by their private doubts, and finally Opheile nodded. Lorio bowed her head and set out down the lane.

A dozen paces along, she pivoted in place and sprinted back to Opheile, who had remained in the doorway. After setting down her pack and staff, she gripped a startled Opheile's shoulders and roughly pushed her back into the dimly lit corridor.

She pushed a wide-eyed Opheile against the wall and then kissed her with all the mad fervour she could marshal. Indifferent to who might see the usually discreet couple, Lorio ran her fingers over Opheile's nubile body...her breasts, her firm bottom and the aristocratic tilted of her cheekbones...as if trying to commit every nuance to memory. Opheile resisted at first, but the ardour of Driss' onslaught melted her resistance. Lorio pressed into Opheile as if trying to blend their flesh together. She could feel the other woman began to pant with need.

She then stepped away from the shuddering woman and posed a non sequitur that puzzled the thoroughly aroused beauty. "Is there a decent library in Cortrin?"

"Library." Opheile echoed, shaking her head in bewilderment. "Yes, there are several."

Lorio smiled. "Go to the best of them and find any books they have on the Emerald Enchantress Wars and the chaos that followed in the decade after. If they are worth the paper they are written on, they'll contain all of the popular lies and half-truths about Lorio."

Opheile's eyes narrowed and Lorio's smile became an expression of solemn promise. "When I return, I will tell you the entire truth of who she was...and who she is."

Then she retreated out into the Lane and the raging blizzard. Collecting her meagre belongings, she strode away, drawing up her deep hood as she went. She did not look back, knowing that her tentative resolve would shatter if she did.

Opheile stood at the threshold, watching Driss' back recede until she was swallowed by the storm.

Then she retreated into the Inn and closed the door against the storm.

Chapter Fourteen

1

On the morning after what would come to sardonically be referred to by scholars as the toothless revolt, Karosyn rose just after the sixth bell with her bed chamber still enshrouded in darkness. Drawing back the heavy drapery, she starred up into the grey and silver sky, astounded by how well she'd slept despite the previous night's troubling events.

'Ah Artumas, perhaps I've always been subconsciously aware of the inevitably of their betrayal. Despite being a benevolent Queen, ruling with compassion and a sense of deep concern for its people...perhaps it was inevitable that these sharp-eyed opportunists would pounce upon my tiniest perceived stumble. I seems that I never did acquire your knack for earning unwavering loyalty, husband.' Thoughts of his first wife, the treacherous Myrhia's, rose unbidden to her mind and she grimaced.

Knowing that she could scarcely afford to wallow in maudlin self-pity, Karosyn hurried to prepare for what would be a frenetic day. She stripped off her night attire and hurried over to the ornate copper tub that stood on clawed feet in close proximity to the hearth.

A wave of her hand and the kindling erupted into vigorous flames, bathing the room in flickering light. The tub had been filled the previous night and a collection of her preferred oils had been arranged on a small alabaster table, set next to the tub. Karosyn selected the most robust of these subtle fragrances and poured a generous amount into the water. A good portion of the day would be spent in rigorous training, first with her weapons master, Garum Tranan, and then with Czefrina, whose prowess in the art of unarmed combat was inimitable. The specific motivation for embarking on this regimen of personal combat training was vague, but her intuition insisted that it would be of paramount importance in her coming interaction with Lissom.

'Conflict...you were thinking conflict,' she scolded herself with a scornful frown. 'A part of you has already resigned itself to the lamentable possibility that there will be no peaceful resolution in what is to come.'

Karosyn shook her head, her honey-blond hair swaying across her slender back like a pendulum of negation. Stooping gracefully, she plunged her left hand into the cold water and laid her right palm on the transparent crystal that had been affixed to the side of the conductive copper tub. This particular crystal had been a gift from Inos, the Grand Mage of Metocan, gifted to her by that country's leader during her visit to the CornerStone nation, where she had negotiated a steady supply of the invaluable crystals. Capable of storing arcane energy for the purpose of heating and lighting (as well as far less banal purposes), these natural wonders had proven to be a revolutionary boon to Emercia. The Sisters of Esotaria provided the arcane energy for a reasonable fee and all of Emercian society benefited.

Of course, not everyone regarded these marvels as a source of beneficial innovation. Every society has its xenophobes and Emercia was no different. These myopic fanatics regarded the crystals and the arcane energy they harnessed and stored as an unacceptable shackles of foreign dependence...inviting a slavery of need that could eventually be exploited. Mercifully, the number of people who held this unfortunate view was very small.

'I wonder if this is exactly how they perceive me...a foreign interloper, trying to bind Emercia to her, employing shallow acts of benevolence to serve her nefarious ends?' She uttered a brittle laugh and when the water reached he preferred temperature, the statuesque beauty stepped into the fragrant water and slid nimbly into its delightful embrace with an audible sigh of pleasure.

She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the warm, smooth copper. There was a myriad of existent needs that required her immediate attention: her new cadre of ministers, her meeting with General Kyrin and the posture she would assume with Martriza. All of these things clamoured loudly for her attention.

Yet, as the deliciously hot, water caressed her nubile body, her thoughts strayed to other supercilious considerations and she found that she could not channel them back to where they belonged...even had she been so inclined.

Her focus was captivated by a series of intense, but oddly disjointed images. Snippets of specific features that somehow became indelibly implanted in her imagination...despite having set eyes upon their source only once.

Knowing it was foolish, Karosyn still surrendered to this procession of vivid images and soon found herself overwhelmed...as if swept away by a tsunami.

The eyes were beautiful and expressive and alive with intelligence and curiosity...a well as a still unsullied innocence. His jaw was strong and firm...his nose, thin and straight, underscored by a generous mouth that invited the bestowing of ardent kisses. His arms and shoulders were well-muscled and powerful, his back straight and broad...those things ripe with the promise of a comforting, protective embrace.

Though short in stature, he was a beautifully constructed male...possessed of a body that invited slow, indolent exploration and boundless pleasure.

Suddenly, these disjointed images resolved into one intensely detailed, utterly naked whole, prompting Karosyn to gasp and speak his name in a dreamy whisper. "Aeyon."

She arched her back and her full breasts rose for the water like glittering mountains. Her coral pink prominent nipples stood achingly erect and throbbing with need. Her fingers scored the firm flesh of her taut inner thighs, but when they approached her womanhood, Karosyn emitted a horrified shriek and leapt for the water as if it was a vat of boiling acid.

She leaned back against the tub, clutching the rim with hands that trembled slightly. Her wet torso glittered fetchingly in the firelight. Water dripped from her heaving breasts and coursed in rivulets along her shapely legs, which were thrust out before her and trembled slightly. Though Karosyn's smooth brow was furrowed in puzzlement, a wanton grin played unapologetically across her sensual lips and her deep blue eyes twinkled with pure delight. She tried to recall the last occasion she'd experienced such an overtly erotic daydream and found that she could not.

Since Artumas' death, Karosyn had been devoutly celibate, her energy focused on building her beloved husband's utopia. Now, however, on the morning when she was beset by a plethora of grave concerns, the honey-haired beauty's reaction to Aeyon Wrey, who was barely on the edge of manhood, had been visceral and intensely arousing. She was sufficiently self-aware enough to admit (if only to herself) that had the beautiful Aeyon been conveniently at hand, she would have enticed him to join her in the tub and ravaged him until her thirty years of pent up appetite had been sated.

'My, my...a closet slattern and a cradle robber at that,' she chortled with an amused grin. Never one to shy away from the examination of complex and indecipherable emotions, Karosyn turned her consideration to the mystery of her overtly carnal reaction to young Aeyon Wrey. During her solo reign as monarch, Karosyn had made the acquaintance of some of the most charming, influential and handsome men in the world (and the most beguilingly beautiful women, though her appetites did not lie in that direction). She had remained aloof and unaffected by the aura they exuded. Karosyn was also well aware that men such as the stolid, fiercely loyal and ruggedly handsome Garum Tranan adored her. A mere snap of her fingers and her weapons master would have come to her bed with the reverence of a penitent at the most sacred of shrines.

While she had often been tempted to surrender and exploit his desire, she had steadfastly resisted as it would have felt uncomfortably close to unseemly exploitation to the proper Karosyn.

Despite being cognizant of the glaring fact that it was untenable and entirely inappropriate, Karosyn found that she fervently desired this beautiful male...in her bath...in her bed...in her flesh...irrespective of the scandalous furor this indiscretion would rouse. Despite his pleasing countenance, Aeyon Wrey was a commoner (a term she privately detested) and an ingenue, with absolutely no conception of the rarified world over which Karosyn held court.

'Ah, but what a heady delight it would be to teach him every nuance of my world...to groom and polish him until his is the blinding magnitude of a diamond,' she thought happily, while understanding that it was an unworkable caprice.

Dripping wet and heated by her fantasy, Karosyn arrived at a spontaneous decision that she would explore and understand the mystery of her attraction to Aeyon...even if she did not act on it. Perhaps he could be her anchor to the woman she might have been had fate not set first Lissom and then Artumas in her path.

Knowing that there was an aspect of facile rationalization in this logic did nothing to alter Karosyn's decision to see it through. Straightening, she extended her long arms above her head, closed her eyes and began to spin slowly in place. At once, the air around the Queen appeared to become viscous and she was soon enveloped in an amber effulgence. In response to this slowly rotating cocoon of arcane energy, the flames in the hearth bent and then elongated as if striving to touch the enveloped Karosyn. Heat from the questing flames was drawn into the amber cocoon, where it whispered over Karosyn's glistening body like a gentle caress. In short order, she was dry, her skin lustrous and golden.

She stopped spinning and the flames returned to their customary shape and resumed their normal vertical dance.

As she moved, naked, into her dressing room, Karosyn offered a brief prayer that Gyzarayne would forgive these small indulgences with her gifts.

In the dressing room, she found that two pale linen gowns, one in lilac and the other in pale yellow, had been laid out the previous night by one of her personal attendants, along with a choice of matching accessories that the Queen favoured.

Karosyn eschewed the court finery for her only other training outfit, which consisted of a forest green, sleeveless tunic and rough spun brown trousers. She made a mental note to dispatch one of her attendants to purchase several more variations of this practical working garb. The training regime she intended to undertake would be extremely strenuous and physically demanding and it would not do to have her smelling like a bog beast for lack of sufficient training wear.

Once she was fully attired, Karosyn entered the office and audience chamber of her private quarters. Coming to an abrupt stop, she experienced a spike of irritation upon discovering that the drapery had yet to be drawn back and the chamber's two fireplaces had been allowed to go cold.

Karosyn shook her head and quickly moved through the chilly gloom, rectifying both oversights. She recalled that the always conscientious and efficient Noriza Wrey was to be her personal attendant for the daytime portions of the week. Her conspicuous absence raised a note of alarm in Karosyn's mind, but before she could contemplate this burgeoning concern, a heavy knock came at her outer door.

"Enter!" Karosyn commanded, disconcerted and somewhat appalled by the snap of iron in her tone. She had been diligent in never employing an overtly authoritative or glacially aloof tone with those who served her, but wondered if this new posture might be the inevitable consequence of being betrayed by those to whom she'd extended this egalitarian courtesy.

A guard opened the door and his face appeared through the opening. "Your majesty, the Seneschal..." His face blanched and he amended, "Lady Odain has requested and audience."

"You may allow Seneschal Odain to enter," Karosyn returned pointedly, wanting to quell any rumour of suggested discord before it could become a raging pyre.

The guard's eyes widened at this mild rebuke and he returned quickly, "At once, your majesty."

He then stepped back and opened the door to grant Martriza Odain entry into the Queen's audience chamber.

The state of the woman who shambled into the Queen's presence was so profoundly disquieting that Karosyn momentarily questioned the veracity of what her eyes were conveying.

Martriza Odain had always been, without deviation, fanatically fastidious when it came to the facade she presented to the world. Her mantle of perfectly groomed beauty, glacial though it may have been, was an integral aspect of her image as the inexorable engine of Karosyn's will. That image had served Martriza like a seamless armour. Irrespective of how long the day's demands might run or how arduous the tasks at hand might become, nothing could wilt Martriza's implacable facade. There never seemed to be a crease in her gown, nor an errant strand in her luxuriant mane. Her eyes glinted like ice and never hinted at fatigue or vacillation.

This haggard, dishevelled creature now standing before Karosyn was the living antithesis of the fearsome woman. She knew it was difficult to credit that these were one and the same woman.

Martriza's clothes were badly creased, giving the impression that she may have slept in them (if she had, in fact, slept at all). Her hair was an unruly tangle as if her cursory attempt to make it presentable had consisted of little more than raking it through with her fingers. Her face was pallid, which contrasted sharply with the dark circles that rimmed her normally lustrous eyes.

It was Martriza's eyes that were the most disconcerting aspect of her ramshackle state. Upon later reflection, it had been the wild cast of Martriza's brown eyes that should have served as an admonition of what was to follow. normalcy keenly incisive and razor focused upon the subject at hand, this morning, those eyes darted constantly to and fro like those of a cornered feral animal.

"So, you've come to apprise me of your decision?" Karosyn began, immediately regretting her aloof, impersonal tone or the distance in her voice. Martriza's haggard face blanched as if she'd been physically struck. Karosyn, who derived absolutely no pleasure from inspiring fear or anxiety in those who served her, quickly attempted to ameliorate Martriza's agitation. "Seneschal Odain, I was unduly harsh in chastising you last evening. The theatrics to which I subjected you were odious...an emotional reaction and not befitting the Queen I have always aspired to be. You must know that I would never harm you, Martriza. I will rescind my ill-considered edict. You will remain as my Seneschal and your authority will be undiminished. I urgently require your sage council in the coming days...and your steadfast friendship."

With her articulation of this astounding offer of absolution, Martriza drew herself erect and focused her unsettling gaze on Karosyn, evidently regaining a small measure of her composure, which only exacerbated Karosyn's disappointment when Martriza declared, "I must decline your astoundingly generous offer, your highness. By my actions, I have forfeited the privilege of serving you."

Karosyn shook her head in dismay. "So, you have chosen to accept exile...banishment from the place of your birth, which you have loved and served with such devotion? Martriza, I implore you, in the name of all we have accomplished during our years together, to reconsider."

Ignoring this entreaty, Martriza, her mouth trembling slightly, beseeched, "I have come to warn you about the woman you have brought here...for some baffling purpose you've chosen not to disclose to me. She is a...a reprobate, whose erratic nature makes her dangerous beyond all accounting. I...I don't know what has inspired you to turn to this depraved wretch, but please, my Queen...though I have deservedly lost your trust, believe me when I tell you that she is...ungovernable. Before finding her way to Nalosan, it is highly probable that she financed her unscrupulous adventuresome by gaining coin as a highwayman...leaving a trail of murdered innocents in her wake. I beg you, drive this vile creature from Emercian soil before she indelibly soils your good name."

Frowning and shaking her head in bemusement, Karosyn stammered, "You're speaking of Princess Czefrina? Has there been discord between the two of you?"

Here, Martriza's eyes again assumed that hopelessly ensnared cast. She retreated two swift paces away from the startled Karosyn and in a tremulous voice rife with sorrow and pain, declared, "I would have you know, Karosyn Nierosean...that my greatest joy has come in serving you, my Queen. My only remaining desire is for you to know this is true."

Time assumed a peculiar viscous quality then as the horror which followed unfurled in a syrupy slow motion that was nonetheless excruciatingly vivid. In that harrowing moment, Karosyn was rendered immobile...a helpless witness to the final act of a broken woman.

Martriza retrieved a slender jade implement from the folds of her dishevelled skirts. She pressed the polished silver end of the implement, which the horrified Karosyn recognized as an assassin's stiletto, to the firm, supple skin where her throat curved toward her chin.

With her eyes fastened on Karosyn's, Martriza depressed the small button that was recessed in the sleek body of the weapon and the hidden needle swiftly deployed with a metallic click.

Karosyn's piercing shriek of negation drowned out Martriza's wheezing sigh. Her tired eyes bulged and her mouth flew open, affording the horrified queen a sight that she would carry with her for the rest of her days.

The slender needle's shaft, now glistening with blood, protruded up through Martriza's tongue and vanished into her palate. In a stark moment of perfect clarity, it appeared to wink at Karosyn with conspiratorial glee.

Karosyn's paralysis broke then and she surged forward in time to intercept Martriza before the dying woman could collapse onto her face. She caught the limp body in her arms and gently laid the dying Martriza onto her back.

She could feel a wail of negation welling up in her throat, but found the wherewithal not to give it voice. A glacial calm descended over Karosyn then. As she stared down into Martriza's vacuous eyes, a ruthless and dispassionate composure that would have served her well when she'd been confronted with Lyndsyn's shocking act of self-immolation, enveloped her like a cocoon.

"Would I find myself in the dire predicament I now face had I conjure the strength to deal with her death in a more...productive manner. Would I perhaps not have abandoned Lissom and let her face Majeer's seductive evil alone? I will not make the same mistake now...not when my realm is tottering so precariously. I have shown my wisdom and compassion all these years, but now I must demonstrate determined resolve," She vowed to the deathly silence.

To save her realm from sliding down the slippery slope to anxious chaos, Karosyn compartmentalized her grief. Subjugating her revulsion, she first withdrew the stiletto and set the bloody needle on the tiles next to Martriza, whose eyes blinked owlishly, while her mouth lolled open.

Perhaps the world's most gifted healer, Karosyn placed the pad of her index finger on the small wound at Martriza's throat, she then unleashed a concentrated stream of arcane energy that suffused Martriza's limp body. When next Karosyn removed her fingertip, all evidence of the wound had been completely effaced. Similarly, the punctures in the seneschal's tongue and palate had also been healed.

Two fingers on the supple flesh of Martriza's throat located a strong and even pulse, indicating that Martriza's life was in longer in peril. Yet, it required only one glance into those vacant eyes for the queen to know that Martriza Odain, the inexorable engine of intellect and ferocious will had been effaced from the world by the incisive sting of the stiletto. All that remained of this extraordinary woman was a living, but empty shell.

Karosyn bent forward and bestowed a tender kiss on her friend's slack lips and whispered affectionately, "I'm sorry I failed you, old friend. Gyzarayne May judge me as she sees fit, but I know that you would rather have your light extinguished than face the lingering indignity that awaits you."

With this doleful articulation of cruel choice delivered, Karosyn placed the flat of her right hand on Martriza's left breast. The fabric of her rumpled gown appeared to give way as did the flesh and bone beneath and the Queen's hand sank to the wrist as her long fingers closed gently around Martriza's beating heart.

Another carefully measured burst of arcane energy and the dying woman's heart went swiftly still, gently ushering her into the void she'd sought in her consuming despair.

Karosyn withdrew her hand and then sat back on her haunches. A low, sorrowful moan escaped her tightly compressed lips at the realization that, after nearly three centuries of living, she had become a murderer.

There would be many long, lonely hours to ponder the implications of this damning truth later. For now, she had a realm to stabilize...and without one of her most gifted subordinates.

"Guard!" She bellowed in a voice that was all grim resolve and implacable steel.

When an anxious guard entered her chamber, Karosyn disclosed, "The Seneschal has taken her own life. You will have two guards secure the far entrance into this corridor. Once they have taken their positions, you will personally seek out General Kyrin and weapons master Tranan. You will inform them that I require their immediate presence, but you will make no mention of what has transpired here. I trust that you understand that this discretion extends to anyone else you might encounter while discharging your duties?"

"Of course, your highness," the veteran guard returned with a deep bow. Hesitantly, he added, "Are you certain that it is safe to leave you unattended, your highness?"

Karosyn's answering grin, an alien expression rife with the promise of menace, caused the veteran to shudder. "Anyone foolish enough to assail me on this day will find swift passage to the afterlife...now, be about your duty!"

Again, the guard bowed and turning on heel, quickly fled Karosyn's presence as if from the serene monarch's dark doppelgänger.

She returned her gaze to the lifeless face of the woman whose presence she'd so valued. Karosyn inhaled sharply when she recalled the final observation she'd made to Martriza the previous night regarding the path she would be forced to walk in the coming days.

'I fear I will become unrecognizable, even to myself, should I survive to reach its end,' she'd predicted. Now, alone with the corpse of a woman who had devoted her life to her queen...a life Karosyn had extinguished...the benevolent queen gleaned that she was already well along that path.

2

A half-bell later, General Kyrin and Garum Tranan were granted admittance into the Queen's audience chambers, each wearing identical expressions of concern. That concern segued into quizzical frowns of bemusement when they were confronted by the decidedly surreal scene within. Karosyn sat in an armchair near the hearth, staring pensively into the dancing flames, her great blue eyes distant and thoughtful.

Not five paces from where she sat, the chilling corpse of Martriza Odain lay where she had fallen, her empty eyes staring up at the chamber's ceiling. The two men exchanged disquieted glances and General Kyrin ventured, "Your Highness...what has happened here?"

Karosyn gave a slight shake of her head and then rose, rubbing her hands briskly. In a curiously formal voice, she stated the glaringly obvious. "Seneschal Odain is dead."

"She...she took her own life?" Garum stammered, his gaze falling on the blood-stained jade stiletto next to the body.

"With an assassin's blade," Karosyn confirmed in a matter-of-fact tone that still managed to declare how harrowingly traumatic this episode had been...and how it would haunt the benevolent queen eternally. "Martriza could not face the torment of exile from her beloved Emercia, nor could she suffer the reproving stares...the silent accusations of treason...that remaining in my service would have garnered. Thus, she elected to follow what she perceived as the only viable path left open to her."

Her gaze...incisive as the blade that had killed Martriza and as hard as tempered steel, found the two men and she declared, "I am duplicitous in seeing her to this sorry end. Martriza loved Emercia...and her queen. I will not see her name besmirched or her memory dishonoured. I will declare a period of mourning, during which the bells will toll for Emercia's tragic loss. She will have a lavish state funeral...and she will be interred in the mausoleum where my husband lies."

Again, the two men exchanged startled glances, shocked by this unprecedented departure from royal protocol and tradition, which decreed that neither commoner nor noble would be interred with royalty. This departure was an honour without precedent, further proof that Karosyn Nierosean was unlike any monarch who had ever sat on Emercia's throne.

Then, she further flummoxed the two men by changing topics in a manner that implied that Martriza's death was a matter of little consequence. "Emercia now faces a crisis as dire as any in its long history...the full implications of which my former Tribunes failed to grasp. There is much work to be done if we are to prove equal to the threat."

Those great sapphire eyes set upon General Kyrin. "I will require a replacement for Martriza and thus I name you my Regent. You will also remain as Supreme Commander of my armies and the Minister of Military Affairs. I realize that this is an imposing burden, but I have the utmost faith that you are equal to the task. What's more, declining is not an option, Matrick!"

She smiled as she uttered this last sentence, but the hard glint in her eyes made it eminently clear that she was deadly serious.

"I'm honoured, your highness," General Kyrin returned with a formal bow.

"Excellent! Assemble the new ministers in the throne room. I will meet with them at the tenth bell. There, it is my intention to set forth my expectations with unequivocal clarity...including the exact scope of their authority. Do you have any specific objection to my intended course of action, General?"

Matrick Kyrin offered his Queen a lustrous smile of approval and again offered Karosyn a formal bow. "Absolutely none, your majesty."

"Then I give you leave to see it done," Karosyn concluded brusquely. "We will meet this afternoon to begin assessing military options should my discourse with the Ascentrix take a hostile turn."

Kyrin nodded and quickly withdrew. As she watched him take his leave, Karosyn experienced a keen stab of sorrow. It was this officious, peremptory incarnation of herself that those who served her seemed to prefer...over the serene monarch who had let inclusive benevolence dictate her every action.

When they were alone, she turned her attention to Garum Tranan, whose flustered bemusement informed her that this conclusion didn't apply unanimously.

Karosyn crossed the room and placed a hand on her aging weapons master's still firm shoulder. With an apologetic note, she observed, "I know you have an aversion to being drawn into matters of court, old friend, but I have urgent need of your dedication and loyalty, commodities that, after last evening, I realize are in shorter supply than I'd ever imagined. Also, the dark times ahead will allow no one the luxury of remaining aloof."

"I will serve you in any capacity you deem necessary, my Queen," Garum returned solemnly.

She rewarded this unqualified expression of loyalty with a radiant smile that caused Garum's heart to race. "I am appointing you as my personal adjutant, an appointment you may come to rue as I have every intention of running you ragged in the days ahead of the Ascentrix's arrival."

The aging bondsman seemed to greet the prospect with genuine delight, prompting Karosyn to wonder if she could ever be worthy of such fealty. "To begin with, I would have you make arrangements to have the Seneschal's body prepared to lie in state...in the main audience hall so that the kings and queens of Emercia may gaze down upon their daughter and mourn her loss. No expense is to be spared in honouring Martriza."

"It will be done, your highness," Garum vowed, though privately, he could glean the enormity of Karosyn's pain. It roiled beneath her thin mantle of composure and her long-time bondsman knew that she was clinging tenaciously to her self-control. A man who did not harbour enmity as a custom, Garum suddenly found himself despising those who had betrayed his Queen...Martriza Odain most of all.

"Beyond this grim task, there are a number of matters that require your immediate attention," Karosyn continued, her mouth puckering into a moue of distaste. "I would have you locate our guest. If Princess Czefrina is not in her quarters, have the Hand of the Way search Kammlogran until she is located. Once she has been found, have her squired directly to me. Should she refuse or resist, instruct the guards that they may use any means necessary to make her comply."

The adjutant arched an eyebrow and Karosyn elaborated, "Czefrina agitated Martriza to the extent that it may have contributed to her decision to take her own life. I would know the source of this discord." The Queen's humourless grin was rife with self-deprecation as she added, "Yes, Garum, you did attempt to warn me that this woman was dangerously ungovernable...yet another page to add to my catalogue of recent misjudgments."

Not certain how to respond to this, Garum prudently decided to remain silent and the two old friends merely stared glumly into the flickering flames until, at last, Karosyn shook her head.

"Next, I would have you personally escort Enara Hafey to the Sisters of Esotaria's chapter house, where she is to become a novice. Before the meeting with the new ministers, I will draft a letter to Sister Donay explaining Enara's situation." Karosyn's tone assumed its new glinting edge. "Garum, Enara is to be treated with every respect and courtesy during this process. I will not countenance a repeat of what happened here today."

"Of course, your highness," Garum assured his Queen, though privately he was wounded by the intimation that he might treat a woman...even a traitor...in any other fashion. In her new posture of dispassionate aloofness, the normally perceptive Karosyn did not seem to notice Garum's reaction.

"While there, I would have you solicit a progress report on the Sisters' efforts to determine if the Wrey incident was an isolated act or perhaps part of a broader pattern of similar incidents." When her newly appointed adjutant greeted this instruction with a frown of confusion, Karosyn realized that he would not have been apprised of the perplexing attack along the Queen's highway. 'Has it only been a day since I, myself, was made aware of this incident? Is it truly possible for one's seemingly stable world to be so radically altered in such a short space of time?"

As the Wrey family could readily attest...it was indeed possible.

Karosyn concisely summarized what had befallen the two brothers and the measure she'd enlisted the Sisters to enact in determining if this was an isolated incident. Profoundly disturbed, Garum listened, her dispassionate account punctuated by the beat of dark wings on the periphery of his awareness...bleak harbingers of some inimical fortune to come.

"If you suspect that the Sisters have been less than diligent in pursuing this investigation, make it explicitly clear to Sister Donay that I fully expect results in an expeditious fashion." When the decorous Tranan seemed to blanche at this authoritarian tone, Karosyn offered her adjutant a mordant grin. "I am once again the Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria...at their request. As the Ascentrix remains...absent, mine is the ultimate authority over Gyzarayne's daughters. As I have learned, to my eternal pain and detriment with my tribunes, any hint of equivocation in the matter of who wields power only holds the potential for chaos."

"My Queen, are you of a mind that rogue elements of the Sisters are responsible for the abduction of this cooper's son?" Garum queried, dreading the answer.

"Given Master Aeyon's account, I believe it is highly probable," Karosyn returned, "and thus unlikely to be an isolated incident."

Karosyn was duly impressed by Garum's swift grasp of Emercia's peril as evinced by his next salient query. "Are you also of a mind that it is the Ascentrix who has orchestrated this abduction...or campaign of abductions, as the case may be?"

"Yes...though I will freely admit that I have yet to fathom why."

Garum's lined brow furrowed further. "If the Ascentrix is the architect of this cryptic plot...and if it is directed at you, your highness...is it prudent to enlist the Sisters' aid in flushing it out?"

"It was the interim governors of the order in Dortizirian who approached me with a mind to seeing Lissom disavowed. I discouraged them from pursuing this provocative course of action...which would have created a secular divide, inevitably leading to a blood letting of horrifying proportions. It is possible that this overture was part of a bewilderingly complex, nuanced plot, but I tend to believe that they are genuinely frightened by the changes Lissom has undergone since going to Majeer. Still, Garum, rest assured that it is my intention to plan for every contingency."

Her adjutant accepted this with a deferential nod and again, Karosyn's kindly, serene tone was no where in evidence when she reminded him, "As you discharge your duties as adjutant, you carry the full weight of my authority. You may utilize all and any resources necessary to see my will enacted. Should anyone take exception to this fact or attempt to impede you in any manner, bring them to me. It seems that those who serve me prefer unflinching authority to consultative inclusion, perceiving the later as a sign of weakness. So be it! Those who seek to question my authority...and by extension, yours...will feel my displeasure. I can promise you that mine will be a wrath they come to fear."

3

As if in affirmation of this ferocious declaration, the noon bell bore witness to a procession of chastened ministers (having borne the brunt of the wrath their predecessors had roused) filing from Kammlogran's throne room. They appeared very much like a group of errant school children who had been brought to task by a particularly strict and fearsome head mistress. Some were pallid, while other were red-faced and sullen...but all knew, without equivocation, precisely what was expected from them as well as the very finite scope of their authority in the grand scheme of things. More significantly, each harboured no illusions about what would befall them should they make the rash decision to exceed that scope.

As she sat atop her throne, watching her thoroughly subjugated ministers shamble from the throne room like scalded dogs, Karosyn exuded the very quintessence of aloof, imperious royalty...stone faced and glacial on the throne that was hers as if by divine decree.

When the door closed behind the last minister, Karosyn rose from her throne and with a bemused sigh, declared, "That was genuinely arduous. Do you believe I made my point, Regent Kyrin?"

"Succinctly and with no latitude for doubt, your highness," Kyrin returned, and with a hesitant grin, added, "I suspect that a few may require a change of under garments."

Karosyn greeted this cast at levity with a mordant frown. "I despise theatrics, Matrick and I have no real desire to employ the coin of intimidation to have those who serve me do my bidding."

Kyrin diplomatically did not point out that it had been the daunting Martriza Odain who had long performed this distasteful task in her stead.

Karosyn descended the dais and even in her training attire, Matrick was astounded by her poise and hypnotic beauty. If she ever elected to conduct her affairs consistently as she had done today, Karosyn Nierosean could bestride the world...become its empress, at once feared and worshipped.

Still, it was the benevolent, unflaggingly compassionate Karosyn who had led Emercia to a new pinnacle of enlightened prosperity.

'Yet we still seem to pine for an iron maiden to adore and dread,' Matrick realized, bemused by this illogical inability to glean the precious boon Emercia had in its immortal Queen.

The Queen watched her new regent, sensing that he was grappling with a query that was poised on his pleasing lips. All through her inaugural meeting with her new ministers, Karosyn had felt her concern over Noriza Wrey's absence continue to gnaw at her like a ravenous hound. She wanted to ignore Kyrin's ambivalence and seek out her new adjutant, but she could also glean that the wheels of his agile mind had begun to turn...gaining crucial momentum. Instinct informed her that his poised query was one of consequence and so she repressed her anxiety and prompted, "You seem troubled, Matrick. If there is something that concerns you, I would hear it now."

General Kyrin pursed his lips, his expression both thoughtful and perplexed. Settling his war of indecision with a deep inhalation, he began, "My Queen, I must confess that I still do not entirely grasp the magnitude of the threat you now believe we face. I sense your pervasive anxiety over the impending visit of the Ascentrix, but I cannot discern its shape. If I am to formulate effective contingency plans to protect Emercia...and your highness, it is imperative that I gain a thorough understanding of what we confront."

Karosyn nodded her agreement and gestured her general into a nearby seat, before settling lithely into the seat beside him. Bluntly, she disclosed, "Lissom is coming to Nalosan...at my invitation. There are credible indications that, over the course of her decades in Majeer, she has fallen to dark proclivities and tyranny. I have invited the Ascentrix to Nalosan in the hopes of persuading her to quit Majeer and relocate her Sisters to Emercia, where I hope to guide her back into Gyzarayne's light. Quite obviously, my former Tribunes regarded this overture as rash and exorbitantly risky. There are many reasons why I believe that my proposed course of action is the only viable option to avoid the calamity that hovers over us...over the antiquated world...though my reasons are rooted in instinct and not easily qualified in logical terms."

Here, Karosyn offered her regent a fey and ineffably lovely smile. "I'm afraid my reasons require a commitment in faith which I evidently failed to inspire."

The regent could see how much this perceived failure had wounded this noble creature and he spat mordantly, "The tribunes were ambition addled fools!"

"You are kind to say so, Matrick, but my initial response may have been maladroit. Thus, a measure of the blame is mine to bear."

The regent did not share Karosyn's generous assessment of her Tribunes scurrilous betrayal, but did not contradict his queen. "You now fear that the Ascentrix will come to Emercia with belligerent intentions?"

"Yes, though just toward me, Emercia or the whole of the antiquated world, I have no way of knowing...until she arrives."

"My Queen, I can assure you that the Emercian military has been honed to a lethally competent edge. If she comes to Emercia with the intention of waging war, she will find her forces bloody, decimated and emphatically rebuffed in short order," General Kyrin assured Karosyn, his voice firm with supreme confidence.

'Spoken with the bravado of a man who has prepared his entire life for war...but has never actually waged one!' Karosyn thought dejectedly, sorrowful over the innate flaw that seemed to attract men to the misguided notion that war was glorious and noble. Unpredictability and random factors too numerous to account made a mockery of such certitude. She did not give this harsh perspective voice, for it was a singular truth that those who waged ware must come to discover on their own. Infallibility was a myth, dispelled in bloodshed and misery.

"General, I will never pretend to be an authority on war, though in the course of my long life, I have been forced to look upon its grim countenance far more often than I wished. Your question is valid. In truth, it is the one salient query that actually matters. It is imperative that we fathom the gravity of the threat that we may face. If you'll indulge me, General, I will do my best to paint it clearly."

Matrick Kyrin, who would have blissfully let Karosyn's voice flow over him for eternity, merely nodded.

"Both my late husband and I harbour an aversion for self-aggrandizement and embellishment. Artumas preferred plain speech, whereas I often fall prey to euphemistic speech. During the Majeeri invasion of the Eastern Continent, I was serving a self-imposed exile and played only a short and tiny role in the fierce and terrible conflict."

Her expression became regretful and crestfallen as he watched her elaborate. "I had renounced my title as Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria, which by rights should have signalled the end of my life. Only the king's impassioned entreaty to the Ascentrix, Lissom, spared my life. It was he who suggested that I take up the vocation of apothecary in nearby Rhiban." She fixed a mesmerized Kyrin with a wry smile and added, "Only later did I realize that the king had an ulterior motive in selecting a location so close to Nalosan."

Her luminous blue eyes clouded with anguish and she revealed, "It was in this one compassionate act that I now believe this current crisis finds its genesis."

She lapsed into a contemplative silence before giving a fetching shake of her head. "The Majeeri forces laid waste to Suran and Southern Emercia. The Surans in particular suffered the brunt of the Majeeri depraved sanctimony. Our forces, led by Regent Redrick and the Jerhia expeditionary force, led by Tier Marshal Arminda, fought a decisive battle on a nameless plain some ten leagues south of Rhiban."

"I have studied that battle...as do all students of our military academy," interjected General Kyrin, his eyes slight with the glorious myths this particular battle inspired. "Our forces were hopelessly outnumbered and when it seemed inevitable that we would be swept from the field by the Majeeri juggernaut, the army of the tragic queen appeared as out of the very air. Equipped with magical weapons and armour, they quickly obliterated the Majeeri invaders...allowing us to drive them across Emercia and into the sea!"

"That magical force was Queen Ynathreen's posthumous gift to Emercia and one of the reasons that she is the only foreign monarch to have a commemorative statue on Nalosan's green of Kings and Queens." Karosyn did not mention the other reason; the statue was Artumas' enduring tribute to a woman to whom he had been betrothed in the weeks before her heroic demise."

After a moment, Karosyn resumed her vicarious account of the epic battle that had emphatically stymied the Majeeri invasion and decimated Thaz Ekai's mad, misogynistic theology. "Artumas was not a man prone to hyperbole, General...nor was he a man to glorify war, which he regarded as inherently evil. Keeping this in mind will help put the tale I'm about to relate in...the proper context and convey the gravitas of the situation we now face."

Though intrigued, the grim determination in those lovely blue eyes roused icy fingers, which danced lightly along the length of General's spine.

"King Artumas led a vastly outnumbered force across the river Drine. It was his intention to confront the spearhead of the Majeeri invading army and blunt that spearhead outside the city of Proten, near the Sea of Traneer. The historians, no doubt, were concise in scrupulously capturing the troop numbers and dispositions, but as I peered into my husband's haunted eyes as he told this tale, I gleaned the true horror of what his army faced that grim day. His army was a ramshackle affair, consisting of a force of Emercian and Jerhia troops, bolstered by the tattered remains of Galloway's eviscerated army. Across the field, they faced the Majeeri Rha-Sheem."

Karosyn shook her head, a disdainful scowl twisting her full lips. "How blackly ironic it is that Majeeri's engine of conquest was fuelled and driven by the very women who it's hateful god and prophet held in such contempt. The prophet, Ekaz Azeer, and his male army would watch from the rear while these elite female warriors would devastate the opposition. Only once the actual battle ended would the conventional army take the field and slaughter the helpless wounded."

"A craven, despicable practice that is shameful beyond words," the General spat venomously.

Karosyn nodded her concurrence. "The Rha-Sheem were not ordinary warriors, General...I need you to understand this. Artumas described them as an unstoppable juggernaut of keen steel and iron muscle...fuelled by a zealous hatred of all men. You must remember this should it become necessary to take the field against the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen or Lissom's personal bodyguards, the Mirhac Ehkar. Arrogant male presumption will see your army slaughtered in short order General and Emercia left defenceless as a consequence."

Kyrin's handsome face blanched as if deeply affronted by the Queen's lack of faith in her own army. Still, he offered neither dismissal nor contradiction in the face of her vehemence.

"Artumas was candid in admitting that the Rha-Sheem would have easily vanquished his coalition had it not been for the supporting contingents of Metocan mages and the Sisters of Esotaria's Battle Mages," after a momentary pause, Karosyn added with a shiver, "and far more significantly in what was to follow...Lissom."

"As the two armies prepared to face each other, beneath an angry sky that resembled badly bruised flesh, Lissom took the field. Enveloped in a sphere of golden effulgence, shot through with streaks of red and black, she floated over the coalition ranks as if they were superfluous in what was to come...which, as matters would evolve, they were. Artumas' voice was rife with a mix of awe and dread when he described how the Majeeri loosed a volley of arrows that turned the sky black, but as they struck Lissom's sphere, they turned to ash, which fell like grey snow across the battlefield."

She allowed her new Regent a moment to envision this incredible juncture. "When the Rha-Sheem saw Lissom floating above them, they collectively dropped to a knee and bowed their heads in reverence...removing themselves from the battle. In a fulminating rumble that rolled across the battlefield like thunder, Lissom challenged Ekaz Azeer to come forth and face her in a test of faith. Confident that his argent robe...this dispensation from his false god would ward him, Azeer accepted Lissom's challenge. A flare of golden light and this great artifact was reduced to rotting thread, leaving this hateful peacock naked and cowering on the battlefield between the two armies."

"But she was not the one to kill him," Kyrin interjected, his eyes alight with the vivid image of the dramatic moment that effectively brought the Great War to an end.

"No, that act of retribution she left to Shan-en Naroon, the Matron of the Rha-Sheem, who challenged the very mortal Azeer to single combat to the death. Artumas told me that the memory of that terrible duel haunted his nightmares. Naroon literally dissected Azeer and then mutilated his corpse in ways that are too gruesome to describe."

"So, essentially, Lissom's actions in vanquishing Azeer ended the war," Kyrin summarized with a thoughtful nod. He was startled when Karosyn gripped his right forearm and shook it vigorously. "As enthralling as this tale may be, it is not the salient insight I need you to grasp...it is what transpired after that demonstrates the extremity of our peril, General."

"I...I'm listening, your highness," Kyrin stammered, unsettled by his Queen's vehemence.

Gravely, Karosyn described the dark denouement of this historic battle...an odious segment that had been deliberately expunged from historical records. "Lissom is Gyzarayne's earthly emissary, endowed with a portion of the Goddess' power. As a protection against temptation and abuse, the Goddess made the Ascentrix's sorcery subtractive...which means that she draws her arcane power from every living thing around her. In essence, Lissom could leech the energy from the very world, leaving it a lifeless, barren husk."

She shook her head. Those luminous blue eyes haunted and distant. "That day near Proten, Lissom provided a small hint of that power. In the wake of Ekaz Azeer's horrific slaughter, his forty thousand male troops milled about the battlefield in confusion. Lissom floated over to a point high above them. Artumas described what transpired next as having the air sucked from your lungs...or the marrow from your bones. Lissom appeared to flare in magnitude until her allies were forced to turn away, lest their eyes be burnt from their skulls."

"When next the glare waned, every last trace of the forty thousand troops had been effaced from the world. For ten leagues to the south, the earth had faded to a sterile, listless grey. I have journeyed to this battle site, Matrick, and can confirm that nothing can be sustained by the soil there...not even a single tenacious weed."

As Karosyn spun this grim tale, Kyrin's face became pallid...like rancid milk...and she was pleased that her harrowing account had achieved its desired effect in conveying just how formidable an adversary they might have to face in Lissom.

"This is why my first priority has to be mollifying Lissom...guiding her back into the light. If she does come with an intractable desire to conquer of do the Eastern Continent harm, then I will require your aid in devising a miraculous stratagem to dissuade her."

After a weighty pause, she extracted a vow from Kyrin that she knew would be unpalatable to the fiercely loyal Emercian. "There is a possibility that Lissom's grievance is specifically with me...of a personal nature over matters we've allowed to fester between us for far too long. If this proves to be the case and should Lissom demand my life to appease her smouldering rage...it is my intention to meet her demand. Now...on your life and honour...you must swear to me that you will not allow misguided chivalry or affection to goad you to attempt to interfere...the consequences of which will be to see Emercia reduced to a blackened wasteland."

"But my Queen...you are Emercia...the best of everything it engenders," the General protested.

She overrode his passionate objection. "I am not! Should you not give me your solemn oath, I will be forced to relieve you of your command...and that would be a true tragedy for our beleaguered nation."

He searched her lovely blue eyes and upon seeing only unflagging determination, he capitulated to her grim demand. "You have my solemn oath, my Queen, that I will honour your wish should fate be so cruel as to permit matters to come to that mournful juncture."

Karosyn patted the General's strong hand, attempting to mollifying his dismay. "Don't fall to maudlin fretting, Matrick...I have absolutely no intention of dying...if there is even a remote possibility that a viable alternative is available. Let's you and I be diligent in forging the course of events to insure there is."

Matrick smiled, his angular, handsome face beaming, when he quipped, "I can't imagine a more compelling inducement, your highness."

"We'll meet later today to start discussing preliminary contingency plans...the next few days promise to be frenetically busy," Karosyn promised as she rose, her thoughts already straying to the matter of the truant Noriza Wrey.

She walked her new Regent to the gilded doors of the throne room just as her new adjutant rapped briskly. Karosyn held back the door for Garum, whose normally inscrutable face was pinched with concern. The two men bowed to each other as Matrick took his leave and in the expression that passed between them, an empathic current of understanding, Karosyn felt a surge of gratitude that she had managed to bind such upstanding men to her service. She only hoped that the coming storm would allow her to acquit herself in a manner befitting their devotion.

Even as the protocol-obsessed Adjutant waited to be given leave to report, Karosyn could glean the extent to which he was flustered by whatever he had discovered while discharging her tasks. "Garum, there is no need for such formality between us...especially when we are alone."

He offered her a deep, deferential bow...realized that this was precisely what she had stated was not necessary...and then shook his head in self-deprecation. "I'm sorry, my Queen...I am unaccustomed to this aspect of court business...it's protocols and procedures."

"Which will be as refreshing as it is valuable, Garum...now, what have you discovered?" Karosyn prompted gently. Not taking someone's loyalty and devotion for granted was one of the first lessons of rule that Artumas had imparted to his fledgling queen and it was a lesson that she had laboured diligently to learn. She knew that she had imposed a great deal upon this comparatively simple, humble man...and it was a debt that she vowed she would diligently seek to repay once this crisis had been resolved.

The tightening of her adjutant's firm jaw informed her that he had discovered something he considered to be profoundly disturbing, though she was unprepared for what he would haltingly reveal. "I'm afraid my inaugural foray into matters of court has been rather inauspicious. Your guest was not in her assigned quarters...and a thorough search of the castle has yielded no indication of where she might be. The watch logs do not indicate that she left the castle grounds..."

Karosyn offered the bemused Tranan a crooked grin, devoid of any genuine humour. "The Princess is a furtive creature and if she wished to leave Kammlogran unnoticed, she has the guile to do so easily. She has the heart of an assassin...and the sensibilities of one as well. Very well, continue to search...she is bound to turn up eventually and when she does, she is to be escorted to me."

Garum nodded, clearly uncomfortable with any prospective interaction with the erratic woman who had so egregiously abused him the day before. "As you were preoccupied with your conclave with the ministers, I took the initiative and escorted Enara Hafey to the Sisters' chapter House."

"What was her state of mind?"

"She seemed somber and reticent, but Elder Donay was kind and sympathetic...which seemed to ease Enara's mind significantly. As she was led away, it seemed that Enara's demeanour had brightened visibly."

"That is well...Enara was devoted to seeing the plight of disadvantaged women and children elevated. With the Sisters, she will find the opportunity to continue in that laudable endeavour," Karosyn remarked, displaying a capacity for absolving transgressions committed against her that astounded the veteran weapons master. "I will have you monitor her progress on my behalf, Garum. I want her transition to be as seamless as circumstances allow and though I am both her Queen and her Matrium, I cannot be perceived as being overly lenient in my dealing with those who have defied me."

"It will be done, your highness," Garum promised, knowing that the capacity for lenience was one of the qualities for which Karosyn was revered.

"And what of the other matter...the inquiries about the incident along my highway?"

Here, Garum gave an involuntary wag of his head, informing Karosyn that her adjutant had been disturbed by what he had learned from the elder sister. "Elder Donay was obviously displeased by the dearth of responses she was able to gather. She was quite blunt in voicing her irritation over the lack of cooperation her sisters had faced when attempting to gather the information you requested."

Karosyn's brow darkened in response to this troublesome disclosure and the new cutting edge of her nature made its appearance. "Evidently there is no shortage to the number of my subjects who require a lesson in fundamental courtesy and respect, not to mention the correct response to a royal inquiry. Perhaps Martriza's impatience with my seeming indifference to all three was well warranted."

"May I speak freely, your highness?" Garum inquired with obvious unease.

Karosyn frowned in exasperation and waved her hand for him to proceed, suddenly vexed with the need to measure her every utterance...to ensure that it did not intimidate or suggest a lack of focus or authority. Garum's next sentiment, offered with sincerity and a reluctance that was both painful and poignant. "Your Highness, I know this a presumption on our friendship, but I would implore you not to emulate Martriza's disposition in dealing with those who serve you. I know that it is blatantly rude and inconsiderate to speak ill of the dead, but Martriza's abrupt manner in dealing with her subordinates was appalling. She was feared, which I suspect she mistook for respect, but she was universally disliked by those who were deeply offended by her bludgeoning approach to seeking compliance. It was unworthy of the woman she served and the ideals you sought to propagate in your realm. It would be a bitter turn of events if you were to come to the conclusion that those who served you required this method of handling to comply with your commands."

He fell silent and though his astonishment and extreme discomfort with this own temerity was glaring evident, to his credit...and Karosyn's admiration...he did not avert his gaze.

Karosyn's incisive new gaze bore into her new adjutant, but finally, she fetched a deep sigh and allowed, "You're right, Garum. I realize that Martriza had the sensibilities and delicacy of a siege engine at times and while there were times when it may have been warranted, there were numerous others when it was excessive...unnecessary. Don't fear, Garum...I will not become a surly tyrant or a razor-tongued shrew. I doubt I have the faculty to behave this way...even if I was so inclined. As I said earlier, Garum, Martriza's love for her country was beyond question and I will not have her memory become the butt of malicious and spiteful japes. She will be buried with honour and dignity and she will be remembered for her tireless devotion to her country...and we will find it in our hearts to forgive her...imperfections. Now, did the Sisters' inquiries garner anything of value."

Relieved to put the stunning matter of his presumption to lecture his Queen to rest, Garum summarized the elder's profoundly disturbing disclosure. "Elder Donay did receive three reports back from the other chapter houses across Emercia...all from towns or settlements within close proximity to the coastal areas. In two of these cases, a solitary male vanished while in the process of making a delivery of goods. The horses, wagon and goods were found in tact. Theft was not the apparent object of these incidents. It is the last of the three reports that is the most troubling...the most inexplicable. Four weeks ago, an entire merchant caravan, including four veteran escort guards...simple vanished along an isolated coastal road next to the sea of Prevailing Mystery. Six men in all were taken, but as in the case of the other incidents, the goods and beasts were left undisturbed...as if the perpetrators had deliberately left behind everything so that the abductions could be discovered."

"And the local watch contingents were unsuccessful in determining what might have befallen these missing men?" Karosyn asked, knowing the answer even before she'd posed the question.

"Unfortunately, yes," Garum concluded mournfully. "Is it possible that the incidents are...unrelated, your highness?"

"Possible, Yes, but it would be a foolish posture to assume that they are not. It is also rather disturbing that none of the City Watch Commanders had the foresight to report these incidents to a central authority. This lack of an integrated approach to communication is something that will have to be rectified in the future, Garum. It is here that the Sisters' faculty of silent communication over great distances could prove invaluable. As the Sisterhoods' Matrium, I intend to see them utilized in exactly this capacity...even if it inspires terror amongst the country's xenophobes and misogynists."

The pair again lapsed into a thoughtful silence before Karosyn gripped her adjutant's shoulder...a rare tactile gesture that made Garum shiver. "You've done well, but we have to continue to pursue this avenue of investigation...if only to determine the extent of this problem. I hope you can develop a good working rapport with Sister Bethany, Garum as I suspect we will be rely on the local order to obtain and convey information in a rapid fashion as events unfold."

"I have also brought Ohsrin Wrey to relate the reason that Noriza is absent today, your highness. I spoke to the man briefly while waiting for your Ministerial conclave to conclude and what he has told me is...disquieting." The adjutant informed Karosyn, who managed to maintain a neutral expression, despite the welling panic that surged through her like a storm tide.

"Then see Master Wrey in and let me hear this disturbing tale," she instructed, a slight quaver in her voice.

Ohsrin Wrey was a tall, pleasantly-wrought man who was most fetching in his livery. Handsome and focused, he exuded a sense of efficiency and competence, without the dreamy introspectiveness that gave his younger brother his charm. He offered his Queen a formal bow and stood with his eyes slightly averted to a point over her head as dictated by the royal protocol that Karosyn so loathed. "My adjutant informs me that there has been an incident of some sort that has prevented my Attendant from performing her duties this day, Master Wrey...perhaps you would care to share the details with your Queen?"

Ohsrin dark eyes widened. Despite her modulated tone, there was no mistaking this ring of displeasure in the Queen's voice. Unsettled, he stammered, "Noriza remained at home to tend to our younger brother. She bid me to convey the news of her absence and her sincere apologies to the chief mistress, your highness...which I did immediately upon my arrival."

"You're speaking of Master Aeyon...has something inimical befallen your brother?" Karosyn demanded sharply, not bothering to conceal her burgeoning anxiety.

Here Ohsrin faltered, clearly discomfited by the position into which he been placed. "My...father asked that I not trouble you with this...trivial matter, your highness..."

Karosyn took two brisk strides closer, her great sapphire eyes flaring menacingly and regarding the servant with an intensity that made the normally composed Ohsrin flinch visibly. "Lynon Wrey is your father, but I am your Queen. If I instruct you to divulge what has transpired with your brother, you will do so...or rue the consequences. Am I clear, Master Wrey?"

"Yes...yes, your highness. Of course...I meant no disrespect," Ohsrin hurried, his tone deferential, his equilibrium gone. "Aeyon did not return to the family home after his shift at the Coopery...which is entirely out of character for my brother...who...who seems to derive a great deal of comfort from routine. My father returned to the Coopery to find Aeyon lying, unconscious, on a work table. There was evidence of a struggle of some sort as tools and some of the items upon which he'd been working were scattered across the floor."

"And has Aeyon provided any insight into what transpired?" The Queen pressed, feeling her anxiety rachet ever closer to overt panic. "For that matter, did no one else witness the assault?"

Ohsrin shook his head. "Since the incident on the highway, Aeyon has developed a need for...for solitude. To have this, he has asked our father if he might be permitted to work in the evenings, after the other workers have left for the day. My father agreed." Sensing that his Queen was in close proximity to open fury, Ohsrin averted his eyes and revealed, "As for the matter of his account, Aeyon has yet to regain consciousness, your highness. He sustained an evidently heavy blow to the back of the head...though the bruising on his body would suggest that he engaged in a prolonged struggle before being subdued. Noriza is maintaining a vigil at his bedside."

"And your father did not think this warranted being brought to my attention...after I gave my vow that I would see that your family was insulated from further harm!" Karosyn shrieked, her fists clenching into fists along her taut thighs.

Flummoxed by the Queen's anger, Ohsrin shook his head, uncertain how to respond. Garum had watched the exchange with growing dismay, unable to fathom the source of the Queen's rapidly welling outrage...which hinted at an emotional investment in the matter that Garum could not comprehend. Karosyn's fists unclenched, though her posture remained livid. "Your father and I will have words over this matter, Master Wrey. You will return to your duties. When your day is done, you will report to the Captain of The Castle Guard and he will arrange for an escort to see you home. You are dismissed."

Thoroughly disconcerted, Ohsrin offered his Queen an ungainly bow and fled the room on legs that trembled perceptibly. Karosyn remained stationary for several moment, not turning to her adjutant, while she struggled mightily to regain her outward composure. She was perplexed by the intensity of her reaction, but her fear...which verged on panicked dread...over what had befallen Aeyon served as an affirmation of the extent to which the young man had impacted upon her heart and surmounted her normal detachment.

She set these confusing emotions aside and with her customary decisiveness, she quickly formulated a course of action while keeping her debilitating panic at bey. "Garum, arrange for one of the unmarked carriages to be prepared and brought into the courtyard, near the main gates. Then, I would have you inform the chief maid to have her staff prepare the chamber directly across from mine. Have her insure that it is prepared with a mind to meeting the common needs of a young man."

Openly disconcerted and thinking that he had perhaps misheard, Garum inquired, "You're speaking of King Artumas' chambers, your highness?"

Karosyn's blue eyes flared and for a moment, Garum feared that she was about to excoriate him with a vitriolic tirade. Instead, she inhaled deeply, her expression softening by gradual increments. The motivations for Garum's bemusement were understandable after all. Since Artumas' death, thirty years earlier, no one, save Karosyn and cleaning staff, were allowed into his chambers and nothing had been disturbed. Feeling that some explanation for this sudden and radical departure be given, Karosyn observed, "Garum, if I'm unable to keep my given oath and protect a single family, how can I possibly ever hope to ward my realm against what is to come?"

"I will see it done at once, your highness. Is there anything else you would have me do in your absence?" Garum inquired dutifully, for which she was genuinely grateful because, in truth, the serene Karosyn was clinging to her composure by a tenuous grip and only forward motion would see her avoid succumbing to open panic.

"Inform Regent Kyrin of what has transpired and tell him that our meeting will be delayed until this evening. Then have the Captain of the Hand of the Way arrange to have squads of four guards posted outside the family homes of the Wrey Clan...as well as the Coopery."

"You suspect that this is not a random incident, your Highness?" Garum asked, though, he too, believed that this attack on Aeyon had been anything but coincidental.

"Hardly, Garum. Aeyon was targeted specifically, but again, there is a puzzling aspect as to why. If Aeyon was being watched...if his assailant knew where to find him, then they must have also realized that he had been to Kammlogran and had shared the tale of the attack on the highway. I can see nothing of logical value that could be gained by attacking him again...and then leaving him alive. It seems that we are faced with a myriad of disturbing questions that grows by the hour."

Something else occurred to Garum then and he asked, "Could it be that the intent in all of this is...merely to unsettle...to sough a sense of disquiet and uncertainty?"

Karosyn greeted this with a rueful pursing of lips. "Perhaps...if so, then our shadow adversaries are succeeding..."

Chapter Fifteen

1

Tarim came awake with a start, the frenetic rush of wind and pounding waves a distant thing that, despite its implied ferocity, was not condign to the task of disturbing this arcane sailing vessel, which continued to slice through the waves as if the sea was quiescent. He shook his head briskly to dispel the fog that now accompanied his waking hours since Lissom had done something to him. What precisely that something was, Tarim could not recall...though he correctly deduced that it involved an occluding of some aspect of his sensory faculties...his memory or his perception. He could not be certain. He knew only that he now drifted through the days with a disturbingly diminished sense of awareness.

'Except for the sessions with her damnable cards...for those, I'm entirely present...every nerve-ending screaming like a banshee,' Tarim thought with a shudder. For some reason, that he could not begin to fathom, mad Lissom derived enormous pleasure from having him oscillate between the horrible agony of her torture sessions and the equally intense erotic encounters with her nubile alter ego.

Since the night she had first taken him to her bed, there had been two further sessions in the torture chamber. The first had been comparatively short and mild...during which the shrew persona had employed only primary coloured cards to torment Tarim. More surprising still, she had not accosted him in an unrelenting deluge as she had done with his previous sessions. Instead, she would afflict him with the horrors of a single card. Then there would follow long durations of merciful relief, in which Tarim would pant against his restrains, recovering from the pain, while the armoured Lissom would circle around him, trailing her fingertips over his bare flesh. During another of these peculiar intermissions, she invited, "I give you permission to speak...to ask questions if you wish." Her tone became grave and she admonished, "If you grovel, however, I'll increase your torment tenfold."

"Why are you doing this?" Tarim asked breathlessly.

Lissom removed her pewter mask and set it aside, her leathery skin stretched over her skull like a drum skin that had been tightened to the point of rupturing. She regarded him with an expression of bored disappointment and sighed, "Predictable. I am doing this because I can and because I chose to."

Tarim shook his head and found the temerity to persist. "Not to me specifically. I'm asking why you're doing this at all...the torture sessions and the men you've abducted. What is it you're trying to achieve?"

He fell silent, anticipating an angry reaction for his impertinence. Instead, she favoured him with a broad smile that was somehow hideous on her parched countenance. "Will wonders never cease...global thinking from a man who I would have sworn thought only with his dangling appendage. I am doing this because I have a great moment of theatre to enact...and the men here will be my bit players...my engines of hate, as it were. That is a decidedly obscure answer, I realize, but keeping men guessing really is an amusing diversion...and so it will have to do."

"Will you at least tell me where we're going?"

"That, I will do...we are returning to your home city...to Nalosan where you will see your beloved Queen." With a coy grin, she inquired, "Does this revelation please you?"

Tarim attempted to speak, but then the occluding fog swept across his conscious thoughts and everything suddenly lost its exigency. The baffling creature came forward and patted his face affectionately and favoured his flaccid cock with several languid strokes. Something in his addled mind flared and soon he was throbbing and erect, despite the revulsion he felt for this walking skeleton.

"Now, where were we?" She declared blithely and conjuring another card, applied it to his member.

He had been returned to his lightless cell, where he seemed to remain for a long time, before being dragged back to the chamber for another session, during which Lissom remained masked and utterly silent...her demeanour cold and aloof. As she had warned him, the intermingling of primary cards was far more terrible than the individual colours and she assailed him with a rapid volley of variations that left him weeping unabashedly...but somehow, he did not plead for surcease, perhaps knowing that his tormentor was devoid of the faculty of mercy.

The fusillade of horrors went on until Tarim's senses were overwhelmed and his body cast him into the cold mercy of the void.

When next he awoke, he was again in his cell, where he remained for the intervening time between that excruciating session and this moment of awakening. It suddenly occurred to him that he had been returned to his lightless cell, but had not been bound. He spent several moments contemplating the possible ramifications of this unprecedented departure from the grinding routine...which he had astutely come to believe was about the breaking of spirit more than slow murder. These sessions had been devised to break the imprisoned men...to make them malleable.

Vessels of perfect hatred.

To Tarim Wrey's shock and dismay, he found that he did not hate Lissom. He feared her. He deplored her torture and madness...but he was perversely intrigued by her as well...which made him call his own sanity into question.

It would be a preposterous act of self-deception to say that he was not beguiled by the entrancing creature who had ensorcelled him with her display of carnal magic on the occasions he had been taken to her bed.

'Could it be that she is equally intrigued with you, big brother,' the voice of Aeyon theorized in his thoughtful manner. Tarim shook his head, certain that this remark was the most absurd that had ever manifested in his often shallow mind. Yet, his brother persisted in this delusional absurdity. 'Don't be hasty, big brother, and dismiss the idea. She has taken you to her bed...and perhaps more tellingly, she has engaged you in dialogue. Whatever else she might be, this is not a woman for idle banter and she does nothing without a measured purpose. It could well be that you fascinate her for some...indecipherable reason. You must consider if this might be something you could...exploit somehow.'

Aeyon's presence withdrew and Tarim experienced a moment of incisive pain, dolefully wondering if his younger brother yet lived. He came to the spontaneous resolution that, should the opportunity present itself, he would press Lissom on the matter...even if it roused her anger.

The door to his cell suddenly swung open and two fully armoured and masked captors stood in a harsh cone of yellow light.

"Rise...you will follow us," one commanded and the pair stepped to either side and waited for the stiff Tarim to comply. Thanks to his confinement, he was stiff and slow in rising, but the expected punitive strike did not come. Eventually, Tarim stumbled out of his cell on unresponsive legs and the pair started out along the corridor. Baffled that he had not been cuffed or that one did not follow while the other led, he shambled after the pair, surmising that they felt confident that he was now too docile and thoroughly submissive to attempt anything as rash as attacking them from behind. Tarim had little doubt that this daunting pair would swiftly dissect him if he was so foolish as to attack them and as pointless acts of suicidal heroism were not in his nature, he followed meekly behind...his curiosity over this latest departure from routine mounting with each step.

They trio wound their way through the massive ship...a virtual floating fortress by Tarim's estimate...to an set of blood red oak doors. The two masked guards paused and inclined their head as if listening for some leave to proceed, which they evidently received. Each opened a door and stepped to one side, tilting their heads toward the chamber's interior in a silent command for Tarim to enter.

The chamber was surprisingly vast...a daunting octagon, painted black and lacquered until the gleam stung the eye. Circular windows rang its upper reaches and a luminous silver light tumbled into the chamber's interior, informing Tarim that night held court in the world beyond. At the precise centre of the dais stood an octagonal platform upon which had been placed a rectangular table. The construct consisted of heavy legs, painted blood red, and gold-edged marble top shot through with skeins of red. Lissom, attired in her gleaming black armour and a carmine satin cloak, stood next to the table and greeted his arrival with an indecipherable smile, her thin lips stretching like a scream. Her mask lay on the table with an assortment of armour pieces similar to the ones she wore.

The two escort guards placed a hand on either of Tarim's shoulders and ushered him to join the fearsome woman on the elevated platform. As he gazed about the chamber, he noticed that its entire perimeter was lined with fully armoured, masked women. They exuded a collective menace that nearly stole the air from his lungs in its cloying intensity.

He suddenly felt self-conscious of his nudity and could feel his shoulders hunch and his head bow in a futile effort to make himself less...conspicuous. Noting his discomfort, Lissom uttered a humourless chuckle and intoned, "Don't fret, pretty man...my Mirhac Ehkar will not devour you. Come, join me."

Tarim shuffled forward and came to stand beside the wiry construct. She again offered him that vague smile and stepped from the platform, leaving him alone beneath the daunting weight of these terrifying women's collective scrutiny. "Do you feel this pretty man's discomfort, daughters...his uncertainty and abjection beneath the cumulative weight of your cold regard? How often, during the course of this wretched world's odious history, have women been forced into this horrible, compromised position...objectified like a sow at market for the amusement of the patriarchy of the moment."

She paused and began to walk around the base of the dais. "Our goddess dispatched us into the world to seek to redress the disparity in the genders...to seek parity...to seek equality and respect for women. Despite thousands of years of effort toward this bold and courageous end, our success is minimal and isolated. While labouring to obliterate the den of misogynists that subjugated your beloved homeland of Majeer, it occurred to me that our inability to achieve the Goddess' objective was due to short-sightedness...to an ignorance of the adversary we faced. This, and the fact that our aspirations were...stiflingly limited. The inherent flaws in the psyche of men are simply too deeply engrained to be extirpated...their fear of us, their irreducible disdain, these things cannot be expunged from the fabric of the male vessel. They will never be swayed by reason to see us as equals, to see us as being worthy of the same consideration that they would readily give to the most vulgar and simple of their own kind. We will be eternally regarded as items of chattel to be used and discarded at their discretion. It is my intention to change the direction of our mandate. We will no longer seek parity with men because to yield this rightful dispensation is incongruent with their hateful nature's...instead, we will move to crush them into subservience...just as we have done in mighty Majeer!"

In response to this bombastic rhetoric, the terrifying women slammed their right fist against their left breast and bellowed something in a language Tarim could not recognize. Lissom turned briefly to Tarim and beamed that baffling grin. Fear began to stir in the pit of his guts. This moment had assumed the air of ritual...an example to be made.

"Though they are all driven by the mindless imperative of their dangling appendage, these vulgar brutes are not all compelled by the same base urges. On these ships, I have broken one type in droves...as we did in the dungeons of El Sharom. These are the most egregious offenders...the misogynists, who at once hate and covet us. These, I have reduced to empty vessels, which I have filled with hate. They will serve my purpose when the moment comes. This is the fate that awaits all men who look upon their sisters with contempt, fear and the need to brutally repress."

She stopped directly before Tarim and lifted a rail thin arm in his direction. "This pretty creature is a male of the other stripe. He does not detest or disdain women. Quite the contrary, he adores them." Her expression became a sneer and she added, "but only for the pleasure their nubile flesh might bestow upon him...only for their ability to satiate his boundless lust. He is oblivious to the beauty of their spirit, their courage in the face of the tribulations they must face each and every day of their lives. He is not a misogynist, but he is a chauvinist...a tepid substitute, in the final, unbiased analysis."

Tarim shook his head in negation...surely this was hyperbole...he did love women...even after the horror of what he had experienced on this hell-spawned ship. This condemnation was...unfair. Lissom ascended the platform and came to stand directly beside him, the fingers she laid on his bare hip had the feel of propriety. "Though this may seem like a palatable alternative to the heavy-handed tyranny of the women-haters...it is not. These men may actually revere their female companions...treat them with kindness and courtesy...in the way they may dote on a cherished pet. Yet, like pampered pets, these women have no volition when it comes to their own fates. They live in benevolent servitude. It matters not if the collar is of steel and thorns or of velvet...it is still a collar and I will no longer tolerate this status for our sisters."

Again, this intractable declaration was greeted with a salute and a cheer. "In the land where we are destined, a woman holds the rein of power who was once a highly seated member of our order. She subscribes to the notion that men can be made to see the error of their repressive ways...that their intrinsic loathing of women can be banished through inclusive dialogue and reason. She is a fool! It is my intent to disabuse her of this fatuous notion...and if she is obstinate in her conviction, then we will reduce her and the hollow delusion she has erected...to smouldering ruin. In its wake, will arise the new Emercia...where men will be ruthlessly ground beneath the inexorable march of female ascendency. They will have two fates...vessels of hatred...or the alternative, which I will now bestow upon this pleasingly-constructed creature."

She came to stand directly before Tarim, who clung to his composure by the most tenuous of grips. Peering up into his eyes with sardonic mirth, she commanded, "Speak your name for my Mirhac Ehkar."

He looked at her doubtful, but then an intrusive force assumed control of his mind and he drew himself to his full height and in a voice that was clear and unwavering, declared, "I am Tarim Wrey...of the city of Nalosan...of the Nation of Emercia."

With equal gravitas, Lissom returned, "And I am Lissom, Ascentrix of the Sisters of Esotaria and divine emissary of the Goddess, Gyzarayne, whom we all serve. You, Tarim Wrey, shall become the first of your kind...not a vessel of hatred, but one filled to brimming with undying devotion and fawning adoration. Before, I can bestow that honour upon you...it is necessary to feel Gyzarayne's kiss...to feel the incisive sting of her displeasure with your gender...and her capacity to forgive."

She stepped back and nodded to the perimeter of female warriors. As one, they drew curving dirks and converged upon a suddenly immobilized Tarim...forming a line that commenced at the base of the platform directly below him. He could feel cold sweat begin to gather in the hollow of his temples, but a firm voice...Lissom's voice...spoke soothingly in his mind. 'Be strong, pretty man. Face this ritual with courage and endure the goddess' kiss with stoic resolve and you will survive...with a place at my side and in my bed as remuneration. Bleat and plead...and my Mirhac Ehkar will carve you to twitching ribbons.'

Somehow, bolstered perhaps by the presence that had been insinuated into his mind, Tarim managed to marshal the fortitude to endure what followed without humiliating himself before this coven of ferocious witches. One by one, the members of the Mirhac Ehkar mounted the platform and with dispassionate efficiency, inflicted a precise, superficial wound on Tarim's body with the tips of their terrifying daggers. The wounds were superficial, but acutely painful and bled profusely. Soon, rivulets of blood wound along Tarim's arms, torso and legs...until his body resembled the marble table top beside which he endured his moment of torment. As each wound was inflicted, Tarim would emit a hiss of pain...but nothing more. As each strike was delivered a placating warmth suffused his mind, relegating the pain to a distant, inconsequential thing.

His fraught gave shifted to Lissom and though her expression was inscrutable, the gleam in those great blue eyes was, astoundingly, one of subtle encouragement.

'She...she wants me to persevere!' A stupefied Tarim realized, though he could not fathom a possible reason for this. Even more incredible still...he understood that he wanted to survive this savage ordeal...so as not to disappoint her. So flummoxed was Tarim by these incredible insights that he was scarcely aware of the last half dozen strikes. When the last of the dagger wielded had dismounted the platform, Tarim's body...save his face and genitalia...was covered with bloody wounds that resembled dots on a page...fifty four, in all.

Lissom mounted the platform and in a formal voice, praised his survival. "You are a man to whom courage is not a natural inclination...yet you have endured this torment with stoic bravery...for which you should be commended...and rewarded."

She gesticulated and Tarim was immediately enveloped in a golden effulgence...the ameliorating warmth of which penetrated his ravaged flesh, sealed the perforations and burned away the blood...until Tarim Wrey had been restored to his state of unblemished beauty. Lissom stepped closer and gently took his manhood between her index finger and thumb. Peering directly into his hazel eyes, she declared, "From this day forth, you shall be my Thringan Brauy."

This exotic phrase elicited a startling giggle from the female engines of carnage and Tarim regarded Lissom questioningly. She smiled and disclosed, "It is a Majeeri phrase that translates to...body servant...or more precisely...bed toy. I have bestowed upon you the highest honour to which a man could aspire in the world that I will forge...a plaything for the most powerful entity in existence. When I take you to my bed...I will become the alternate persona you so covet..."

Shocked to speechlessness, Tarim realized that he was ambivalent about how he perceived his revelation. He should be outraged...appalled by the thought that he would be forced to the role of pleasure toy for this monster...but yet..."

Lissom moved over to the table and retrieved a set of small clothes, which she bid Tarim to put on. He complied and then she instructed him to stand with his arms raised above his head and his legs spread slightly apart. Once he was positioned to her satisfaction, Lissom began to dress him in pieces of the exotic armour that had been laid out on the marble table top. Beginning with the boots and greaves, she slowly bound Tarim Wrey into her armour of subjugation, completing his regalia with an tapered helmet which completely concealed his head and resembled an insect. Cloistered within, Tarim was surprised by how light this armour proved to be...how cool and natural against his flesh. Midnight black and shining like a polished diamond, the armour also completely effaced his identity.

Lissom stepped back to admire her handiwork and remarked approvingly, "I will confess that you cut a particularly beautiful figure. Now, two pieces remain...elements that declare your position as my Thringan Brauy.'

Lissom returned to the table to collect the two remaining articles and Tarim inhaled sharply, knowing that they eloquently declared his new status in the scheme of things. She placed a codpiece over his groin. A pewter half ring had been set into the alien material of the codpiece and projected out in a particularly salacious fashion.

"Kneel!" Lissom commanded and her tone made it explicitly clear that immediate compliance would be fully expected. Tarim sank to his knees...all resistance gone...and raised his head. Lissom slipped a glossy collar around his neck at the throat of which was a similar half ring...an unmistakable declaration of ownership.

Somewhere, beneath the suffocating shame, Tarim mustered the defiance to again pose the query that had haunted him since he had first awoken on this accursed ship. "My brother...Aeyon...is he still alive...please tell me."

Fury flared in those terrible blue depths, but then Lissom expression segued into one of patient indulgence. "When my daughters left him, he was cowering in a roadside ditch. They would not dishonour their blades by wasting time on a craven...so yes, your brother lives." She reached down and gripped the chin of his helmet. "Should you meet my demanding expectation, pretty man...you will live to see the collapse of this wretched world...and the raising of a glorious new one...at the side of its goddess. Now rise...let me acquaint you with your new duties."

Submissively, Tarim rose to his feet. Lissom again gesticulated and a polished, segmented black leash appeared in her right hand. Peering directly into his eyes, she affixed the clasp to the ring hook at his groin and led him for the chamber.

As she led him back to her quarters, Lissom underwent an astounding transformation, her black fitted armour giving way to a diaphanous night gown beneath which was clearly revealed the feminine splendour of the woman who had first taken Tarim to her bed.

With this, Tarim Wrey plunged willingly into the sweet nectar of Lissom's enslavement.

2

It had been the hand of fate that had brought Lissom and Karosyn together...just as it had been the will of the Goddess that had bound them through the ageless relationship of an Ascentrix to her Matrium. Yet, in an unprecedented act of sundering, that link had been resoundingly severed the day that a thoroughly decimated Karosyn, riven by grief, had renounced her divine role as Lissom's guide and mentor. From that point forward, what had transpired veered wildly into uncharted territory and the natural course along which events should have unfurled went unrealized. Lissom, at Artumas' behest, had not revoked Karosyn's grace...essentially creating a woman for whom there was no prior precedent. That decision, taken on impulse and in deference to a man the frighteningly complex Lissom believed she loved, carried with it earthshaking ramifications that would reverberate loudly for decades to come...carrying the pair closer to a moment of inevitable confrontation...a potentially cataclysmic accounting of festering grievances.

Though separated by vast gulfs that transcended physically distance, the bond between these two unique creatures could not be entirely sundered. Even in their improbable attractions to the two Wrey brothers...one motivated by the need to dominate and savagely subjugated, the other by the intrinsic desire to nurture and protect...the machinations of fate and the will of the Goddess could be seen to exert their subtle influence.

As Karosyn rode through the city, ensconced in her hooded cloak, she could feel an ambiguous, but still palpable weight settle onto her shoulders. Somewhere in the mechanics of the moment, she could feel fate's capricious hand at play...though to what purpose, she could not discern. She knew, with absolute certitude, that she was being irresistibly drawn to Aeyon Wrey, this humble and thoughtful apprentice...an attraction she doubted she could resist...even had she been so inclined.

'Hopeless romances are the fodder of love-enamoured maidens, who toil beneath the cloud of hopelessness and seek the impossible as a distraction...as a glimmer of hope. You are a Queen...and this entanglement that has tantalized you...can only lead to heartache and tragedy.' It was the voice of Martriza Odain who delivered this dire prediction causing Karosyn to shake her head in bemusement. A drizzle had begun to fall over the streets of Nalosan, tumbling indolently from thick, low clouds that lent her city a brooding, grimy aspect. Karosyn sensed that she was, indeed, about to arrive at a critical juncture...and the choices she would make in negotiating through the moment would echo...and haunt her through whatever remained of her life beyond the forthcoming reunion with her lost daughter.

The unmarked carriage arrived at the home of Lynon Wrey, who had been summoned to attend her from his Coopery. Both the family patriarch and his daughter, Noriza, stood on the stoop of their small stone home, awaiting their Queen's arrival. The pair hurried down the steps to greet the carriage and as Karosyn slipped from the carriage's interior, they made to offer their monarch appropriate bows of deference, which she waved off.

The four guards, attired in dark uniforms with no insignia to declare their allegiance, quickly moved to take up positions around the perimeter of the Wrey home. With a satisfied hint of approval, The Queen noticed that they moved to the four corners of the property, stationed in a fashion that allowed eye contact with the guard on either side. A similar team had also been dispatched to Ohsrin Wrey's home and a group of eight Hand of the Way guards had been disbursed to protect Lynon's Coopery.

It required only one glance at the Elder Wrey to discern that he was both displeased and discomfited by what he regarded as unwelcome notoriety, but Karosyn was indifferent to both. She knew that it was understandable that a man of Lynon's place in the social structure would be wary of any interaction with those stationed above him, but Karosyn refused to allow his insecurities to jeopardize his family's well being.

Upon departing Kammlogran, Karosyn has been furious with the Cooper for not appraising her of the attack on his son, but as she'd journeyed to his home, Karosyn's natural tranquility had reasserted itself and that anger had given way to her customary serenity. Lynon led the queen to the house's front parlour and had haltingly recounted what he knew of the previous night's attack. His sheepish demeanour informed her that he felt no small measure of guilt for allowing his son to labour alone in the Coopery...a posture she intended to slyly exploit in bringing the man around to her perspective on how to best protect his family.

"Why...why would the people who did this attack him like this...what did they want?" Lynon had asked of the Queen as he'd concluded his account...his query posed in a tremulous voice that conveyed his bewilderment.

Karosyn, who had belabour herself with this exact question since first learning of the attack (and the more perplexing question still of why they had elected to leave Aeyon alive), admitted freely. "I have no rational answer, Master Wrey. If those who attacked your shipment have been watching your family, then they would know that you have been to see me...that Aeyon would have recounted his tale of what befell him and his brother. For our immediate concerns, their motivations don't matter...my priority is seeing that your family is harmed no further. Aeyon, in particular, must be protected as he seems to be the target of whomever is responsible for your family's woes. With that in mind, I have a specific plan to ensure that he remains safe..."

Lynon pursed his full lips and eyed her uncertainly. Patiently, she disclosed her plan for achieving this goal...presenting her motivation in a way that would be consistent with Lynon's perception of self-preoccupation of the noble and royal classes. "If I cannot be seen as capable of protecting one family, then it undermines public faith in my ability to protect Emercia...a perception that I can ill afford, Master Wrey."

She went on to divulge her intention in protecting Aeyon while Noriza and the family patriarch listened in open astonishment. She concluded by being imperiously candid with the thoroughly flustered cooper. "I am not soliciting your approval in the matter, Master Lynon, but rather, I am extending you the common courtesy of explaining what has prompted me to take these admittedly...unusual measures."

While clearly unhappy, Lynon signalled his understanding with a glum nod. It troubled Karosyn to think that, in the eyes of the common citizen, royal protection and patronage could be construed as undesirable...that, despite her tireless efforts to improve the lot of the average person, her monarchy was still regarded with mistrust. She turned to Noriza and managing to mask her growing anxiety, inquired, "Master Aeyon has still not regained consciousness?"

Noriza merely shook her head, her eyes downcast and despondent as she whispered, "He hasn't, your highness.

Somehow, she managed a smile of reassurance. "Very well, I would see Aeyon then...you may be aware that I have...considerable aptitude as a healer. Perhaps I can do something to rouse him from his slumber. Noriza, while I attend to your brother, I would ask that you gather up the things you think he will require for his stay at Kammlogran. I can assure you, Master Lynon, that your son's every need will be scrupulously catered to while he is under my roof. Now please, if you could direct me to his room and permit me a space of time to assess his condition."

3

When the door had closed, Karosyn reluctantly turned to Aeyon. He lay on his small bed, little more than a pallet, and in repose, he appeared beautiful and innocent...like a sleeping child. Her hand fluttered to her mouth and a small moan escaped Karosyn's lips. She glanced about his closet of a room that, other than a small shelf holding several well-worn books, was as sparsely furnished as a monk's cloister.

She ventured closer and stood over the unconscious young man, studying his face for a moment...seeking to fathom what it was that had inspired her powerful attraction to this young man.

And then, in an illuminating burst of perfect clarity, Karosyn saw...and upon seeing, understood that she had been attracted to Aeyon Wrey by a force that she could neither ignore or resist. It transcended his masculine beauty...indeed, the world was awash with angelically beautiful men that were hers for the picking. In thoughtful, introspective Aeyon Wrey, Karosyn caught a glimpse of her beloved Artumas as she imagined he must have been as a young man...before the burden of rule and the incisive sting of betrayal had robbed him of the air of noble innocence that hovered over Aeyon like a divine light.

Peering down on this humble young man, who had been ruthlessly victimized by this world's inherent ugliness, Karosyn vowed that she would nurture those fragile qualities...that she would do for Aeyon Wrey, what she had been entrusted...and ultimately failed to do for Lissom. A part of her understood that this tenacity was inspired by a complex blend of maternalism, desire...and guilt, but she refused to be deterred.

Placid and serene, Karosyn Nierosean might be, but she was a woman who...once she had set her mind to what she perceived was the correct course of action...was as unrelenting as the inexorable march of time. First as Matrium and then as Queen, Karosyn had elected to resolve conflict with dialogue and logic, venues which led to lasting accord. Now, as she gazed down upon this beaten and humiliated young man who had stirred a long quiescent yearning in her soul, Karosyn vowed that she would immolate the next person who sought to harm Aeyon...to flay the flesh from their bones with the darkest sorcery she could conjure.

Inhaling, she reached for the edge of the sheet and blanket that had been pulled up to Aeyon's chin. With fingers that trembled slightly, she slowly peeled back the covers to reveal a torso that while lean and muscular, was mottled by a series of livid bruises. The black and purple of angry storm clouds, they were spread across Aeyon's chest and abdomen in a seemingly random pattern that somehow Karosyn seemed to recognize. She could discern that the blows had been delivered to organs and pressure points with the intention of inflicting the maximum pain and debilitating effect...the work of someone who knew their violent trade exceptionally well.

An image bloomed in her roiling thoughts like a rank weed and she hissed a single word.

"Czefrina!"

She recalled watching the diminutive engine of carnage deliver similar strikes to a score of attackers, leaving men spread across the cold stone floor in unconscious drifts.

' But why would Czefrina attack Aeyon Wrey...or even know about him for that matter?' The voice of reason inquired evenly, and while the query was valid enough, it did nothing to attenuate Karosyn's suspicion...or her mounting fury. Had not Martriza implied that the Lamish Princess was somehow responsible for her demise? That, too, made little sense in any logical context that Karosyn could divine...but gazing down on the battered form of this beautiful young man, Karosyn felt certain that she had strayed into a situation in which logic would hold very little sway.

Mastering her fury with some effort, Karosyn set about assessing and ameliorating each bruised area. She laid the flat of her right palm on the largest bruise on Aeyon's abdomen just beneath the right side of his ribcage. Pain, white hot and incisive, emanated from the effected area, stinging Karosyn like corrosive acid. She brushed absently at a tear with her left hand, relived to see that the liver had sustained no lasting damage. In measured increments, Karosyn unleashed controlled amounts of arcane healing energy...the faculty for which she was an unparalleled master. Seemingly in the span of a few accelerated heartbeats, the bruised flesh was restored to its unblemished state and the pain from the area was banished beneath Karosyn's healing touch. She moved to the next bruised area and repeated the process, continuing her ministration until the last of the bruising had been effaced.

As she laboured, Karosyn experienced a quickening of her pulse and was suffused by a pleasant warmth that seemed to emanate from her core in slow, pulsing waves. She recognized the sensation for what it was, the slow building of delicious lust and she knew, unequivocally, that this quiet young man was dangerous to her in ways she would have thought inconceivable only days before. With the tips of her right index finger, she gently traced the striations of his defined abdomen...wondering how he would react if she was to repeat the process...using the warm tip of her tongue.

'Stop this at once, you foolish woman!' She commanded of herself vehemently. 'The world is unravelling around you and you're entertaining erotic fantasies like an addled schoolgirl.'

Against this chastisement, yet another voice offered...with equal vehemence, 'Perhaps this young man is the Goddess' dispensation for all that you have laboured to achieve in her name...an incarnation of the man you have privately grieved over since his death thirty years gone by.'

There was an aspect of facile justification about this argument which Karosyn recognized all too well, but did little to allay the euphoria it inspired.

Reluctantly withdrawing her fingertip, she turned her attention to the worst of the damage young Aeyon had sustained. It was apparent that it had been a blow to the head that now kept the young man shackled in unconsciousness. Gingerly enfolding his neck with her left hand, Karosyn lifted Aeyon's head from the pillow and tenderly ran her the fingers of her right hand through his coal black curls. She grimaced upon discovering an egg-shaped lump of hot flesh just above the base of his skull.

Effortlessly, she lifted the substantial Aeyon into a sitting position and drew him against her, while laying both hands over the effected area. She reprised her earlier feat of healing sorcery and soon the swelling was gone...but still, Aeyon did not rouse from his state of unconsciousness.

Fighting to hold her mounting panic at bay, Karosyn eased the young man back down onto the pillows and carefully studied his face. She quickly realized that something was shackling him to the void...something that was not necessarily the consequence of physical trauma.

A notion germinated in her mind then...one so utterly absurd, so preposterous...that caused her to chuckle with its sheer foolishness. Her body ignored this pragmatic dismissal and moved of its own volition. Lithely, she crawled onto the narrow pallet and took the sides of Aeyon's slack face in her warm hands.

And then she pressed her mouth to his, allowing her full lips to serve as a conduit for her arcane healing energy along with a soothing adjuration for him to return to the living world...to return to her.

Then, like a scene derived from a romantic fairy tale for children, Aeyon Wrey drew a deep, shuddering breath and came awake with a start. Karosyn, attired in her training gear, sat back in her haunches and smiled. Aeyon gazed about in wide-eyed disorientation which was quickly transformed into mortified incredulity when he realized exactly who it was that was peering down on him like a divine vision. "Your Highness...what...where...where am I?"

She placed a placating hand on his chest and allowed her calming essence to suffuse the agitated young man. Though her countenance was its customary regal portrait of composure, inside...Karosyn was giddy with relief. "All is well, Aeyon...you are in your own home...in your own bed. You were attacked last night at the Coopery. When I was informed this morning, I immediately came here...to guarantee that you were well. You were still unconscious when I arrived and so I employed healing sorcery to rouse you back to awareness. Do you have any pain, Aeyon?"

Aeyon blinked and considered the query. It was evident to Karosyn that he still did not trust the tangible reality of his presence circumstances. Though she wanted nothing more than to draw him into a protective embrace, she slid nimbly from the bed and back into her chair to alleviate his anxiety.

Finally, Aeyon shook his head. "I feel muddled, but no pain. You...can do that...heal with sorcery?" He then seemed to recall to whom he was speaking and added hastily. "Your Highness."

Karosyn bent forward and firmly squeezed his right forearm and intoned, "Aeyon, while we are alone together...I want you to call me Karosyn. It's a name I particularly like...but one I so seldom hear. Will you do that for me?"

"Of course, yes, your...Karosyn," Aeyon stammered, still struggling to assimilate the fact that the most powerful woman in the world...a woman he privately idolized...was sitting in his closet of a bedroom.

Karosyn beamed a heartbreakingly lovely smile. "Thank you, Aeyon. Now, in response to your query...I have an aptitude for healing magic. There was a time...before I became Queen...before you were born...when I was the Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria. The Goddess I served...Gyzarayne...she bestowed the healing gift upon me when I swore fealty to her."

She wondered why she suddenly felt the need to parade her pedigree before this humble young man, which did not prevent her from smiling privately upon seeing that he was suitably awed by this revelation.

"Do...do you still serve the goddess?" he inquired humbly, impressing Karosyn with the agility of his mind.

Not wanting to raise the complex matter of her return to the order or her reinstatement as its Matrium, Karosyn allowed simply, "Yes. Gyzarayne is the patron goddess of women and girls. She seeks to bring equality and opportunity to the lives of all women...to give hope to all young girls that they can forge their own path in this life they've been given. It is a principle that stands as the foundation of my rule as Queen."

Aeyon nodded, an approving gleam in his dark eyes.

Karosyn's tone became grave and she began, "I want to begin by offering my sincerely apology for what has happened to you, Aeyon."

When Aeyon's eyes narrowed in confusion, Karosyn elaborated, "Just yesterday, I made a promise to your father and you that I would keep your family safe...and yet on the very same evening, you are brutally attacked in your own Coopery...making a mockery of my vow. I am deeply ashamed of that failure, Aeyon." She squeezed his arm in reassurance, relishing the tactile sensation of contact, and swore, "You have my solemn oath that this failing will not be repeated. I suppose this demonstrates that Queens are hardly infallible, but it is a lesson that was better not imparted at your expense."

Aeyon listened, mesmerized by the dulcet tones of the Queen's voice. Her admission of fallibility only added to the surrealism of the moment. How often had Aeyon heard the refrain that royals would rather see the world burn than admit they were ever wrong...and yet, here was the most powerful woman in the world asking for forgiveness over something that could hardly be attributed to her judgment. He felt the need to express this. "Your...Karosyn, what happened is hardly your fault...how could you have known something like this might happen...and so quickly?"

Karosyn shook her head, not accepting his exoneration. "That's just the thing, Aeyon...I should have anticipated that this could well happen...that is one of my many duties as Queen...to consider contingencies and make appropriate allowances. In your case, I did not and you have suffered further as a consequence...for which I am heartily sorry." She offered him that gorgeous smile again and promised, "But I have every intention of making amends...beginning here and now."

Her tone became solemn and she continued, "I need to ask you to tell me exactly what occurred last night...but before I do; your father informs me that you have asked that you work alone at the Coopery...after hours. I want you to tell me why, Aeyon."

He frowned, but realized that beneath her incisive gaze, there was nothing that he could conceal from her. Stranger still was the realization that he felt he could share his most intimate thoughts and concerns with the sublime woman, whose sensibilities were so far above his own that it was hard to believe that they breathed the same air. "Since Tarim was taken...I...I've had a difficult time of facing anyone...as if they were looking at me and...and judging me for being here, while he's gone."

Karosyn was suffused by a wave of keen pity for the earnest young man, whose comparatively simple life had been turned upside down by the nefarious scheming of an unknown enemy. She quickly rose and settled onto the bed beside him. She laid her right palm on his chest and allowed her subtle essence to roll through him. He stiffened and then relaxed beneath her touch and Karosyn decided that she would no longer even attempt to disguise her attraction to this beautiful young man. She conjured a rueful twist of lips and set about trying to assuage his torment. "Aeyon, I told you in the throne room that you must not hold yourself accountable for what transpired along the highway. This was not platitude and it pains me to think that you believe I would cast out hollow words to make you feel better."

He started to stammer an apology, but Karosyn placed an index finger on his lips and smiled engagingly. Aeyon fell silent, clearly completely overwhelmed by both the Queen's proximity and her behaviour. "These women that took your brother are...dangerous beyond the ability of the average person to conceive. The two women who actually struck your brother...they are gifted with a prowess with weaponry and unarmed combat to a degree that they would be a match for two score of veteran soldiers. The woman who wielded what is called bale fire, she could incinerate an army with a casual flexing of will."

"You...you know who they are?" Aeyon inquired eagerly.

"I suspect," Karosyn corrected. "My point is that these women are exceedingly dangerous, and it is pointless to bludgeon yourself over being unable to prevent what happened. It saddens me that this world has afflicted young men with this misguided perception of honour and manliness...and it is a misperception that I will strive diligently to change." Her hand slid from his lips to his chest and Karosyn was scarcely aware that she had begun to caress the firm flesh while she spoke. "It is also important for you to understand is how fortunate it is that you weren't taken. I have begun making inquiries and learned that there have been similar abductions throughout Emercia over the last several weeks. Had you not escaped, I never would have learned of this vile threat. So, you see, your sage decision not to attempt to intervene has been a great service to me...and to your brother...because now I can begin the process of trying to re-unite him with your family."

Aeyon nodded distantly, distracted by the intense touch of her gently caressing hand and the enormity of her beauty, the weight of which was almost suffocating in such close quarters. Worse still, he could feel himself beginning to stir as a consequence of both and was immensely grateful for the pooling of bedclothes that disguised his embarrassment. In a slightly quavering voice, he asked, "Can you tell me what you think is happening...Karosyn?"

"I'll share everything I know tonight...over dinner," she added with a nuanced grin, which garnered an incredulous shake of the head from an already flummoxed Aeyon. "For now, can you tell me what happened last night...and again spare no detail."

And so Aeyon set about describing his painful, emasculating encounter with the woman in the Coopery. While the Queen listened without comment, he was cognizant of the gathering anger behind those serene blue eyes. Aeyon experienced a pang of regret when, at the conclusion of his account, she rose quickly and turned away...as if trying to master her composure. "I...I'm sorry if I've upset you, your highness."

She pivoted quickly, flashing a reproving frown. "Karosyn...and yes, I'm furious, Aeyon...but certainly not with you. This was a heinous, despicable act that will not go unpunished. Now...just a few clarifying questions...about this woman who attacked you. Is there anything specific about her appearance...or her actions that stands out?"

Aeyon considered this thoughtfully for a moment and tried to catalogue her many oddities. "She was incredibly fast...and more powerful than I thought a woman could ever be. Her body was...was..."

Seeing that Aeyon was fumbling with the uncomfortable notion of expressing appeal, Karosyn prompted, "Pleasingly feminine?"

Aeyon nodded with obvious relief. "Yes, but she was muscular...like a man. When we wrestled, I was no match for her strength. Before she...she knocked me unconscious...she taunted me as if she knew exactly what had happened on the night Tarim was taken." He narrowed his eyes in puzzlement and then added, "Which seems odd because she first told me that she had questions about what happened."

He shifted his gaze to Karosyn, seeking clarification, and inquired, "Do you think she is part of those other women...their...coven?"

Karosyn blinked at this rather peculiar reference and then replied with a frown of displeasure, "No." She fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment, her gaze scanning his room before settling on the small collection of well-handled books. "Do you enjoy reading, Aeyon?"

"I do...there is so much of the world about which I know nothing...so much about life beyond the Coopery that I wish to understand. Books give me a small taste of that."

This response, unaccountably, seemed to please the Queen...whose expression became casual...intimate...as if she was speaking with an old friend. "Are you happy here, Aeyon...at your father's Coopery...in Nalosan?"

There seemed to be something subtle...a couched nuance...beneath this casual question and so Aeyon attempted to answer it as concisely as he could. "I love the Coopery...the craft and art that comes with the...the building of the wares we sell. I am curious about the world beyond and about the...the things that influence our lives...and I want to have a better understanding of those forces that shape our lives. Still, my father was born in Nalosan...and married my mother, who was also born here." His tone became doleful and he added quietly, "My mother died here...when I was a young boy. Both of my parents loved Nalosan...because it is where they built their lives and were happy. My brother, Tarim, wanted to travel the world...to find new adventure, but I can't imagine ever leaving Nalosan or doing anything that would bring me more pleasure than the work at the Coopery."

This succinct articulation of satisfaction with his lot in life touched Karosyn profoundly and it was all she could do not to weep in response to its simple beauty. "I have seen much of the world beyond Nalosan, Aeyon and it can be an...unsettling and uninviting place...it is one of the many reasons I have laboured so hard to make Nalosan a city where everyone can live in comfort and safety and though there is much to do, I can tell you that yours is a worthy aspiration. May I ask how old you are, Aeyon?"

"I'm twenty...Tarim has accused me of being the indulged youngest brat of the family," Aeyon replied with obvious affection for his missing brother.

Karosyn's hand, which had not left Aeyon's body since she'd first seated herself next to him, now wandered up to his right shoulder, which she squeezed firmly. "Instinct tells me that you are hardly a man to feel a sense of entitlement or take your good fortune for granted." She offered the wide-eyed Wrey a coquettish grin and allowed, "Thank you for having the good grace not to ask my age, but since we are going to be very good friends...I will admit that I am two hundred and forty-seven years old...give or take a few days. I hope you're not averse to spending time in the company of a crone?"

Aeyon's brow furrowed in suspicion. "You're making sport of me..." His expression became ponderous and he added, "Aren't you?"

With an amused gleam in her limpid eyes, the Queen shook her head, "Actually, I'm not. When a woman accepts Gyzarayne and swears fealty to her creed, they receive extended life as a boon...among other things. If you're interested...I can explain more about the Sisters of Esotaria and their mandate...over the dinners you and I shall have."

Aeyon, who had always been intrigued by the aloof and beautiful women who moved through the city as if borne on a carpet of air, nodded eagerly. Karosyn smiled and added, "In fact, you can question me about anything you wish...except to ask that I divulge state secrets...which would require that I decree that my own head find its way to the chopping block."

The comical expression of horror on Aeyon's face caused Karosyn to clap her hands and laugh unabashedly. "I jest, Aeyon...now I am having a measure of fun at your expense. Emercia doesn't actually have a headsman...nor will it while I sit atop the throne."

He smiled then...a warm, thoughtful smile that made her pulse race. It suddenly occurred to her that she could not recall the last time she had engaged in a frivolous conversation...easy banter that was not fraught with serious purpose. 'In truth, I wonder if I've ever had the opportunity to make jest and laugh...even as a young girl. That this humble, introspective young man could rouse this simple pleasure so readily...is an attestation of how...good he would be for me.'

To the watchful Aeyon, she explained the arrangement she had made regarding his protection, while he listened with mounting apprehension. "My Queen...Karosyn...I have no clothes suitable to be amongst nobility...or royalty. I...I..."

"Aeyon, all is well," she assured him. "You will be my guest and it is not my intention that you be a courtier." Her tone became a conspiratorial whisper and she commented, "Frankly, I'm constantly surrounded by popinjays and so your attire...your presence will be refreshing. I've healed your injuries, but you sustained a particularly nasty blow to the head...which can have unforeseen consequences. I want to have you close at hand in the event that these manifest. After a day or two...once you've recuperated...you can return to work in the Coopery...but only during the day and with an escort. I know that this seems imperious, but I will not risk having you harmed further."

Aeyon bowed his head and nodded without raising further objections, instead remarking quietly, "I'm sorry that I've become such a...bother."

She gripped his chin in her long fingers and gave it a brisk shake. "Nonsense...between you and I, there is a rather selfish agenda in all of this. I want us to be friends...I confess, that I felt it from the very moment you stepped into my throne room. What's more...I, too, have questions...and as you are going to be my exclusive dinner companion for the next while, I intend to interrogate you at length."

This disclosure roused an expression of alarm and Aeyon stammered, "Karosyn...I...I've answered your questions about the attacks...both of them...as thoroughly as I can."

"Not about the attacks, dear...but about life...here in my city. You see, I want to know how the average citizen feels about the city and the quality of life they have. Because of who I am, it is often difficult for me to gain an understanding of the perceptions of the average Emercian. Are they pleased with their lot? Do they see and feel the benefits of what I have attempted to achieve here? What would they have me do if they could communicate their wishes to me on how to improve their lives? You see, Aeyon, these are hardly questions I can put to the common man and woman...do you understand?"

Thinking of his own father's wary view of nobility, Aeyon understood exactly what she was attempting to convey. "I do."

She smiled, clearly pleased. "I know that you will answer these questions truthfully...candidly...because I sense that we have...a rapport. I would like you to serve as my conduit to the sensibilities of the people. You're a thoughtful young man...who values knowledge and understanding...and so I think you will be of tremendous benefit. Will you speak with me, Aeyon...answer my questions?"

"Yes...as much as I'm able," Aeyon promised, beginning to wonder if this was a vivid dream...if he was still confined in his coma. If so, this was surely the best dream he'd ever experienced.

"Excellent. I also have a real treat for you. It just so happens that Kammlogran hosts the Emercian Royal Archives...perhaps the largest and most comprehensive library in the known world...save for Dortizirian. While I am engaged in royal business, I will see that you have unfettered access to its shelves. If it is knowledge you seek, you will find it aplenty there. If there are things that pique your interest...or that you wish to discuss...we can do so as we dine each evening."

"Thank you, Karosyn...books are expensive and not easy to come by at any rate and so it would be a privilege to browse through your library," Aeyon returned earnestly, a speculative light flaring in his eyes.

Karosyn stroked her chin and observed, "I do believe you have already provided me with a matter to ponder. Knowledge should not be an exclusive or hoarded commodity...and if books can not be readily had, then the general populous will remain shackled in ignorance." She smiled exuberantly and returned her hand to his chest. "So, you see, Aeyon...you've already earned your keep."

His expression became solemn and he inquired, "You mentioned Dortizirian...is that your home...the place where you were born?"

Delighted that he was feeling comfortable in posing personal questions, Karosyn replied, "No, though I spent the vast majority of my first two centuries there...serving the Goddess as her Matrium. I was born in a hamlet called Wurym, which was every bit as bleak as the name sounds. It was there that Gyzarayne first came to me and enlisted me to be her Matrium...the guide and mother of her Ascentrix." A dark shadow scudded briefly across her lovely face and she murmured distantly. "It was a privileged endeavour in which I ultimately failed."

Sensing that the thread of conversation had struck a particularly tender nerve, Aeyon fumbled to move the talk to other matters, "It's hard to imagine that there is anything across the ocean...whole other lands."

"And yet, there are...but I can tell you candidly, Aeyon, the chains of islands on the other side of the Sea of Permanent Departure are hard and dismal places...other than Dortizirian, which is like a beacon in the gloom there."

He considered this for a moment and then asked, "Have you ever been to Majeer?"

He had posed this question with a hint of dark fascination, informing Karosyn that he was somewhat familiar with the odious history between that desert nation and the Eastern Continent. "I have not, though coincidentally, I have invited its present rulers to Nalosan to hold a conclave...with a mind to establishing bonds between our countries."

He shuddered involuntarily as he disclosed, "I have read that it is a wild and frightening place."

"It apparently is at that," Karosyn confirmed in a tone bereft of humour. She shook her head and beamed her radiant smile. "Aeyon, believe me when I tell you....your innate curiosity is your greatest gift. Use our time together to sate it with me...or better yet, use our time to whet that appetite until the thirst for understanding becomes...insatiable."

With this, she leaned forward and kissed his right cheek, smiling against his firm skin when she felt him shudder beneath her lips. Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and rose. "Very well, the impending visit has assured that there is much to be done in preparation and I would see you settled into your new lodgings. I will leave you to get dressed and after saying goodbye to your father and sister, we will depart for Kammlogran."

She squeezed his shoulder again and made her exit on legs that trembled slightly. Once he was alone, Aeyon inhaled...his quavering breath betraying the extent to which she had thoroughly unnerved him. Yet, he could not pretend that her stupefying presence...her amicable and familiar disposition...had left him feeling giddy.

'Life is not a fairy tale, Aeyon,' His father's voice informed him with a curt note of disapproval. 'A benevolent Queen this woman may be...but she will still drag the heart from your chest and grind it to dust beneath the heel of her need.'

Aeyon frowned and shook his head. As he dressed quickly, he decided that, while life was, indeed, not a fairy tale...but it could...on rare occasion...be a place that was kind to dreamers. Aeyon Wrey decided that he would bask in this dream for as long as it lasted.

His family watched from the stoop of the family home as he followed The Queen into her unmarked carriage, his father appearing doleful as if his son was being devoured by a predatory beast. The carriage then made its way through the drizzle dampened streets, carrying Aeyon to a place where he would experience his life's greatest joy...and its enduring sorrow.

Chapter Sixteen

1

Upon their arrival at Kammlogran, The Queen introduced Aeyon to the Captain of the castle guard, instructing him that the young man was to have unfettered access to all quarters of the castle, save for the few restricted areas, such as the armoury and the treasury. She then introduced a thoroughly dazzled Aeyon to her adjutant, informing a bemused Garum Tranan of the same stipulations. She then bid the adjutant to await her in her private audience chambers and escorted a moon-eyed Aeyon to his new lodgings. As they stepped into Artumas' long vacant quarters, Aeyon came to a stumbling halt, gaping about the large, lavish antechamber with obvious discomfort.

Karosyn stepped closer and murmured softly, "Don't be disconcerted, Aeyon...though I know is it is more easily said than done. Your life has been turned on its ear in these last weeks and I can only imagine how overwhelming this," she swept a long, leanly-muscle arm around the antechamber, which while humble by normal standards, must have seemed unfathomably extravagant to the humble cooper's son, "must seem. I can promise that you will be treated well here...by everyone. I have no tolerance for airs and condescension...as both your brother and sister should readily attest, and you will be afforded every courtesy while you are a guest in my home."

Aeyon nodded dutifully, but Karosyn could still glean his anxiety over the circumstances into which he'd been thrust.

'Or into which you've dragged him...if we're being perfectly candid. You know all too well that there were other means of insuring his safety...that did not involve boarding him in the chamber across from yours.' Karosyn dismissed this acerbic criticism with a shake of her head. "Settle in at your leisure, Aeyon. It's important you rest as much as possible in the next few days. The kind of concussive blow you've suffered is not to be taken lightly. I will have my Adjutant locate your brother and he can bring you to the kitchens...after you've had whatever lunch you please, I will have him bring you to the royal archives...where you will undoubtedly want to lose yourself in the books there. I have a pressing meeting with my regent and then...Ah," a brilliant smile spread across her lovely face and she actually snapped her fingers. "After I've concluded my business with my regent, I've scheduled a training session with my weapons master...which explains this outfit, if you're wondering. I've decided that it might be prudent to be at least familiar with the rudiments of self-defence and combat. Would you be interested in sitting in and watching me make a clumsy spectacle of myself?"

The notion of this exquisite, delicate woman fighting with weapons like a common soldier mortified Aeyon, who was suddenly suffused by the certainty that the Queen's rational for why she would undertake this exercise was greatly trivialized. "Yes...I would...not make a spectacle of yourself, I mean...but observe your training. Karosyn...you...you don't think you would ever have a call for knowing how to fight with weapons...do you?"

'This young man is as clever as you thought he was...he sees right through your minimizing,' the voice of Martriza observed. Not wanting to weave a bald-faced lie, Karosyn spun a facile dance about the truth. "In my position, you quickly learn that it is folly to discount any possibility. Emercia is my home and my responsibility...and if circumstances required that I take up the sword to see it protected, then I would do so willingly...but don't fret, Aeyon...I have an arsenal of far more effective weapons with which to defend myself...should it ever come to that lamentable pass. What's more, kings and Queens routinely ask that common citizen to set aside their lives and take upon the sword in the land's defence, so it is only fitting that we understand what it is we are asking."

Aeyon greeted this with a neutral nod, clearly troubled by the idea that circumstances would ever force his Queen to such an extreme. On impulse, she decided that theirs would not be a friendship based on carefully spun half-truths and avoidance. Her instincts informed her that he would be unfalteringly scrupulous in preserving her trust and so she would reciprocate by being forthcoming about all that had befallen his family...when time allowed. "Very well, then welcome to my home and take what time you need to settle in. Once I've concluded my meeting, I'll come and collect you and you can watch my weapons master put me through my paces." She smiled mischievously and added, "Maybe he'll permit you to serve as my sparring partner."

"I...I would never raise a hand against you...not even in a contest. You are the Queen!" An increasingly scandalized Aeyon stammered, colouring to a fetching shade of plum.

"Well...if you insist on being such a stickler for protocol, then I'll just have to mop the stones with you and heal you afterward," she replied tartly and then threw back her head and laughed. She then hugged her guest and pirouetting gracefully, left a thoroughly bemused Aeyon gaping after her.

2

The natural good humour that Aeyon seemed to inspire had completely dissipated by the time that Karosyn had sought out her Adjutant, displaced by a smouldering fury of which the placid queen would have thought herself incapable only days before.

'Moments of crisis define who we are as a monarch, pure heart. You have ruled in a time of unprecedented prosperity and peace...states which can be attributed, largely, to your safe rule. Now, you have come to your moment of dark drama...and your challenge will be to surmount it...while remaining true to who you are,' the voice of her late husband imparted,

Normally, Karosyn found these small snippets of wisdom...offered by the ghost of her beloved Artumas...soothing and grounding. On this day, however, she found his insight vexing.

Without preamble, she demanded, "Has Princess Czefrina been located?"

"She has not, my Queen," Garum replied, unsettled by the grating edge in her tone. "When she did not respond to being hailed, I ordered the guards to gain access to her chambers. Her few possessions are still there, but the Princess, herself, is nowhere in evidence. A search of the castle had yielded no hint of where she might be, though the gate commander assures me that she did not leave the castle grounds."

"At least via the ramp," Karosyn rasped irritably, causing Garum to arch an eyebrow. "Very well, instruct the Captain of the Hand that every effort is to be made to locate The Princess. When she had been located...she is to be arrested by any means necessary and sequestered in a holding area in the castle depths!"

When Garum looked at her askance, Karosyn elaborated, "It was Czefrina who attacked Aeyon Wrey in his father's Coopery last night...an attack he was most fortunate to survive."

"Is he certain it was the Princess?" Garum inquired. While it was true that the she-demon seemed...unstable, that she would attack an apparent stranger with whom she'd had no interaction seemed...difficult to credit.

With a hint of mild impatience, the Queen disclosed, "His description of her physique and her physical capabilities matched our savage guest perfectly. Before you inquire, I have no idea why she would target Aeyon Wrey, but I suspect it may have something to do with whatever hand she had in inducing Martriza to take her life as she did. I know I've given you an imposing set of tasks, but I want you to set them aside and supervise this search personally. As long as she remains at large, Aeyon may be in danger and that is a threat I will not tolerate."

"I'll begin immediately, your highness," Garum replied, sensing the exigency of the Queen's concern.

He solicited permission to take his leave, which the Queen granted before adding, "You, of all people, know how dangerous this viper is. I want her taken unharmed, but if that proves impossible, do whatever is necessary to subdue her." She fixed Garum with a humourless grin and intoned, "If she enjoys beating those who lacked the skill to defend themselves, let me give her a emphatic taste of her own medicine...where no one can hear her beg. If ever you needed proof that I am far from infallible, this sorry episode has provided it in spades."

Disconcerted by the seething malice in Karosyn's voice, Garum bowed and took his leave. As he set about gathering a larger force with which to conduct his search, Garum realized that by targeting this particular young man, for whom the Queen had developed an inordinate concern, the volatile Lamish Princess had committed a grave error she would soon come to rue.

3

While Karosyn imparted her instruction to an increasingly despondent Garum Tranan, a furtive presence raptly absorbed every word. Sequestered within the darkened corridors that past paranoia had seen constructed within Kammlogran's ancient walls, the subject of Karosyn's smouldering outrage listened, her own fury growing with every acidic word The Queen uttered. When both Karosyn and her lackey had departed, Czefrina turned away from the small holes in the stone and as dejection enfolded her in its debilitating embrace, she slumped against the wall and slid down the cold stone, settling onto her haunches where she folded her forearms over her bended knees and allowed her forehead to settle against her muscular arms.

Without prior warning, the tempestuous young woman burst into tears, the convulsive sobs wracking her powerful body as if she was a distraught child.

As had always been the case, her tumultuous nature transformed sorrow and disappointment into misdirected fury. She slammed the palm of her down on the dust-grimed stone again and again, snarling venomously, "Karosyn, you dishonourable fucking bitch. Renege on our pact, will you. Oh, but I know how you dote on your pretty toy...don't think I don't, you pretentious cunt...maybe I should visit him again...and divest him of his head and leave it on your pillow as a token of my disgust with your treachery."

She sat in the dark, weeping and spewing hate-filled vitriolic fantasies of how she would extract revenge for what she perceived as Karosyn's unjustified revocation of their common purpose...lunacy emanating from the innately unstable woman in toxic waves.

She had returned to her chamber the previous night via the same route with which she had gained unseen egress from the tightly monitored castle. After making her way through the seemingly random and endless maze of inner walls, Czefrina had discovered several vertical passages that led up to the ramparts. These narrow tunnels had originally been outfitted with iron ladders, but after centuries of neglect, most of those were either missing or treacherously rusted.

For the gifted Czefrina, this had proved only a minor impediment. Pressing her broad back against one wall and her feet against the opposite wall, the incredibly powerful and agile woman had scaled the vertical shaft like a spider to discover that it emerged in a shadowy corner of the castle's upper ramparts, near the crenellated north wall that overlooked the Bay of Imerlac. Ensconced in shadow, Czefrina had traverse the wall until she located an area where she could make a precarious descent to the city below. Locating hand and foot holds from seemingly smooth stone, she had made the arduous descent without incident. Before she'd set off to her interrogation of Aeyon Wrey (with no inkling that this clandestine adventure would rebound upon her with disastrous effect) she had gazed back up at the distant battlements and with a smirk, had whispered, "You're not nearly as secure as you believe yourself to be...cloister in your mighty keep, Karosyn."

After her futile encounter with the handsome young apprentice...during which she had again lost her equilibrium, leaving Aeyon beaten and unconscious...she had re-entered Kammlogran by the same onerous route. During her brief absence, the dynamic within the castle had undergone a perceptible shift. She could feel the tension and uncertainty rolling along its darkened corridors in palpable waves. The Queen's guard hurried back and forth, often herding sleep-addled, disheveled courtiers before them, while ignoring their sputtering objections.

Czefrina had been thoroughly astounded upon discovering that the benevolent Queen's Tribunes had actually plotted insurrection, an ill-fated rebellion that the Queen had sniffed out without spilling a drop of blood. After cornering a pliable young guard, whom she shamelessly pressed against in a shadowed side corridor, Czefrina had further been flummoxed to discover that Martriza Odain had been amongst the ranks of conspirators. She had made her way to the Seneschal's quarters, via the labyrinth, just in time to hear the sickeningly lenient Karosyn make her incomprehensible offer of clemency to the obvious broken shrew.

Czefrina had allowed spite to goad her into humiliating and intimidating the shattered bitch upon the Queen's departure, incorrectly deducing that she could make Martriza her biddable marionette. Quite obviously, she had pushed the broken woman too far and now, the craven had take her own life while casting aspersions upon Czefrina in the process...aspersions which Karosyn had quite obviously accepted as true.

When the Queen had discovered that her pet had been assaulted, she had evidently rushed to his aid, whisking him back to the castle for safekeeping. It was equally evident that Karosyn had deduced the identity of his attacker from his account and now Czefrina found herself a hiding in the walls like a burrowing animal...at the very time when the object of her lifelong obsession was converging upon Nalosan.

The monumental unjustness of this inimical turn of events made Czefrina want to throw back her head and scream until her throat burst...or rampage through the traitorous bitch's castle, leaving a trail of blood-spattered corpses in her wake like a living scythe.

Through this roiling storm of rampant, grossly distorted emotions came a single whispered voice that snapped the turbulent young creature out of her wild fit of self-pity.

'Has it not always been thus, Czefrina...a beautiful child whose tempest of a soul would give no peace? Time after time, since you were a very young girl, the erratic angels of your nature would goad you into mindless, irrational acts of spite and petulance, slowly alienating you from those who loved you...isolating you, with only your instability for a companion. For years, I watched this slow, insidious process corrode your spirit...and to my shame, I remained aloof.' The familiar voice fell into a contemplative silence and Czefrina uttered a mournful sob, fraught with longing and loneliness. How long had it been since she had last stood in the presence of her grandmother, Nayoro...the first true Queen of Lamia...since she had allowed the calm voice to wash over her like a placating balm?

'Look at what has become of you my precious, lost child...skulking in the dark places like a vermin...hunted and reviled. Can you not see how it is your own erratic nature that has brought you to this nadir...from which you will not arise should you not let the harsh light of brutally honest introspection guide you to epiphany?' There was a doleful note to Nayoro's voice as if to suggest she believed this prospect was highly improbable.

"What should I do, grandmother?" Czefrina moaned in a voice that resembled that of a bewildered child.

'If you are sincere about repentance...then leave this place...now. Abandon this mad pursuit of a woman who I can tell you resembles your idealized version in appearance only. Return to me and I will broker a rapprochement with your brother...and then you can submit yourself to my teaching...to my wisdom...and perhaps together, we can find the means to exorcise these demons that afflict your soul. Setting yourself upon this path and claim the life your erratic nature has denied you...I beg of you!' Nayoro exhorted, her plea reverberating in the chamber's of Czefrina's troubled mind.

Before Czefrina's tear distorted eyes, a point of light manifested like a spark and swiftly expanded, beaconing to step into its golden warmth with the prospect of enduring contentment awaiting her on the other side. She staggered to her feet and stood swaying before it, willing herself to take the first courageous step toward salvation.

Laughter, rife with derision, cut through this moment of poised redemption, lashing her with its contempt. "Will you let this irrelevant dowager entice you to take the craven's way...to forsake your dream when you stand on the cusp of its attainment? Will you let the cowardice of this obtuse, spineless Queen prevent you from laying claim to what is yours by right?"

This voice had been her own...as so, too, had been the voice of her grandmother...two aspects of the duality that plagued her incessantly and had since she was a small child. She chortled then, a thin humourless sound rife with resignation. The shimmering curtain guttered and vanished, provoking Czefrina's crooked grin.

"I am what I am, grandmother...a shunned thing, relegated to the shadow...discounted until I have proven my worth...and so I reject your counsel, grandmother. Instead, I choose to seize what is mine...and woe be to anyone...Queen or commoner...who looks to bar my path!"

She drew a quavering breath and rose on legs that trembled despite their formidable girth. Having resolved to stay the course, Czefrina turned her attention to the pragmatics of how she might actually achieve that goal...now that she had squandered the Queen's patronage. Her gaze was drawn to her feet, where her preternatural visual acuity could still detect the small ruck sack that lay near her feet. Contained within this rough spun conveyance was the sum total of Czefrina's material possessions, but she did not allow this decidedly dismal fact to pull her down into a morass of dejection. There would be time enough to accrue all of the trapping of glory...once her leash was firmly affixed around Lorio's neck.

She sniffed experimentally at the air, which was musty and held a vaguely malodorous undertone...a melange of dust, dry rot and neglect. She further discerned that her own flesh...unwashed since the prior morning...was contributing to this unpleasant odour.

She was faced with two options; wait until nightfall and reprise her dramatic exit from Kammlogran...or remain sequestered in the in between spaces, stealing out only to purloin the necessities, such as food, water and a bath. None of these posed much concern for the slick and resourceful Czefrina, but there was one pivotal requirement that did pose a problem.

Confined to the narrow corridors like a vermin would mean that she could not undertake her crucial training routine...a lapse that could prove disastrous when the time came to humble the immortal. Czefrina pursed her lips and stroked her chin. Once the guards had conducted a thorough and ultimately futile search of the castle, it was highly likely that they would desist, concluding that she must have fled. That would make the task of slipping out of the secret spaces that much easier and not only would she be able to procure the items she required, but she might even be able to return to her own chamber's and sleep in a proper bed. Being at the peak of her mental and physical potential was critical for the confrontation to come and rest was a critical facet of attaining that peak.

That left only the matter of a secluded training space. Collecting her sack, Czefrina loped into the darkness with the intention of scouring the sprawling castle until she found what she needed.

As she explored, Czefrina distracted herself from contemplating her piteous circumstances by envisioning different scenarios in which Lorio submitted to her mastery after being resoundingly humbled by her new mistress.

4

In the days after Driss' stunning departure, Opheile attempted to resume a pale facsimile of a normal life. She functioned with a wooden, mechanical doggedness that was so unlike her normal energetic enthusiasm. She smiled when that particular expression was required and performed her expected daily functions with the efficient detachment of an automaton.

The patrons of her Inn were none the wiser, but her staff...especially the perceptive Eryth...were acutely aware that something had thoroughly devastated their employer and that she was clinging tenaciously to normalcy by the most tenuous of grips. The conspicuous absence of the enigmatic Driss made it apparent that the raven-haired beauty was the source of Opheile's despondency...as if her sudden departure had taken much of the Inn mistress' vitality along in the process.

Behind this brittle facade of thin smiles and detached politeness, Opheile felt utterly hollow. Snow had declared the onset of premature winter in Cortrin which struck the beauty as somehow darkly appropriate. She chastised herself for becoming so utterly dependent upon a creature who had repeatedly demonstrated an erratic and secretive nature. She had always considered herself worldly and sage, but the raven-haired puzzle had reduced her to a smitten, spellbound school girl when Opheile would have vehemently sworn that she was immune to such nonsense. She was equally dismayed to realize that she could not summon the requisite strength of character to cloister Driss' memory in a dark corner and move forward with her life.

On the morning after Driss had made her shocking exit, Opheile had commissioned a carriage to take her to Emon Yar's shipping yard, where she apprised the bewildered old man of Driss' departure. It required only one look in the old man's watery eyes to glean that he was every bit as devastated as Opheile...and that he had come to regard and love the beautiful hieroglyph like a daughter.

"And she gave you no hint of where she might be off to?" Emon had asked, his dismay evident.

"No...only that she had obligations that could no longer be ignored," Opheile had replied, struggling to modulate her voice when all she wanted to do was scream...to bray her angry confusion in hysterical shrieks.

They had exchanged promises that they would take supper in the days soon to come and Opheile had returned to her now sterile life. After Czarin had met his needless and gruesome end, outrage had helped carry Opheile to a place where she could recapture her equilibrium. In the wake of Driss' perplexing act of disentanglement, Opheile could not conjure the fury to ward her against the acute pain of loss and emptiness. Thus, Opheile Seznoire, whose extraordinary beauty of body and spirit could have insured the devotion of anyone upon who she had cast an amorous gaze withdrew into a cloister of distracted sadness. As the days passed, Opheile would emerge from strange moments of dislocation to find that she was sitting in her office staring through the frost-limed window into the snowy darkness beyond having no notion of how long these periods of torpor had lasted. Though she poured her derision upon this pathetic behaviour, her disdain had lacked the motivating power to rouse her from her dejection.

Her empty bed was the worst, of course...the place of intimate energy and joy, where she had wallowed unabashedly in Driss' astounding flesh like a woman gorging herself at an imperial banquet. Opheile stumbled to her bed only when exhaustion would allow her to remain upright no further. Thus, in the week after Driss' abandonment, the reflection that peered back at Opheile in the mirror each morning appeared increasingly frayed around the edges. This manifested in small things...an errant lock of hair or a dark smudge beneath the eyes...but little by little, Opheile's meticulously maintained facade began to unravel.

Finally, unable to endure the sad spectacle of her mistress' obvious anguish, Eryth had entered Opheile's office, wincing when the chest-nut haired beauty had turned her hollow-eyed regard upon her. Her gaze slid to Opheile's desk, across which was sprawled a drift of neglected accounts and she inquired firmly, "Opheile...won't you talk to me. Giving voice to your sadness...well it's often the best way to begin to master it. Please...I...I hate to see you in this kind of pain."

There had been a flare of indignation in Opheile's sapphire eyes, which quickly relented to grim resignation. She signed wistfully and apologized. "I'm sorry, Eryth...and you're right, of course. Driss had to...had to leave suddenly and I've been pining like a young girl in a romance novel. I'll pull myself together."

When Opheile had favoured her with an obviously exaggerated grin of exuberance, Eryth had watched her dubiously for several moments before simply nodding and withdrawing from her friend's office. The instant the door had closed, Opheile's smile had faded, displaced by a wounded frown. She had uttered a tremulous sob fraught with primal misery. Then she had closed her eyes and recalled the final moment before Driss had departed.

She had watched from the shadows of her hall as Driss had come to an abrupt halt in the falling snow and she had felt a surge of hope when Driss had strode purposefully back to her and pushing her into the hall, had kissed Opheile with an ardour that had made the innkeeper dizzy. That hope had segued into sinking despair as Driss had delivered her impassioned and puzzling adjuration and then had marched away into the stormy night without a backward glance.

Now, alone with the detritus of her slowly unravelling life, Opheile finally turned her mind to that perplexing entreaty.

'Is there a decent library in Cortrin?' Driss had asked...a puzzling non sequitur that had flummoxed Opheile at the fraught moment. When she had allowed that there was, Driss had pleaded, 'Go to the best of them and find any books they might have on the Emerald Enchantress Wars and the chaos that followed in the decade after. If they are worth the paper they're printed on, they'll contain all the popularly held lies and half-truths about Lorio. When I return, I will tell you the entire truth of who she was...of who she is.'

Until this moment, Opheile had been too consumed by her sorrow...by the malaise into which she'd plunged...to give any thought to the implications of this peculiar pronouncement. She surveyed her office, which had taken on the ramshackle appearance of neglect and gave her head a rueful shake. Realizing that she had just turned a difficult corner in dealing with Driss' leaving, the meticulous Opheile set about restoring her office to its customary organized state, beginning with her desk. As she laboured, she allowed her thoughts to gravitate to the possible meaning of Driss' departing puzzle.

Before she could venture into that mysterious labyrinth, Opheile decided that she must come to candid terms with our own circumstances. In her shock, she had angrily told Driss that she would not wait for her, but she was self-aware enough to know that this was a lie meant to preserve her crumbling dignity. Though she'd been unaware of it at the time, Opheile now realized that Driss, this complex enigma, had laid an unbreakable claim upon her soul the very instant they had passed each other in the bath house. Fiercely independent and wary of the proprietary ambitions of those who looked to claim her as a beautiful ornament, Opheile was surprised to discover that she was perfectly happy to be Driss' ornament...if that was what circumstances required. She knew with equal certitude that, if Driss were to walk into this office, throw her over her shoulder and carry to their bed, where she would ravage her like a pirate, Opheile would give herself with wild abandon.

She had also lashed Driss with the fact that she would look elsewhere for this intimate bond, but because of the absolute elation this woman roused in Opheile's spirit...she knew this had also been a shallow lie. Should Driss not return, Opheile would spend the rest of her life alone...with fond reminiscences of the two ghosts she'd loved. There was a certain romantic tragedy in this notion that appealed to the capricious aspect of her nature.

Having established the salient truth of her present circumstances, Opheile applied herself to unravelling Driss' parting puzzle. To that end, she decided to follow her lover's parting advise and seek out information of a period of time which had defined the modern world...but of which she knew relatively little.

After returning to her room and attending to her scandalous lapse in personal grooming, Opheile...now shining like a diamond of blinding magnitude, informed Eryth that she would be going out for the afternoon. The sudden return of her employer's customary luminescence made the woman smile and Opheile felt a twinge of guilt for having allowed her personal tribulations to worry those who cared about her.

Commissioning a carriage, she set out for Cortrin's largest library and archive...a stately building into which she'd never ventured. Simply stepping into the stone building, with its highly polished floors and rows of dark, rich wooden shelves was a humbling experience for Opheile, who suddenly realized that she had permitted herself to become woefully ill-informed about the world beyond her immediate sphere of concern. The sheer number of books and scrolls was daunting, but there was something pleasant about the mingled scents of old leather and paper that made her feel more at ease.

She approached the chief archivist, an older man who gazed back at her as if she was a vision that had manifested out of the pages of one of his books, and inquired about the process of borrowing books from the library. He spoke of becoming a member of Cortrin's archive with the gravitas of one describing divine ritual and then had helped Opheile complete the surprisingly extensive paperwork necessary to achieve that August status.

After that surprisingly time-consuming process had been completed, she had described the direction of her interest, which was met by a curious frown by the old man. She had brought the full weight of her charm and beauty to bear on the old man to enlist his aid in gathering the reading material she required to fulfill Driss' request.

She returned to the Glass House Inn with five volumes that covered various aspects of the Emerald Enchantress Wars and what was now referred to as the time of dark turbulence that had followed seven years after. Something about the old archivist's attentive kindness had reminded her that she had not spoken to Emon in the weeks since Driss had gone off to face her mysterious past. After dispatching the Inn's message boy with a dinner invitation to the old man, of whom she had grown particularly fond, Opheile carried her trove of reading material back to her office and spent the remainder of the evening delving into the Antiquated Lands great juncture of strife and perseverance.

She spent the next several weeks engaged in this enlightening pursuit. She contemplated doing her reading in Driss' old room, sitting in her chair by the window, but simply could not muster the courage to venture inside...afraid that she would be decimated by her lover's glaring absence. During this time, Opheile made a gradual return back to her state of effervescence.

The chroniclers of this epic time had set to page a story that the pragmatic Opheile could scarcely credit. She had been born into an unprecedented period of peace and prosperity on the Eastern Continent and it was difficult to image that these same lands had tottered on the precipice of the abyss only decades before she was born. Some of these accounts struck her as preposterous hyperbole...especially the volume that had dealt with the Great Quest through the Land of Shades. Surely this was more of a fantasy than a historic account. The idea that anyone had ever breeched the Hiberas was hard enough to take seriously, but the things these supposed adventurers confronted...malevolent spectres and a Goddess who ruled over the demesne of the dead...how could these things be anything more than the constructs of a vivid imagination?

And then there was the matter of Lorio. She had flipped to a series of artists rendering of the quest members and studied the face...a face she knew all too well. In those great dark eyes there resided a sadness that seemed to suggest a burden of sorrow that no living being could possibly bear. This Lorio had been a humble Lamish itinerant and had encountered...and fallen under the thrall of Islena Doraux, whom the author had described as a goddess from beyond the edges of our reality. This foolish embellishment had prompted Opheile to utter a spate of sardonic laughter. Lorio had evidently been Islena's lover...or her distraction, if the account was to be believed. Eventually, Lorio had fallen under the hand of Myrhia's, the Emercian Queen/sorceress who inculcated something into the simple Lamish beauty that had made her subservient...and immortal. She had then dispatched her golem to the CornerStone Nations with the mission of retrieving Islena. There had followed an adventure and drama the likes of which the world had never seen and evidently Lorio had actually been present when this fabled Islena had defeated Myrhia before returning to her own world and leaving a devastated Lorio to grieve her loss.

Opheile had shaken her head in skeptic dismay as she'd set this tome aside upon reaching its conclusion. The other three volumes, while more clinical in style had spun a similar, though more restrained version of events. Still, she could not bring herself to ascribe more than a passing credence for what she'd read. On the matter of this Lorio, Opheile remained ambivalent.

And then she had plunged into the final volume...consuming it in one sitting that had left her hollow-eyed and dazed come the following dawn. Entitled A flicker of Enduring Light in the Darkness, this tome was a grim, yet concise account of the events that had ushered the world into its current state of enduring tranquility. Lorio, now Queen of the fledgling nation of Lamia had stood at the epicentre of this terrible tempest...and again her heroic actions had influenced its favourable resolution. Yet it was the last entry pertaining to Lorio that had torn the rug of equilibrium and certitude from beneath Opheile's feet and left her spinning, untethered, in confusion and bewilderment.

' _Devastated by the carnage that her nation had suffered in her name, Lorio abdicated her throne...and set off to wander the world in the company of a mysterious woman known only as Issidris. It is said that this duo of itinerants wander yet, like wraiths in the mist.'_

Opheile had reread this entry until the words dissolved into a meaningless blur through repetition.

Then the key point she had somehow managed to miss (or perhaps, ignore) for so long resolved in her mind with swift and shocking clarity. Issidris...Driss. The name, which she had always assumed to be a pseudonym, had been taken as a tribute to the woman she had lost...a woman who had become the inseparable companion of a living legend.

A sharp hiss escaped Opheile's tightly compressed lips and her eyes grew comically wide. In that moment of crystalline insight, her skepticism was transmogrified to complete and unequivocal acceptance. Driss, the humble toiler...was Lorio, the one-time Queen and heroine of legend. She had been sharing her life...her bed...with one of the most influential figures in modern history.

Opheile flushed in appalled embarrassment when she recalled the innumerable times she had attempted to guide Driss...to mentor her as if she was a wise sage and Driss was an eager ingenue in need of her moulding hand.

She recalled the very first instant they'd spoken, during the course of which Driss had angrily protested what she perceived as Opheile's condescension. Yet, as time passed and they grew intimately familiar, Driss had seemed perfectly content to let Opheile be her mentor...as preposterous as this was now revealed to be.

'You have captured the heart of one of the most intriguing women in history!' she realized with an uneasy blend of pride and incredulity.

As the first vermillion rays of light crept over the horizon beyond her office window, a hollow-eyed Opheile Seznoire grappled with the astonishing new realities that had come to define her life.

5

Under normal circumstances, Opheile was diligent in keeping apprised of the salient events that shaped the course of life in Cortrin...and to a lesser extent, Galloway beyond. Understanding the governing economic realities that shaped the city's fortunes was simply a prudent business posture and Opheile prided herself on being a competent proprietress.

In the aftermath of Driss' stunning departure from her life, Opheile had allowed this vigilance to lapse and thus she was unaware of the sudden development that had set tongues wagging and speculation running rampant. In a state of suspended animation, the contingent of Jerhia military personnel found themselves without an end destination, while they awaited the Queen's permission to enter Emercia. As this contingent of elite female warriors had been close to the city of Cortrin when they had received Queen Karosyn's communique, the Maxim Tier Marshal had decided that her troops would billet in Cortrin until her contingent of scouts could surreptitiously determine the precise nature of the situation in Nalosan.

One of the factors in compelling Arminda to take this action was the need to assuage the understandable anxiety of the host nation's oligarchy. After four decades of isolationism, the sudden appearance of a Jerhia military force, as small as this one might be, on Eastern Continent soil was bound to rouse concern. Arminda had dispatched Adjutant Marangelies, who could charm cold stone, to meet with the local mayor and provide assurances that their stay was temporary and would bring tremendous economic benefit to the city of Cortrin. She had arranged to lease the local arena where her troops would establish a training ground and also dispatched her able Adjutant to procure lodgings at local inns for all of her troops...which amounted to a significant infusion of Jerhia coin to placate those jitters that came with seeing foreign troops on your home soil.

A paragon of decisiveness and clear vision, Arminda had then drafted a carefully worded communique to the oligarchs explaining the situation that had prompted their delay in leaving Galloway. She had hinted at a possible crisis in Emercia in the vaguest terms words would allow. She had then dispatched two further communiques...one to Summergaden and one to Othgol. Her missive to The Jerhia High command had directed her subordinates to dispatch three cadres of light cavalry and two cadres of Jerhia scouts to Galloway...fully equipped for combat and with all possible haste. To Grand Mage Inos, Arminda had written a detailed summary of her assessment of the situation in Emercia and pleaded for two cohorts of his best battle mages to bolster her force.

Then she had settled in to wait, anxiety gnawing at her like starving vermin, for the fluid situation in Emercia to attain a degree of clarity.

With her Adjutant engaged in the unenviable task of charming the local politicians and merchant guilds, Arminda had taken it upon herself to procure lodging for herself and Marangelies.

It was this that led her into the path of Opheile Seznoire.

6

A tentative wrap at her office door drew Opheile's attention away from the supply requisitions she'd been composing. She was surprised and mournful to discover how every action...every mundane task...somehow evoked reminders of her missing Driss.

'Lorio...her name is Lorio!' She corrected herself angrily and then recalled the system of images she'd composed to help the evidently illiterate woman begin to the process of grasping simple supply requisitions. In light of what she had since discovered, it was hard for Opheile to believe that this almost mythical figure could not read or write...a fact that had been notably omitted from all of the books chronicling her extraordinary life.

She beckoned the knocker to enter and Eryth slid into her office. The clearly nervous expression that adorned her face caused Opheile to raise a questioning eyebrow. "There...there is a woman here inquiring about the availability of rooms. I am not certain that we can accommodate her needs, but she has asked to speak to the Inn Keeper directly."

"I believe we only have a single vacancy?" Opheile returned, frowning slightly over her normally composed assistant's anxiety.

"Yes...but I think you may still wish to speak to her." There was a pleading edge to Eryth voice that prompted Opheile to agree.

"Very well, have her come in."

A clearly relieved Eryth nodded and withdrew and Opheile prepared to deal with someone who might be obstreperous or demanding.

Nothing could have prepared her for the woman who entered her office. Attired in an impeccably pressed black military uniform with blood red piping on the trousers and black leather boots that were polished to a glare...the diminutive silver-haired woman exuded an aura that was arresting...in intimation of efficiency and decisive competence. Opheile could clearly glean why Eryth had been so intimidated by this woman, whose uniform suggested high rank, but was not one Opheile recognized as belonging to Galloway's relatively small military.

She regarded Opheile with polar blue eyes that conveyed the impression of a rapier sharp intellect and a crisp, no-nonsense manner. Perhaps it was a trick of the early morning light, but the woman seemed to be cocooned in an iridescent silver light.

For her part, Arminda came to an abrupt halt as she stepped over the office threshold. Seated behind the room's desk was a woman, the magnitude of whose beauty was staggeringly hypnotic...arresting in its intensity. She was regarding Arminda with two large sapphire eyes that glittered like precious gemstones, full of serenity and a compelling warmth and vivacity that invited familiarity. Though she had stood in the presence of some of the most beguiling women in the world and for whom she did not possess the inclination, Arminda had never been so keenly affected as she was when confronted by this unexpected jewel. Recovering her composure sufficiently to speak, Arminda began, "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I find myself in need of suitable accommodations for my Adjutant and myself in rather short order. The local mayor has given this establishment his glowing recommendation...and I was hoping you might be able to rescue us from having to sleep in a stable."

"Well that is a lamentable turn that I'll do all in my power to prevent," Opheile returned with a smile, immediately liking this woman despite her inherent wariness of those in any form of military vocation. Rising, she extended her long, slender arm and intoned, "I am Opheile Seznoire and if I can meet your needs, I will be more than happy to rescue you from a night in the stables."

The soldier crossed the room and took Opheile's hand and it was all she could do not to kiss the supple flesh of her aristocratic hand like a courtier in mummer's farce. Arminda was bemused by this childish giddiness. Opheile noticed that it was impossible to estimate this attractive woman's age, who despite her white hair, was straight of spine. Her gait was strong and confident and her pretty face was unlined and the Inn keeper was befuddled to realize that she was strongly attracted to this woman...who might well be old enough to be her mother. The soldier smiled and without divulging her name, listed her specific needs. "I would require two suites...and an office from which my Adjutant and I can conduct our affairs while in Cortrin."

Opheile was about to inform the woman that she regretfully had only one vacancy, but then she was stuck by the incontrovertible certainty that this woman had found her way to the Glass House for a reason that transcended the need for lodgings. Pursing her lips, she offered, "I have one vacancy...but a friend of mine has gone off on what promises to be an extended trip...and I'm certain she would have no issue with me allowing you to use her suite of rooms in her absence. It is a spacious and comfortable suite and I believe it will meet your liking." Without knowing precisely why, she added, "It's just down the hall from mine."

The soldier greeted this with a slight smile. "And the possibility of an office?"

Opheile glanced about and seized on the obvious, "You can have this one. I will have my staff relocate my desk and files to my suite and you may settle in her for the duration of your stay."

Arminda raised her hands and shook her head, privately delighted by this unexpectedly generous offer. "No, Opheile...I couldn't possibly impose upon you to that degree."

"I insist. It really is no imposition as I really don't require this space to run the Inn...especially in the short term."

Arminda pursed her lips. "Well...if you're certain it isn't a stifling inconvenience...but I insist on having some of my soldiers move whatever must be relocated. I promise that you will be well compensated for your generosity."

"Then I do believe we've spared you the hardship of bedding down in a hay loft," Opheile remarked with a scintillating smile.

"One other thing...I will require all of the keys to your office for the duration of my stay here. I will be working with state communiques and official documents that must be stored in a secure location," Arminda disclosed with an apologetic note.

Opheile took this restriction in stride. "That will not be a problem. My staff are trustworthy...and I am the very model of discretion. I will gather all of the keys and give them over once I have relocated my files and desk."

"Then I will take my leave and arrange to have my soldiers come to move your desk." She bowed and as she did, by random chance, her eyes fell upon the collection of books neatly stacked upon the corner of the exquisite beauty's desk. Her brow furrowed and something cold and fatalistic whispered across the fabric of her mind as she recognized one of the leather-bound volumes. On impulse, she reached for the slim volume and turned it to peruse its spine. Tilting her head slightly, Arminda inquired softly, "Are you a...student of history, Opheile?"

A wistful light stole into those radiant eyes then, rife with a pain so acute that it caused Arminda's breath to momentarily hitch in her chest. In a few, distant voice, Opheile remarked, "My friend, the one whose room you'll be borrowing, told me before she left that I would be well served by learning something of the past that has shaped the future we now enjoy...or something to that effect. I decided to heed her advice, I suppose."

Arminda rummaged through the volumes, frowning in vexation on the one dedicated to the great quest through the hell on the opposite side of the Hiberas. In a somber voice, she intoned, "Your friend is wise, but I would caution you to consider what you read with a generous dose of salt. These historian...and I employ that particular term of reference loosely...are all prone to taking creative licence when chronicling the pivotal junctures of history. Most of what you'll read between these covers is unsubstantiated conjecture and drivel." She brandished the book she was holding with a moue of disgust. "Especially this one."

Opheile had slipped back into her seat and now she folded her hands beneath her chin and tilted her head slightly, fetching posture that caused the dedicated celibate's pulse to race. "You speak as if you were there to witness these events personally."

This mildly chiding remark earned an tight grin from the soldier and for a second time in a few short weeks, Opheile Seznoire was struck by astonishing revelation. She rose, the ungainly motion sending her chair clattering to the floor behind her and blurted in a voice made shrill with astonishment. "You're...you're her...you're Arminda...the Jerhia Crossbow woman from the great quest."

Opheile's hand fluttered to her gaping mouth and she shook her head in disbelief, certain that this woman's sudden appearance was preordained...a fortuitous portent. The silver haired woman cracked a smile and allowed, "I've managed to advance in the ranks since then, actually. It's Maxim Tier Marshal now...if I can be permitted a small amount of self-aggrandized preening, I am that Arminda."

For a protracted moment, the usually unflappable Opheile could only stare like an awestruck child. She had stood in the presence of two of the most celebrated and influential women in this sad world's history...first a former Queen, whom she had come to love...and now, the respected leader of one of the great CornerStone Nations. "I'm honoured to have you stay in my Inn...and I apologize for not recognizing you sooner. I must seem like a provincial dullard."

Arminda laughed and returned, "I sincerely cannot imagine anyone less likely to provoke that impression than you. If you are wondering how I've strayed to your door, my expedition was en route to Nalosan for a ceremony hosted by Queen Karosyn when a...a situation in Emercia prompted the Queen to request that we delay our arrival. We may be in Cortrin for a matter of days...perhaps longer."

"You May stay in my Inn for as long as serves and at no charge!" When Arminda began to raise an objection, Opheile shook her head vehemently and insisted firmly, "These books may bear little resemblance to the truth of events, but they make it explicitly clear that your Nation...your people made incredible sacrifices to see Galloway freed from first Myrhia and then the Majeeri invaders. Free lodging can't even begin to repay that selfless sacrifice. Therefore, both you and your Adjutant will stay in the Glass House Inn free of charge and dine at no cost. I will personally insure that you have everything required to make your stay in my home a memorable one."

Profoundly touched by this kindness, Arminda could only nod. Opheile's tone became guarded and she ventured quietly, "So you knew Lorio well?"

Despite the casual tone with which this query had been posed, Arminda could discern a storm of turbulent emotion roiling just behind those great blue eyes...an urgency that went beyond simply trying to understand the echoes of the past. As she watched the Jerhia, Opheile could also glean the complex, discordant reaction her query had roused...it scudded across Arminda's pretty face like a shadow over a calm lake at the zenith of a bright summer's day. She averted her gaze to the pile of musty books and reply. "In short, yes...I knew Lorio as well as anyone from that era could claim, but her nature was inaccessible...even for those who spent a great deal of time in her company. It is a rather long tale, but if you are genuinely interested in gaining a more accurate sense of those dark times...I would gladly share my version...over supper this evening, if you could make the time."

Opheile smile was one of pure gratitude. "Then you have a willingly captive audience, but be forewarned...I fully expect to be treated to a spellbinding story...for which I will have an endless flood of questions."

Beneath the weight of Opheile's exuberance and imposing beauty, Arminda could only smile and promise to do her best to keep this exquisite creature enthralled, but the disciplined part of the Maxim Tier Marshal's mind insisted that there was much more to this woman's desire to be apprised of this bitter episode in history than mere curiosity.

7

As her initial impression had suggested, Opheile's Seznoire was an engaging delight and as the flow of her easy charming banter washed over the Maxim Tier Marshal, who was attired in a non-adorned working uniform to quell the speculation over her sudden appearance and purpose in Cortrin, Arminda could feel herself being lulled...traduced...by the astounding creature. They sat next to the hearth, in the Glass House's busy dining room, both grateful to be inside and away from the biting winds that were scouring the streets of Cortrin beyond the thick glass windows.

After returning from her round of reassuring local politicians and functionaries that their purpose in Galloway was benign, a clearly exhausted Marangelies had excused herself and went early to her pillows...for which Arminda was grateful. Though this gratitude inspired a twinge of guilt, it lacked the efficacy to change her thoughts on the matter of spending an evening in the enchanting company of the Inn Mistress. The serenity Opheile exuded washed over Arminda like a balm and she wondered if her expression reflected the rather sappy contentment she felt as she watched the beauty speak. In addition to her mesmerizing beauty, Opheile was gifted with a smooth wit that never fell to its dark shadow, mordant sarcasm. That this woman had remained single and unattached was a mystery that utterly confounded the thoroughly charmed Jerhia.

Arminda tried to recall the last occasion when she had passed an evening engaged in laughter and casual banter...simply allowing the conversation to carry where ever it may. It pained and bewildered her to realize that it had been nearly twenty-five years...since the death of Maroc...since she had engaged in this simple pleasure, the fundamental joy of human interaction that was not inspired by duty or purpose.

'If this was the price we paid to achieve the things we have, then I say it was far too exorbitant, Maroc, my lost friend,' Arminda thought dolefully, lost in the dancing light of Opheile's great blue eyes as the woman expounded on life in Cortrin. Hers was the gift to transform the mundane into the intriguing...the hysterical, and Arminda found herself chuckling and smiling like a woman on the edge of inebriation.

There had been a peculiar and disconcerting moment earlier that made this moment of casual gaiety seem all the more welcome. After ushering Arminda to her suite of rooms, Opheile had left her to unpack after agreeing to dining after the eighth bell of the evening. When the door had closed, Arminda had set her meticulously polished valise down and surveyed her new lodgings and as her incisive gaze had swept the room, she had been suffused by a sense of familiarity...like the resonating echo of something intimately familiar. As absurd as this was, for indeed, she had never set foot in Cortrin, much less the delightful Glass House Inn, this expression of acute familiarity was unshakable. Perturbed by what she considered the erratic precursors of senility, Arminda had made her way over to a chair that was strategically position next to the bed so that it would afford an unencumbered view of the snow-draped street below. As she settled into the comfortable leather chair, faded from prolonged use, a malaise had enveloped Arminda. It had twisted about her heart like a clinging vine, pulverizing the mantle of professional composure and letting loose the pervasive feeling of intense and terrible loneliness that she had always succeeded in relegating to a dark place in her heart where it could not torment her. She suddenly saw her life for what it was...a sterile, loveless existence, devoid of even a cursory form of intimacy...or lasting connection behind tenuous bonds of professional respect. This room with its deafening silence and intimations of an illusory connection to some past occupant, was a mournful, morose microcosm of what she had allowed her life to become.

Abruptly and without prior warning, Arminda, one of the most respected and admired women in the world, buried her face in her hands and began to sob. When, after an interminable moment, the tears had subsided, leaving her feeling embarrassed, yet despondent...that peculiar feeling of ambiguous connection persisted.

Now, as Arminda listened to her thoroughly engaging host work her magic of making the ordinary seem transcendent, this strange episode prompted her to ask, "Opheile...what was the name of the friend who suggested you read the books about that particular time in history?"

Opheile's expression became guarded and she pursed her lips, leaving Arminda with the impression that she might elect not to reply. With a small shake of her head, the Inn Mistress evidently dispelled her ambivalence and offered simply, "Driss...her name is Driss."

A shadow of some indecipherable emotion...uncertainty, perhaps...shimmered in those arresting eyes and though it was there and gone in an instant, the exceptional perceptive Arminda interpreted this anomaly for what it was and knew that Opheile had not been entirely forthcoming. On the heels of that the astute Jerhia drew an association between this name and a recollection that rendered Opheile's interest with those dark days in a startling new light.

Bending forward slightly and dropping her voice to a stage whisper, she inquired evenly, "Your friend, Driss...you believe her real name is Lorio, don't you?"

"I...I don't...I..." Opheile stammered, suddenly tongue-tied by this unexpected query that would lay her every hope...her every paralyzingly fear bare. Rather than respond, she fixed her dinner companion with a significant gaze and then asked that she be excused while she went to fetch something. As she waited, Arminda could feel her own anxiety mounting, despite her facade of perfect composure. Something of enormous consequence was about to transpire...something that would alter the course of all that was to follow...especially her own decidedly dreary future.

After several moments, Opheile returned and without preamble, carefully unfolded a single sheet of heavy paper and laid it on the table before the Maxim Tier Marshal for her perusal.

She recognized the benevolent Queen's solicitation for information pertaining to the missing one-time Lamish queen and glanced up at Opheile questioningly. The blue-eyed beauty slipped back into her seat and regarded the Jerhia with an unsettlingly frank gaze of appraisal for several moments and then, in a mechanical tone so unlike her customary mirthful voice, Opheile recounted the tale of how Driss, the humble, yet extraordinary itinerant...whom she now suspected might be something considerably more...had found her way into Opheile's life...her bed and her heart. The quavering in her voice...as she described their excruciating moment of parting...effected Arminda as keenly as a dirk beneath the ribs and she found herself envying Lorio for having found someone so utterly sublime to love, while pitying Opheile for falling in love with such a damaged vessel of irreducible pain and flux. To love Lorio was a feat that only someone with Issidris Il's granite mettle and disposition could possibly ever hope to achieve.

When Opheile had concluded her bitter-sweet account, she jabbed at the solicitation as though it was something ineffably vile and inquired with clear trepidation. "Do you think this is why she's left...why's she's reduced me to tatters...to heed this summons. On the night she left, Driss...Lorio...told me that her past had caught up to her. Is this what she meant...will this Queen hurt her?"

There was a frantic edge to Opheile's voice as she posed this torrent of queries and Arminda could see how precariously thin her veneer of composure was. To placate that concern, she reached across the table and gently squeezed Opheile's firm right forearm, declared adamantly. "Opheile, take my next words as an irrefutable article of faith. Queen Karosyn Nierosean is incapable of knowingly hurting another living being...and certainly not Lorio, whom she regards as a troubled daughter whose pain she has always tried to dispel. Whatever her reasons for seeking Lorio out, they are motivated only by benevolent intent."

Opheile shook her head, tears shimmering in those lovely, expressive eyes. "Then why would Lorio claim that this was something she had to confront? She made this seem that it held a threat...not only to her, but to me as well...especially to me. Was that just cheap rationalization to justify her leaving?"

"I...I don't know for certain," Arminda responded tentatively. Her polar blue eyes assumed a fierce cast and she vowed, "But you have my solemn vow that I will do everything in my considerable power to find out."

When Opheile tilted her head quizzically, Arminda elaborated, explaining her reasons for embarking on this expedition to Nalosan. "So, you see, I am not without a fair share of guilt in believing that this world has abandoned Lorio...that I have abandoned Lorio. I came east hoping to make restitution to the woman, whom I've abandoned in the name of duty...or perhaps that was only an excuse for being unable to bear standing in the presence of a woman I've failed so wretchedly. May I ask...do you believe it was the appearance of this solicitation that inspired Lorio to leave?"

"In part perhaps...but it not entirely," Opheile's allowed and then fixed the Jerhia with a speculative expression as if trying to gauge her capacity to accept her next revelation. Finally, she inhaled deeply and stated "Lorio insisted that she had to leave because...the spirit of Issidris Il visited her...admonished her that, if she didn't leave to confront this...this fathom threat, it would find her her...and it would be me who paid the price."

Rather than greet this with a obvious skepticism, Arminda appeared profoundly troubled by this bizarre revelation and Opheile pressed, "Do you know what she was referring to...this grave threat that would make her walk away from her home...from someone who loved her so ardently?"

Again, Arminda shook her head, "Not specifically, but there is a situation developing in Emercia. I've dispatched scouts into the country with the specific intent of finding out exactly why Queen Karosyn has requested that my arrival be delayed. I assure you, the instant I know anything...you will be apprised. As for the matter of Issidris Il's spirit and her dire warning...I can personally attest that I have witnessed such incredible things...both harrowing and divine...that I can readily attest to the plausibility of Lorio's explanation. Lorio has an intrepid heart unlike any other and it is only natural that she would rise to confront anything that would threaten those she loved."

Opheile pursed her lips and gave a small, perturbed wag of her head which caused her thick main of chestnut hair to shimmer in the undulating firelight. Her expression softened and with a bemused frown, she inquired, "The stories in these books...the elements of sorcery and unnatural beings...can they really be true?"

"Opheile, I am a woman who prides herself on her pragmatism, from a culture that is firmly rooted the tangible...steel and flesh. What I witnessed...the horrors I suffered...during my sojourn on the far side of the Hiberas...disabused me of every comforting delusion concerning the limits of what was and what was not possible," Arminda argued gravely.

"And yet, in the time since...these supernatural entities are...conspicuously nowhere to be found?"

Arminda offered the beauty a thin, contradictory smile and observed, "Not so...you have let one into your heart and have come to love her for all of her uniqueness."

Opheile's eyes grew comically wide as the implications of this statement exploded in her consciousness. Lorio was, indeed, living proof that the commonly held perceptions concerning the limits of accepted reality were...absurdly narrow. "What...what was she like? I've read these historical works, but I still haven't garnered a sense of who Lorio was...her exploits are too...too fantastical to identify with."

As she watched the perceptive beauty pose this natural query, Arminda could glean the enormity of the other woman's bewilderment. She had been raised beneath the austere sensibilities of Ossiran and men of his hard, uncompromising ilk. Such men had regarded the consideration of personal emotions as a sign of weakness...an inherent flaw...as if the display of one's humanity was somehow shameful. The Jerhia had worked her entire life to expunge this detrimental nonsense from her nation's psyche. Still, she had been deliberately circumspect in sharing tales from those unrelentingly bleak days, but in the face of Opheile's pain, Arminda decided that now was the time for a candid unburdening. Quietly, she began, "Lorio has said that she would tell you about her extraordinary life when she returns, but I suspect there are aspects of that life to which she is simply incapable of giving voice...they're simply too excruciatingly painful. I'm going to speak of them now...even though I'm certain that if she ever discovered that I've told you about these things, the entire Jerhia military could not prevent her from dragging me out into the gaming yard and beating me into the dirt. It required only one glance at you, with your immutable serenity and kindness of heart, to know that you are fate's dispensation to Lorio in compensation for the nightmare to which it subjected her...and so I will share some of these terrible tales so that you might understand why she is so deserving of having found you."

Though clearly unsettled by the gravitas of this declaration, Opheile smiled in gratitude and Arminda began to recount to the incredible story of Lorio's epic life during the period of the antiquated world's blackest hour. "On the rare occasion that I can bring myself to speak of that vile time, I always preface my tale-weaving by saying that pain, suffering and horror were the currency of the day...and no one was untouched by Myrhia's odious ambition. Yet, of all the suffering I personally witnessed...and endured, none was more devastating, more abject than the torment Lorio was forced to bear. That she survived with her sanity in tact is a testimony to the indomitable nature of her spirit. She should be the most celebrated, revered living being in our world and that she is forced to seek refuge living as an anonymous menial labourer fills me with shame."

She fell to silent reflection for a moment and then resumed her monologue with a rueful shake of her head. "All of Lorio's misery...the degradation and horror she endured...can be ascribed to one woman...and it is not the Emerald Enchantress as those flawed tomes would have you believe. Islena Doraux can claim responsibility for every wound Lorio suffered...even if those wounds were inflicted by the hands of others."

There was no mistaking the powerful aversion in Arminda's voice when she spoke of this Islena Doraux, who struck Opheile as more of a mythical being that an living person. Accordingly, she inquired, "The scholars' account makes it hard to visualize this Islena as a real human being."

"I can certainly appreciate the sentiment. Islena was all too real and though she did vanquish Myrhia, when none other could have achieved this feat...I will never regard her as a heroine. As to what she was, Islena Doraux was less of a human being and more of an inexorable engine of purpose, who had absolutely no compunction about remorselessly grinding anyone who stood between her and her purpose to dust. In many respects, I believe she held the potential to be a far greater monster than the woman she defeated."

"Yet, these books implied that Lorio loved this Islena...that they were lovers?"

Arminda grimaced. "For Islena, Lorio was a dalliance and then a tool, whom she manipulated to help obtain the things she needed to destroy Myrhia. Ultimately, she exploited Lorio in every way it is possible for one human being to exploit another. As for Lorio, she loved Islena...despised her...and viewed her through the lens of every emotion in between."

"And Lorio was actually there when Islena turned Myrhia...to stone?"

"Yes, because even after all she had inflicted on Lorio, the bitch still required Lorio's aid in saving us all. When it was done, Islena abandoned Lorio, cast her off like a piece of garbage. What remained was a broken, decimated woman...who still rose to the challenge when the world fell under another series of inimical shadows years later. Still, Opheile, there are incidents that you will never discover in any written tome and though they are insufferably horrible, I will tell them to you...not because their knowing will bring you any comfort, but because they will bind you to Lorio. The accounts will tell you that Lorio endured a prolonged period of torment in those odious dungeons of Perdwick...and that Islena rescued the barely alive girl from those dungeons...which is true. They will not, however, tell you that Lorio left the dungeons with child...or that she refused to have her pregnancy terminated...that she rose above the shame and stigma to believe that she could preserve hope by giving birth to a child of rape. In the end, our saviour abandoned Lorio in the Blighted Lands, where she again fell under the hand of Myrhia, who transmogrified her into the thing she is today."

"Which is what exactly?" Opheile inquired shakily, mortified and reeling beneath the overwhelming emotional deluge that had been Lorio's life...a life that was impossible to reconcile with the humble existence she seemed to have craved while with Opheile.

Arminda shrugged as if scarcely able to credit what she was about to convey. "Technically, Lorio is a variation of Myrhia's Morticants...which were indestructible Golems, animated by foul sorcery. Virtually indestructible, they were mindless engines of the enchantress' will...completely obedient and unrelenting. They, alone, were enough to allow her to subjugate the known world. After Islena abandoned Lorio at Runesholm Abbey in the Blighted Lands, Myrhia inculcated this sorcery into Lorio...making her into an entity the likes of which had never existed; every bit as indestructible as her prototypes, but possessed of a mind and...as she would later discover, to her eternal consternation, a will of her own."

When Opheile blanched in response to this description that made Lorio sound like an abomination, Arminda raised a hand and intoned adamantly, "Do not condemn Lorio...better than anyone else, you know that she is not a monster...despite this perverse thing that was inflicted upon her."

The lovely Inn keeper frowned ruefully, but then sighed and nodded. Arminda resumed her account, preparing to relate perhaps the most tragic aspect of Lorio's woe-plagued life. "Historians make much of the savage battle that Lorio and Islena Doraux waged on the plaza in Othgol, when the saviour and Myrhia arrived in the Metocan capital to accept the alliance's surrender. They continue to trump the falsehood that Lorio attacked Islena to prevent Doraux from ascending and becoming Myrhia's terrifying puppet. As is often the case with historians and their stylized recounting...the truth is a far darker and terrible matter."

Here, Arminda again hesitated, vacillating over the prudence of sharing the most agonizing of Lorio's torments. "In order to cross the Hiberas back into the world of men, after Islena had supplanted Myrhia's sorcery with her own and after we'd located Artumas...the great saviour made a pact with the Goddess who held dominion over the Land of Shades. Her name was Otaru Ree and she was virtually omnipotent...and by my estimate, completely insane from living amongst the dead for so long. Islena bartered with this mad goddess for safe passage back into the world of men...in return for one of the companions of the quest...who would serve as Otaru's eternal companion in this barren hell. By this time, Lorio was free from Myrhia's thrall...and her pregnancy resumed its normal course."

Here, a mortified Opheile began to shake her head in an unconscious gesture of negation, perhaps sensing the direction this tragic tale was about to take. A quaver has stolen into Arminda's normally steady voice as she recalled, "During the course of my life, I have bore witness to horrors too dark to comprehend, but none of those could compare to the deplorable spectacle of Otaru Ree coaxing Lorio's child from her womb and lifting it from her shaking arms, Lorio's harrowing cries and pleas ringing like a death knell...while the great saviour fled like a craven dog. I tried entreating my companions not to let this perversion stand, but they regarded me helplessly and the mad Goddess, her purloined baby in arm, squired the party back to the world of the living. That ineffably tragic incident inflicted an indelible wound on Lorio's already scarified soul and it was this that led her to attack Islena on the plaza...because our great saviour prised the boy from Lorio's breast as surely as Otaru Ree did."

Opheile allowed her chin to settle to her chest and the quivering of her firm shoulders informed Arminda that she was weeping silently. After a moment, she raised her head and with poignant tears glistening in those great blue eyes, Opheile gestured for Arminda to continue, who resumed her narrative in a tone rife with self-disdain. "Even then, after this...the ultimate cruelty...we demanded more of Lorio...and somehow, she found the wherewithal to give what was so unreasonably asked. In compensation, they fit her with a title for which she had no real aptitude...and though Artumas did this out of a genuine desire to help Lorio, inevitably, it only added to her pain and humiliation. After imparting this ultimately hollow gesture, one by one, the great leaders of the surviving world turned away...as if the torment we had inflicted upon Lorio was too much of an indictment to bear. I will not attempt to absolve myself, Opheile...because I was there to witness her bleakest moments of suffering, my turning away...in the supposed name of obligation to Jerhia...was the most despicable abandonment of all. I've now come to subscribe to the notion that it was divine providence that carried Issidris Il into Lorio's path. In this iron-hard, stoic woman, Lorio found an immutable foundation upon whom she could lean...who could hold the demons of her troubled nature at bay. After we had all turned out backs upon her...after she had abdicated her throne, Issidris Il saved Lorio from falling to despair...or worse. When I heard that Issidris had died...I knew that I should reach out to Lorio...to offer of what solace I could, but like a feckless craven, I did not. In you, Opheile, I see a woman who can actually provide Lorio with the joy she so richly deserves...and ward her from the inner darkness that has afflicted her through much of her life...and I can almost believe that fate can be capable of rare dispensations of compassion."

"When was the last time you saw Lorio?" Opheile asked...her voice strangely listless, stripped of its customary vivacity by this grim account of Lorio's tragic life. Arminda grimaced, the recollection burning her lie hot bile.

"Thirty Years ago, when I accompanied my mentor and predecessor, Maroc, to King Artumas' funeral. I did all in my power to avoid seeing her, but finally, he implored me to seek her out and try to make amends for the slight of casting her from the scope of my concern." Here, the stalwart Jerhia's voice broke, but she managed, "I remember the last thing I said to her in the piteously brief conversation we shared atop Castle Kammlogran. I told her that we should not permit so much time to lapse before coming into each other's presence...each other's thoughts. I recall how she had just smiled and bid me farewell...as if knowing that this sentiment was little more than hollow platitude, offered to assuage my conscience. Next day, she and Issidris resumed their great, rambling journey and I returned to Summergaden to pursue my ambition to become a ground-breaking shaper of Jerhia's new path. I exiled Lorio from my thoughts...only realizing how utterly heinous I was being toward a woman who deserved my unremitting love...when the Benevolent Queen's solicitation crossed my desk. Opheile, I cannot articulate the self loathing I feel for the way I have treated this poor, tormented soul...but I vow, on my life and honour...that I will do everything in my power to see that Lorio returns to you...if only you will not cast her from your heart."

"And what of her son? It is said that this Otaru Ree cast the Metocan, this Sygeanor, into the great continental divide...but did she return Lorio's stolen child?"

"Otaru permitted Lorio to spend an afternoon and evening in his company...more as a dispensation to the boy, whom her sorcery had transformed into a man, full grown, and her consort. She then squired him back to her bleak purgatory. As far as I am aware, it was the last time that she ever set eyes upon him. Had Issidris not been there to prevent it, I am told that Lorio would have cast herself into the Great Mother after mad Sygeanor."

"My beautiful Driss...that any woman should have to endure such a torment...defies my ability to fathom," an ashen-faced Opheile murmured, her voice made thick with sorrow. "I see now why she could not share this...this monstrous narrative of her life with me."

She startled Arminda by rising quickly and coming around the table, where she gripped the diminutive Jerhia's arm and easily pulled her into a fervent embrace, where she whispered, "Thank you, Arminda...for sharing this with me...for helping to divine just how blessed I have been by having this beautiful creature...this poor, fractured child...come into my life. If you can find out where she's gone...and if you can bring her back to me...I will be in your eternal debt."

Arminda could only nod vigorously, overwhelmed by the stunning beauty's enveloping embrace. Finally, appearing somehow diminished, her blue luminous eyes lacking their customary lustre, Opheile retreated a pace. She took Arminda's right hand in hers and the Jerhia was drawn to how finely made they were as they held her small hand with such gentle insistence. In a wan voice, The Inn keeper declared solemnly, "I owe you an even larger debt of gratitude for providing me with a deeper understanding of the woman I've come to love. You're right, The Driss I know regards the sharing of her pain as an admission of weakness and the account of her life that she would have spun for me...would have been far more banal and benign, motivated by the mournful belief that it is gallant to dismissively shrug off the wounds and scars this wretched world had inflicted upon you. I never would have known her pain and loss...her suffering that is so extreme and acute that it is a miracle that she can even remain upright...that she hasn't simply curled into a ball and vanished into some lightless place in her mind where no thing or no one can ever again abuse her."

Quietly, a profoundly moved Arminda offered, "Both you and Issidris Il deserve the vast majority for that tragic eventuality not coming to pass."

Opheile mustered a sorrowful smile. "Yet another reminder how I find myself in the debt of a woman I can never properly thank. Now that I have gleaned the enormity of Lorio's torment, I can be more vigilant in warding her against those demons you spoke of...more tolerant and understanding of those times when she feels the need to seek solitude." Opheile straightened, appearing pallid and weary. "You've given me much to reflect on Maxim Tier Marshal and I must excuse myself...as I fear I have an ocean of tears to spill this night and I would rather you not see me in such a state. Let us do this again and we can speak of...happier matters. Now, if you can forgive my discourtesy...I'll say good night."

Arminda bowed and after offering her guest a decidedly muted smile, Opheile began to move away. On a spontaneous impulse she would never understand...nor ever forget in the years that remained to her, Arminda hurried to catch up with distraught woman and inquired sheepishly, "I know this will seem incredibly ill timed, but two nights hence the Mayor of Cortrin is hosting a gala...a welcoming for his unexpected Jerhia guests. Would it be considered scandalous by local sensibilities if I was to ask you to accompany me as my guest?"

Like sun breaking through the clouds, Opheile's great blue eyes alit and she beamed a scintillating smile. "It would be deliciously scandalous, which is why I couldn't possibly refuse. Leave the preparations to me and I'll insure that we shine like the brightest stars and set every tongue in Cortrin wagging with conjecture. I trust you dance, Maxim Tier Marshal?"

Arminda coloured at this unthought of idea, but allowed, "I'm passable, I suppose."

Opheile leaned closer and squeezed the Jerhia's right forearm. "That's only because you've not had me for a dance partner..."

Another flash of that radiant smile and then she was moving away, leaving a thoroughly beguiled Arminda standing in the centre of the Glass House's dining room, staring after her.

Chapter Seventeen

1

After just having been granted admittance into the city, the tall woman in the long, well-travelled black coat stood before western gate, her incisive gaze surveying the plaza, which was still annoyingly congested despite the slow drizzle that fell over its cobbles.

The admitting guard had given her only a cursory glance, warning her that her razor sleeved quarter staff was not to be worn within the confines of Nalosan once she had procured lodgings. Lorio had discerned that there was something decidedly feigned about the desultory manner in which he had went about his task...a laxity that was somehow inconsistent with men of his ilk. City gate guards were renowned for their often surly dispositions and hawk-eyed perception in distinguishing between ordinary travellers and those who had come to their city with a mind to mischief. Yet this guard had not demanded to see identity papers and other than his warning about her lethal staff, had given her only a cursory glance before waving her through the gates.

She remained stationary for a moment, appearing very much like a visitor who is attempting to gain their bearings upon entering a new city. Her suspicions were confirmed quickly enough, when, from the periphery of her vision, she noticed a guard hurry into the crowd and begin to make his way toward the steep ramp that led up to massive castle Kammlogran.

They had been alerted to be watchful and had been awaiting her arrival. The notion stoked her fury, which had been smouldering since the very moment she had taken her first step away from Opheile on that snowy night in Cortrin.

Thoughts of Opheile threatened to unleash a consuming storm of despair and Lorio swiftly and ruthlessly battered thoughts of the beautiful creature back into the cloister where she had confined them. If she allowed them to run rampant in her emotions, the immortal knew that she would be absolutely decimated by despair. Instead, she focused on the city and the torrent of memories it evoked, most of which were dark, brooding and hued in shades of pain and loss.

Despite being hailed as the most enlightened city in the world, primary thanks to its Queen's benevolent and progressive rule, Lorio realized that she absolutely detested this fucking city...a place in which she had endured cruelties the memories of which she could not even give expression.

She concentrated on the recollection of the last instant she had found herself in Nalosan...after returning from the far-flung islands where she had lost her beloved Issidris. Of all the fraught and poignant emotions she had felt on that occasion, she recalled that the foremost amongst them had been fury...the well near irresistible compulsion to vent all of her mindless rage upon Karosyn, whom she considered complicit in Issidris' needless death. Now, this woman's obdurate refusal to let the past stay buried stood to jeopardize the astounding boon that fate had dispensed and Lorio felt that murderous fury stir anew.

Wanting only to confront the meddlesome Queen and race back to Opheile, Lorio scowled and began to forge her way through the crowd toward the ramp.

So intense was the aura of menace she exuded that many of those in her way quickly stepped aside to allow her to pass.

2

Unaware of the storm that was fast descending upon her, Karosyn languished in a hot bath, the melange of fragrances slowly soothing the unusual weariness that had seemingly insinuated itself in the very marrow of her bones.

'This has been a day like no other I've experience since sitting upon your throne, dear husband!' she thought and allowed herself a rueful shake of her head. Indeed, in less than a full span of a day's bells, her reigned had been shaken by a deluge of inimical fortune, ranging from a quelled insurrection to the shocking self-immolation of her Seneschal and concluding with the deranged Czefrina's inexplicable attack on Aeyon Wrey. 'Whom you've now ensconced in your late husband's chambers...a convenient few steps across the hall from your own bed chambers.'

Rather than be perturbed by this mordant chastisement, the criticism caused Karosyn to smile and recall that she had promised the young man that they would dine together.

Rising reluctantly from her bath, Karosyn quickly dried herself with a minor feat of sorcery. Once again, she eschewed her royal finery for another set of training clothes. After brushing her long tresses, she wound them into a cable braid and made her way across the hall. As Queen, Karosyn was unconstrained by the conventional courtesy of knocking before entering any quarter in her castle, but she adamantly refused to take advantage of this right. She knocked and waiting until her guest opened the doors to the other half of the royal suite.

After concluding her preliminary discussion with her new regent...a session in which Karosyn had agreed to General Kyrin's proposal to escalate the alertness of the Emercian military in and around the Capital and to begin the process of summoning...as discreetly as possible...an array of forces from other parts of the country...Karosyn had collected Aeyon from the royal archives. Karosyn had been as content with her general's proposal as circumstances would allow, gleaning that she was walking a particularly narrow and precarious path. If she moved her army in force...and if this became known to Lissom, the Ascentrix might construe it as a hostile or inflammatory act, thus scuttling any chance that the Queen had of reaching an accord with Gyzarayne's emissary. Conversely, if she took a wait-and-see posture, her army would be left in a vulnerable and far flung position if Lissom's intent proved to be hostile.

Kyrin's initial proposal addressed those concerns as effectively as present circumstances allowed and she had given him a free reign in refining his measures.

When Karosyn had found young Aeyon, surrounded by piles of tomes and carefully preserved ancient texts, the expression he'd wore, reminded the delighted Queen of a child who had just been given unexpected and unfettered access to a candy store.

From there, she had led the mystified young man down into the depths of Kammlogran, noting his unease as they descended toward the training levels. She had placed a placating hand on his muscular right shoulder as they made their way down the winding stone stairway. "It is certainly unsettling...and even after making this trek down into the bowels of the castle for all of these years, I still find myself unsettled on occasion. These lower chambers have an iniquitous history, Aeyon. I'm mulling over the notion of having them permanently sealed once alternative quarters can be prepared for the training and research that is conducted here."

His answering nod might well have been one of approval, but she noticed that some of the rigidity had drained from his posture by the time the came to the chamber where her weapons master awaited her. Garum raised an eyebrow upon seeing that the Queen had brought along an observer, but made no comment. Karosyn ushered the young man to a nearby chair and declared blithely, "Garum, I promised that I would keep my guest suitably amused during his stay and so I've brought him along to watch as I fumble through your paces."

Aeyon noticed that her casual demeanour vanished the very instant she collected the two wooden training swords from weapons rack, giving way to a rapier focus and ferocity that the young man found daunting.

For the next two bells, Aeyon watched in incredulous fascination as the gentle queen embarked on an exhausting series of increasingly complex attack and defend patterns that saw her spinning about the vast chamber in a dervish that combined the grace of a Suran dancer with the controlled ferocity of a skilled swords-master. Aeyon would occasionally shift his transfixed gaze to the weapons master and could see that Garum was also openly impressed by the Queen's exhibition of weapon's prowess. On rare occasion, Garum would interrupt the Queen's perpetual dance of flashing wood to impart snippet of advice on technique and footwork. The Queen would absorb this advice with a solemn expression of concentration, after which she would strive to apply these recommendations with a focus and tenacity that was truly astounding.

Finally, Karosyn executed a complex series of strike and spin attacks at an array of closely-spaced dummies, easily avoiding the spinning counter arms that had been affixed to their frames. She came to a halt before her weapons master and after flashing Aeyon a radiant grin, asked Garum if she could focus on the specialized aspect of her training. He nodded his acquiescence and Karosyn moved back out to the centre of the sprawling chamber.

She bowed her head and as Aeyon looked on, eyes riveted on the unmoving beauty, a golden effulgence enveloped the Queen. After a moment, Karosyn raised her head and Aeyon heard himself gasp. Those great blue eyes were wide and oddly vacant. Then the right corner of Karosyn's generous mouth curled into a snarl and she exploded into motion.

The two men gaped in dumbfounded incredulity as Karosyn became a blur of perpetual motion. Each precisely delivered strike brought with it an eruption of golden light as Karosyn's sorcery-infused wooden sword reduced one training dummy after the other to a smouldering pile of splintered wood and ash. When the last of the hapless opponents had been obliterated, Karosyn stood at the centre of the chamber, her substantial chest heaving and her great blue eyes gleaming an iridescent light that gradually drained. She peered about the chamber, a slightly bemused frown curling the corners of her mouth as she contemplated the detritus-strewn training floor.

She then turned to a dumfounded Garum Tranan and remarked sheepishly, "It seems I've gotten a bit carried away. At this rate, I'll deplete the royal coffers in a month. I'm afraid that, while I obviously have the capacity for offensive sorcery...I'm rather out of practice in putting it to use. I'll...restrain its flow next session. I'm sorry about the carnage, Garum."

The weapons master opened his mouth to speak, but so flabbergasted was he by Karosyn's display of destruction that no sound issued forth and he merely nodded. After returning her badly scorched sword to the weapons rack, Karosyn spoke briefly to her Adjutant and then gestured for Aeyon to follow. As the walked along the corridor toward the staircase that led back into the light, Karosyn stole a furtive glance at the young man, who seemed rather overwhelmed by what he'd just witnessed. "So, Aeyon...did I make a jape of myself?"

He regarded her with eyes that were both awestruck and diffident. "After watching you train, I honestly can't imagine that anyone would have the courage to stand against you in a fight. Your exhibition was terrifying...and exhilarating."

Karosyn laughed, but her laughter was quickly soured by the realization that, should she ever be required to put these skills to the test...her opponent would be a god-chosen engine of carnage...whom she had raised since infancy.

When they came to the bottom of the winding staircase, the pair paused and peered up at the stairwell, which twisted away into darkness. On impulse, Karosyn turned to the young man and with a mischievous twinkle in her exquisite eyes, inquired, "Are you frightened of heights, Aeyon?"

His brow furrowed, and he returned in his serious, thoughtful manner, "I don't think so...but I've never been to the top of anything taller than my father's coopery to know for certain."

She reached for his right arm and pulled it around her slender back, setting his hand on the point of her right hip. Then she mirrored the action with her left arm...feeling her pulse quicken as her hand closed on his hip. To a wide-eyed Aeyon, she advised, "I would suggested you hold on tightly...and close your eyes if the height bothers you."

Before he could respond, Karosyn unleashed a controlled burst of arcane energy that swiftly propelled the pair up into the darkness. Glancing at Aeyon as they ascended, Karosyn smiled to see that he was grinning in delight.

3

Aeyon opened the door, quickly stepping back and bowing upon realizing just who had come to call. She quickly placed a hand to restrain him and intoned briskly, "No need when we're alone, Aeyon." She glanced over his shoulder and seeing the book that was open and face down on a table near his chair by the hearth, inquired, "Am I intruding?"

Again, his eyes widened in shock and Karosyn briefly wondered why she derived such pleasure from unsettling the young man for whom she was developing such a swift and puzzling affection. He led her back to the hearth and waited for her to take a seat, before settling into a chair that had once been her husband's. "I trust you've settled in and that your requirements have been met?"

Aeyon glanced about as if to corroborate that he was truly here. "It's incredible...I think this suite is larger than my fathers' entire house."

Karosyn was pleased to note the conspicuous absence of envy or resentment that such opulence might be expected to inspire in one from humble circumstances. Her gaze shifted to the book he'd been reading and saw that he'd selected a manual on the history of Coopery. "Were you pleased with the archives?"

"And overwhelmed," he confessed. "I selected these two volumes because they contain the history of my trade...it's tools and practices. I believe my father would love the opportunity to read these volumes..."

"I believe I have considerable influence with the chief archivist and so I'm certain something can be arranged. The archive is a vast repository of knowledge...a gateway to understanding. Were there any other subjects that piqued your interest?"

Aeyon thought that he had discerned a note of...disappointment in her tone as she'd posed this query and he felt himself blush. Quietly, he explained, "As I walked through the shelves, it made me realized how woefully ignorant I am...about so much...about everything really. If I'm being honest, I really don't know a great deal about most things beyond being a cooper's apprentice. Though I'm perfectly content to be just that...I do want to know more...to understand the...the way of things."

"Ah, understanding the way of things is a daunting ambition, Aeyon...primarily because the way of things is a nebulous, ever-shifting commodity that is not easily understood," Karosyn explained evenly.

He regarded her thoughtfully and admitted, "When I was browsing through the shelves, I just didn't know where to begin..."

"It's a little like being at a feast and finding yourself trying to choose between seemingly endless offering of delicious dishes!" Karosyn offered with a mirthful grin. "Don't be discouraged, Aeyon...I can see that you are an inquisitive young man with a sharp mind and a hunger...to understand the way of things."

Aeyon shook his head. "Hearing you speak...being next to you...I feel like a dull stone next to a diamond."

She leaned across and clutched his firm bicep, squeezing it for emphasis as her tone became mildly remonstrating. "I won't have you disparage yourself this way, Aeyon. The only difference between you and I can be measured in opportunity and life experience." She flashed her radiant smile and added, "After all, as I've mentioned...I'm an old crone whose been around long enough to have seen a few things. Look at your time here as an opportunity...the first steps along a path to enlightenment."

Aeyon nodded obediently, but then demonstrated his sincere desire to comply by asking, "Would you recommend a number of books...that could help me take those first steps. Also, if you can spare the time...can you tell me about the Sisters of Esotaria...about the Goddess they worship and the purpose they're intended to serve? I...I would like to understand how you can be so...so beautiful and yet be as old as you are...or how you can use magic like you did earlier?"

He stopped, his expression becoming mortified by the amused grin playing at her lips. "I...I'm sorry...I didn't mean to be so rude."

"No need to be sorry, Aeyon. You've just confirmed what I suspected from the moment you stepped into my throne room...you're a young man with a keen mind and a voracious appetite for knowledge. As you and I are going to be the best of friends, there will be a steady diet to see that hunger filled. And of course, I'll tell you anything you might wish to know about the Sisters and the worthy cause they were founded to serve. If I may, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Aeyon nodded, surprised by the degree of comfort he felt in the presence of this extraordinary woman. He was further delighted that she was proving to be everything he'd always envisioned her to be: serene, gracious and brilliant. 'Ah yes, and don't forget beautiful...beautiful beyond the capacity of words to express.'

The Queen's demeanour became sober and she inquired softly, "Can you tell me more about your brother, Tarim? If it is too painful, I'll understand, but I would genuinely like to gain a sense of what he is like..."

Aeyon could glean that she had not posed this question out of some obligatory demand or some frivolous need and so he suppressed the pain it roused and tried to paint a portrait of the man who had sacrificed himself to see his younger brother safe. "My father has always referred to Tarim as feckless...irresponsible, but I think of him as free-spirited. He loves life and boisterous places that are full of it. A warm tavern, song..." Here, Aeyon paused and rather sheepishly added, "And women...Tarim loved the company of women. Our father never understood that Tarim just couldn't be contented in living a quiet life...devoted to the family business...something in which he has only a passing interest. He is gregarious and happiest when in a crowd...the opposite of me, really."

"Being introspective is not a fault, Aeyon...though, if a person is not careful, that reticence can leave them isolated and lonely." Here, The Queen smiled and remarked, "Besides which, you express your self well...and I happen to think that being thoughtful in manner is a wise thing...it helps prevent those needless wounds that people who tend to lead with their tongue often inflict upon those they did not intend to hurt. Despite your differences you love your brother."

Aeyon nodded enthusiastically. "I admire the exuberance with which he lives his life...the pleasure he seems to take from it...other than his time at the Coopery, which he views as drudgery. Just before we came upon those women on the highway, Tarim had revealed that he intended to leave the Coopery...to leave Nalosan and go out and find the world...its pleasures and adventures."

"So Tarim is a hedonist?"

Aeyon's brow furrowed and he confessed, "I'm not certain what that means?"

"It's basically a person who believes in devoting his life to the seeking out of pleasure," Karosyn elaborated in a neutral tone that give no indication of her personal view of the matter, though Aeyon suspected that the very nature of her station made it likely that she would view this perspective with a measure of disdain.

"I don't want to give you the wrong impression...Karosyn. Tarim may have wanted to enjoy life," Aeyon's smooth brow furrowed and he allowed, "but...shouldn't that be the point of living...to have your life bring you as much joy as your circumstances will allow?"

Karosyn great blue eyes widened at this surprisingly sophisticated thought, expressed with such succinctness by one so young, and with a smile, she allowed, "You truly are a remarkable young man, Aeyon. I promise you that I will do everything within my considerable power to bring your brother back to your family...even if it is only to permit him to say goodbye before he sets off on his great adventure."

For the first time, Aeyon marshalled the temerity to indulge in his own tactile overture by reaching across and urgently gripping Karosyn's slender forearm. "If there is more you know...or even suspect about why Tarim was taken...and by whom...could you please tell me?"

The desperate entreaty in Aeyon's brown eyes was rife with misery and Karosyn considered him in sober silence for several moments, weighing his poignant sorrow against the prudence of divulging her suspicions and fears. Realizing that a part of her heart had already staunchly decided to make this man hers, she decided that she would confide in him. "What I'm about to disclose must be kept in the strictest confidence, Aeyon...you could not share it with your other family members. Do I have your promise that you can abide by this condition?"

"On my life, my Queen!" He returned gravely without the slightest hesitation.

This once she did not chide him for forgetting their agreement and for the next bell, Karosyn shared a carefully edited version of the events of the last week as well as her suspicions pertaining to his brother's abduction."

Aeyon's listened raptly, though his mounting anxiety was reflected plainly in his dark eyes and when she had concluded her discourse, he asked tightly, "What possible reason would they have for abducting these men...are they going to demand some manner of...of ransom?"

Karosyn pursed her lips and admitted candidly, "Any answer I might provide would merely be speculation, Aeyon. Abduction is a heinous deed, but it is motivated by many purposes. I am attempting to determine the scope of this ugly campaign and once I have a better sense of how extensive this problem might be...then I can provide you with a more meaningful answer. I can tell you that the woman who attacked you last night...is not a member of this odious sorority, but as she is still at large...and extremely dangerous. I intend to keep you well at hand and protected until she is found." A mischievous twinkle again sparked in those limpid blue eyes and she shocked Aeyon by quipping. "As thoroughly charming as you are, I may well decide that keeping you well at hand and protected becomes my personal mission."

She punctuated this provocative remark by reaching across and gently caressing his muscular shoulder, but before her wavering restraint could vanished completely, a meaty thud resounded through the wall outside the suite's doors.

Karosyn rose quickly and automatically imposed herself between the source of the tumult and the young man whom she was coming to care for with such stunning alacrity. Aeyon noticed how she was quickly surrounded by a golden effulgence very much like the one that had heralded her unleashing of carnage in the training chamber.

A moment later, a sharp rap came at the door and a thick voice, which she recognized as that of the Captain of the Hand of the Way, Dioral sought permission to enter, which Karosyn granted even as her golden effulgence flared as if in anticipation of impending treachery. The Captain opened the door just wide enough to allow him to slide through accompanied by a stream of pungent curses as a distinctly feminine voice warned, "If you have no desire to be a gelding, you'd think twice about laying a hand on me."

A puzzled Aeyon watched as Karosyn's golden corona guttered and she uttered an exasperated sigh and with a rueful shake of her head, inquired, "What is the source of this tumult, Captain?"

"My apologies for the intrusion, your majesty," a red-faced Dioral began, clearly embarrassed and irritated by the situation beyond the doors. "A particularly obstreperous woman appeared at the gates demanding an audience with your highness. She insisted that you have been expecting her and when she was informed that she would not be granted admittance into Kammlogran without surrendering her quarter staff, this ill-tempered woman assaulted the gate watch and left several unconscious before storming up the ramp. To prevent an escalation, I personally escorted her here and bid her to wait while I solicited your permission to grant her an audience. If you wish it so...I will summon troops to have her forcibly removed."

There was a pleading edge in the stalwart Dioral's voice that implied that he dreaded the prospect and considering who and more significantly, what he was dealing with...Karosyn could hardly fault him. With a sympathetic smile, she instructed, "That won't be necessary, First Hand. Grant her entry and return to your posts...making sure that your comrades are properly tended to."

Dioral appeared uncertain and inquired, "Are you certain, your highness...this woman is an aggressive harridan."

"You are correct, First Hand...Queen Lorio is indeed an irascible virago...but as I did, indeed, summon her to Nalosan...I suppose it is only fitting that I grant her an audience," Karosyn replied smoothly and gestured for him to open the door.

The Captain complied and Lorio pushed into the room, brushing by the hulking First Hand with more force that was strictly necessary. He scowled at this deliberate provocation and she smirked, before running her tongue over her right palm and dragging it down the front of his impeccably polished armour, leaving a prominent streak on it the white enamel. Leaning closer, she growled, "Perhaps I'll find you in the gaming yard later. I have a history of leaving your kind bloody in the dirt."

"That's quite enough, Lorio!" Karosyn interjected sharply. "You may take your leave, First Hand."

Sparing the clearly deranged woman a final glance, the First Hand bowed and quickly departed, quietly closing the door behind him.

When Lorio turned to face Karosyn, a current of intense empathy passed between them...a laying bare of emotions that traversed the entire spectrum of human feeling. The Queen shook her, both dismayed and disturbed by the rancour that shone in Lorio's great dark eyes...a belligerence that, at least to her mind, was unaccountable.

Then Lorio shifted her gaze to Aeyon, who stood utterly transfixed, regarding the olive-skinned beauty as if she was a mythical creature that had suddenly manifested out of the very ground stones of Kammlogran. Karosyn saw that the expression which now adorned his handsome face was one of awe and bewilderment...an effect which Karosyn suspected was not an uncommon reaction for men when finding themselves in the presence of the former Lamish Queen. Lorio considered Aeyon with a decidedly sour frown and intoned gruffly. "Send the pretty man on his way and let us get down to the matter at hand." She shifted her gaze to Karosyn and with a hint of sardonic curiosity, added, "I never would have taken you for a woman who would amuse herself with young toys, but time changes everyone, I suppose."

Aeyon stiffened, his face blanching as if he'd been doused with scalding water. Sensing his wounded reaction, Karosyn imposed herself between the pair and snapped brusquely, "Enough of your infantile antics!"

She turned to Aeyon and throwing a protective arm about his shoulders, reminded him, "My discourteous guest is a perfect example of the kind of person who allows her acidic tongue to outpace her common sense. Pay her venom no heed, Aeyon. She and I will cross the hall...and after I've dealt with this distasteful matter, we will take supper and I will share the history of the Sisters of Esotaria."

She smiled encouragingly, and the young man nodded, shifting an uncertain gaze to Lorio before asking, "Will all be well, your highness?"

It was Lorio who answered with a dismissive huff, "Don't fret, pretty man...I won't disturb a hair on her perfect head."

Karosyn glowered and firmly taking Lorio's arm, led the still smirking immortal out into the hall and into her own suite of rooms.

When they were alone, Karosyn wheeled about and fixed Lorio with a baleful glare. "That was despicable...even by your sorry standards. That young man and his family have suffered enough without him being subjected to your petulant brand of contempt."

Lorio greeted this disclosure with an indifferent shrug of her muscular shoulders. "I'm sure you'll contrive a way of soothing his pain."

Karosyn's eyes widened in shock at this salacious innuendo. The resounding report of flesh on flesh filled the silence, the impact of Karosyn's slap turning Lorio's head. The immortal remained in this position for some time, while an aghast Karosyn shook her head in bemusement over her loss of self-control. At last, Lorio turned back to the Queen and stepped closer until they were pressed tightly together. In a voice as taut as a garrotte, she rasped, "I will consider that a balancing of the scales for having struck you those years ago...but if you ever raise a hand to me again, it better be with the intention of killing me...because I promise that I will see you dead at my feet."

Undaunted, Karosyn returned a humourless smile and retorted, "You would be wise to measure your words...and your threats. I think you'll find that I'm much changed from the delicate flower you've always perceived me to be."

The two women glared at each other intently for a moment...a dark and light mirror reflection of feminine perfection, until finally, Lorio retreated several paces and spreading her arms, declared, "You sought me out...and so I'm here. What is it you want that would warrant disturbing my peace and invading my privacy...plastering my face over every wall and post from here to the Great Mother?"

Here, Karosyn faltered, knowing that her overture, motivated by deep concern, had been a badly misguided mistake. She shook her head and attempted to conjure a response. When Lorio saw her discomfort, she shook her head in disgust. Lips compressed in a livid slash, she queried, "Do you know why I left Nalosan so quickly after coming back from those wretched fucking islands?"

Karosyn merely shook her head in response to a question that had troubled her every day in the decade since. "I left to prevent myself from smashing that beautiful face of yours to bloody mush and bone shards. Looking at you now..." She held the index finger and thumb of her right hand a tiny distance apart, "staring into your vexingly serene face, that impulse has eased about this much."

"Why?" Karosyn cried, her voice a strangled moan of genuine bewilderment. "When have I ever treated you with anything but kindness and concern...even though you took every opportunity to express you mindless disdain for me...for everything I valued."

Lorio wagged her head, her colour deepening to Scarlett and she raged, "You stole Issidris from me...you cold-hearted fucking bitch!"

Lorio stood with her fists clenched at her sides and her chest heaving in outrage, while a flummoxed Karosyn attempted to grapple with this incredibly skewed perception of what had transpired when Issidris had last stood before her. After a protracted moment, she murmured, "You...you can't possibly believe that."

"Oh, but I do," Lorio contradicted venomously. "You had the power to heal her...to prevent the gruesome, horrendous death she suffered...and you just let her sail to Ciprite and die. I held her in my arms and watched helplessly while the blood boiled out of her like fucking lava...all because you didn't raise a hand to save her."

"She...she wanted to meet the end she did, Lorio. I pleaded with her to allow me to intervene, but she was adamant in wanting her life to be done. Would you have had me heal her forcibly...against her own will?"

"Yes, you wretched cunt! That is exactly what I would have had you do. I could have had more time...more years with her to make her see that I didn't care that she was old...that she needed to rest and we could be happy where ever we ended up...as long as we were together." She pointed an accusatory finger at the bewildered Queen. "Your callous decision stole that chance from me and if I live for a thousand years...I'll never fucking forgive you."

Lorio abruptly spun about and as Karosyn stared at her heaving shoulders, a glacial calm supplanted her dismay and she gave voice to her own allegations that she knew would impale the hysterical immortal. "You say that you would have laboured to assure her of her worth had I healed her, but since you're laying forth the hard truth, perhaps you should turn that light on your own faults. If I had healed Issidris when she had come to me for a private audience, would you have really noticed?"

Lorio turned slowly about to face Karosyn, her posture rigid with fury. Karosyn's own gaze was hard and remorseless as she continued, "Issidris was ill and weary...so obviously so that it stood forth like the blazing sun in the mid-summer sky...and yet, you were completely oblivious to the fact...absorbed as you were in the great quest to flee your identity. Can you honestly say that you wouldn't have continued to drag Issidris across the face of the world until she fell to dust in your wake?"

Lorio's desire to lash out, rather than accept the validity of Karosyn's allegations, was a palpable thing that she resisted by only the smallest of increments. Instead, she demanded between gritted teeth, "Why have you summoned me...why could you not have simply let me be...to forget about me as I have tried so damnably hard to forget about you."

The despair in the immortal's voice softened Karosyn's demeanour and she returned quietly, "It's been ten years since I last set eyes upon you. I've not heard a word from you in that time...and despite what you might think...I was genuinely worried that you were somewhere, shackled by your grief and alone. The idea was unbearable and so I reached out..."

Lorio scowled and demanded angrily, "Did it ever occur to you that, where ever I was, I might actually be happy...that I might only want to be left alone to build a new life...to forget about all of the horror I've endured. It didn't...did it...because you see me as this weak, pathetic thing that would need your patronage to have any hope of being happy." She shook her head in disgust and spat, "The problem with you, Karosyn...is that you've come to see yourself as this great, benevolent beacon...that illuminates the lives of we common folk. Yet, you are so aloof...so far fucking removed from the everyday concerns and realities of the average person that you have no idea if the great illuminating light you exude is bringing us warmth...or burning us to fucking cinders. All I ask from you is that you stop fucking interfering in my life!"

Karosyn recoiled as if slapped, but then a cold, dispassionate mask slipped over her face and she replied, "You're absolutely right...I have no understanding of you or your circumstances and my reaching out to you was based on biased presumption. Very well, if you wish, I will have my Adjutant provide you with lodgings for the night. In the morning, you are free to leave, assured that I will never inquire as to your where-abouts. As you are neither a Queen, an Emercian Citizen...or someone I might call friend...you need never come into my presence again. You may take your leave."

Having issued this curt dismissal, Karosyn abruptly turned away and waited for Lorio to comply. Knowing that she had irreparably severed the link between them...the last remaining link to her old life...Lorio experienced a shudder of acute uncertainty and regret, but knowing that there could be no retreating from the savage (and unfair, if she was being honest) castigation of the woman who had shown her only kindness, Lorio inhaled and briskly strode from the room., certain that she would never set eyes upon the benevolent Karosyn again.

4

When Lorio stepped into the corridor that separated the royal suites, an antiquated concept that she found patently absurd, Karosyn's toy was standing near the door, an expression of deep concern twisting his pleasing face. She scowled menacingly at the shorter man and began to moved toward the exit, with the intention of leaving Kammlogran at once, but the young man moved to impose himself in her path.

"It would be extremely unwise to try my patience right now, boy," she growled, her gruff voice rife with dark promise.

Ignoring her warning, Aeyon inquired solemnly, "You really are Lorio...the Queen of legend? You...you didn't harm, Karosyn...the Queen?"

Lorio rolled her eyes, "Other than her sensitive feelings, no...and as I believe I've demonstrated, I'm no queen. Now, do yourself a kindness and get out of my way."

"Please, Lorio," Aeyon persisted, his voice low and rife with worry, "I can feel how angry you are...with the Queen, but she is beset on all sides. If you were ever a friend to her at all...and if even a small trace of that friendship still remains...please stay and help her!"

Lorio's great dark eyes narrowed as she pondered this unexpected entreaty, but then her expression vitiated. She splayed the fingers of her right hand and pressed them into his muscular chest, maneuvering Aeyon until his back was against the wall beside the door to his own chambers. Looming over him like a storm cloud, the immortal growled, "Karosyn's problems are her own and I will not embroil myself in whatever mess she's strayed into." She inclined her chin and smirked, "When I was a queen...I made a sport of finding pretty things like you and after using them to pleasure me, I would discard them like unwanted clutter. I can tell that your virtuous Queen has developed a fondness for you and if you should find your way into her bed...it is because she has actually come to love you."

Her expression softened, and she concluded, "Which would make you the luckiest man alive."

With this, she strode off, leaving a thoroughly dumbfounded Aeyon gaping after her, her parting words rumbling in the confines of his frazzled mind like thunder.

5

Lorio glared at the two guards who looked to escort her from the castle and snapped assiduously, "I know my way out and believe me, I can't get clear of this dog-spawned pile of stone fast enough."

Word of what had befallen their comrades had spread like wildfire and neither objected as she strode off toward the distant central staircase that would wind down to the ground floor.

'Ah, yet again you've allowed your infantile temper and distorted perception of the truth to goad you into another piteous act of alienation. How can you be so consistently oblivious to the truth? You should crawl back to Karosyn on your hands and knees and beg for her forgiveness, but we both know that obstinate pride is still another of your seemingly endless inventory of faults,' the voice of odious Myrhia declared, causing Lorio to grimace and increase her pace.

This section of the castle was divided into a series of sections, separated by side central corridors at the head of which had been erected towering heavy doors to control access to the assigned chambers within. As Lorio came abreast of one of these sets of massive doors, one swung quickly opened and from the shadowed corridor within, a voice invited, "Lorio, if you truly wish to know why our disingenuous Queen enticed you to come to Nalosan, come with me now."

Lorio stopped and tilted her head, chiding, "What if I was to tell you that I don't give a goat's cock why she brought me here and that I'm taking my leave?"

"Then I would say that you are either a craven or a dullard...and I know you're neither," the voice returned with a discernible hint of amusement.

Lorio's expression darkened as she mulled over the wisdom of heeding this invitation...an offer to enter a labyrinth which ultimately held no interest or relevance to the life she wanted. Opheile Seznoire embodied everything that Lorio desired from this wretched life and she could feel her slipping further away with every moment she tarried here. Despite the logic and wisdom of this realization, Lorio felt herself turn and her feet carried her into the dimly lit corridor as if of their own volition.

A single arcane crystal lit the entire length of the long corridor, suggesting that this section of the castle was presently not being used. The scarcely adequate yellow light was barely condign to lighting the corridor and its far end was mired in total darkness.

Lorio's summoner seemed to blend into the gloom as if this was their natural habitat...a disconcerting fact that failed to provoke a sense of caution in the immortal. This impression was further augmented by the odd attire she wore...a hooded asymmetrical robe soft leather boots and leggings of some material that clung to every nuance of her phenomenally muscular legs. A thin muslin was wound around her head, masking her identity, but she carried no obvious weapons. She carried a small cloth satchel, sling over one shoulder and her only other adornment was a teardrop shaped pouch that hung suspended from her thin leather belt.

Something about the pouch roused a strong sense of disquiet in Lorio, but she dismissed the idea as fatuous. Though her torso was concealed beneath her half robe, it was apparent that she was a living amalgam of power and physical capability that conjured images of another woman and Lorio ventured breathlessly, "Islena?"

Upon hearing this name, conjured from myth and legend, the woman gave a small, puzzled shake of her head and then laughed heartily. "No...if I was her, I would be sitting on the throne, with adoring masses kneeling at my feet."

"What do you want...and how do you know who I am?" Lorio rasped in a surly tone rife with the promise of violence.

Cryptically, the woman replied, "I've known you all my life...as to what I want...I wish only to explain something to you and then offer a proposal of sorts...one that I'm certain you'll find most enticing."

Lorio stepped closer and glared down at the smaller woman, who seemed wholly unimpressed by the immortal's simmering menace. "Then dispense with the mystery and say what you have to say. I'm anxious to be away from this fucking city."

"Oh, I really don't think that's the case...especially once we've had our little palaver. This is hardly the place for this conversation...so come with me and I will reveal all. I promise you won't be disappointed." She then turned and began to walk into the darkness with an enticing sway of muscular hips. She paused a few paces along and extending her right arm, moved her index finger in a gesture of summons.

Scowling, but intrigued, Lorio shook her head as if in bemusement at her own folly, and then followed. In near total darkness, a state that seemed to do little to impede the woman's graceful stride, the pair came to a stone wall. The woman kicked a small decorative table away from the wall and as Lorio watched, she pressed her palms against several of the heavy stones in an apparently random sequence. In response, a section of wall swung inward and Lorio inhaled, suddenly recalling the secret interior corridors that had allowed her to gain access to Artumas' chambers on the night before Islena had vanquished Myrhia on the ramparts of Kammlogran.

Without the slightest hesitation, the mysterious woman stepped inside and turning back to the immortal, extended her small hand toward Lorio. After a slight pause, Lorio took the woman's hand and allowed her to guide her into the in between spaces and the antiquated world's latest dark drama moved into its next act.

6

Aeyon remained stationary long after the daunting Lorio had made her exit from the royal quarters.

'Tarim, what would you say if you could see me at this exact moment? I've been taken in by our Queen and have actually stood in the presence of a living legend. It's hard to credit that I'm not still lying in my bed and this is all a trauma-induced dream.' Thoughts of Tarim, lost and in the hands of the monsters who had abducted him, caused Aeyon to grimace.

He glanced at the doors leading into Karosyn's suite of rooms, uncertain what he should do next. He was far out of his element in this rarified company and felt a near crippling ambivalence about even the simplest of actions.

Yet, it was the thought of Lorio that demanded Aeyon's attention. Beneath her vitiated exterior...her gruff and intimidating manner...the sensitive Aeyon had gleaned a terrible pain and anxiety. This was a woman whom life had battered incessantly and without remorse, but despite this aura she exuded like palpable heat, he could sense an immutable kindness that her life had been unable to entirely obliterate.

It occurred to him that, whatever discord might fester between them, Lorio was a woman whom Karosyn could not afford to let simply walk away.

'Are you honestly and truly going to offer advice to the most powerful...and clearly intelligent woman in the entire world?' Tarim inquired with an incredulous laugh. 'You're considerably more courageous than I would have given you credit for...or staggeringly foolish...I can't yet tell.'

To Aeyon's own surprise, he realized that this was precisely what he intended to do...some intense, yet nebulous instinct was insisting that Karosyn desperately needed Lorio to remain by her side and it was incumbent upon him to convince her of this...despite the rancour that festered between the two women.

Shaking his head at his own temerity, Aeyon nonetheless hurried over to the doors to Karosyn's suite and before his resolve could falter, rapped firmly on the glossed wood.

For several moment, no sound issued from within and Aeyon began to fear that Lorio had not been truthful in claiming to have left the Queen unharmed...and then the door swung open and the Queen greeted Aeyon with a wan smile that did nothing to hide her obvious dismay. Even In the subdued light of her antechamber, Aeyon could not fail to notice that the gleam in those great blue eyes was muted and there was a pallor to her face that dulled its customary golden hue.

"Is all well, Karosyn...Lady Lorio seemed...angry as she left?" Aeyon asked quietly, loathing his fumbling overture.

"I think you might seriously imperil yourself by referring to her as lady. She and I have a rather contentious history, Aeyon...and she just made it explicitly clear that there is no hope for a rapprochement."

She laid a hand on his shoulder and gently ushered him into the centre of the corridor. "Aeyon, I do hope you'll forgive me...I know I promised that we would dine together tonight, but this has been a trying day unlike any I've experienced in my time upon the throne. I require a space of time and solitude to make an accommodation with all that has happened. You have my solemn vow that we will take breakfast tomorrow."

"Of course...I...I don't want to be an imposition, your majesty."

"Karosyn!" She chided with a sly grin that did nothing to disguise her weariness and began to turn away.

With a monumental act of courage, Aeyon conjured the audacity to reach out and lay a hand on her surprisingly firm right shoulder, surprised when she actually appeared to shudder beneath his touch. She turned back to him, an inquisitive light twinkling in her eyes. "May I speak freely...Karosyn?"

"When we are alone, Aeyon...you may speak your heart to me always," Karosyn insisted firmly.

Aeyon nodded and after groping for the proper words, simply elected to speak plainly, "Karosyn, don't allow Lady Lorio to leave Kammlogran. I have no rational reason for saying this...but I believe you need her."

Karosyn tilted her head slightly and fixed the young man with a quizzical gaze before remarking, "Even if that was the case, I'm not sure that there is anything I could say to her that would compel Lorio to remain...and attempting to coerce Lorio...well, that is an ill-advised course of action that usually rebounds upon those foolish enough to try with catastrophic effect."

"Would you permit me to speak to her?" Aeyon asked urgently, still not certain what had induced him to pursue this plea.

Karosyn pursed her lips doubtfully. "Lorio is as intractable as tempered steel once she'd decided on a course of action...and she has a tendency to become violent toward anyway attempting to hinder her. You've had your share of encounters with ill-tempered viragos of late and I would not...could not bear to see you harmed further."

"I promise...if she shows signs of becoming angry...I'll desist, but let me try...as a small repayment of all you've done...are doing for me." Aeyon's persisted, the quiet urgency in his voice intensifying.

That sense of urgency may well have been infectious because Karosyn reluctantly relented. "Very well...against my better judgment, I'll permit you to speak to the hellion, but if her brow should furrow, you will beat a hasty retreat...am perfectly clear, Master Aeyon?"

"Yes...Karosyn... it if I can convince her to stay, will you grant her another audience?"

"I will," Karosyn allowed, delighted by the innocent determination in his voice...even if she knew that the world would take great delight in seeing that particular quality ground to dust beneath its callous boot. On impulse, she stepped closer and placing the index finger of her right hand beneath his firm chin, inclined his head toward hers and bestowed a lingering kiss on his cheek. In a husky voice, she revealed candidly, "There is something about you, Aeyon, that makes me want to toss aside convention and Queenly restraint. I want you to be prepared...for anything, Aeyon...because I've decided that I have no intention of turning away from this mysterious path you and I seemed to have set out upon. Once I've resolved myself to something...I am not a woman who is easily deterred. Have I made myself clear, Master Aeyon?"

Utterly flummoxed by the implications of this provocative declaration, Aeyon could only nod and murmur, "Yes...your highness."

"I'll allow you that one misstep...because I was, in fact, flexing my imperial authority then," Karosyn allowed with a wry grin. "Now, once you spoken to our virago, I would suggest you take to your bed...as I have every intention of making amends for my appalling lack of manners as a host by sweeping you throughout Kammlogran on a tour of the working of a Royal Castle."

Then, she whirled gracefully about and left a thoroughly disconcerted...and giddy, Aeyon standing in the hall. When he had regained a small measure of his composure, Aeyon set out on rubbery legs to locate the living legend.

Despite searching the accessible areas of the massive castle and discovering that she had not passed through the gate at the top of the ramp, Aeyon had no success in finding the immortal...as if she'd been swallowed up by the very walls of the castle.

Chapter Eighteen

1

The Sea of Permanent Departure was alive with slowly undulating waves that reminded the old fisherman of the way his long dead ma used to flap the excess moisture from worn bedsheets after dragging them from the manual wringers of her wash tub. In the fifty years he had sailed the ocean, after being conscripted to his da's fishing dory at the age of seven, the old fisherman had seen this unpredictable and often deadly mistress in her every incarnation...from bountiful provider to wrathful Goddess. Yet, it was this state of slow and gentle undulation that the old man privately relished, though it left many of the junior fishermen on his crew clinging to the sides of the old dory and violently heaving their guts into the rolling swell.

Today, however, the pleasure the old man would normally derive from this gentle rolling sheet, over which his old dory now sailed, was dampened by a heavy fog that had suddenly sprung up, rising out of the rolling sea like a fast-ascending curtain. It clung to the skin like a moist sheet and left clothing feeling wet and confining against skin.

"This be an ill omen," one of his crew muttered, his voice rife with stirring supernatural dread.

"It's just a fog," the old man retorted with a certitude he did not feel. It was hard to gainsay that this thick shroud held an unnatural aspect that roused primordial fears of things best left unconsidered...especially when one found themselves leagues out to sea.

"There...look!" Another crewman called, pointing anxiously into the heavy fog. Frowning, the old fisherman followed this pointing finger and at first, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. Gradually, as he continued to stare, the old man came to glean the source of the crewman's anxiety. Not a boat length away, a dark shape slid silently past the dory, looming to the obscured sky like a leviathan.

"What is it!" Another man cried, raw panic prominent in his quavering voice.

"Don't know," the old man replied gruffly and that was true...no sea creature could possibly be this large...nor any vessel he'd ever seen during the course of his fifty years on the seas.

Then, in defiance of all logic, the heavy fog dropped, lending credence to the curtain metaphor. What was revealed left the old man and his crew gape-jawed and transfixed. They watched in moon-eyed disbelief as ships, too numerous to count, sailed silently past...the floating procession stretching from the southern to northern horizons. Some of these ships were sleek and narrow, while others were like the one that had passed in close proximity to the dory; massive beyond accounting.

Even in his hypnotized state, the old man immediately noticed that these ships had no visible means of propulsion...neither sail, nor rigging...yet they sliced smoothly and effortlessly through the heaving waters. Each ship was painted a highly reflective black.

More haunting still was the fact that none of these ghostly vessels showed any hint of occupation as if they were sailed by invisible phantoms.

That impression was dispelled, at least, in part, when the old monk's gaze fell upon one of the smaller vessels. At the rail, a single figure stood motionless. It wore a black hooded cape and it seemed as if its face was concealed by some manner of silver mask. Though there were perhaps ten ship lengths between the vessel upon which this figure stood and the dory, the old man could feel the figure's penetrating gaze upon his skin. He could feel his body shudder violently from this impression of a corrupting touch. Somewhere off to his right, one of his crewmen issued a shrill, tremulous moan, informing the old man that they had all experienced the same emasculating sensation.

He could feel his throat constricted as if being squeezed by invisible fingers...and then, mercifully, the figure passed out of range of his peripheral vision and the old man felt himself begin to breathe again.

Still, the crew remained stationary, watching wordlessly as the seemingly endless procession of demon ships slid past. It was perhaps two bells before the final ship vanished over the northern horizon.

The old man turned on wooden legs to face his pallid crew and rasped, "Hall up them nets and let's get back to port. The harbourmaster's got to hear of this."

2

While Lorio was led on a seemingly random, twisting path through the spaces between Kammlogran's walls by the hieroglyph who never let go of her hand, the immortal was assailed by an endless inundation of long-repressed memories. The foremost of these was of the night she had spent concealed in the crenelated battlements atop Kammlogran, awaiting the climactic confrontation between Islena Doraux and Myrhia. It all came rushing back in a vivid torrent...accompanied by the requisite emotions she'd experienced as she had surged from her place of concealment...exploding across the mighty stones to bury her dirk beneath Islena's rib cage. That incongruent blend of pain, relief, vindication and triumph washed over her like sewer water and she actually whimpered, which prompted her mysterious companion to come to a halt and regard her closely.

She recalled the pure elation she'd felt when Islena had gasped and sat up...and the soul-obliterating dejection that had left her only wanting to throw herself into the Bay of Imerlac when Islena had abandoned her and returned to her own world. For nearly fifty years, Lorio had laboured mightily to lock these memories in an impregnable prison, but now they were suddenly let loose to run amok in her ravaged mind.

They came to a narrow, inclined shaft that led deeper into the bowels of the castle and Lorio's mysterious companion announced, "We'll have to slide down here. It's not particularly steep. I'll go first and catch you at the bottom."

Lorio scoffed and snapped, "I don't need cosseting...let's just get this over with."

The diminutive woman stepped closer, until they were pressed together in the narrow space. Lorio was acutely award of the woman's solidity and was again reminded of Islena Doraux. "Patience...and believe me when I tell you that you'll enjoy being cosseted by me."

Then, with a wicked laugh, the woman slid nimbly into the shaft and vanished into the darkness. After a moment, Lorio followed.

A short time later, she dropped into a dimly lit corridor, landing lithely on the balls of her feet. While Lorio attempted to establish her bearings, the masked woman raised a finger to her lips and pointed to the intersection of two halls, before gesturing for Lorio to remain where she was.

As she watched the woman float over to the intersection and peer around the angle of the wall, the voice of Opheile demanded, 'What in the name of the cursed fates are you doing. You've been given your leave...now come home to me while you still can!'

The woman again gestured for Lorio to remain stationary and then slid around the corner. Ignoring Opheile's desperate entreaty...without knowing precisely why...Lorio moved to the intersection and peered around the angle of the wall. Her companion slid along the wall like velvet smoke...all stealth and malicious intent as she converged upon a solitary guard who remained oblivious to her silent approach. When she was within striking distance, she whispered something that the immortal could not hear. When the startled guard turned toward her, she struck him with two powerful blows that left him flat on his back and staring up at the stone ceiling.

She then hefted the much larger man over her shoulder and carried him back into the corridor into which the pair had dropped, before discarding him to the stone like a sack of grain. Turning her attention to Lorio, she announced with a note of smug satisfaction, "Our way is clear...let us hurry."

She again reached for Lorio's wrist, but the immortal tugged it away. "I'm not taking another step until you tell me just who you are and what game you're playing at. Assaulting the castle guard is not something the castle's mistress will take kindly."

The woman waved a dismissive hand. "Odd how you ignored that when you left a half dozen or so of their ranks lying near the castle entrance. Save the qualms and let's move...I promise it will be worth your while."

Casting a glance at the slumped form of the unconscious guard, Lorio shook her head and followed. They came to the door that the unfortunate guard had been watching and the woman held forth a key she'd evidently purloined during her lightening assault. In the next moment, the pair were through the door and descending a vertical shaft into which was set a stone staircase that spiralled down into the darkness.

After what seemed like an interminable descent, the pair reached the bottom and the woman led Lorio into a corridor that was inadequately lit by arcane crystals.

"All most there," the woman allowed and then pulled Lorio along a short corridor and into a vast chamber that was sporadically lit by arcane crystals that had been set into the ceiling.

Peering about, Lorio inquired, "What is this place?"

The woman came to stand directly before the immortal and disclosed, "This use to be Myrhia's torture dungeons. Since the current ruler is of a gentler disposition, it is where her troops conduct martial training and her researchers work on ways of improving the lot of her adoring citizens."

Lorio pursed her lips and reiterated, "So, who are you and why have your dragged me down this stone gullet?"

She abruptly reached for the woman's head scarf, but the shorter woman leaned back with such stunning speed that Lorio's hand merely closed on air. She waggled an index finger and cautioned, "Patience, your highness."

She then retreated several paces and after setting her small pack sack aside, deftly pulled the half robe over her head and cast it into the darkness. She then turned back to Lorio, regarding the immortal with her fists planted on her tight, tilted hips.

As Lorio drank in the stunning visual reality of the woman standing before her, an involuntary gasp escaped her tightly compressed lips. She shook her head as if trying to dispel something disturbing.

The heavily muscled woman spread her powerful arms and smirked, "I sense that you're overwhelmed...and duly impressed. Now, in answer to your questions..."

With deliberate slowness, she began to unwind the muslin wrap that hid her face, carefully folding it and placing it atop her pack sack before turning her gaze to Lorio.

For a moment, the thoroughly flummoxed immortal thought that she was seeing a radically altered incarnation of her former quest sister, Arminda, but the polar green eyes informed her that this was not the case...as did the expression of sly guile that adorned the woman's pretty face. The forthright and earnest Arminda would never have been capable of conjuring such an expression. The woman began to circle Lorio, moving with the lazy grace and elegance of a great hunting cat stalking a particular delectable morsel. Lorio pivoted in place to track her movements, mesmerized by the dance of her heavy thigh muscles beneath the revealing body stocking the woman wore. The woman further disconcerted the immortal by beginning to speak in the Lamish dialect that Lorio had not heard in nearly forty years...save for the incident on the thoroughfare in Cortrin. "My name is Czefrina and I have been yearning for this moment for most of my life. When our host, motivated by guilt or pity, decided to seek you out...I approached her with a proposal...to which she agreed. You see, gentle Karosyn felt certain that you would languish in self-pity...wallow in it until it provoked the dark demons of your nature. In me, she saw the influence that could hold those demons at bay...or pound them into abeyance if that was what was required. If she could see the leering gleam in those great dark eyes at this moment, she would feel vindicated...not that I care what the bitch actually thinks."

Lorio shook her head and spat, "Karosyn would never agree to something so classless...and she's been around long enough to recognize a viper when she sees one."

Czefrina laughed dismissively. "Karosyn understood that I was exactly the woman to bend you to my will and so she embarked in a campaign to bring you here and rescue you from your own melancholy. How truly pathetic she thinks you are...but as it suited my purposes, I was more than happy to play along."

'This creature is deranged. Karosyn is the model of rectitude...she would never become party to something so...so unsavoury...would she?" Lorio wondered as she watched this woman, who evoked such powerful recollections of Islena , circle around her like a predator about to strike. "And what is it you think you want from me?"

Here, Czefrina came to a halt and an air of solemnity displaced her smirk. "I have come to return you to your people. You been derelict in your obligation to Lamia for far too long, your highness...and the time is well past due when you returned to your people." The smirk returned, now exponentially more galling, "under my guiding hand, of course."

"I owe no obligation to Lamia or its people...my only obligation is to myself...and it is one I regard with deadly seriousness," Lorio snarled menacingly.

Czefrina tilted her head and contradicted, "There are ghosts crying out from unmarked graves all over Lamia who would beg to disagree, your highness."

"I am no queen...as anyone who suffered through my reign would readily confirm...and you are a seriously deluded little girl...in a woman's body, who is risking her wellbeing by goading me!" Lorio cautioned coldly.

"Queen," Czefrina spat contemptuously. "The title is reserved for peacocks and self-aggrandizers...like the sanctimonious dullard who rules this castle. No...you, I would have be something far more meaningful...a living symbol...The Mother of Lamia."

Lorio grunted and shook her head in disdain. "You truly are insane and my patience with this nonsense is done...I have a life to get back to."

The immortal began to move toward the exit, but Czefrina lithely imposed herself in Lorio's path and wagging her right index finger, declared, "Whatever distraction you've been living is over and done...from this day forth, your life is with me and in service of Lamia."

Lorio folded her leanly muscled arms beneath her full breasts and growled, "If you know who I am...and just what I am...you'll realize how fucking ridiculous that boast really is. Now, unless you want me to hurt you, then get out of my way."

Czefrina's smile brightened and she challenged, "Your defiance...is arousing."

After making this perplexing declaration she glided over to her packsack and stooped down to draw something from its interior. She then stood and held it forth for the immortal's inspection. When Lorio saw exactly what the woman was holding, her entire body went rigid as another soul-crushing recollection assailed her like the fall of a deity's hammer.

In the blink of an incredulous eye, she was transported back to the time just days before what would prove to be the nadir of her existence. The party had been traipsing along the shore of the Great Western Ocean...along the far fringe of hell known as the Land of Shades, marching toward the realm of the mad Goddess, Otaru Ree, who would purloin the unborn son from Lorio's womb. Islena had appeared out of the blighted forest after her surreptitious nocturnal meeting with Myrhia. Over her shoulders was draped an onyx collar and leash, very much like the one that this infuriating, delusional woman now held in her hand. When Islena, after all the party had endured on her behalf (and would yet endure, particularly poor Lorio), divulged that she had agreed to wear this device of subjugation in exchange for the antiquated world's freedom, Lorio's grip on reason had been obliterated. She had attacked Islena like a rabid beast...the images coming back to her in rapid stroboscopic succession. She had dragged a helpless Doraux into the ocean and wrapped the leash about her throat with the intention of strangling the woman, whom she had come to love and despise to the point of madness. Only fate's mantle of sorcery had prevented the enraged immortal from achieving precisely that...and eventually, the party had resumed its trek into purgatory...where the already decimated Lorio would suffer the wound that would never heal.

In the aftermath of that brutal assault, Islena had informed a numb Lorio that she could no longer bear the weight of neither her love, nor her cloying expectations...thus inflicting another wound on the immortal's irreparably broken heart.

All of these terrible images washed over her like a tsunami. She could feel her breath coming in ragged gasps and her immortal heart thundering in her chest. Czefrina misconstrued her quarry's reaction and quipped, "I see this fills you with terror...or keen anticipation. Now, we come to the crux of the matter. You may kneel before me and accept this collar of your own volition...just as you will accept your role as mother of Lamia...and my dominance as your protector...Lady Czefrina has a particularly pleasing ring to it. The alternative is also particularly delicious...you can resist the inevitable and I can demonstrate in emphatic terms...why you must bend to my will."

Lorio bellowed a cry of mindless fury...though whether it was directed at this presumptuous upstart or the memory of the woman who had so thoroughly devastated her life, Lorio could not distinguish.

She lunged at the smaller woman, who seemed to evaporate like a column of smoke. Panting in outrage, Lorio spun about to find Czefrina standing with her hand on tilted hips ten paces behind her. "I was hoping you'd chose this path. I'm looking forward to humbling you...and then...well...we shall see."

Still in the thrall of her rampant memories, Lorio attacked with a mindless fury that deprived her of her customary speed and grace. She charged the agile Czefrina, attempting to bludgeon the graceful warrior with blows that might well have pulverized granite. Her opponent effortlessly eluded every strike by twisting, ducking or dodging away. After one particularly maladroit attempted punch pulled the immortal off balance, Czefrina lithely swept the legs out from beneath the immortal, who landed on her face with a muffled grunt of frustration.

Czefrina came to loom over her and pinioned Lorio to the cold stone by pressing a soft-soled boot down between the prone immortal's shoulder blades and chiding, "I must say that I'm somewhat underwhelmed...where is the warrior of legend I've read so much about? What I've witnessed thus far is more akin to a clumsy child throwing a mindless tantrum. Perhaps I should let you collect your fearsome stick...or are you ready to accept the inexorable and turn your neck to my collar?"

"I'm going to break your back!" Lorio growled, her tone now cold and dispassionate...the mindless fog having vanished upon impact with the cold stone.

Something in that implacable tone struck an anxious chord in Czefrina's supremely confident heart. Her gaze was drawn involuntarily to Karosyn's pouch at her belt as she realized there would be no retreating from this situation she'd manufactured. Removing her boot, she danced back and remarked, "Very well then...perhaps it's time I show you that I'm every bit as adept at offence as I am at defence."

Lorio rose to her feet and faced her would-be enslaver...all distracted emotions jettisoned from her mind. Eschewing all art and technique...elements that were superfluous for the invulnerable Morticant-hybrid in the final analysis...Lorio simply walked slowly and directly toward her opponent.

Czefrina's brow furrowed at this artless aggression and she demanded, "Seriously?"

Lorio responded by throwing a seemingly ponderous jab at the diminutive warrior, who easily evaded the strike and glided off to the right. Lorio's face remained impassive as she pivoted mechanically and plodded toward Czefrina, who shook her head in disgust...though, in the back of her mind, a tickle of burgeoning concern began to fester like a growing itch.

Thus, began a lurching, bizarrely disjointed ballet of martial violence the likes of which had perhaps never been enacted anywhere in the antiquated world. With a mechanical gait, Lorio trundled relentlessly after her assailant, intermittently throwing chopping blows that never came remotely close to striking the elusive Czefrina, who would respond with flurries of perfectly placed kicks and strikes to which the immortal seemed totally impervious.

Over the course of the next three bells, this peculiar dance continued...A stone-faced Lorio pursuing and an increasingly agitated Czefrina evading and striking. Over the course of this strange choreography, Czefrina's supreme confidence segued first to puzzlement, then bewilderment and finally desperation...as Karosyn's grave admonition flared in her mind.

She could feel her energy and strength begin to wane, diminished by constant movement and futile strikes that had no impact on the implacable engine. Finally, she threw a series of two-fingered pressure point strikes at Lorio's torso and the followed with an elegant twisting kick that saw her pivot and bend at the waist while driving her right heel into Lorio's jaw.

The blow landed squarely, punctuated by a flat whap...but before the now exhausted Czefrina could right herself, she found her right ankle inextricably caught in Lorio's left fist. The immortal applied a crushing pressure to the joint and Czefrina screamed, but when it seemed inevitable that the bones would shatter beneath Lorio's grasp, the immortal released Czefrina.

The shocked princess staggered back and nearly toppled as her ankle buckled. She gasped at Lorio who demonstrated emotion for the first time by smirking and inquiring, "Had enough...you frankly seem worn to a frazzle?"

Czefrina glowered but there could be no disguising that she was close to exhaustion as her body was soaked with perspiration and her breathing came in ragged gasps. She was now in precisely the situation that Karosyn had predicted she would inevitably find herself. She shook her head stubbornly and moved to her right...though her fluid movement was hobbled by her injured ankle. Lorio shrugged, "As you wish, but I must warn you that I've grown bored and so I'm about to up my game by a tiny increment."

With this, she leapt at Czefrina like a streak of lightening, catching the nearly immobilized fighter with a series of open handed slaps. Though it was apparent that Lorio was seriously curtailing the force of these blows, they quickly left Czefrina's face bloody and swollen.

When a back-handed slap sent Czefrina stumbling to her knees, Lorio stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. "Perhaps you've gained a sense of what it is you're attempting to subjugate."

She reached down and gripping Czefrina's lower mandible in crushing fingers, Lorio rasped, "I've had enough of being anyone's fucking pawn, bitch."

With this, she slapped Czefrina's face...the sharp report of flesh on flesh echoing through the vast chamber. Blood flew in a fan and the princess slumped onto her back and rolled onto her side. Lorio reprised the princess' act of jamming her boot down between Czefrina's shoulder blades and pinioning the beaten woman to the cold stones. "Unless you're an imbecile, you must have realized I've been toying with you up to this point, but unless you capitulate now...in which case, I'll drag your carcass to Karosyn and we can resolve this matter...then I'm going to destroy every joint in your body and leave you here for someone to discover...eventually. Choose!"

"I submit," Czefrina whispered hoarsely, tears of humiliation rife in her quavering voice.

"Get up...I would have our host explain herself," Lorio growled.

"Help...help me to my feet...please," Czefrina pleaded and though another memory flared in Lorio's mind...the recollection of the day the demonic entity, Xhendyn, had implanted his foul sorcery in her flesh...she reached down and gripped the beaten woman's shoulder.

With her mouth covered by her left elbow, Czefrina swiftly rolled onto her back and tossed a handful of fine powder into Lorio's startled face, before rolling away.

The fine powered billowed out, occluding Lorio's vision and surging down her throat in a swirling rush.

The void opened beneath Lorio like a gaping maw, swallowing the immortal whole.

3

While Lorio engaged in her peculiar contest with the deranged Czefrina deep in Kammlogran's bowels, Karosyn sat alone in her royal suite, staring absently into the dancing flames of her parlour's fireplace.

In retrospect, the benevolent Queen realized that this last day, beginning with the insurrection of her Tribunes and ending with her estrangement with Lorio, had easily been the most disastrous of her decades upon the throne. Martriza Odain, a woman she considered an invaluable asset to her rule and a close friend, was chilling flesh in a burial preparation chamber and the woman, who may have somehow contributed to her self-immolation, was running free.

'A woman who was clearly unstable and yet, you still elected to use her in your preposterous scheme to rescue Lorio from the state of melancholy in which you felt certain she must surely languish. Yet another idiotic, baseless presumption,' she flayed herself with a mordant frown.

"It's growing increasingly more difficult to cling to the delusion that I'm a monarch for the ages, dear husband," she whispered and Lorio's acerbic, yet incisive barb echoed in her mind. 'The problem with you, Karosyn...is that you've come to see yourself as this great, benevolent beacon...that illuminates the lives of we common folk. Yet, you are so aloof...so far fucking removed from the everyday concerns and realities of the average person that you have no idea if the great illuminating light you exude is bringing us warmth...or burning us to fucking cinders. All I ask from you is that you stop fucking interfering in my life!'

Karosyn gleaned the truth in this savage castigation. Indeed, was this not the presumption of rule by its very nature...the implacable certitude that the monarch knew best what his or her subjects required...without never really divining the contents of their hearts. The absurdity of this would have been laughable...had the consequences not frequently been so dire.

Strangely, this snippet of philosophy segued into consideration of the handsome young man who slumbered in the suite across the hall...an ordinary man with whom she'd become enamoured...almost upon first sight...like a girl from a romantic novel. She shook her head in bemusement, but smiled nonetheless. Aeyon had been the solitary bright spot in her otherwise abysmal day. She then recalled how, in the aftermath of her ugly confrontation with Lorio, she had dismissed Aeyon...as if brooding solitude was preferable to his company.

She then recalled how he had advised her to reconsider allowing matters to remain as they were with Lorio. How much courage had it required for the thoughtful young commoner to presume to impart advice to his Queen? In that one tentative utterance, Aeyon Wrey had displayed the kind of mettle she had so admired in her beloved Artumas.

'You have to recognize that what you are pondering is hopelessly untenable...will lead to heartbreak...not just yours, but his...especially his?' She demanded of herself, but this perfectly sensible query lacked the power to dissuade her from the course of action that resolved in her mind with delicious clarity.

Compartmentalizing the braying cacophony of objections, Karosyn rose and quickly stripped off the clothing she wore before hurrying into her dressing and wardrobe area. She loosened her long blond hair and brushed it out until it tumbled over her shoulder and down to the small of her back in cascading waves. Then she rummaged through her extensive wardrobe until she located a gauzy, full-length garment that could charitably be called a robe. She pulled it over her shoulders and tied the sash before considering herself in the nearby chevalier. The white, gauzy material did nothing to conceal the feminine perfection of the body beneath...a garb of seduction that she had last worn for her husband.

Tonight, setting all arguments aside, she would employ this same gauze finery to seduce the last man she would ever love, but as she strode from her room and across the corridor to his chamber, Karosyn had no inkling of the impact Aeyon Wrey would have upon her life.

4

More utterly enervated than she'd ever been in her entire life, Czefrina forced herself to her hands and knees, careful to ensure that there was no residue from Karosyn's lethal powder on her perspiration-saturated clothing. When she confirmed that there was no trace of the deadly powder on her uniform, she cast a glance at the immortal, who had fallen in a tangled sprawl of limbs. As she watched, Lorio's body was assailed by intermittent, but violent spasms that caused the muscles in her thighs and long arms to contract into livid knots.

Suddenly, riven by shame over having been so spectacularly humbled, Czefrina pushed herself into a seated position, drew her knees to her substantial chest and dropped her forehead to her folded arms. Closing her eyes, she promptly began to weep.

'Run, Czefrina!' the voice of her grandmother advised. 'Find a place and go to ground...because, should Lorio ever set eyes upon you again in this life...you will understand the true definition of the word monster.'

Czefrina grimaced and roughly brushing away tears with the back of her hand, staggered to her feet. Disinclined to heed this cogent advice, she stumbled over to the unconscious immortal and stood over her prone form, staring down at Lorio with a blank expression. The immortal's face was partially obscured by a thin patina of dust. Gazing about, Czefrina spied her discarded head wrap, which she quickly retrieved. Returning to her prize, the Lamish Princess knelt beside Lorio and carefully and lovingly began to brush the residue from the immortal's slack face. Yet, as she carefully ministered to the fallen beauty, the shadow of festering madness began to cast its thought-occluding influence over her actions. Rage, towering and hued in ugly shades of red and purple, swiftly possessed the inherently unstable young woman.

She had revered Lorio since Czefrina had been a small child, dreaming elaborate dreams about how she would usher the former Queen back to her rightful place of prominence in Lamia. She had devoted her life to making this dream a reality...in essence, devoting her very existence to helping the immortal reclaim her status as the Mother of Lamia. She had sacrificed everything to see this dream come to fruition...only to have it unceremoniously tossed back in her face by the very woman she'd idolized. The ungrateful sow had responded to this great egalitarian gesture by humiliating Czefrina...something she could only have achieved by employing sordid and despicable methods, surely.

In the thrall of her fury, Czefrina capitulated to her madness and began to kick the unconscious immortal. Circling around Lorio's body like a great stalking cat, she began to belabour the unmoving immortal with a series of random kicks to her thighs, breasts and torso...and finally, when her fury reached its zenith, the woman's beautiful face. As she administered this savage, but ultimately ineffective pummelling (for indeed, Lorio was immune to physical violence), Czefrina railed at the unconscious woman...a torrent of profanity-laden, inarticulate fury that was both mindless and misdirected.

When she had spent the last of her rage, Czefrina stopped and glared down at the prone figure, who displayed no signs of the physical violence to which she'd just been subjected. Chest heaving, hands clenched into fists along her massive thighs, the princess tried to focus on what must come next. The still lucid portion of her mind realized that she would never succeed in subjugating this exceedingly powerful creature, who had merely toyed with Czefrina until she'd grown bored of the game.

With this realization came the depressing understanding that she had just squandered her entire life, her birthright and heritage, in pursuit of a fool's errand. In the process, she had fallen to a nadir where she was impoverished, without family, home or purpose. In pursuit of this absurd fantasy, she had alienated everyone and burned every bridge to the past...leaving very little prospects for a meaningful future...all because of this clearly flawed, ungrateful bitch lying helpless at her feet.

A demented smile contorted Czefrina's pretty face and she rasped, "Perhaps I can't hurt you or best you in combat...but, given that you're now at my mercy, I can give you a giant's dose of humiliation!"

Snapping up the muslin head wrap, mindful not to allow the powder to touch her skin, Czefrina rolled it into a tight ball and roughly pushed it into Lorio's lolling mouth. Rising, she shuffled over to her pack and retrieved the small dirk that had been her only weapon, redundant in light of the skills she had once believed made her invulnerable.

'Ah, but how you've been disabused of that particular presumption,' the voice of Karosyn sneered in a tone that the benevolent queen had never employed anywhere other than the confines of Czefrina's jaded mind.

"Really, you gilded whore...and just who is lying at who's feet!" The volatile princess retorted. Returning to Lorio, she squatted down and beginning with the right leg of the immortal's trousers, she began to cut the clothing away from Lorio's body. She continued until the immortal lay naked on the cold stone. Czefrina stood and considered Lorio's body, the simple perfection of which caused her heart to race. Forcing her gaze away from the lush bounty of Lorio's breasts, she scanned the room and seeing what she required, Czefrina reached down and clutched the immortal's right ankle in powerful hands. She then began to drag her across the stone toward the nearest training dummy, where she arranged the unconscious woman so that her long, muscular arms were extended above her head, on either side of the dummy's heavy vertical base.

Quickly gathering up strips of ruined clothing, Czefrina bound Lorio's wrists together, never once entertaining the possibility that the immortal could snap these restraints with the casual ease of one tearing strips of paper. When Lorio was tightly bound, Czefrina circled back to the immortal's feet and knelt before her, contemplating Lorio's astounding beauty and her own ambiguous intent. On impulse, she splayed Lorio's long, muscular legs and crawled forward until her right knee was pressed into the immortal's groin. Reaching forward, she ensnared Lorio's exposed throat with her left hand, while roughly kneading her firm left breast with her right hand. She described indolent circles over the jutting nipple with her thumb, teasing it into a turgid knot. "Deny it if you wish, but you would enjoy being my marionette."

Just then, Lorio's eyes flew open like broken shutters, their blazing acrimony causing the startled Czefrina to gasp thinly, but before she could scurry back, Lorio lifted her two splayed thighs from the floor and brought them together in a constricting pincer that snared Czefrina like a small animal caught helplessly in an inescapable vice of muscle. With Czefrina's head crushed against her extended left arm, Lorio crossed her ankles and began to exert a crushing pressure that could have reduced a mammoth's skull to dust.

Shocked and frightened by the monstrous pressure being exerted upon her muscular neck, Czefrina formed the index and middle fingers of her right hand into a spike and unleashed a volley of strikes at the pressure points on the left side of Lorio's torso.

Even as the black flowers, that hailed the rapid approach of unconsciousness, began to bloom before Czefrina's eyes, she peered up along Lorio's naked torso, and through the deep valley of the immortal's breasts, the wayward princess could see that there was no genuine cognizance in the immortal's great dark eyes...only mindless animal rage as if her impervious body was taking deadly measures to defend itself even as its mistress remained shackled in the void.

The black irony of the moment caused her to bray a spate of muffled laughter against Lorio's rigid abdomen. As the crushing pressure increased, Czefrina's strikes became less frequent, more lethargic...until finally she gave up on the obviously futile effort. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she simply laid the flat of her hand along the immortal's side and began to caress the satiny flesh she'd dream of for most of her life. As she prepared to meet her demise, A burst of perfect lucidity blew aside all of the obscuring clouds of delusion and grandeur and Czefrina divined that this sorry moment...or one very much like it...had been inculcated into the very marrow of her bones from the first moment she'd come into the world, screaming her defiance. Perhaps meeting her death at the hands of the woman over who she'd obsessed like an enamoured zealot held a certain dark symmetry. The notion made the dying princess smile.

She formed her lips into a contorted kiss, just as Lorio's back arched dramatically until her body resembled an overdrawn bow. Every nuance in her long, muscular thighs stood prominently forth and a sickening snap filled the damp, cavernous space.

As if knowing that it had achieved its deadly objective, Lorio's body again lapsed into slack unconsciousness. Czefrina's hand's fell away from Lorio's throat and side. With her face pressed into Lorio's flat abdomen, the rogue princess' polar green eyes stared vacantly into whatever after world her reprobate's soul had been cast.

The two adversaries would remain in this posture for the remainder of the night; a flesh and bone sculpture of violence and death.

5

Unaware of the dark and ultimately tragic drama being played out in the bowels of the castle over which she held dominion, Karosyn inhaled, shook her head in bemusement, but nonetheless opened the door to her former husband's chamber with a slight gesticulation of her left hand. She slid through the opening and ushered the door back into place in the same manner. The chamber was steeped in total darkness, but even had she not been blessed with preternatural vision, Karosyn could have easily maneuvered through the maze of furniture. How often had she furtively stolen into her husband's chamber while the aging king slept? The mischievous thought made her smile as did the memory of how much of an appetite she'd developed for carnal pleasures during her joyous, but all too brief marriage to Artumas.

This though was accompanied by a quickening in the cadence of her breathing and an acceleration of her heart at the prospect of what she hoped would follow during this mad nocturnal excursion.

She willed herself to rise slightly from the tiled floor and floated like a cloud through the royal suite of rooms and into the bed chamber. As she glided soundlessly through the darkness, it occurred to Karosyn that, despite having confined her use of magic to small and inconspicuous feats of convenience, her aptitude for its use had not diminished a whit. Quite the contrary, in fact...inspired by need, her capacity to wield increasingly powerful magic seemed to be growing exponentially.

'You're honing your abilities...or perhaps being honed,' she thought, regarding this idea of an external influence with no small degree of consternation...and trepidation.

Upon entering the bedchamber, Karosyn floated over to the vast expanse of bed and gently set down upon the decorative carpet. She raised her hands, fingers closed into loose fists with the palms facing the ceiling and a small muted yellow spark coalesced in the cusp of her palm. She leaned over the bed where the slumbering Aeyon was an indistinct shadow, and extended her long arms, before opening her fingers with a flourish. The two sparks consolidated into globes of soft yellow light which continued to hover over the bed once Karosyn withdrew her hands.

They cast cones of soft yellow light over the sleeping young man, bestowing upon him an angelic aspect. He slept in borrowed Pyjama bottoms and his torso was pleasingly bare. As Karosyn drank in the lines of his bare torso...the broad, muscular shoulders and deep chest...she began to feel an intense tingling sensation that emanated from her core and spread quickly to the extremities of her nubile body.

"What is this spell you've cast over me, you beautiful creature?" she whispered and sat upon the edge of the bed, careful not to wake the slumbering male. Leaning forward, she placed the pad of her index finger in the hollow between Aeyon's pectoral muscles and began to map the topography of his gorgeous chest.

Aeyon stirred and fixed his nocturnal intruder with a puzzled, bleary-eyed gaze...which became of an expression of startled shock when he saw just who it was that now sat on the edge of his bed. That shock grew to something akin to open panic when his gaze strayed from her lovely, eager face to the majesty of her full breasts and her two pink nipples that poked prominently through the gauzy, translucent fabric of the robe she wore. His complexion deepened to scarlet and he swiftly averted his gaze...even as his body responded in an atavistic way that only heightened his embarrassment.

Karosyn reached for his chin and gently but firmly forced his regard back to her. "Don't avert your eyes, Aeyon...I would have you see me...drink me in like the headiest wine."

Aeyon reluctantly complied and the throbbing in his groin was syncopated with the thundering of his heart. This was a dream, surely...an intensely vivid and erotic nighttime fantasy, conjured in response to his proximity to an ineffably beautiful woman he'd long idealized...for what other logic explanation could there be to explain her presence in his bed chamber...and in this wanton attire that could hardly be categorized as clothing.

Aeyon, who in all candor knew nothing about the mercurial nature of women...the passions that moved them or the composition of their desires and attractions...could not conceive of a scenario in which this elegant vision would be drawn to a common, simple man such as he saw himself to be. The idea was absurd...preposterous...and this present fantasy, in which his gaze gorged on the perfection of her breasts and the geometric curve of her bare hips was just that...ludicrous fantasy.

'I can tell that your virtuous Queen has developed a fondness for you and if you should find your way into her bed...it is because she has actually come to love you.' The irascible Lorio's parting words came back to him then and though he had considered them utterly ridiculous, there was an inured, cynical and worldly aspect to the living icon that made no allowance for capricious fantasy. Against all reason, the Queen was infatuated with him...and really was here in his bed...perfection rendered in flesh.

As if in affirmation of this incredible notion, she began to speak, her voice a throaty, solemn whisper. "Aeyon, this bed belonged to my late husband, King Artumas. In the thirty years since his death, I have devoted my life to Emercia and his vision for what it could become. I have lived a life of deliberate celibacy. I tell you this because I don't want you to have the impression that I am a fluff skirt who throws herself into the bed of any pretty thing that catches her eye. The moment you found your way into my throne room, looked upon me with those beautiful, earnest brown eyes, I knew that you had been brought to me for a reason...and I could no longer remain aloof from the fact that I am a woman...with needs...desires."

"I...I'm nobody really...what could I possibly offer you?" Aeyon stammered and though he was bewildered by the Queen's erotic overture...he was also euphoric.

His self-denigration seemed to vex the Queen because she gripped his shoulder in surprisingly powerful fingers and shook him vigorously, "You are an intelligent, thoughtful young man who is only limited by his experience...the scope of the life you've led...a simple matter of exposure. Despite this, you are cognizant that there is much to be discovered...to be understood. When I look at you...I can envision my husband as he might have been as a young man. I want to foster your potential, Aeyon...to show you that there are no limits to what you might aspire to be."

Her smile assumed a slightly wicked gleam and she ran her fingers over his striated abdomen and down to the edge of the sheet that concealed his curving erection. "For now, I want to lead you back to my chambers and make love to you...to end this self-imposed drought by pouring all of this long-repressed desire over this glorious body of yours." She slowly pushed down the sheets and upon seeing the prominent tenting in his bottoms, intoned, "I suspect that at least a part of you would being willing to indulge my need."

She stood and deftly shrugged off the gauzy garb of enticement and then preened slowly for his inspection, smiling when a low, anguished moan escaped his lips as he drank in her high, curving bottom. She crawled back onto the bed, looming over him until their faces were only a hand's width apart and her turgid nipples grazed his bare chest. A part of her was mortified by her salacious behaviour and condemned her as being ruthlessly unfair in her seduction of a young man who was virtually helpless to resist the cumulative weight of her beauty set so brazenly before him. As a token nod to fairness, she offered, "Aeyon, I may be a Queen, but I have no right to force myself upon you and I would have you take what I am offering willingly. If you are discomfited by this proposition, then I will leave you to your slumbers and there will be no ill-feelings between us. I would have you in my bed, but I will settle for being your friend and patroness."

His expression became sheepish and he admitted, in the manner of one confessing a shameful transgression, "I've not been with a woman before..."

Though having suspected as much, to hear the fact given voice only stoked Karosyn's already rampant hunger and she managed, "I'll guide you Aeyon...somehow you've failed to perceive just how beautiful you are," She ran her fingertips lovingly across his flat stomach, "How deliciously constructed you are. I can predict that, should you let me show you the way...the day will not be long in coming before you leave me utterly breathless whenever you take me to your bed."

His brow furrowed and he posed a concern that clearly demonstrated that Karosyn had not been wrong in her evaluation of his character. "There is nothing that I could ever want more...but I would not want my family to...to suffer or be made the object of scorn..."

She kissed him with a fervour that left him panting beneath her. Pulling back until her great blue eyes seemed to fill the very world, she assured him, "Aeyon, should this unfurl as I envision, the day will come when your family might well become my family. They will fall under my protection and Aeyon, you may take it as an article of faith that there is no limit to what I will do to ensure that my family is protected from anyone who would do them harm. Now, shall we make our way to my chambers...I'm cast as a model of serenity, but my patience...and restraint are quickly reaching their limits."

He signalled his acquiescence with a shy nod and Karosyn rose from the bed and seizing him by the wrist, effortlessly pulled the young man to his feet and turned her rueful gaze on his pyjama bottoms. "You have me at a disadvantage...but I can rectify that soon enough."

As a mesmerized Aeyon stood tense and still, Karosyn slid nimbly behind him and drew him to her. She embraced him ardently for a long moment, relishing the tactile sensation of his broad back against her full breasts. Then, hooking her thumbs beneath the waistband of his pyjamas, she slowly slid them down to his ankles, before standing and again melding herself to the contours of his muscular body. Karosyn was nearly a head taller than her would-be lover which allowed her to easily peer over his shoulder. His manhood was a curving piece of statuary that swayed across his lower abdomen like a metronome, informing the delighted Queen that she had tantalized the inexperienced young man to the ragged edges of release. To aggravate his torment, she began to slowly sway her hips across his hard buttocks, while making a protracted show of trailing her fingers over the pleasing contours of his now rigid body before finally encircling his manhood. "Give yourself to me, Aeyon...without restraint or fear."

He uttered a strangled, guttural groan of pure pleasure as her long fingers languidly moved over his length. She whispered words of encouragement as his entire body stiffened and he gave his seed to the mastery of her caress. His heavily muscled legs trembled wildly and he sagged back against her, panting in pleasure. She swirled her tongue about the hollow of his ear and whispered, "That is but a pale shadow of the bliss of what is to come."

She stepped around him, pleased but not particularly surprised to see that his outpouring had not abated his erection a whit. Taking his hand, she led the utterly beguiled Aeyon across the hall to her chambers, giggling at the thought that the Hand of the Way Guarded the doors at the end of the corridor...unaware that their Queen was surrendering to her inner wanton just beyond their view.

Inside the door, she pressed an unresisting Aeyon up against the wall and kissed him deeply, trying to convey the intensity of her emotions with her lips and tongue. She could feel the press of his manhood against her lower belly and reluctantly disengaged, pulling him toward the waiting tub next to the hearth.

Thoroughly beguiled, Aeyon watched raptly as Karosyn bent over the tub and laid the flat of her hand on the Metocan heating crystal, which she infused with her sorcery. She shifted her pert bottom provocatively and rose up on her toes, wondering obliquely what had become of the decorous, rigidly proper Queen she had been only days prior.

'You've been far too long without the ardent touch of a devoted lover...and now this beautiful creature has inspired your body to balance the scales,' she told herself crisply. Glancing back over her shoulder, enjoying the thoroughly beguiled set of Aeyon's dark eyes, she smiled invitingly and encouraged, "Come Aeyon, I want you to acquaint yourself with every indentation, every curve and nuance of my body...just as I would have you know my heart and mind...I would have you know my flesh...come and explore me...with your hands, your lips and your tongue."

He came forward and when he hesitated to comply briefly, she reached back with both hands, and clasping his hips drew him forward. She then took his hands and moulded them to her breasts, whispering, "Slowly, gently...discover me."

His manhood required no further encouragement and instinctively sought to gain admittance to the source of its torment. Growling, Karosyn rose up higher on her toes and allowed his full length to slide between the confluence of her thighs. She then contracted her thighs, effectively imprisoning Aeyon's member against the silken folds of her womanhood. Raising his torment to excruciating levels, she began to rock slowly back and forth and she channeled her arcane energy into heating their bath water, emitting a decidedly wicked chuckle when he moaned and unleashed a second torrent. His seed arched out over the bath water as Aeyon sagged to his knees behind her.

She turned to face him, whispering solemnly, "Your seed for the Goddess, Aeyon Wrey."

He shook his head in bemused sorrow, "I'm sorry, Karosyn...I...I couldn't hold back."

'It would seem that I am not the only one to repress my desire,' she thought with a private chuckle. Plunging her long fingers into Aeyon's thick curls, she pulled his face against her belly, delighted when he marshalled the temerity to lay his strong hands on her curving derrière without being invited to do so. "Don't fret...each time you will gain further mastery over your body's needs...and before I send you back to your blankets...you will have given expression to those needs more time than you can count. Now come, I have needs of my own that require prolonged attention."

She drew him to his feet and firmly ushered him into the tub, her own breathing now coming in husky gasps. Once he had settled back against the warm copper, she stepped in and straddled his upper thighs. Gaze boring into his, she lowered herself with careful deliberation...and engulfed his full length in one fluid stroke of her tight hips. Aeyon loosed a growl of inarticulate ecstasy when she grasped his length and began to undulate her hips in the indolent rhythm of waves breaking on a golden strand of beach. Grasping the edges of the tub with white-knuckled intensity, she leaned forward and insistently pressed a turgid nipple between his slightly parted lips. She began to usher the pair toward mutual eruption, while Aeyon complied with her entreaty to acquaint himself with the scintillating topography of her body.

For an intoxicating span of time, the great divide that separated the two perfectly complimentary souls, who were fate bound despite their vast disparity in place and status, vanished and they lost themselves in the pure joy of delving into each other's exquisite flesh.

6

Later, in the bell just before the approaching dawn, Karosyn led a thoroughly exhausted, but happy Aeyon to the threshold of her suite of rooms. She drew him into a long kiss and suffused him with her arcane energy. The ingenuous young man blinked, prompting Karosyn to smile and draw him into an embrace, luxuriating in the feel of his decidedly masculine body against her own.

With a tremendous exertion of will, she pushed him to arm's length and intoned softly, "This may sound like absurd caprice, considering how briefly we've known each other, but I feel that you and I are as perfectly suited as it is possibly for two living beings to be. The day will come when I will declare my love for you before the world in rapturous terms...and have you as my royal consort...if you are amenable. For now, however, my realm is in crisis and I can ill-afford a distracting controversy. I would ask that you exercise all possible discretion in the matter of what has passed between us this night...even with your family. Can you promise me this, Aeyon?"

"Of course...your highness," he replied with a wry smile that hinted at an ironic sense of humour and a grasp of the delicacy of the matter.

Smiling, she caressed his flaccid length gently and prompted, "Sleep for a short span of time, but the royal court makes no allowance for laggards, so I will arrive at the eighth bell so that we might have breakfast together and you may question me at length about the Sisters of Esotaria."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. His expression became grave and he remarked, "I was unable to locate Lorio...but the guards at the top of the ramp told me that she had not passed through the gates."

Karosyn pursed her lips at this unexpected segue back to troubling matters. That he would broach this matter in the immediate wake of the blissful intermingling they'd share spoke of a serious and focused mind, but a small part of her was, nonetheless vexed by his preoccupation with Lorio.

'Jealousy, dear-heart? That is most unexpected,' the voice of Artumas chided gently, which caused Karosyn to flush not only in response to this mild rebuke, but also at the surprisingly arousing thought that his spirit might have witnessed her dalliance from the shadows of her subconscious. To mask her reaction, Karosyn waved a dismissive hand and observed, "Knowing Lorio, I would not be entirely surprised if she elected to scale down the outer walls or dive off the ramparts into the Bay of Imerlac."

Sensing his dissatisfaction at this cursory dismissal, Karosyn changed her tone and promised, "Tomorrow, I will have my adjutant make inquiries about Lorio's whereabouts."

"Will you speak to her, Karosyn...ask her to help you in this situation with The Ascentrix?" He persisted, a pleading light in those beautiful brown eyes.

His anxiety was infectious and Karosyn allowed, "I'll try, but as I've mentioned, Aeyon, we did not part on the friendliest of terms...and I sincerely doubt she'll be inclined to lend her aid...even if there was some meaningful contribution she could make in the matter of Lissom."

"She seems like a woman who could overcome any obstacle," Aeyon remarked, not noticing the subtle shift in Karosyn's expression.

With a distinct edge in her tone, Karosyn splayed her fingers on his chest and remarked, "You seem quite taken with Queen Lorio."

"How could someone not be...she's a heroine of legend...like a myth come to life," he replied gushingly.

"And do you find her beautiful, Aeyon?" She demanded, venturing closer until she had pressed him against the wall.

Only then, did the inexperienced young man glean the unamused light in her great blue eyes and realized that he had violated an unspoken protocol in the perplexing matter of women of which he was unaware. Finding the temerity to touch her cheek, he blurted, "I'm sorry...I...I didn't mean to offend you." With a sheepish grin, he added, "I really do know nothing about women...the proper thing to say and such..."

She laid her hand over his and kissed his palm, though her tone was brisk when she explained, "Generally, when a woman has ravaged a man so thoroughly as I have just ravaged you...she will not be receptive to the idea of hearing that man extol the virtues of another woman in the afterglow."

Finally intuiting the direction of her displeasure, Aeyon gasped and shook his head in horrified dismay, "By the Goddess...I didn't mean it that way, Karosyn...please. Something keeps telling me that it's important that you not allow Lorio to walk away."

She grinned and kissed him, squeezing his manhood in a most proprietary way. "I know you didn't. I'll do what I can to appease our obstreperous guest. Now off you go."

She opened the door and ushered him into the chilly corridor, deriving no small degree of pleasure in watching him make his way across the darkened hall to his own chambers. He paused at the threshold and glanced back over his shoulder. Karosyn smiled and waggled her fingers before vanishing into her chambers.

Chapter Nineteen

1

Erin Myr has been a member of the Hand of the Way for nearly two decades, rising through the ranks of the Emercian Military, before being assigned to the honoured position of protecting the royal household and the woman who ruled over it. While the assignment was generally considered an honour, Erin had long come to regard the duty as dull and tedious. Karosyn's tranquility seemed infectious and in his tenure, there had never once been a serious security incident. Even the Tribunes insurrection had been a dull affair, that had been put to rest without even a sword being drawn from a scabbard.

That the collection of popinjays could actually be so flagrantly ungrateful as to rebel against the Queen, who had led Emercia to the pinnacle of world eminence and prosperity flummoxed Erin. That she had not had the lot's heads lopped from their shoulders was a testimony to her saintly lenience.

As he made his winding descent down this accursed staircase to commence his assigned guard duty, Erin felt a twinge of protest in his right knee...the first harbinger that perhaps the end of his time as a member of the Hand of the Way might not be far off in the future. Normally, this type of guard duty was considered far too menial for the elite guards, but since Queen Karosyn had commenced training in the castle depths, it was decided that the area must be secure as a precaution against further mischief by her courtiers. So, he trundled down the steps, not wanting to admit that these depths, with their odious history, held a distinctly unsettling aura.

He had heard the tales...as had every member of the Hand...gruesome tales of systematic torture and depraved experimentation that had been conducted in Kammlogran's depths by the Emerald Enchantress long before Erin Myr had been born. Though he would never have shared this with another living soul on the threat of death, Erin harboured a private dread of being alone on the other side of the door situated at the bottom of this damnable stairway. In the vast emptiness of these hollows in the bedrock, the hardened guard felt certain he could sometime hear resonating echoes of suffering souls, pleading for a surcease to their torment. He could not help but wonder if such poor souls would inevitably become malicious...belligerent to those living being who did not share their eternal misery.

It was rumoured that the Queen was contemplating closing this entire section...flooding the voids and sealing them permanently. As he made his way down to his appointed guard station, Erin Myr sincerely hoped that these rumours were not unfounded.

His first intimation that something was awry came when he reached the bottom of the stairs and was not immediately greeted by a guttural grunt from the stoic Henan, who had suffered the misfortune of drawing night watch at the bottom of this accursed stairwell. A man of few words, Henan was a skilled soldier, who took his assigned duties...even ones as menial as this...with deadly seriousness. Nothing would compel him to dereliction of duty and when he was not in position and waiting to be relived, Erin Myr's every sense prickled.

He peered longingly up into the darkness, momentarily immobilized by indecision. After a moment, he shook his head and surveyed the corridor that led off into the darkness and terminated in an alcove some thirty paces further along. The purpose of this corridor and alcove had always been a mystery to Myr and now its shadowed length assumed sinister overtones.

"Henan, you lazy cur...are you sleeping down there?" He called, his cavalier tone sounding brittle to his own ears. He eyed the section of the wall which concealed ingress to the lower levels and shook his head involuntary. He really did not want to go searching for the missing guard in there...alone.

Instead, he seized a torch from the nearby sconce and crept down the corridor toward the alcove, where he found the unmoving form of Henan. Myr set in torch into a nearby iron bracket and bent down to examine the unconscious guardsman. Groping for the pulse at Henan's throat with fingers that trembled slightly, Myr was relieved to discover that the man's breath was shallow, but regular and his pulse was likewise normal.

This relief was tempered by the realization that someone had managed to waylay the guardsman and render him unconscious; no small feat considering that Henan was a mountain of a man, exceptionally skilled with weapons and diligent in keeping watch.

Myr's first impression was sorcery...and that terrible word had its requisite unmanning effect on the normally courageous guardsman. Removing his outer tunic, he rolled it into an impromptu pillow and placed it under Henan's neck...noting that his weapons were still in their scabbards, implying that he had been taken completely by surprise by his assailant.

He was assailed by a staccato burst of questions for which he could produce no answers and which only served to ratchet up his anxiety. Sparing the fallen Henan a final glance, he snapped up the torch and hurried back up the stairwell with the intent of informing Captain Dioral that someone...or something had infiltrated the castle's depths.

2

"Wake up, Aeyon."

This entreaty cut through the thick fog of exhaustion induced sleep, into which Aeyon had stumbled after he return to his chambers, and was punctuated by a brisk shake. Recollections of his nocturnal encounter came back to him in a torrid rush of images cast in a surreal light and he felt his heart begin to thunder in his chest.

"Karosyn?" He inquired and opened his eyes...to find his sister, Noriza, dressed in the uniform of her station, gazing down upon him with a perplexed expression.

"You have to get dressed, Aeyon...the Queen has sent me to inform you that she will take breakfast with you in a half bell...and it wouldn't do to have her highness find you in your nightclothes. It is only because I am your sister that she allowed one of her attendants to enter your chambers," she added as if some explanation for her presence was necessary. "Now, hurry...you mustn't embarrass us before the Queen."

Aeyon dutifully complied, but as he slid out of bed, the toll of the previous night's indulgence pressed down upon him like iron ingots. His body was leaden, and it required all of his efforts to simply straighten. Tarim had always derived unaccountable pleasure from scandalizing his prim younger brother and he recalled how Tarim had once gone into great detail informing the bemused Aeyon that there were women who could simply wear a man to a dull edge in the bedchamber, such was their appetite. They left a man feeling like a sword that had been continuously pounded on a slab of granite. Aeyon recalled how he had dismissed this as provocative hyperbole at the time.

Karosyn's ardent and relentless lovemaking had disabused him of this innocent notion.

Noriza noted his stiffness as he rose and attributed it to the lingering effects of the beating he had suffered two nights prior. "Are you well, Aeyon?"

He glanced at her and was surprised by the intense anxiety in her eyes. Noriza had always worn the expression of a woman who was once removed from the world in which she lived...even as a young girl. Aeyon had always suspected that Noriza had never fully recovered from the loss of her mother...and though she was adored by her father and brothers, Noriza seemed uncomfortable growing up as the only female amongst so many men.

"I'm fine...just a bit stiff...from this bed. It's much softer than my own."

Noriza frowned at his contrived explanation and inquired, "You called the Queen's name when I woke you...Aeyon, you can't address her highness by her name. Surely, you know that?"

"I do...I do," he assured her quickly and when something further seemed required, he added, "She's such a large presence...I guess I've been preoccupied. She's been very kind to me."

For some peculiar reason, this disclosure only seemed to exacerbate his sister's anxiety. "Father is quite worried about you being here, Aeyon...as we all are."

"I don't see why...it's not as if the Queen is going to have me cooked in a pot and served at a court supper," he returned with a slight grin.

His attempt at levity did nothing to assuage his sister's concern. "Come home as soon as the Queen permits, Aeyon...you don't belong here. Believe me when I tell you that there are those here who will demonstrate this to you in painful terms if you remain too long...or if you give any hint that you have forgotten your place in the grand scheme of things."

Aeyon gaped at his sister askance, but when it became obvious that she would not elaborate, he simply nodded and set about preparing to receive the Queen. His elation at the previous night's divine encounter with Karosyn quickly dissipated as the harsh reality of Noriza's incisive warning crashed down upon him like a tub of cold water, quelling the heat of his lust and the absurd fantasy that the previous night had been anything other than an aberration.

Noriza departed with a final worried frown and as Aeyon dressed quickly and ran his fingers through his curls, a steady stream of liveried servants delivered a surprisingly elaborate breakfast to his receiving area on gold and silver covered trays.

A moment later, the Queen swept into the receiving chamber, appearing as fresh and radiant as a spring bloom. Her golden tresses were captured in a series of gem-encrusted copper sleeves and she wore a pale green gown that, while conservative in cut, failed to hide the perfection of her nubile body. Aeyon felt like a wilted weed by contrast and Noriza's cutting words came back to him, leaving him feeling absurdly out of place.

When they were alone, the perceptive Queen tilted her head and inquired, "You seem out of sorts, Aeyon...when I would have expected that you might have a glow...to match my own."

"I'm sorry, your highness...I'm just tired." He shifted his gaze to the drift of trays and added, "and overwhelmed."

Those great blue eyes narrowed in appraisal as she studied him for a moment. She then extended her long arms and commanded, "Come here, Aeyon...and as we are alone, Karosyn will do."

He dutifully complied and she swept him into a tight embrace, nuzzling his neck with her full lips. He could feel a warmth suffuse his body and suddenly his weariness and stiffness vanished. She pushed a wide-eyed Aeyon to arm's length and inquired, "Better?"

"Yes...you...you did that?" he stammered, feeling completely rejuvenated.

"A simple matter of arcane energy transference. My specialty has always been healing...but I now find it necessary to...expand my repertoire into other less...helpful venues," Karosyn returned, wondering why she felt the need to elaborate. She linked her arm in his and led him to the table. After they were seated, she regarded him over folded hands beneath her chin and again inquired, "As I would have everything open between us...you may tell me why you seem so somber."

He hesitated, but realizing that he could conceal nothing from the incisive Queen, returned, "I feel out of place, Karosyn..."

"Has the castle staff made you feel...unwelcome?"

He shook his head adamantly. "No, I've been treated kindly by everyone...even the archivist."

Karosyn grinned, "Then you truly are a natural charmer." Her grin became a smirk and she added with a mischievous twinkle in her exquisite eyes, "And have I not gone to extraordinary lengths to make you feel welcome?"

"By the Goddess, Yes!" he exclaimed recalling Lorio's remark about his good fortune.

Karosyn's expression sobered and she observed correctly, "Am I wrong in surmising that your sister is the source of your anxiety...or more succinctly...your father, Lynon?"

"I...I think they only wish to protect me...think that I am out of my element and will either shame myself or be hurt somehow."

"Then your family does not give you the credit you deserve Aeyon...you have conducted yourself with aplomb that most courtiers could benefit by. As for being hurt...I can tell you on my soul...that no one will ever hurt you...not in Kammlogran or anywhere else. The love we made last night has bound us together, Aeyon...and those who would raise a hand against you will quickly come to rue their birth day."

This sincerely given oath hung between them for a protracted moment and finally Aeyon nodded. Karosyn broke the gravitas of the moment by smiling and plucking a succulent strawberry from a platter. She popped it into her mouth and never taking her eyes from a transfixed Aeyon, informed him. "Providing you with the opportunity to decline my seduction was an egalitarian gesture, Aeyon...but since you agreed to be led to my bed, I will henceforth exert my imperial discretion...and have you whenever the mood moves me...which, I can assure you, will be frequently and at length...so you would do well to rest during the days."

She chuckled heartily when his colour deepened to an alarmed shade of plum, obliquely wondering why she derived such pleasure from shocking the reserved young man. "Ah, before you ask, I have dispatched my adjutant to discover Lorio's whereabouts. I must warn you, if Lorio is disinclined to return, the entire Emercian military may not be condign to the task of compelling her to do so. Now, I have a full slate of duties today...and another session of training, which I would like you to attend. If you wish, you may accompany me as an observer to some of the more bureaucratic sessions. If nothing else, you will come away with the realization that the business of rule is not often glamourous. Tomorrow, you may return to the Coopery during the days...but I would have you back here at night...for your protection, of course."

Her nuanced grin was decidedly wicked and he met it with a smile of his own. Despite being overwhelmed by the Queen, Aeyon also felt a certain natural...affinity with this extraordinary woman. He could feel her grace and wisdom wash over him like a balm and knew that he would benefit immensely from every moment spent in her company. He was suddenly assailed by a sense of inadequacy and asked uncomfortably, "Was I...satisfactory...last night?"

Karosyn reached across the table and squeezed his right hand firmly, "Aeyon, I told you the day would come when you would leave me breathless when you took me to our bed. Last night...you left me breathless. You are as gentle and thoughtful in matters of intimacy as you are in the rest of your life. What's more...it felt as if this was an intimate act for which we were made to share." Again, she beamed that wicked grin and predicted, "I think you may find my appetite for your touch a bit terrifying."

They settled into a comfortable silence and then Aeyon asked, "Do you have time to tell me more about the Sisters of Esotaria? I would like to know more about the life you led...before you became our Queen."

Karosyn, whose past life as the Goddess' Matrium was a source of almost superstitious dread for those who served her, was deeply touched by Aeyon's desire to understand her formative years. Though her time, especially now, was at a premium, she devoted the better part of the next bell to explaining the structure and mandate of Gyzarayne's often unfathomable order. Aeyon listened intently, interjecting only to pose astute clarifying questions that only confirmed Karosyn's assessment of his potential.

When she concluded her dissertation on her Goddess' order, Karosyn watched as Aeyon grappled with all that he'd been told. He stroked his chin pensively and in his customary thoughtful way, posed the query that had troubled Karosyn for decades. "Your order is devoted to improving the lot of women as you say. I know that many women are treated badly...abused...but I see many men who seem to treat their wives...their daughters well."

"You see, Aeyon, it isn't simply a matter of having women be treated better...by men. If one is kind and doting to a favoured pet...it does little to alter the fact that the animal is still a pet...with no volition over the direction of its own life. Gyzarayne's Sisters of Esotaria seek to elevate women to a status of equality...where they are free to pursue their dreams and desires and achieve their full potential in whatever form that potential might assume."

"Do you feel you've made...inroads?" Aeyon asked, his brow furrowed.

Karosyn's demeanour became grave, though in this astute query, she could clearly envision a worldlier Aeyon serving as her sounding board for some of her more esoteric notions. "The patriarchal mentality is deeply ingrained, Aeyon. Men view women as inferior and weak...incapable. This is not an easy prejudice to surmount. I have made inroads here in Emercia and the Sisters have done the same in Dortizirian, which is the order's power base across the Sea of Permanent Departure. In the world beyond these two nations, progress has been painfully slow in coming."

"And what of this other country...Majeer? Are women well treated there? This is where the Ascentrix has been?" Aeyon asked, disturbed by the complex and discordant blend of emotions that rippled across the Queen's beautiful face as he gave voice to this query.

"Gyzarayne's approach to achieving equality comes through peaceful engagement and though the Sisters of Esotaria are a formidable force to be feared, their mandate is only to employ what force is necessary to protect abused women from violent oppression. Majeer is ruled by tyranny and terror. If accounts are accurate, men in Majeer are being subject to exactly the type of abuse and repression that has long afflicted women. Though this might strike some as poetic justice...it is not Gyzarayne's way...and it is why this forthcoming summit with Lissom is so crucial. If men become convinced that the order is a horde of blood thirsty fanatics...then we have failed and women will continue to suffer abuse and oppression. That, I cannot allow."

"Do you believe that this Lissom's followers took Tarim?"

Karosyn could feel the intense anguish in this query and found that it wrung her heart because she could offer no meaningful solace for Aeyon's pain. "Speculation serves little purpose, Aeyon...but you have my word that discovering the answer will be at the top of my list of priorities when she and I meet upon her arrival here in Nalosan."

"I honestly don't know how my family and I can thank you for your kindness, Karosyn...it only proves that the commonly held ideas about your...goodness were true."

The Queen winked provocatively and quipped, "I do believe that I can contrive several ways in which you can express your gratitude, Master Aeyon...though for the moment, I have a realm that requires my attention. If you wish to linger over breakfast and then rest, I'll come and collect you for my meeting with the Minister of Coin near the Eleventh Bell."

Aeyon nodded and Karosyn rose, gliding around the long table and bending down to kiss his upturned lips with a zeal that clearly conveyed that her hunger was far from sated after last night's encounter.

Just then, an urgent wrapping broke the intimate moment and Karosyn bid the knocker to enter, her regal veneer slipping back over her ethereal features.

The door opened and a clearly disquieted Garum Tranan entered, bowing to his Queen and offering a brisk nod of acknowledgement to her guest. It required only one glimpse of his angular face for both to glean that something disturbing had transpired, a turn of events with which Karosyn was rapidly tiring in what had been, until recently, an exceptionally tranquil seat of power.

"Just your demeanour informs me that today is likely to be an eventful one, Garum," the Queen commented warily.

Never one for circumspection, her Adjutant cut directly to the heart of the matter. "We've located Czefrina...and the former Lamish Queen."

"They were together...where?" Karosyn interjected, and Aeyon could clearly see that this disclosure troubled her deeply.

"Yes...we found them in the castle depths after the Hand of the Way Guard assigned to today's duty found the previous night's watch guard unconscious. He reported the incident to Captain Dioral, who ordered a search of the lower levels. Czefrina and the former Lamish Queen were located in the main training room. It appears they may have been involved in a violent altercation...Captain Dioral fears that both are...dead."

"Dead?" Karosyn echoed dumbly...feeling the heavy weight of culpability bear down upon her shoulders. "Are you certain?"

Garum shifted his gaze to Aeyon, who was staring back at the weapons master with open dismay. Sensing the direction of his concern, Karosyn prompted impatiently, "You may speak freely in front of Master Aeyon, Adjutant."

"The way in which the bodies were found caused the Captain to withdraw his guardsmen and seek me out." Here, he paused uncomfortably and modulating his voice to a whisper, disclosed, "Lorio, the Lamish Queen, was naked and bound to one of the training dummies. Czefrina was positioned atop of her...in a most...suggestive manner. The Captain surmised that it advisable to inform your majesty before approaching the bodies."

A vivid image of this strangely erotic posture of death rose, unbidden, in Karosyn's mind and she grimaced. Distantly, she heard herself instruct, "Very well, I will change and go directly to the training chamber. Go ahead of me, Garum and make it exceedingly clear that no one is to enter before I arrive...no one!"

The vehemence in Karosyn's voice caused Garum to frown, but he bowed and quickly withdrew to comply. When Karosyn turned to Aeyon, the young apprentice saw that her anxiety was palpable. "May I come with you?"

She shook her head, "It's best that you remain here, Aeyon. I intend to have Lorio returned to my chambers. When she awakens, she will be in a highly volatile state...and I would not have you exposed to her anger, which she is likely to vent on anything within range."

"You don't believe she is dead then?"

"Come with me while I change into less formal clothing," Karosyn instructed and when Aeyon hesitated uncertainly, she sighed and grasping his wrist, pulled him across the hall. "Let the rumours fly...I have more pressing matters than fodder for gossip. There is nothing that Czefrina could do to harm Lorio...much less kill her. But Lorio...she could snap Czefrina like a dried twig."

Karosyn ushered Aeyon into her bed chamber and bid him to wait while she vanished into her spacious wardrobe closet. As she hurriedly changed, she called, "This sordid tale is one of my devising, Aeyon...and I will share it with you later. It will certainly disabuse you of the notion that I am infallible."

Once dressed, she rushed into her bed chamber and pulled Aeyon back into her receiving area. Hugging the young man, she urged, "Remain here while I investigate."

Then she was gone, leaving Aeyon alone to ponder what might come to pass if Karosyn was the first person the volatile Lorio set eyes upon should she regain consciousness.

3

Rendered immobile by self-contempt, Karosyn stood utterly stationary, gazing down on the two beautiful bodies arranged in a tragic posture of needless violence. She could feel tangible weight of Captain Dioral and Adjutant Tranan's regard on her back as they watched her from the corridor. Over their vociferous objections, she had bid them to remain in the corridor until she assessed the situation. There was only one way that Czefrina could have subdued Lorio...and any lingering particulates of the lethal powder could have swiftly killed both men...adding to the unbearable toll of Karosyn's crime."

'How could I have been so stupid...so utterly arrogant as to agree to the utter madness? Look at what I've wrought?' A barely audible moan escaped her tightly compressed lips and she opened her mind to the brooding ambience that remained in the aftermath of this tragic confrontation. It played out before her mind's eye in tones of sepia...the major junctures of the dark drama that had unfolded in this ineffably evil place. Karosyn bore witness in perplexed bemusement as Lorio toyed with a clearly overmatched Czefrina, gradually wearing her to a state of exhausted desperation...just as the Queen had predicted she would. Also predictably, Lorio's arrogance had left her vulnerable and just as predictably, after employing the powder to subdue the immortal, Czefrina had fallen to the uglier aspect of her nature. It was what had transpired next that left Karosyn utterly flummoxed, with a new and shocking insight into Lorio's incomprehensible nature.

While her consciousness was still under the powder's effect, the immortal's body had reacted to Czefrina's perceived threat with lethal consequences.

"I'm so sorry...for both of you," Karosyn murmured morosely. Bending down, she gently rolled Czefrina's slowly stiffening body from its position between Lorio's thighs. To allow Lorio her decency, she turned back to the mirror and gesture brusquely for the two men to step away, which she could sense they did. She conjured a purifying light and swept it over Lorio's body, swiftly burning off the remains of the potentially lethal powder. She was relieved to discover that the immortal's breathing was regular and her pulse even and strong. 'Ah, but you know all too well that the true blow will be to her ravaged pride...to her indelibly scarified soul. It will be you she holds accountable...and rightfully so.'

Reaching forward, she gingerly removed the muslin gag from Lorio's slack mouth and cast it aside as if it was poisonous. Rising, she returned to the hall and facing the Captain, requested, "May I have your cloak, Captain." He complied and she draped it over her right forearm before instructing, "Arrange to have Princess Czefrina moved to a preparation chamber. Once I have attended to Lady Lorio, I will draft a missive to the King of Lamia, informing him that his sister has met her demise while in Nalosan."

Both men exchanged horrified glances, neither aware that the mercurial Czefrina had been anything more than an exceptionally skilled thug. Ignoring their confusion, Karosyn returned to the training chamber and tenderly covered Lorio with the Captain's cloak. Indifferent to the reactions of those who would witness her overt display of sorcery, Karosyn lifted the unconscious immortal from the cold stones on a carpet of arcane energy and then began to walk beside the floating woman.

With her expression impassive and her posture regal, Karosyn exited the lower levels and while a collection of openly incredulous guards watched, she rose into the air and with the prone Lorio at her side, swiftly ascended in a cocoon of muted golden effulgence.

4

As she watched an unconscious Lorio, the dejected Karosyn thought, 'In repose, how angelic you appear...just as you would appear had fate not elected to unleash its ever-spiteful cruelty upon you.'

As a visibly shocked and in many cases, frightened collection of courtiers and liveried staff pressed themselves against the walls to allow her and the floating Lorio passage, Karosyn spontaneously decided that she would never again conceal Gyzarayne's gifts as if they were something shameful and abhorrent. 'I'm afraid, husband, our people are just going to have to accept me for who and what I am.'

Now, the still naked Lorio lay beneath the duvet of Karosyn's bed while the Emercian Queen vacillated and delayed over bringing her back into the world of the living...knowing full well what Lorio's reaction was bound to be. She could sense Aeyon's concern radiating from the earnest young man like heat from a brazier. Against her better judgment, she had allowed him to stay with her as she grappled with the problem of how to best placate the furious immortal once she regained consciousness.

She had made the decision to fully apprise Lorio of her culpability in the matter of Czefrina and the insane...and bitterly cruel...scheme the pair had concocted. She glanced over her shoulder at Aeyon and observed, "It is best that you not be here when I rouse her from her torpor, Aeyon. There is no predicting how Lorio will react once awakened and as I am responsible for her condition...it is only fitting that I bear the brunt of her anger."

"You're going to have to order your guards to drag me away, Karosyn...because I won't leave you alone with her." He returned, his tone one of quiet defiance and intractability.

She pursed her lips ruefully and snapped, "Very well, but you will remain in your seat no matter what. Oh, and yes, we will discuss your misguided heroism and defiance of your Queen's wishes at great length later this evening."

She smiled and then with a deep inhalation, turned back to the tempestuous immortal. Knowing that there was little to be gained by procrastinating, she held her right hand forth and focused on the finely hewn digits. As a transfixed Aeyon looked on in stupefied wonder, Karosyn's hand became oddly diaphanous. In a distant, clinical voice, she explained what she was about to do. "Our essence is an intangible commodity, Aeyon. It does not reside in any one place within our bodies...and varies from individual to individual...depending on their nature. Lorio has been plunged into the void by a concoction that was meant to render her insensate with only a small quantity. During the course of her struggle with the Princess, it is obvious that she ingested a massive quantity and something radical will be required to rouse her from her slumber. During the course of my reign, I have deliberately used sorcery sparingly, but now...if Emercia is to emerge on the other side of the darkness that looms over us all...I must set that misguided posture aside. Do not let the things I show you alarm you unduly, Aeyon. Like all manner of things, the arcane arts are benign. It is the way in which they are employed that determines if they are good or evil. Being with me...being in me, Aeyon...you must know that mine is a benevolent heart."

Aeyon flushed at this reference to their intimacy, but nodded firmly as she glanced back over her shoulder. Abruptly, she pulled back the duvet and plunged her hand into Lorio's left breast, and to Aeyon's amazement the entire hand vanished into the dormant woman's chest.

Karosyn's face was a portrait of intense concentration as she cast about for Lorio's life force. Deep in her flesh, she located what she'd been seeking, astounded by the sheer ferocity of the immortal's life essence. If anyone aspired to destroy this woman, they would find that their ambition would rebound upon them with cataclysmic effect. Still, the amount of powder she'd ingested might well have plunged a deity into a slumber and so it would require a massive infusion of arcane energy to dispel the effects.

Karosyn's body seemed to flare, golden light coalescing around her like a corona, before shooting down her extended arm and into the sleeping Lorio's body.

'Who am I to think that I belong in the company of such incredible women,' Aeyon thought as he watched Lorio's entire body become rigid, golden light pouring forth from her mouth, nostrils and ears in a blinding rush. He had long revered the Queen as a near mythical figure and now, in her inimitable presence, her felt infinitesimally small and inconsequential.

As if she had divined his thoughts, Karosyn glanced directly at Aeyon and declared vehemently, "You are my heart's desire...which makes you a giant in my mind, Aeyon."

Her gaze turned back to Lorio, who uttered an enormous gasp, like air bursting from a ruptured bellows. Her eyes grew impossibly wide and she sat up, unmindful that the duvet had pooled to leave her bare torso exposed. Disoriented by this abrupt re-emergence into consciousness, the immortal fell back on her customary posture of smouldering fury. Her gaze seized on the concerned Queen and she demanded, "Where am I...what's happened?" Finally realizing that she was naked, she cried, "Where are my clothes?"

"You're in my bed...as for your clothes...I'm afraid you'll require new ones. For the time being, you can borrow some of mine. How do you feel?"

Lorio pondered this for a moment and was surprised to feel her flesh vibrating as if every nerve was alive and thrumming. "I feel as if I've just been struck by lightening."

"Essentially, you have. You were unconscious and I used sorcery to pull you back to awareness," Karosyn disclosed with no hint of apology in her tone.

Lorio's eyes narrowed and then her beautiful visage congealed into a knot of unfettered fury and she growled, "Where is she? I don't give a sailor's fuck about your pacifism...I'm going to rip her fucking head off and drag her corpse through the streets!"

"I'm afraid that would be rather redundant as Czefrina is already dead," Karosyn revealed dispassionately. Lorio glowered, but the Queen simply rose and instructed, "Find suitable clothing. I imagine you have questions and I'll wait for you in the next room and answer them all."

Rising from the bed, she moved toward the door, gesturing for Aeyon to follow. Sparing the clearly livid Lorio a bewildered glance, the young man rose and obediently moved to follow.

5

When the pair waited for the immortal to find suitable attire, Karosyn again cautioned, "Lorio is going to be in a dark state of mind during the coming exchange. I need you to remain calm and seated, Aeyon...do you understand?"

Sensing her exigency, Aeyon nodded dutifully and shifted his anxious gaze to the chamber door. Just as Karosyn had feared, Lorio sailed into her sitting chamber like a Sherak and stormed across the room to loom directly over the Queen, who returned her furious regard with one of serene composure. In a voice poised on the jagged edge of hysteria, the enraged Lorio rasped, "This Czefrina...she spoke to me in Lamish. She told me it was her intention to return me to Lamia...to be the Mother of Lamia, is how she put it and that she would be my...my patron. Then the crazy bitch insisted that this was a scheme that she'd concocted...with you!"

Calmly, Karosyn confessed, "Czefrina was here at my invitation and while I had no idea that she had a...hidden agenda, it is true that I agreed to try to entice you into coming to Nalosan, but it was never my intention that she would drag you back to Lamia or a position for which I know you have neither the desire nor the aptitude. When I realized how unstable she was...I terminated our arrangement. In retrospect, I realize how absolutely deplorable this was...how arrogant and presumptuous on my part. As you've said, I made assumptions about you that were based on my jaundice view of who you are...and I cannot begin to express how sorry I am, Lorio!"

"Fucking sorry?" Lorio roared incredulously, causing Aeyon to glance toward the chamber door, certain that the tumult would bring the palace guard. His skin prickled and instinct informed him that the Queen, having anticipated the acrimonious direction this dialogue was likely to take, had erected a dampening spell around her chambers. Incensed now, Lorio bellowed, "You meddlesome bitch...she wanted to put a collar around my neck and parade me on a leash!"

Trying to placate the livid immortal, Karosyn inquired in a deliberately soft voice, "Lorio, do you recall anything of what happened in the chamber?"

Lorio stared daggers at the Queen for several seconds, her full breasts rising and falling in syncopation with her thundering heart. At last, she managed, "I was toying with her...she was skilled...exceptionally so, but no real serious threat. Eventually, I got bored with our contest and began to slap her...not really to hurt her, but to make her capitulate. I was going to drag her up those fucking stairs and throw her at your feet...demand answers. Finally, I knocked her down and she said she submitted. When I reached for her, she threw some kind of powder in my face and everything went black. The next thing I remember was waking up in your bed."

Lorio's eyes narrowed in suspicion in the face of Karosyn's grim expression and she demanded, "That powder...you know what it is?"

"Yes," Karosyn returned simply.

Lorio's voice became a shrill cry of outrage, "Because...you are the one who provided it for her...knowing that she would need it!"

Knowing that there were no words to rationalize what was truly indefensible, the Queen merely stared up at Lorio in silence. Lorio stood upright and clutched her hands to her skull as if she feared it might explode from indignation. An inarticulate wail of outrage tore from her contorted lips...a cumulative cry of bitter resentment against every indignity and humiliation she'd suffered over the course of her long life...and with the swiftness of a striking serpent, she struck Karosyn in the face with her right fist. The tremendous impact of the blow obliterated the spindly legs of the ornamental chair on which the Queen had been seated and sent Karosyn tumbling across the room in a tangle of limbs.

The impact of the blow resounded in Aeyon's horrified ears like the fall of a tenderizing mallet on meat. He exploded out of his chair and encircling Lorio's narrow waist in powerful arms, lifted the immortal from her feet and away from the fallen Queen. Agile beyond reason, Lorio instinctively twisted in his grasp and landed astride his broad chest. Completely in the thrall of her rage, Lorio raised her right arm, intent on driving her fist into the stone beneath the stunned Aeyon, pulverizing his skull in the process.

Before she could deliver this lethal blow, Lorio found that she was snatched up and away from him as if in the fist of an invisible giant and flung across the room, where she smashed into the wall with enough force to reduce the rock sheeting to powder. For the first time in fifty years, Lorio felt an eruption of acute pain and loosed an agonized scream. Before she could slide to the floor, she was again flung across the room, where she collided with the opposite wall. As if caught in the thrashing jaws of an invisible beast, she was tossed from one wall of the room to the next, demolishing the ornamental walls down to bare stone, before being unceremoniously slammed onto the floor, face first.

Stunned to total incoherence and body wracked with acute agony to which she had believed herself impervious, Lorio lay on her face...body twitching and utterly immobilized by the thrashing to which she'd just been subjected.

Over the roar of her suffering, she heard the one called Aeyon cry pleadingly, "Stop Karosyn...please...you'll kill her!"

In the next instant, the immortal found herself being jerked to her knees and stared up, pain-ravaged and scarcely aware, into Karosyn's contorted face...though this living engine of wrathful carnage, radiating golden effulgence and malevolence, could never be confused with the benevolent Queen. Snarling, she drove her right hand into Lorio's heaving chest and clutched the immortal's wildly palpitating heart.

Eyes teeming with tears of pain and misery, Lorio implored, "Do it! Kill me...I know you can now. Rip my heart out and put an end to this fucking miserable life of mine. I've had all the humiliation and suffering I can take...so do it! Better you than anyone else...and I can finally have some peace!"

In sharp counterpoint to this passionate plea for cold mercy, Aeyon gripped Karosyn's arm and begged, "Please, Karosyn...stop...don't hurt her anymore!"

The two diametrically opposed pleas of mercy sliced through Karosyn's towering fury like a keen blade and mortified by how perilously close she'd come to compounding her stupidity in abetting Czefrina's mad scheme, she sank to her knees before the sobbing Lorio. Her anger dissipated in an instant, displaced by doleful pity for a creature who she'd so deplorably abused.

Karosyn cast a horrified glanced at Aeyon, who was watching her through solemn brown eyes as if seeing her for the first time. In that grim moment, Karosyn would have gladly surrendered part of her soul to efface that light from his eyes. Nodding, she turned her attention back to the weeping Lorio and slowly relinquished her grip on the immortal's heart before withdrawing her hand. A low moan escaped Lorio's contorted lips, fraught with misery and disappointment, and she hung her head...her sobbing becoming piteous wails.

The horrible moment drew itself out until Karosyn tenderly lifted Lorio's regard to hers, taking her face in both hands and tenderly brushing away her tears with both thumbs. "From nearly the first moment I set eyes upon you all those years ago...in this very castle...and especially later, on the road to Dizar Kor...I wanted to find a way to assuage the pain I sensed...beneath the resentment and irreverent defiance behind which you hid yourself. Considering that all I've managed to do these last years has been to make your pain worse, I know it must be impossible to trust me...but please, I'm begging you...open your mind to me. You speak of your suffering...or your torment...open yourself to me and let me plumb that darkness...so perhaps I can understand how best to make some small amends for everything I've done to you...please, Lorio!"

Through the kaleidoscope of her tears, Lorio peered into those great blue eyes and could sense only sincerity...a genuinely contrite need to make amends. With a slight nod, she surrendered herself to this woman, who she loathed...and loved in equal measure...and allowed the unrestrained sum of her memories and emotions flow forth like a river. Karosyn Nierosean absorbed the whole of Lorio's epically tragic life and only when she emerged into the warm waters of memory reserved for Issidris Il and Opheile Seznoire, did the gentle Queen come to fathom the cost of losing the former and the joy of finding the later...only to have that joy threatened by the ghosts of a past that pursued the immortal like relentless hounds. Hounds that she, Karosyn, had unleashed. When the flood abated and drew her back into the present, Karosyn pulled Lorio into a tight embrace and stroking her thick hair, whispered over and over, "I'm so sorry, Lorio...so sorry. I've treated you as monstrously as those you deliberately abused you. In Opheile, I sense you've found your life's great joy...return to her with my promise that I will never trouble you again...and insure that no one else will as well. I won't insult you by asking for your forgiveness."

As Aeyon witnessed this intensely personal moment, feeling like a voyeur, it occurred to him that these two women were each the light and dark reflections of the other. Serenity and composure juxtaposed with fire and passion...both lapsing into states of flux in the other's presence...a truth that must forever keep them apart.

Lorio disengaged herself and brushed roughly at her tears with the heel of her left hand. In a muted, somber voice she inquired, "This Czefrina...who was she?"

Aeyon could glean Karosyn's reluctance as she disclosed, "Princess Czefrina...estranged brother of King Izrin."

Lorio's already pallid face grew ashen and she exhaled, "Then she is...was the granddaughter of Nayoro...my regent...my successor? Please, don't let that be true...did...did I kill her?"

"No...that burden rests squarely on my shoulders. The powder I concocted...she must have inhaled it, either when she tossed it at you...or when she removed your clothing. You, it only rendered unconscious...mortals are not so fortunate. So, you see, Lorio...you cannot be held accountable for her end. I think it...or one just like it...was inevitable." This spontaneous lie...a prevarication that would spare the already devastated immortal a mountain of guilt sprung smoothly to Karosyn's lips...making her wonder how she had come by this particular talent. "If anyone is culpable, it is me...for facilitating her mad scheme. I will send word to the king of his sister's death...and I will make no mention of your involvement. You will be free to return to your Opheile and live the life you deserve. Perhaps the day will come when you can view me with something other than abhorrence. I have instructed my adjutant to have your quarterstaff and pack brought to a guest suite, which you may use until you feel ready to travel. If you require solitude until then, I will insure that you would have it. I will have Garum escort you to your chambers if you wish."

Lorio accepted this olive branch with a surprising degree of magnanimity, but frowned and revealed, "I...I can't get up. I...I think you broke my leg." She attempted to flex her right shoulder and hissed in pain. "My shoulder is dislocated, I think. You really did a number on me. Even Islena Doraux couldn't destroy me so easily...and I'm pretty sure she was a goddess."

Mortified, Karosyn frowned at the intimation of misguided admiration in the immortal voice. Rising quickly, she crossed over to Aeyon and guided him to the exit to her chambers. "I'm going to heal her, Aeyon. Please, find Adjutant Tranan and tell him that I require a suite of rooms readied for the former Queen. I will come and join you as soon as I've attended to Lorio."

Aeyon nodded, clearly disconcerted by what he'd just witnessed. Karosyn suddenly pulled him closer, indifferent to Lorio's witnessing her obvious affection. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Aeyon. I pray that it hasn't marred the way you look upon me, but you have my eternal gratitude for preventing me from doing something that would have damned me beyond reclamation. I'll come and find you once I've healed Lorio."

She searched his face, seeking some sign that she had not squandered the esteem in which he held her. To her relief, he returned softly, "I know you were only trying to protect me...and I promise I'll listen next time you tell me that I should go..."

Indifferent to the weight of Lorio's knowing regard, she kissed Aeyon fervently and ushered him out into the corridor.

Pressing her forehead against the smooth wood for a moment, she collected her composure and turned back to the woman she's so wretchedly abused and instructed, "Relax...I'm going to move you back into my bed."

Lorio complied, surrendering herself to the carpet of arcane energy that lifted her from the floor and wished her into the opposite room.

Before Lorio was set down upon the duvet, Karosyn gesticulated and the clothing slid gingerly from a bemused Lorio's body. Karosyn offered the naked beauty a crooked grin, "Modesty never would have struck me as one of your traits...I have to examine you for internal injuries. I suspect you would eventually heal from all of this...but the process would be long and not particularly pleasant. This will be swift and when it is done, you'll be restored to your normal state of perfection...no lingering effects. There might be some discomfort...would you prefer I have you sleep."

Lorio shook her head adamantly and to Karosyn puzzlement, remarked, "No...I want to watch you work...to stare into your eyes the whole time. I want to see the reaction in your eyes every time I wince or grimace."

Humbled, Karosyn accepted this with a nod and set about examining the immortal, commencing with her left foot and ankle. She laid both palms lightly on the satiny flesh and began to slowly gravitate up the leg, letting her healing essence seek out and repair any damage it encountered.

"I had no idea you were capable of this level of sorcery," Lorio observed quietly.

"Until recently...neither did I, but necessity is a great motivator...and I find myself in a situation where every advantage will be needed."

"The boy, Aeyon...he told me that you needed my help...that you're beset is how he put it. What exactly is happening here that has you on edge?"

Karosyn paused her ministrations and fixed the immortal with a rueful scowl. "Aeyon is not a boy...he is an exceptional young man." Her tone became somber and she concluded, "As for my woes and tribulations, they are not something that should concern you and I will not drag you into my tribulations. I have inflicted quite enough damage on your life as it is...without embroiling you in my problems."

"I know how unhinged this is going to sound, but when I first set eyes on you...the old acrimony hadn't relented a bit. As unfair as it was...I still held you responsible for Issidris' grim death. Crazy as it might be, but after you thrashed me like you did...that irrational resentment is gone. You were in my mind, Karosyn...and so you know how deeply I love Opheile. I know this is not easy to believe...having seen me at my worst so often, but I truly have learned from the mistakes I made with Issidris. I've given myself to Opheile...without reservation...and I've embraced everything she embodies. She is so much like you, Karosyn...beautiful, graceful and serene...but without that hovering shadow of destiny that I see hanging over you like a pall. All I want is to have the simple, contented life we share and enjoy every second of it while it lasts...without the ghosts from my past circling us like vultures. Can you understand any of this, Karosyn?"

"I do, Lorio and I will do everything in my power to ensure that you have that life you crave...including removing myself from it...as badly as I have always hoped that you could be my friend in the name of all we share. I see now, for the sake of your happiness, that simply isn't possible and I will content myself with the knowledge that you found a place and a person with whom you are truly...finally happy." Her hands came to the compound fracture in Lorio's lower left leg and she lapsed into a silence, concentrating on restoring it to its former perfection. Lorio bore this protracted process stoically.

When Karosyn completed the arduous repair, she remarked distantly, "I was suffused by the sublime love you hold for your Opheile, Lorio...and so I believe you will understand the sentiment behind what I am about to tell you. I deserve your anger and outrage for what I've done to you and so, I would have permitted you to beat me bloody in the other room until the last of your anger had been purged...but Lorio...if you ever raise a hand against Aeyon again...I will obliterate you...efface you from the world with no thought given to all you've suffered."

Lorio tilted her head, studying that beautiful, but suddenly inured countenance. "I...I believe you, Karosyn."

Karosyn nodded and resumed her meticulous healing rite. As Lorio watched her work, it occurred to her that she did not at all envy whoever had inspired the radical transformation in this once gentle creature.

Chapter Twenty

1

Time, that mercurial commodity, can be the greatest of deceivers, lulling the unwise into believing that it is infinite...something to be squandered...frittered away until the inevitable moment arrives when it has all been expended. Its threads can be distorted...stretched, until minutes seem like an age...or compressed, until a lifetime seems to flash by in the blink of an eye. As in the case of the tale at hand, threads of time may unfurl at different rates...creating confusion and dissonance when trying to examine events in logical terms of chronology.

With Lorio's particular aspect of this tale, her unique thread began some ten years prior to the moment she was healed by Karosyn in the wake of the unprecedented drubbing she'd suffered at the hands of the benevolent Queen. It would begin to unfurl like a meandering, aimless serpent as she was sitting in a dismal ale house in Fairmarch, pondering the possible shape of her seemingly bleak future. Opheile's Seznoire's thread first appeared three years before that moment, when she first encountered the enigmatic Driss in the unnamed bathhouse in Cortrin. Czefrina's thread was first sewn into the weave the very moment she was ushered into the world by her defiant howl of pain. Seemingly from the very instant she opened her eyes, on the day of her birth, her path to the moment of lethal confrontation with Lorio was set in stone.

By contrast, Karosyn's thread, a thin skein of golden effulgence, was firmly introduced into the pattern only weeks before the morning of her savaging of the very women she had hoped to pull from the grasp of malaise.

Yet, despite the varying lengths of each individual thread in the weave, their inherent distortions and deceptions, they would all emphatically intertwine and become one as Karosyn delivered her fierce warning to a thoroughly flummoxed and chastened immortal. From this juncture forth, these threads would flow inexorably toward a moment of titanic conflict during which the fate of the Antiquated World would be decided.

2

Tarim, now invariably attired in the regalia of fawning subservience, knelt in the corner of the large chamber, deep in the bowels of a Majeeri galleon, where his mistress currently conducted yet another of her odious rituals...black rites that brayed of madness and evil ambition.

The obsidian leash was affixed to the ring at his groin and lay on the lacquered floor boards, a shockingly vibrant red, where it lay like a serpent. As was his new custom, he knelt in the corner, staring fixedly at the woman who had assumed ownership of his body and soul.

During the days, he would trail after her like a shadow as she conducted her dark affairs. He would traipsed behind her with his head bowed, focusing on the poetic sway of her narrow hips. She seemed to derive a particularly spiteful delight in draping the leash over her shoulder, knowing that Tarim would labour frantically to ensure that he keep pace with his mistress, lest the leash slip from her shoulder and he incur her wrath...a wrath that was as terrible to behold as it was cruelly inventive.

At night, he would attend to her intimate needs and in the time he had become her thrall, his traitorous flesh no longer cared which incarnation he was required to serve. The nubile goddess of curving perfection or the hard-edged construct of taut skin and sinew; Tarim's beguiled cock rose for both with equal ardour...until it seemed as if both versions of this terrifying creature where overlaid...inextricably intertwined. When he had satiated her need...only momentarily...she would relegate him to a mat at the foot of her bed...like a favoured hound. Tarim recognized that the analogy was depressingly apt for that was how Lissom seemed to regard him...a pet whose slavish devotion would earn small tokens of kindness.

Time lost all meaning as the ships sailed toward their destination, one day blending seamlessly into the next, distinguishable only by the horrors and acts of depravity to which Tarim bore witness from one day to the next. He was no longer confined to the lightless box, but spent every moment in his mistress' company...following in her wake like a broken shadow or kneeling while at her shoulder while she bathed...or dispensed punishment to the other men on the ships, whose only apparent transgression was having been born with male genitalia.

Of late, Lissom had taken to having him kneel in the shadows while she tortured her captives into the realm of absolute madness for reasons he had yet to decipher. He had come to discern that, by the time she had thoroughly broken each of her victims, they raved and railed...promising to extract vengeance upon her as if she had become the sole dark light in their hideous existence. Tarim further gleaned that it was this state of all-consuming violent obsession that Lissom was seeking when she administered this campaign of systematic torture. It was her perplexing objective to have these utterly fractured creatures look upon her as the only object of consequence in their ruined lives...not as an object of worship, but as a lens through which to focus their boundless hatred.

Tarim had summoned the temerity to question Lissom as to her purpose in breaking her captives in this fashion. She had regarded him with an indecipherable grin and had not provided an answer. His recompense for displaying interest in her sadism was to be present for every session, until the screams of agony, anguished pleas for mercy or vows of violent retribution buzzed in his head like enrage hornets.

Lissom seemed to derive a special satisfaction from the discomfort these sessions evoked in her Thringan Brauy. On the nights, after he had witnessed a horrific sessions, Lissom would come to him in her carnal goddess incarnation and as she beguiled him with her physical poetry, she would peered down upon him through the valley of her majestic breasts and force him to confront his conflicted reaction to her depraved labours.

"Did it arouse you, Tarim...seeing me break those men beneath my hand? Did your manhood swell and throb when I made them scream...soil themselves? Did it make you want me even as you tried to pry your gaze away?"

Tarim and shook his head vigorously, but in the increasingly nebulous depths of his mind, he could no longer be certain if he didn't experience a dark, euphoric thrill as he watch her shatter one hapless male after the other.

'You're losing yourself, Tarim...and if you cannot concoct away to escape, to free yourself from her thrall...every last thread of your identity will be gone, until you are reduced to nothing more than an extension of her perverse desires.' Yet, despite grasping the stark reality of his situation, Tarim could contrive no way of breaking the spell under which she held him.

On this day, Tarim quickly discerned that he was about to bear witness to a new, more sinister variation of his mistress' evil...a variation that would disclose another aspect of her perplexing machinations.

Lissom was regaled in her full ceremonial attire: black armour, full hooded cape and pewter mask with its inscribed horrendous symbolic disfigurement. She stood ramrod straight...a gargantuan presence, despite her diminutive stature, with her hands clasped behind her back and his leash draped over her right shoulder. She stood, motionless, atop a small dais, as a dozen members of her Mirhac Ehkar filed into the room and arranged themselves in three ranks of four women before the dais. Like the mistress they served, they were also attired in their ceremonial uniforms and Tarim could sense the tangible gravitas of the moment and knew that he was about to bear witness to something of great and grave consequence.

The Mirhac Ehkar filled Tarim with as nearly as much dread as Lissom, herself, and while their mistress looked upon her Thringan Brauy with something akin to spiteful amusement, these terrifying creatures regarded Tarim with scarcely concealed abhorrence...informing Wrey that only Lissom's sufferance prevented them from dissecting him as slowly and agonizingly as their twisted minds could contrive. There were other women on the ships that Tarim had been taken to...women who radiated less of a palpable hatred for men than these viragos...but it was equally evident that the Mirhac Ehkar were the most trusted and zealously devoted of Lissom's hierarchy of warrior women.

The twelve women before her stood at the pinnacle of that hierarchy for which their remuneration was about to be bestowed. He let his cautious gaze sweep their ranks, careful not to draw attention to his scrutiny. Deference was the only sensible disposition in this dreadful company. Every women stood in similar postures, feet spread equal distanced apart, shoulders back and head held high...living statues of supreme confidence and discipline. Beneath the pewter masks he could see fierce pride and zeal shining prominently in every tilted green and blue eye. He wondered obliquely what these women might look like beneath their masks and correctly deduced that they would be stunningly lovely. He was curious about the lives they might have led before they had crossed the event horizon of devotion to Lissom's mad cause. How did Lissom perceive the women who had devoted their lives to whatever mad ambition drove her (indeed, his mistress had made no mention of the Goddess she served or the theology she had been empowered to propagate)? Did she see them as individual women with their own concerns and desires...of mere engines of her will whose own aspirations were of little consequence? Like most else about this terrifying woman, these were questions to which the once free-spirited Tarim could produce no answers.

When the women had assumed their positions, Lissom spread her arms wide in a gesture of encompassment and declared grandly, "Welcome...elite of my Mirhac Ehkar...favourite of the Goddess...the most devoted and accomplished of her children. It is women such as you who have sundered the chains of the patriarchy and torn down the edifices of the enslavers and ground them to dust beneath your boots. Ah, but beyond the shores of blessed Majeer, the beast thrives still and it is cunning and resilient. It is women such as you...the very pinnacle of what we can aspire to become, who will see the Goddess' will fulfilled in the sodden lands. You, my blessed daughters, are the elite...twelve women who stand as symbols...paragons whose ferocity and devotion declare loudly and emphatically...that we will no longer be repressed...subjugated or abused!"

The twelve responded with a zealous cheer that shook the very timbers of the galleon...Lissom's bombast enflaming their zeal to terrifying levels. Tarim knew that these women would do anything for their mistress...commit any atrocity to please her. What was to follow would prove a staggering affirmation of that truth.

Lissom raised a hand for quiet and then continued her bombastic rhetoric. "Yet, within you lies the potential to become something more...to evolve to the next level and become the women of the future...women without precedent. By embracing Gyzarayne...by embracing me...you have all been augmented to the full capacity of your potential...my glorious Mirhac Ehkar. If you have the courage, you now have the opportunity to transcend even those rarified limits and become something more...Decipara Mirhac Ehkar...Death's Pale Shadow. To ascend to this exalted state...you need only sacrifice the vessels of flesh that, in truth, only prevent you from achieving your true potential...a small sacrifice to make in exchange for such privilege. Accept this privilege and you will become the Goddess' keen blade...her black wind...deadly, inexorable engines of her will. Not even I can impose this upon you...it is a honour that must be embraced freely and without reservation. So, I ask you now...my most revered of daughters...do you have the courage and strength to evolve...to become Decipara Mirhac Ehkar?"

Though Tarim had no notion what was being offered to these daunting women, his instinct told him that it was something ineffably terrible...that would not be obtained without an extravagant price. Yet each of the twelve responded to Lissom's inflammatory query with a resounding, unequivocal yes.

Tarim could feel intense satisfaction emanating from his mistress in tangible waves as she announced, "As I surmised...then let us not delay. Let your ascension begin so you can familiarize yourselves with your new powers before you reach the edifice of filth and corruption called Nalosan."

Tarim gave a start at the mention of his home...a city he had come to see as a cloying prison, but which he would now give anything for the chance to kneel and kiss the ground upon which it had been raised.

In anticipation of what was to come, the three ranks of women drew their shoulders back even further and held their heads even higher...honoured to accept Lissom's supposedly divine dispensation. She extended her thin arms forward with the palms turned toward the ceiling. Tarim could feel the flesh at his neck begin to prickle at the level of power that began to coalesce about the diminutive vehicle of evil. A spiral of dull red smoke manifested out of the floor boards at the feet of each of the twelve women who found the mettle not to even flinch as it slowly twined around the bodies. The rotation of these smoke spirals began to accelerate accompanied by a howling that reminded Tarim of a tempest.

Still, these terrifying viragos remained absolutely stationary. The howl escalated to a strident whine and as an incredulous Tarim looked on in moon-eyed wonder, each of the twelve gyres gained speed until they began to literally tear the flesh from the enveloped women's bones. Over the ear-splitting whine of the gyres, Tarim could hear the shrill screams of agony as flesh and muscle was torn from bone and reduced to bloody snippets that were quickly absorbed into the swelling red gyres.

Seemingly in the blink of an eye, all that remained of the twelve Mirhac Ehkar were perfectly scoured skeletons...that somehow defied gravity and stayed erect. Lissom snapped her splayed fingers into fists and in response the twelve sets of bones exploded into fine powder that was hungrily lapped up by the gyres...which abruptly dissipated as swiftly as they'd first appeared.

Lissom turned her head toward Tarim and inquired teasingly, "Was that not impressive? Now, bear witness to the birth of the blades that will be your gender's emasculation."

Again, twelve gyres arose form the polished boards, but when they had fully manifested...the twelve women again stood where they had met their apparent demise...though now, they appeared to swirl and eddy like vertical columns of smoke...all solidity divested from their flesh.

"My Decipara Mirhac Ehkar...you have been born anew. You have become death's pale shadow and it is death that you shall deliver to Gyzarayne's adversaries when we reach the accursed sodden lands. Now, there is no barrier, no ward or obstacle that you cannot surmount to dispense the Goddess' justice to those who would oppress our sisters. I will leave you now to acquaint yourself with your new powers...for they are virtually boundless. When we reach Nalosan, there you shall be...unleashed!"

The new constructs of churning smoke responded with a roar of approval that evoked images of hissing serpents.

Lissom turned away from her new weapons and winding the leash around her slender wrist, roughly jerked Tarim to his feet. She approached the shuddering man and leaning closer, whispered over the unnerving cacophony of hissing weapons. "This auspicious moment has given me an appetite, my Thringan Brauy...and for your sake, I hope you are equal to the task of seeing it sated.

She began to haul him toward the door. Tarim glanced over his shoulder to see that the twelve ascended creatures were engaged in acts of experimentation that beggared the senses and twisted reality and perception until it screamed.

Tarim suddenly felt profoundly frightened for unsuspecting Nalosan and his family.

3

Lorio sat curled in the window casement of her suite of rooms in Nalosan, staring absently out over the waters of the Bay of Imerlac, which appeared slate grey in the fading late afternoon light. A slight drizzle was falling over the bay and the city, making it impossible to distinguish the point of confluence between sky and water on the distant horizon.

Lorio shifted her troubled gaze away from the dreary vista, her regard drifting to the quarter staff and pack that stood in the corner near the door. They seemed to glare back at her in silent reproach, puzzled and resentful over why she had not taken them up and commenced the journey back to Opheile Seznoire.

"Why am I still here?" She whispered...a query that had become a refrain as persistent as an inaccessible itch in the two days since Karosyn had thrashed her in the Queen's audience chambers. 'If I dispensed with sleep, I could have been near the border...and in fours days from now, I could be sleeping in her bed...in her arms...so why in the name of the accursed gods, am I still here...in this place that is nothing more than a repository of excruciatingly painful memories for me?'

The question, while valid, lacked the motivation to have her take up her staff and pack, set her damnable ambivalence, her inexplicable vacillation aside...and set forth for home and leave this damp and forbidding pile of ancient stones behind her for eternity.

As desperately as she wanted to do precisely that, something held her back. In the two days that she had lingered in Kammlogran...fending off painful memories...Lorio had been left to her own devices, her solitude interrupted only by liveried staff inquiring if she had needs they could address. Lorio had met these inquiries only with withering glares and eventually, these too had stopped, and she had been left to contemplate the mystery of why she remained when purportedly she desired nothing more than to be on her way.

Sighing, she shifted her gaze back to placid Imerlac and turned her thoughts to serious contemplation of an answer.

Surprisingly, her first step along the path to understanding was the resounding beating she had suffered at enraged Karosyn's hands and the ramifications of that particularly humiliating lesson. As she had told Karosyn, she had fought Islena Doraux to a stand still on numerous occasions...and easily bested some of the most skilled fighters in the world over the course of her life. Conventional mages had brought sorcery against her which she had walked through with virtual impunity. Only Otaru Ree, a Goddess, and Myrhia, her creator and possibly the most powerful sorceress in the Antiquated World's history, had ever bested the immortal...until she'd faced an enraged Karosyn. The supposedly serene and pacifistic Queen had demolished Lorio in the blink of an eye and would have killed her had it not been for the entreaty to be lenient from Aeyon.

Setting aside the enormous blow to her fractured ego, Lorio found that she was fascinated by this shocking turn of events...and she intuited that the key to understanding her reluctance to quit Nalosan lay somewhere in this mysterious fascination. Karosyn had unleashed a level of sorcery that was worthy of Otaru Ree and Myrhia...and the terrifying Lissom...an arcane feat of which the immortal would never have thought the placid woman capable.

This spoke of a disparity between this Karosyn and the gentle Matrium whom she had accompanied to Dizar Kor nearly fifty years ago. That Karosyn had been a paragon of serenity, who deplored violence and who sought to resolve all conflict by peaceful means...a recollection that was nearly irreconcilable with the woman who had set upon and destroyed Lorio with the instincts of a natural warrior when the immortal had turned her anger on Aeyon.

'Is that all there is to your reluctance to come home to me...to my bed then?' A clearly vexed Opheile demanded, 'the ultimately moot need to fathom how you were so soundly bested by a woman whom you regarded as a fragile flower. Is your ego really that brittle?'

Lorio scowled in exasperation. The need to assuage her abraded ego may have been a part of her vacillation...but it was not the entirety. Something of far greater consequence was preventing her from walking away.

Karosyn is beset.

Aeyon had claimed this before asking Lorio to lend her aid...a plea she had ignored before being waylaid by the evidently delusional Lamish Princess. Lorio pursed her lips, her smooth brow furrowing as she sought to understand how her fascination with her swift demolition at Karosyn's once tender hands could possibly be connected to Aeyon's plea and her reluctance to take up staff and pack and commence the journey home.

To solve this conundrum, Lorio now saw, she would have to discover just how and why Karosyn was beset. The Queen was clearly disinclined to provide Lorio with the answer and so she would turn to the next best source...the young man who had so thoroughly captivated the Queen's affection.

4

Though unaware of the fact, Aeyon could easily have empathized with Lorio's state of churning ambivalence. Since the day of the discovery of Lorio and Czefrina (who, inexplicably, had been his assailant) and the subsequent harrowing drama that had unfolded in Karosyn's chamber, the cooper's apprentice had seen his once quiet and ordinary life cast into a dervish.

He had returned to the Coopery the next day, but his reception had been decidedly strange. His father had said little to his son, regarding him with a stony silence that had left Aeyon feeling as if he had committed some vague, but grave transgression. The workers at the Coopery had regarded Aeyon with a wariness that had been no less perplexing...as if the Queen's attention had somehow cast him into a questionable status that made it best to give the young man a wide berth.

Upon his return to Kammlogran each night, Aeyon found that he was mostly left to his own devices and spent his spare time in the archives or his new suite of rooms. He had been displaced by the Queen, who required her husband's quarters in the aftermath of the near total demolition of her own suite of rooms. A small army of craftsmen and carpenters laboured constantly to restore the Queen's suite and Aeyon had been provided with new lodgings in the section of the castle normally reserved for foreign dignitaries.

Karosyn, he saw for only short periods of time as she was swept in frantic preparations for the arrival of the Ascentrix as well as the state funeral for her former Seneschal. Yet, she took every opportunity to see her guest, inquiring after his well-being and even bringing him along to some of her less classified meetings...to provide him with a degree of insight into the way of governance.

The previous night, well after the midnight bell had been struck, one of her personal attendants (not Noriza, mercifully) had roused Aeyon from his slumber and secreted him to the castle's rampart. There, the Queen had greeted him, wicker basket in hand, and they had talked and taken food and wine until the first inkling of dawn. Knowing that he would pass a day in the Coopery, Karosyn had drawn him into a tight embrace before they had parted ways...during which she had kissed him with a hunger that was both exhilarating and unnerving, while suffusing him with a reserve of arcane energy to see him through the forthcoming day. Before she had left him, Karosyn had gently stroked his cheek and intoned gravely, "I shamed myself before you, Aeyon...something that I vow never to do again, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I would not have you see me as a tyrant and my treatment of Lorio, I swear before my Goddess, was an aberration...one that you will never see again on my honour...and affection I have for you."

He had kissed her hand and returned, "I know what you are, Karosyn...you...you radiate a kindness...a goodness that shames us all...like warmth from the summer sun."

She had kissed him again, her great blue eyes alight with genuine gratitude and had promised that she would find a more intimate way to demonstrate her contrition the next evening.

So Aeyon found that he oscillated between two polar extremes...euphoria that he had, against all logic, garnered the genuine affection of the most stunning woman in existence, tempered by the certainty that this was all a jape that would collapse upon him like the absurdly impossible fantasy it was. Yet, when she took him in her arms and lavished him with delicate kisses, he could feel her ardour. Tarim would have laughed and disparaged him as a naive and ingenuous fool, who knew nothing of the wiles of women...an indisputable assessment, if truth be told. Yet, it was in her presence, when they spoke and when she held discourse on some complex aspect of rule, or the general governing forces of the world...that Aeyon gleaned the sincerity of her attraction to him...as thoroughly inexplicable as that attraction might be. He found himself wishing for an eternity to spend in her presence...simply absorbing her wisdom...her serenity. He craved these intangible gifts as fervently as he longed to lose himself in the magnificence of her flesh...her carnal sorcery. Though, he was too humble to realize it, this love of her nature spoke eloquently of his character...of the man he would eventually become.

Though he could not decipher the mystery of why he'd been granted this incredible dispensation, Aeyon Wrey made a fervent vow that he would labour ceaselessly not to disappoint this extraordinary woman and prove himself worthy of her affection for as long as she elected to keep him at her side.

He was absently leafing through a book on the history of the cooper's guild in Emercia...and wondering how his family would react if Karosyn would inform them that she had selected him to be her royal consort...when a soft knock at his chamber door drew him from this capricious reverie.

He crossed quickly to the tall door and opened it, expecting to find that Karosyn had come to visit between her seemingly interminable round of meetings with her ministers. Thus, he was surprised to find the legendary former Lamish Queen hovering at the threshold, her beautiful face set in a decidedly sheepish expression so incongruent with the ferocious woman who had attacked Karosyn in her own reception parlour.

"May I come in, Aeyon?" She inquired in a voice that matched her expression and he stood back and gestured her inside, still barely able to credit that he was standing in the company of one of history's most renown figures. He led her to the reading area of his suite of rooms and bid her to sit in a chair on the opposite side of the small marble table upon which he'd deposited his book. For a protracted moment, an uncomfortable silence hovered thickly over the pair, informing Aeyon that she felt every bit as awkward as he did. It required only one glance at her angular face, with its large brown eyes and olive skin to realize that hers was a pulchritude to match the Queen's and he was revisited by the odd notion that one was a dark reflection of the other. She seemed to notice his scrutiny and inquired brusquely, "You have a very forward way of looking at a woman, Master Aeyon."

Aeyon coloured and averted his gaze fumbling maladroitly, "I'm sorry...I have very little experience in dealing with women...especially women of the standing I've been exposed to these last few days."

Lorio sighed and shook her head. "It's okay, Aeyon. Believe me, I've been ogled by armies of men of exactly the standing of women you're talking about...and their gaze is far less sweet and innocent than your is. I've come to...to apologize...which is something I'm not particularly good at...and also to thank you...and expressing gratitude isn't exactly one of my strong suits either. Before I get to that...can I ask you...how did you come to be here, Aeyon? Don't see this the wrong way, but you seem as suited to be in this type of company as I do...but clearly Karosyn would be less than enchanted by the idea of seeing you anywhere else?"

Aeyon pursed his full lips, feeling a momentary flare of vexation. It seemed that everyone, from his own family to this living legend, seemed intent on reminding him that he was leagues out of his element...something of which he was acutely aware. He recalled one of the peculiar snippets of dialogue he had shared with Karosyn on the ramparts last night. She had informed him that Czefrina had been responsible for attacking him at the Coopery. When he had asked if that meant he should return home, she had fixed him with a decidedly conspiratorial look and remarked slyly. "You and I are the only ones who are aware of this particular fact. Now I would never corrupt you into doing something you feel is unseemly, but if you have no qualms...may I suggest we leave this as our little secret. I particularly enjoy having you close at hand...especially at night...when I find myself in need of conversation and...other engaging diversions."

She had smiled then and Aeyon had acquiesced, realizing that he was no more anxious to go home to his narrow pallet than she was to have him leave. He could say none of this, of course, to this woman who was watching him with a frank gaze of appraisal. Haltingly, he recounted the story events on the deserted stretched of Queen's Highway and Karosyn's subsequent promise to see restitution made and Tarim return to his family. He concluded the account by telling her about his confrontation with the attacker in his father's Coopery.

Lorio listened without comment, the furrow on her smooth brow deepening with every new wrinkle in his tale. Shaking her head in bemusement, she inquired sharply, "So what exactly is happening here in Kammlogran, Aeyon...despite the impassive mask that everyone seemed to be wearing, you could likely not cut through the undercurrent of tension with a sharp scythe. The Karosyn who pulverized me so quickly scarcely resembles the woman I last saw ten years ago."

"Perhaps it would be best to have the Queen answer that directly..."

Lorio scowled, "I'm not certain she would answer me...even if I had the nerve to ask her. It isn't any easy thing for me to admit...but I'm a little intimidated by her right now." She paused and then added, "while she was healing my injuries, I asked why you thought she was beset...and she shrugged it off...telling me that it wasn't really my concern...but I'm beginning to think that perhaps it is."

The earnest young man greeted this with a smile of gratitude and offered, "I'm relieved that Karosyn did not harm you any more than she did. I don't know how, but I could sense that she has caused you a good deal of grief. I really don't believe that Karosyn could deliberately hurt anyone...out of malice. Her every action seems motivated by a desire to do...the right thing."

Lorio greeted this evaluation with a bitter scowl. "I've lived a long time Aeyon and been the personal victim of people who did the most hideous things out of the best intentions. Karosyn and I have a rather...fraught history, but you're right, Aeyon...I doubt that spite or malice has ever motivated a single thing that Karosyn has done. Okay, but this Karosyn is intense in a way that I never could have imagine...do you know why? Does it have anything to do with your brother's abduction."

A rippled of acute pain twisted Aeyon's pleasing countenance at the mention of his lost brother and he nodded, "Karosyn suspects that it might." In his customary thoughtful manner, Aeyon spent a good portion of the next bell relating what he knew about the evolving situation in Nalosan. "She conceals it well, but I can tell that this visit from Lissom is causing the Queen...and those who serve her...a great deal of anxiety."

He then shared the fragments he had garnered obliquely concerning the would-be revolt by the Queen's Tribunes. Lorio shook her head and spat, "And the bastards still have their heads?"

"From the little she told me of the matter, Karosyn holds herself culpable for displaying uncertainty in the matter."

"Now that's the true Karosyn I know...always looking to blame herself and exonerate the real culprit." Lorio shook her head, her agile mind beginning to race as the puzzle drew closer to resolving itself.

"This Lissom...the Ascentrix...seems to have everyone terrified...is their concern valid?" Aeyon asked, impressing Lorio with his ability to grasp the salient issues of the matter.

"Aeyon, over the course of my life, I've had the ill-fortune of crossing paths with some of the most terrifying women ever to stride over this wretched fucking world. Islena Doraux was the most ferocious, single-minded women I ever met. Myrhia was the most evil and manipulative. Sygeanor easily the most deranged and Otaru Ree, a fucking Goddess, was the most powerful. Lissom is all of those things combined and then some. If she is coming to Nalosan with ill intent, then yes, Aeyon...then everyone has a valid reason to be concerned...though petrified would be a more appropriate emotion." She cursed pungently and inquired, "Has Karosyn mentioned how she intends to deal with Lissom?"

"Not specifically...though she hopes to have a rapprochement with this Ascentrix. Is there that much bad blood between them?"

Lorio was all to cognizant of the juncture in which Karosyn and Lissom's otherwise harmonious paths had begun to diverge...and the bond between them sundered. She had, after all, been the unwitting architect of their estrangement...another incident of the mindless spite that had characterized much of her life at the time. The First Battle Mage of the Sisters of Esotaria...Lyndsyn had been her name. The woman had been infatuated with Issidris Il...and Lorio had goaded the volatile woman to the point where she had attacked the then Queen. The four women had been riding to Dizar Kor with the objective of bringing the bane back to Nalosan when this lamentable incident had occurred. In its aftermath, Issidris had emphatically rejected Lyndsyn and Karosyn had dispatched the First Battle Mage back to a village through which they had just passed, there to await the party's return. Preoccupied by the exigent need to locate the bane and confounded by Lorio's absurd antic, Karosyn had failed to notice how Lyndsyn had been eviscerated by Issidris' scathing rejection.

They had returned to the hamlet to find that Lyndsyn had taken her own life. Now, nearly fifty years later, with a new calamity looming over the horizon, Lorio correctly surmised that it had been this juncture where Karosyn and Lissom's divine bond had unravelled...setting the pair on a collision course that could set the entire world aflame. Now, without the slightest equivocation, the immortal knew that it had been her vapid provocation that had served as the catalyst for this impending crisis.

Her face contracted into a rictus as the inescapable shackle of obligation slipped around her neck. Distantly, she heard herself remark, "I can tell you that Lissom's perception of Karosyn is unflinchingly belligerent...and if she is coming to Nalosan, after spending forty years in that barren desert, she is not coming with a mind to setting old grievances aside. Karosyn may have developed some thorns in the ten years since last we met...but Lissom will devour her without breaking stride." She glanced at the ashen-faced Aeyon and clapping his shoulder, assured him. "Don't worry, Aeyon, because the depraved bitch is going to have to chew her way through me first because I'm going to help Karosyn...whether she wants me to or not."

Opheile and Issidris' wails of negation reverberated in her mind, but knowing that there could be no safe haven for Opheile should mad Lissom unleash her evil on the Eastern Continent, she managed to ignore them both.

Aeyon was shaking his head in bemusement. "This animosity between the two women...it can't simply be because Karosyn's grief prevented her from serving as Lissom's Matrium?"

"You really aren't just a pretty face," Lorio returned with an appreciative grin. "I'm beginning to see why Karosyn is so spellbound. You're right...there is far more to their animosity...actually, Lissom's animosity, because if my guess is right...Karosyn probably holds herself responsible for the insane bitch going around the rim to madness. It's all comes down to the sad old adage about a woman scorned..."

Aeyon's brow wrinkled in confusion and Lorio sighed, "Let's just hope it's one of life's lessons you never have to learn. Artumas was betrothed to Lissom and on the very day they were to lead their combined armies to Majeer to evict the last of Thaz Ekai's zealots from power...Artumas informed the Ascentrix that he and the Emercian Army would not be accompanying the Sisters or the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen...and that he was ending their betrothal."

"A woman scorned!" Aeyon echoed, trying to reconcile this callous treatment with the commonly held perception of the legendary king's humble nobility.

"It was a terrible match anyway. Artumas was a decent, comparatively simple man, considering who he was...and Lissom was a virtual living puzzle...which he never would have solved. I think he came to realize that...and waited for the logical moment to rectify his error. Not elegant in romantic terms...but Artumas was always more of a pragmatist than a great romantic." Lorio paused her monologue, reflecting on the innate truth of her account, while Aeyon experienced a wave of surrealism at the thought that he was hearing a figure of myth discuss those momentous times as if they were the stuff of routine. Finally, Lorio shook her head and resumed. "If that would have been the end of it, Lissom may well have let the matter go...as bitter a pill as his rejection must have been for a woman of her beauty...and power. Remember, Aeyon, Lissom has literally saved the world...not once, but twice in the days before that rejection. To her credit, she suffered this monumental ingratitude and sailed off. Now, it could well be that whatever evil that is inculcated in the sand and rock of that wretched fucking place might have corrupted Lissom anyway, but while Artumas was a disastrous match for Lissom...he was fate-made for someone else..."

"Karosyn!" Aeyon interjected excitedly and Lorio touched her nose and pointed her right index finger at the young man who giggled in response to this capricious gesture.

"Precisely....if ever there were two living beings that were destined to be together it was that pair. His humble nobility...her serenity and graceful elegance...it was as if they'd been tailor made for the other. It had been Artumas' intervention that had prevented Lissom from removing Karosyn's grace when she'd renounced her role as Matrium. Lissom had agreed, not suspecting that he had been motivated by more than simple compassion. How learning of their marriage must have rankled Lissom."

"So, the two women never came together since?" Aeyon inquired, intrigued despite the nuance of dark drama that hung over this tawdry tale rejection and betrayal.

"Oh, they did...ten years later, when Lissom travelled from Majeer to attended Artumas' state funeral. I travelled back with the Ascentrix, who was already exhibiting signs of falling to shadow. While Karosyn made a genuine effort to reach out to the woman she had raised from birth, it was glaringly obvious that it was all Lissom could do to refrain from incinerating Karosyn where she stood. The day after the funeral, Lissom departed without prior notice and has not set foot outside of Majeer since...as far as I know. I have spent a great deal of time trying to disentangle myself from the intrigues of the elite. Still, Aeyon, I can tell you that Lissom's kind of bitterness only grows like a rank weed...Karosyn is delusional if she believes she can broker a rapprochement with Lissom"

Again, Aeyon shook his head as if not grasping a critical element of the equation and again, his query impressed Lorio with its astuteness. "Still, it was Karosyn who reached out to Lissom...which makes the idea that this visit is a pretext to settle grievances seem not to make much sense...or am I missing something?"

"If you are, then we're missing it together, Aeyon...but now that you've given me your insight on what has this bloody pile of stones on edge...I'm going to speak to Karosyn and have her tell me exactly how she intends to deal with Lissom...and help her in whatever way I can."

"Thank you," the young man replied solemnly. "I can't explain it, but on the first day you appeared here...I knew that Karosyn would need your help. Please, Lorio...don't let her turn you away."

She rose and surprised Aeyon by kneeling next to his chair and putting her muscular arm around his shoulders. "I doubt you'll find a more obstinate woman once I've put my mind to something. I'm going to speak to Karosyn and make her see that she would benefit by keeping me close at hand." She paused and her expression became somber. "Aeyon, you strike me as an exceptional young man and so I'm going to give you some advice that I'm probably not qualified to give. I was a Queen once...but nothing of the magnitude that Karosyn has become. My court...if it could generously be called that...consisted of a handful of dedicated people, who I took great pains to frustrate it seems. Karosyn may be a paragon of virtue...but as you can tell from her former Tribunes...those who inhabit courts are vipers of a whole other stripe. Be careful here...and other than Karosyn...trust no one."

Aeyon merely nodded thoughtfully and Lorio gave his firm shoulder a squeeze before rising and striding from the room. Aeyon inhaled deeply, grappling with all that she had shared regarding the possible genesis of the conflict between these two enormously powerful women.

He was ignorant of much of the complex emotional machinery that governed the course of human interaction...but jealousy and hatred, he knew all to well. Alone and feeling isolated and inadequate, Aeyon Wrey began to feel very afraid for the woman with who he had fallen in love so swiftly.

5

Lorio scoured the castle and after cornering a butler and intimidating the cowering man with a glare that could melt granite, he had informed the immortal that the Queen was presently in conference with her Regent and Minister of Military Affairs, General Kyrin. After extracting directions to where the pair were huddled, Lorio went off in search of the High Queen, grimly ignoring the cacophony of voices that demanded to know exactly what she thought she was doing, while insisting that this dark drama, presently taking shape, was none of her concern...which she knew to be patently untrue.

She had set this grim course of events in motion decades before and thoughts of Opheile Seznoire at Lissom's mercy made it impossible to turn away from her culpability in all that had transpired since...and what yet may come once mad Lissom arrived in Nalosan.

Two guards, their postures rigid, their expressions' alert, but otherwise impassive, stiffened perceptibly when they saw Lorio bearing down on the two massive oak doors over which they stood guard. Word of what this paragon of violence had done to the gate guards had spread through the ranks of guards like rampant wildfire. That fire had been stoked further by the rumours and speculation regarding her lethal confrontation with the Queen's other mercurial guest and the subsequent destruction of the Queen's private quarters. On the heels of this mayhem had come the rather baffling instruction to give this harridan a wide berth unless otherwise instructed by order of the Queen.

Lorio fixed the two clearly uncertain men with a disdainful, crooked grin and did not slow her pace. Brushing by the transfixed pair, she threw open the heavy doors as if they were cardboard constructs. Within the chamber, she found the Queen huddled with a particularly handsome man over a collection of maps spread across an absurdly long working table.

An irrelevant thought came to her as she absorbed the sleek man's masculine beauty, "Surrounded by men such as this...and she turned to a common toiler for affection, as pretty as he may be?"

The pair jerked their regard to the unannounced intrusion, the man's expression becoming a mix of bemusement, giving way to something akin to awe, while Karosyn's lovely visage puckered into an irritated scowl.

The guards had trailed after Lorio, looking askance to their liege for direction. Karosyn shook her head and assuaged their anxiety. "All is well, gentlemen...you may return to your duty." To the handsome man, she explained sourly, "Forgive the rude interruption, General Kyrin...the former Queen is seriously wanting in the matter of court etiquette...and basic courtesy."

Lorio marched to the opposite side of the table, directly across from the pair and with her dark eyes blazing wildly, and with no clear notion what was prompting this childish provocation challenged, "Then Perhaps you'd care to thrash me again...your highness?"

Karosyn again rolled her great blue eyes and turning to her general, privately perturbed to see that he was gaping at Lorio as if she was a manifestation of the goddess herself. "General, the hour is late and we can resume this at the ninth bell in the morning." She gripped his right forearm to draw him out of his reverie and intoned, "I'm satisfied with your proposals and so you have my leave to begin making preparations with all possible urgency...tempered by a mind to discretion. Rest, General Kyrin...there may be few opportunities to do so in the coming weeks."

The General nodded dutifully and then bowed to his Queen. Before taking his leave, he favoured the olive-skinned beauty with a deep bow of deference and offered, "It is a pleasure and honour to meet you, your Highness. You have my gratitude for all that you have done in seeing Emercia to its present standing."

Lorio responded to this absurdly aggrandize assessment of her contributions to the flow of history with her customary inappropriate flippancy, "If you truly wish to thank me, general...perhaps we can find a space of time where you can do so...in a more intimate fashion."

The General's eyes widened in shock and Karosyn uttered a huff of disgust, before Kyrin fled the room. When they were alone, Karosyn marched around the table and came to stand directly before Lorio, with her fists planted on her tight hips...her vaunted serenity nowhere in evidence.

"This penchant you have for outrageous theatrics grows tiresome quickly. Why must you work so hard to try the patience and goodwill of everyone who displays any concern for your wellbeing? Also, these constant lewd rejoinders cast you in a light that is frankly shameful."

"Please, your general had me undressed before I reached this side of the map table." She leaned closer to the indignant Queen and whispered, "Besides, I know you're not the edifice of probity you would have the world believe."

Karosyn sighed, "You do have this effect on men, it is true...like a succubus that makes the most clear-minded men think with their libido and not the brain the goddess gave them."

"That is only until they get to know me," Lorio breathed, grinning in self-deprecation.

"My husband informed me that there was a certain Emercian Captain who did not feel that way at all," Karosyn observed quietly, and was shocked by the intensity of acute pain this casual remark provoked. It rippled across Lorio's exquisite face like a raging tempest and for a moment, Karosyn feared that the vitiated creature was about to fall to a fit of sobbing. Lorio's muscular shoulders trembled, she inhaled sharply and bowed her head, but managed to cling to her composure. Even after nearly fifty years, the mere mention of Esuruban...the only man she'd ever loved...still held the efficacy to grind her heart to dust. Karosyn discerned the tender nerve her remarked had struck and offered contritely, "I'm sorry, Lorio...I didn't intend to stir painful memories."

Lorio waved this off with a perfunctory shrug and rasped, "I guess that is one of the differences between the two of us; I'm cruel out of petulance, while your cruelty is unintended."

Karosyn expression became sorrowful and she gently collected Lorio's hands in hers and in a pleading tone, implored, "Please Lorio, let's stop this needless goading and acrimony. If we can't muster the goodwill and friendship we must surely have for each other...can we not, at least, be civil...please?"

Lorio blinked, unsettled by the unexpected and sincerely given entreaty. She nodded briskly and Karosyn smiled, "So, what has prompted you to seek me out at this late hour...and for that matter why are you even still here in Kammlogran? As intimately aware as I am of the love you harbour for Opheile's Seznoire and the fraught circumstances under which you parted ways, I would think that you would literally sprint the entire way back to Cortrin."

Lorio grimaced, but shook her head resolutely, compartmentalizing all thoughts of her beloved Opheile with a titanic exertion of will. "I've just come from speaking to Aeyon. I've been with him for the last several bells..."

Karosyn stepped quickly closer and gripped Lorio's hard right bicep in shockingly powerful fingers. Sapphire eyes blazing as if infused with sunlight, she fixed Lorio with a humourless twisting of lips and interjected, "Play on Aeyon's affections, Lorio and you may discover that my threat...no, my vow to obliterate you should you harm him...may actually extend to taking advantage of the awe in which he quite obviously holds you."

She released a flummoxed Lorio with a slight push, who was shocked by the placid woman's daunting proprietorship over the handsome young man. Conjuring a nervous laugh, Lorio quipped, "In the unlikely event that I'm struck by the need to have a man in my bed while your guest, I'll just beguile your handsome General...and leave your toy to you. Now, unless you want to give me another pummelling, can I answer your first question now."

Karosyn, perplexed and perturbed by her strangely territorial behaviour, shook her head. "I'm sorry...that was appallingly rude." A puzzled expression flickered across her lovely face and she remarked, "You seem fixated on what I did to you the other day. Surely, you're not angling for...for a rematch to assuage your wounded ego. I really never would have taken you for a masochist..."

Lorio grinned and retorted, "The thought of another go has crossed my mind...and I've got to confess, being drubbed by a woman who I would have sworn was incapable of deliberately crushing a vexing bug...was bizarrely arousing. I think I know what's inspired the changes I see in you...and I've just got to say...I like this new incarnation."

Surprisingly, this cursory jape drew a sharp hiss from the Queen, who observed dolefully, "Sadly, everyone seemed to share your perspective on my purported new surliness...which makes me fearful for all of the dreams for a kinder, more benevolent society I've worked to foster."

Sensing that she had struck a tender spot for a Queen, who regarded gentle serenity as the greatest of virtues, Lorio quickly elaborated, "Look, everyone alive regarded you as the living embodiment of the best we pathetic creatures can aspire to be...period. I'm only pointing out that there are times that it is reassuring for we little people to know that those who lead us...also have claws and fangs when required."

Karosyn greeted this with a sour frown and retorted, "I would prefer if my subjects...a word I detest, incidentally...would prefer a ruler who has the skill to resolve contentious issues with a clever and compelling turn of phrase and not a heavy hand."

"Sadly Karosyn, there are times when certain people...me being a classic example...just require a swift kick in the ass to change their perspective."

The Queen sighed in frustration and inquired brusquely, "Why did you wish to speak to me, Lorio?"

"As already said, I've spent the last few bells with your Aeyon...having him explain to me what has this ancient pile of rocks on edge. He shared a disturbing tale, but I'm willing to wager that the version of events you shared with him were dramatically sanitized...so as not to disturb his delicate sensibilities."

"I've provided Aeyon with a general view of what is unfolding...in Emercia and with Lissom. As it may involve his brother's abduction, I felt he had the right to know. If he spoke of that sorry incident, then you probably gleaned that he holds himself responsible for Tarim's abduction...or at least, not sacrificing himself in a futile effort to prevent it." She clicked her tongue and spat, "Men and their misguided concept of honour!"

Lorio, who would rather have died than simply watched Opheile be dragged away, prudently elected to say nothing, instead asking, "So I'm guessing you suspect it may have been some of the Sisters who carried out this attack?"

"As much as it pains me to confess, yes, it would seem so." Here, her brow furrowed and she added with clear puzzlement, "The sorceress employed balefire to destroy the wagon and horses...and that particular bit of vile sorcery is a feat that only the most powerful, and ethically unencumbered sorceress would use. There are only a handful of battle mages stationed in Emercia who could conjure that level of power...and evidently they are all accounted for and unflaggingly loyal to the order."

"And out of curiosity, can you conjure this balefire?"

Karosyn's answering expression made verbal confirmation redundant and so Lorio offered, "What if the abduction was carried out by Sisters...but just not by your Sisters of Esotaria?"

"I'm afraid you have me at a loss," Karosyn replied, but a gleam in those expressive blue eyes said otherwise.

"Issidris and I spent an entire decade in Majeer helping Lissom and that other covetous viper ferret out the last of Thaz Ekai's zealots and though I haven't set foot in that sun-ravaged hell for thirty years, I probably have a better sense of what may be happening there than anyone..."

Karosyn divined the truth of this and ventured, "I'd welcome your insight..."

"We can't begin to imagine what the women of Majeer were subjected to by the misogynist sadists who served this mad demon...or god...or whatever the fuck this evil was. Women there were subjected to systematic degradation and torture on a scale that has never been seen anywhere else. The women of Majeer are beautiful in the way the people of Suran are...almost eerily so...stunning and exotic. That the madmen who served this demon would actually happily seek to disfigure that beauty...is beyond evil. When the Sisters and the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen liberated the country...the women of Majeer regarded Lissom as if she was the goddess incarnate...the great liberator who had freed them from patriarchal oppression. The hatred these women held for the men of Majeer...while certainly understandable...was stunning in its intensity. I'm frankly surprised that there is a single male left in the entire sand-flayed country with a functioning male appendage. In retrospect...I see that Lissom slyly fostered that hatred, nurtured it."

Lorio then apprised Karosyn of Lissom's treatment of the first sons of the major patriarchal families, while a pallid Queen listened in horror. Shaking her head, Karosyn protested, "But these were boys...children...this form of retribution is monstrous."

"Maybe, but in a land where sons and husbands turned in mothers to Thaz Ekai's inquisitors...is it really that surprising? At any rate, the women of Majeer were drawn to Lissom in droves. Many joined the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen and followed Shan-En Naroon...the covetous bitch she was...but the majority opted to join the Sisters."

Karosyn shook her head and demanded, "What is the source of your acrimony toward this Shan-En Naroon...you take every opportunity to express your enmity for the woman?"

"She tried to steal Issidris from me. She was beautiful in the way that Majeeri women are...even if she was the only one who refused to give up her facial scars...and she flaunted that beauty before Issidris every chance she could. On the night before we left for Nalosan, she begged Issidris to stay and help her rule Majeer. I only learned of that particular overture on the day Issidris died. Had I known then, I might well of ripped her whore's heart out and crushed it over her corpse."

"Perhaps because of her implacable nature...or her aura of noble suffering, Issidris attracted the affection of beautiful women...much in the same way that you seem to attract the adoration of...everyone. You can hardly despise this Shan-En Naroon for being drawn to Issidris."

"But I fucking do anyway!"

Karosyn's mouth compressed into a slash. Though warped, this expression of love for Issidris could not be questioned, providing the benevolent Queen with a deeper grasp of Lorio's rancour toward her and what she perceived as her culpability in Issidris' death. Lorio finally shook her head and concluded, "Lissom landed in Majeer with fifteen thousand Sisters...but by the time that Issidris and I left for Nalosan...she had carried more than three times that number...all obsessively devoted to her. Even then, I could see that Lissom was gravitating to a harsh, puritanical brand of theology...not very far off the one she supplanted. I also saw hints that much of her ethical constraints regarding what were and what were not acceptable practices was beginning to fray. If there are sisters practicing dark sorcery here in Emercia...abducting men at random, for example...there is a good chance they are hers and operating at her direction."

"Which is just what I suspect...and fear," Karosyn responded soberly.

"So then, how about you tell me everything...including the grim tidbits you kept from your Aeyon?" Lorio pressed.

Karosyn's demeanour became circumspect and she challenged, "To what end...as I said Lorio...this is not your concern. In respect to Issidris' memory and this rare gift you've found in Opheile...I will not drag you into this mire."

Lorio stepped closer and gripped Karosyn's right bicep, drawing a frown of consternation from the Queen, "Issidris made me swear that I would never stand against Lissom...but we both know, if she was still alive and here now, she would be the first one to stand in front of you and face that insane bitch. I'm staying and I'm going to help you...for two reasons. The first is that you and I have lived and experienced enough of the world's misery to know that...if Lissom is coming to Nalosan with a mind to spreading her twisted new theology...there is no place on the Eastern Continent...or the rest of the wretched world, for that matter, where Opheile would be safe...and that is something I can't accept. There is another reason as well and one that we can ignore, but that will do nothing to change the truth of the matter. Lissom detests you, Karosyn...sees you as the woman who abandoned her and then stole the man she loved. Denial is delusional and dangerous."

"Even if that is true...and I still won't accept it so readily...how does this involve you?" Karosyn rasped between tightly compressed lips.

Lorio scowled as if suspecting that the Queen was being deliberately obtuse. "We both know what prompted you to renounce the role of Matrium...and who caused that lamentable incident to happen. I'm the one who pulled then thread that caused the weave to unravel...and so I have an obligation to set it right. I've done my share of truly despicable things in my life...things for which I can never make restitution...but this is one instance where I can make amends...and unless you're going to loose your sorcery on me again...in which case you'll have to kill me...I'm staying to help you face what's coming...whatever that might prove to be."

Karosyn disentangled her arm and with a sardonic twist to her mouth, inquired, "And just what is it you think you could do to ward me against her wrath if Lissom is indeed coming here with ill-intent. You know just what I did to you in the blink of an eye...destroyed you like the vexing insect you mentioned. If it should come to open conflict...Lissom would obliterate the two of us without batting a lash."

Lorio glowered at this unalloyed reminder, but persisted. "Maybe so, but I can help you in other ways. I've stood at the heart of every major conflict and defining juncture in this world's recent history...and I've survived them all. I can be of value. Should it come to a fight...I can plough throw a small army of lesser mages and simple warriors...leaving you to deal with Lissom. I can protect your back, if nothing else...and by the accursed gods, Karosyn...you're going to let me do it...as a way of balancing the scales of what I did to you on that fucking road to Dizar Kor!" Lorio fell silent, her substantial chest heaving passionately and her colour a hectic red.

The two women regarded each other contentiously for several moments and finally Karosyn sighed. "If Lissom does seek to address old grievances, the only way to emerge from this is to broker a rapprochement with her...a reconciliation that will allow me to guide her back into the light."

"Fine...fine, but if she has no interest in kissing and making up, I want to do everything in my power to make sure that you are the one standing over her corpse when the smoke clears and not the other way around."

"If it comes to that sorry turn of events, I would rather simply lie down and die beside her than live with the guilt of having failed her so abysmally," Karosyn returned glumly.

"Really?" Lorio remarked with a sardonic scowl, "Tell Aeyon that the next time you're making love to him."

Karosyn's eyes widened in indignant outrage, but she then averted her eyes and murmured, "Very well, I'll accept your help...what is it you require from me?"

Lorio favoured Karosyn with a predacious grin. "To begin with...I want you to appoint me your Royal Protector...or Royal Champion...whatever the going title is today."

Karosyn shook her head. "Actually, neither as the concept is archaic...and in my case, unnecessary. There hasn't been a Royal Protector designated by an Emercian Monarch in three centuries."

"Then it's time to resurrect the position...which you are going to do," Lorio insisted adamantly. "I want you to do it with all the fanfare possible...a Royal Decree. Make it as pompous and ostentatious as it can be. By Royal Decree, the divine Queen Karosyn appoints Lorio, honourable Daughter of Emercia, legendary heroine of the quest and Emerald Enchantress War, to be her Royal Protector. Something overblown such as that...and spread it to every corner of Emercia like you did my bloody face on your posters."

"To what end, exactly, will I be enacting this relic of a measure?" The Queen inquired, clearly leery of the notion.

"A couple reasons. Firstly, it will provide the rationale for my constant presence. I am going to become your shadow...omnipresent and over your shoulder...as if we're tethered. I will legitimately be able to attend every conference...every meeting you partake in...especially meetings pertaining to Lissom's impending visit...or Tarim Wrey's abduction. I want to hear exactly what your handsome General Kyrin is proposing by way of strategy. I promise to be a silent shadow during these discourses, but when we are alone, I will give you my advice on whether or not you should heed his counsel. I understand that you have agreed to resume your duties as Matrium as part of your overture to Lissom?"

"Which has already informally happened...the Sisters here and in Dortizirian are looking to me for direction in dealing with the Sisterhood's crisis with Lissom. The Elder Guides from our home city are on their way to Nalosan as we speak...by direct order of Lissom. That is troubling as she was supposed to be unaware of their existence."

"And another indicator that she is not bound for Nalosan with a mind to hug and share happy stories of past glory," Lorio observed tartly. "I want to be present for all of those meeting as well. You may trust these Elder Guides...but I want an opportunity to observe them. Not to be crass, but if I understand it correctly, your Tribunes turned on you in record time and I would guess you had no prior inkling they would."

Karosyn scowled ruefully, but nonetheless nodded. Lorio conjured a humourless grin and declared, "Life has left me a good deal less trusting of the integrity of human character, so I will observe these Sisters and see if I can spot any indication that they are less than loyal or enamoured with your resumption of duties."

"All of this seems incredibly intrusive...and presumptuous!" Karosyn remarked mordantly to which Lorio only shrugged in clear indifference.

"The second reason I want to be named Royal Protector is that the target on your back will shift to mine in the event that your former mistress decides to use less savoury means to resolving her grievance with you. Your decree will make it unequivocally clear that assassins will have to go through me to get to you."

"Absolutely not! I will not make you a potential sacrificial pawn in my dispute with Lissom!" Karosyn growled indignantly.

With equal vehemence, Lorio pressed closer and seethed, "Yes you will...now I want to hear exactly what has brought matters to this head...nothing held back or diminished."

Karosyn balked at this peremptory tone, but seeing that Lorio was intransigent, she sighed and cautioned, "It's a long tale."

"Then it's a good thing you and I don't actually require sleep because I would hear it now...and with nothing abridged or omitted," Lorio demanded brusquely.

Karosyn inhaled deeply and gestured Lorio into a nearby chair before taking one directly across from the immortal. Over the course of the next bell, she provided Lorio with a meticulously detailed account of all that had transpired in the days leading up to the immortal's arrival. Not surprisingly, Karosyn delivered this tale in an even tone, free of bias...not offering her personal perspective on the increasingly stark and disturbing events she described. Lorio listened intently. Interrupting only to clarify specific details.

"And so, this is where we find ourselves," Karosyn summarized, "not certain if we are about to embark upon a golden era in Gyzarayne's quest for the elevation of women...or if I've summoned a hungry predator to our shores."

Lorio, whose interpretation of the situation was not nearly as ambivalent, managed to rein in her acerbic remarks on Lissom's probable intent in agreeing to come to Nalosan, instead focusing on a few aspects of Karosyn's account which she found to be the most perplexing. "So it would seem that there have been a series of abductions similar to Tarim's...all throughout Emercia?"

"Men have vanished in similar circumstances...which allows for the possibility that they were also abducted, but there is no conclusive proof that they simply didn't choose not to be found or fell victim to other mischief," Karosyn clarified.

"Okay, let's lean toward a campaign of abduction...what possible motive would Lissom have for waylaying a group of commoners and tradesmen?"

"I've given the matter some thought and can only conclude that it is meant to sow uncertainty in Emercia...fear and perhaps dissatisfaction with those who are duty-bound to keep the people of Emercia safe."

Lorio shook her head adamantly. "That theory would only hold water if it was commonly known that these abductions had occurred and were clearly connected...which is obviously not the case. Had Aeyon not been left in that roadside ditch...you would still have absolutely no idea that anything was amiss. No...there is a purpose here...but it's something far more nefarious...sinister!" Lorio concluded with a narrowing of her dark eyes. Karosyn considered this, astounded and impressed by the intellectual acuity the immortal could wield when so inclined. "Okay as we can't produce a clear explanation for why this is happening, let's put it aside for now. The Sisters here informed you that someone in Lissom's group in Majeer had been keeping apprised of her misdeeds..."

"Yes, Sandalayne...the First Stealth Ranger!" Karosyn disclosed, her expression becoming doleful. "Sanadalayne began to catalogue Lissom's acts of brutality when she saw that the Ascentrix was straying away from Gyzarayne's theology. As time went on, these accounts became more accusatory, describing acts of hideous violence that are...unspeakable."

Lorio vaguely recalled the First Stealth Ranger...a hulking mountain of a woman, with a grave demeanour, who in her enamelled armour appeared as if she could easily burst through castle walls like a juggernaut. Knowing she was skirting contentious territory, Lorio asked softly, "And this Sandalayne...you trust her...she did not harbour a grudge against Lissom."

Karosyn straightened at this implication of spiteful manipulation on the part of the virtuous Sister. "Sandalayne served as Lissom's First Stealth Ranger for over a century. She was fanatically devoted to Lissom, her loyalty beyond reproach. That she would level indictments against her Ascentrix is damning."

"And you say she's vanished?"

"Yes...Majeer insists that Sandalayne perished recently fighting remnants of the old theology in the desert."

"But you don't credit that account!" Lorio asked softly.

"No...it is more likely that Lissom discovered that Sandalayne was a mole and acted predictably. Even when she was under my guidance, Lissom took an extremely dim view of any perceived disloyalty. It would also explain how she learned of the existence of the Elder Guides in Dortizirian." Karosyn explained, her doleful expression declared eloquently by the muted light in her great blue eyes.

"I'm going to be brutally frank, Karosyn...I doubt very much that Lissom is coming to Majeer with a mind to a rapprochement...it is more likely that she is coming here to finish grinding a forty-year-old axe or to export her warped theology onto the Eastern Continent." Lorio observed, her tone flat and uncompromising.

"Obviously, I'm willing to prepare for those dismal possibilities, but I refuse to surrender the optimistic hope that this situation might yet be salvaged...that Lissom might be reclaimed!" Karosyn asserted with equal vigour.

"All the more reason why you need me at your shoulder...to tell you when it is time to let hope for the best go and embrace the less palatable truth," Lorio remarked, not wanting to engage in a debate over the possibility of drawing Lissom into the light. "I have two questions before I move onto my last concern and a request...for my remuneration in helping you deal with your approaching monster. I want you to think carefully before you answer each...because I suspect the answers may be the key to everything."

Karosyn pursed her full lips and returned, "I'll answer you as truthfully as I'm able...I hope you know me well enough to realize that."

This evoked the painful ghost of Issidris and Karosyn's pact and Lorio averted her eyes to her hands, lest Karosyn glimpse the old hatred that was not so easily banished. "First...perfectly candid answer...could you defeat Lissom in an all-out contest of sorcery?"

Karosyn's response was instantaneous and unequivocal, "No...only a goddess could vanquish Lissom in a fair contest of arcane magic. I am powerful...and growing more so by the day...but infinite leagues behind Lissom in power. In a fair contest, she would efface me from existence in a heartbeat."

Lorio greeted this dismal assessment with a crooked grin and intoned, "Then you and I will have to put our heads together and see if we can conjure a way of making sure it isn't a fair fight." When Karosyn balked at this suggestion of underhandedness, Lorio chided, "Sorry dear, but you may have to sully your delicate sensibilities if you wish to see the other side of this thing."

"Your other question..."Karosyn prompted, showing open dejection for the first time.

Lorio's brow furrowed and with evident perplexity, she posed the question that had troubled her since she'd first learned of the discord here in Nalosan. "I have never claimed to be devout...had my life never led me to that wretched, heartless whore, Otaru Ree, I would hold no stock in the idea of gods and goddesses. I will assume that your Goddess is more than the figment of a legion of delusion zealots' imagination...and that rouses the question...if your goddess is so wise and benevolent...why would she not give Lissom a painful reminder of just who she serves and what was expected of her?"

Karosyn inhaled deeply, a tremulous and mournful sound that made it explicitly clear that this was the salient question for which she could produce no answer. "I can produce no meaningful answer to a question that has troubled me since I first learned that Lissom was straying toward tyranny in Majeer. Though I forfeited the right to commune with Gyzarayne when I renounced my station, those who serve her still have admitted that the goddess has fallen silent...is incommunicado as it were. It is impossible for we mortals...and immortals, I suppose...to fathom the will of the deities. Perhaps Gyzarayne sees this bleak juncture a test of our worthiness...who can say with any certitude."

"If that is the case...then Gyzarayne is a stupid bitch or a ruthless player of games...indifferent to our suffering!" Lorio spat disdainfully

"I will not tolerate your blasphemy, Lorio...not under my roof. You would do well to keep your contempt to yourself!" Karosyn warned coldly and the two women glared at each other for a protracted moment."

Knowing that impinging on Karosyn's piety was...unwise, Lorio displayed rare contrition. "I'm sorry, but being omnipotent, supposedly, and standing by while one of your anointed minions runs rampant is not an easy thing for me to grasp."

Much to Lorio's relief, Karosyn's indignation relented to earnest confusion and she remarked quietly, "Frankly, neither do I."

After an awkward silence, Lorio broached a subject that she knew would irritate the Queen...and did so with a wry grin. "Now, getting back to my favourite new obsession...your lambasting of me in your quarters...I need to understand exactly how you did it."

Karosyn huffed in exasperation and offered with a note of long-suffering patience that evoked memories of Issidris when Lorio was being particularly stubborn, "It's a simple matter, Lorio...I obviously used sorcery...a talent for which you know I possess a particularly strong aptitude. It's not like I bested you in a fist fight or a contest of the staves, so I'm not sure what's driving this preoccupation."

Lorio shook her head, dismissing Karosyn's minimizing of the incident. "When Myrhia created me...put her vile core into the place where my heart was...she created something that was supposed to be invulnerable to everything...but deity level magic. As far as I'm aware, you are many things, but a deity is not among them and so I don't understand how you were able to shatter bones and come within an breath of killing me. Considering exactly who we may end up opposing...I need to know if I'm to be any value to you."

Karosyn absorbed this thoughtful and then nodded. "Actually, you're wrong about the deity aspect. To varying degrees, every woman in Gyzarayne's order is invested with a measure of her power...with myself and Lissom being granted significantly greater arcane power. Lissom's arcane energy has the potential to be world obliterating."

"Which means what, exactly!" Lorio demanded, vexed by grand, but vague declarations of this sort.

"Imagine the Blighted Lands spreading over the entire world. Because of the nature of Lissom's magic...subtractive magic, in which power is derived from the life force of all living things...she could draw an amount of life force that could leave the world a barren husk."

Lorio again shook her head in consternation, flummoxed by the stupidity of deities. "Okay, taking it as a given that we can't go head to head with Lissom, it will require a more furtive approach, which raises my next question. When I hit you, it was a rarity...because I held nothing back. That blow should have crumbled your skull and yet you shook it off as if slapped by a small child. I need to know how."

"Again, a simple matter...knowing you as I do...I anticipated your reaction to the situation with Czefrina and warded myself."

"And so if I had taken you unaware?"

"Emercia would likely require a new Queen now!" Karosyn confessed, bemused by Lorio's triumphant grin. Sensing the direction of Lorio's thoughts, she added, "It is highly improbable that you'll ever catch Lissom in a situation in which she is unprepared for treachery. I would suspect that her years in Majeer have left her highly attuned to subterfuge."

"Then it is something we'll have to deliberate over...because if things turn ugly...one of us will have to bury a dirk in her heart," Lorio countered with a ruthless grin that caused Karosyn's lovely face to blanch. "Aeyon has informed me that you've taken to training with conventional weaponry...augmenting standard attacks with sorcery. Starting tomorrow, I want to be there when you do. In fact, I am going to be your sparring dummy."

"I don't think that is prudent," Karosyn protested and Lorio actually silenced the Queen by pressing an index finger to her pursed lips, drawing an incredulous shake of the head from the woman whose tolerance for lapses in royal protocol were legendary.

"No argument! I have to be more effective in facing a magic wielder and jumping into your particularly blazing fire is the best way to go about it. As you have the talent to heal me as easily as break me...I should survive the experience."

Karosyn shook her head, the nascent stirring of tears causing those great blue eyes to shimmer, "That you would do this...take this extravagant gamble for me when your life has been blessed with a jewel such as your Opheile Seznoire even after what I did to you...makes me feel wretched beyond words. You spoke of wanting something in return should we emerge from this darkness...whatever is within my power to grant, you shall have."

Without preamble, Lorio returned flatly, "When this is done...I want you to manufacture a way of obliterating me from the world!" When Karosyn's eyes widened in horror, Lorio held up a hand. "Not me specifically...but this mythical creature known as Lorio...this absurd legend that haunts me like a shadow. I want you to conjure a death for me and then spread the word of my heroic end...perhaps erect a statue or two...with as much fanfare as you will about my being named your Royal Protector. If the world actually believes I'm dead, I can return to Opheile...if she'd still have me...and know that there won't be another Czefrina stalking the myth."

Within this desire for emancipation from an unwanted past, Karosyn could divine a enduring pain that beggared reason and as her tears did begin to fall, she nodded vigorously and promised, "Yours will be a glorious death for the ages...for the bards...and there will be no doubt that your journey has come to an end."

Lorio's answering smile was radiance embodied and the two fell silent, before the immortal inquired in a decidedly neutral tone, "Did you dispatched a letter to Nayoro regarding Czefrina's death?"

"I did," Karosyn allowed, but there was a note of strain...or perhaps sorrow...in her tone that caused Lorio to raise a finely tapered eyebrow. "I also dispatched a note to what passes for Lamia's embassy in Nalosan, inquiring on how they wish the transfer of the body to be handled. Their response was most disturbing."

Lorio's gaze sharpened, wondering why she was suddenly manifesting...feelings other than loathing for the mad woman who had accosted her. "Disturbing...how?"

Reluctantly, Karosyn disclosed, "They returned that, as Lamia lacked the means to convey the Princess back to Brexiter...it would be appreciated if we would dispose of the body as we saw fit...that no commemorative memorial would be necessary."

"They're talking about tossing her aside as if she was meaningless trash. Nayoro would never condone such an outrage," Lorio spat, clearly appalled. The immortal averted her gaze to her hands, which trembled slightly, and then demanded softly. "I would like to see her body."

"Lorio..." Karosyn murmured, knowing that nothing productive would come in wallowing in this lamentable tragedy she'd inadvertently wrought.

The immortal's gaze became flinty. "I know she was deranged...delusional, but it seems as if she forsook everything to pursue this absurd fantasy of hers...letting it consume her from childhood. In a warped way, she devoted her life to me...and so I've got to try and gain a sense of...who she was. I've never believed in communing with the dead...but maybe. Please, Karosyn."

The rampant emotion capering behind this plea caused Karosyn to capitulate to Lorio's perplexing demand...showing a maturity which the Queen had not believed the immortal possessed. "Very well...I will have someone squire you to the Royal Crypt...where you can commune with this sad creature's spirit...should it remain nearby."

The expression of gratitude in Lorio great dark eyes was unmistakable, but then her tone became sober and she surprised Karosyn by segueing to a topic that made the Queen immensely uncomfortable. "I'm about to offer you some advice and then make a contradictory suggestion that will make you think that I've parted way with my reason. I just ask that you hear me out."

"I believe I've done precisely that for the better part of the last two bells...my Royal Protector," Karosyn added with a wry grin that became a sober frown to match Lorio's when the immortal did not react to this overture.

"I know that you love Aeyon. It isn't only in the way you rose to his defence when you thought I meant to do him harm...but in the way those beautiful blue eyes flare like suns every time your gaze happens to fall upon him. After spending time in his company, I also see that it is more than the fact that he's such a beautiful man. You see Artumas in him...as he might have been at Aeyon's age...and I see it as well. Still, Karosyn, Artumas was, for all his nobility, a pragmatic man with a sense of determination that made him well suited for the role he was fated to play. Aeyon is a sensitive creature...delicate and earnest in a way that will eventually be undone by the harsh realities that shape this rarefied life you lead...as a Queen...as a servant of a Goddess. As much as you love him...should you entice him into this complex life you lead...he will be inevitably be sacrificed to its demands."

As Karosyn watched Lorio, the timber of her voice changed as did the flow and shape of her words...informing the benevolent soul that the immortal was merely a medium through which a warning was being delivered. She shuddered...as did the immortal, who grinned in confusion and intoned with a bawdy grin. "Now, as your Protector, I have a great degree of latitude to make that aspect of your life a great deal easier. Rather than have you skulk about in the shadows, trying to conjure ways of bringing Aeyon into your bed without scrutiny, I can collect him and bring him to your quarters...where the three of us will pass evenings in pleasant conversation, until I return him to his rooms. I will find a way of occupying my time in your antechamber, while you indulge your appetite without fear of distraction or interruption. Once you have loved him into an exhausted stupor...I can squire him back to his quarters while rousing no suspicion. So, you see, there is a hidden boon in naming me your Royal Protector."

The Queen's colour deepened to a fetching shade of scarlet and she huffed indignantly, "That is salacious...beyond words." She hesitated and then asked shyly, "Would you be willing to begin now...tonight?"

Lorio favoured Karosyn with a conspiratorial wink and laughed, "Let me escort you to your chambers and then I will go an collect your young Aeyon."

Lorio linked Karosyn's arm in hers and led the Queen through the stillness of Kammlogran's relatively deserted corridors. Karosyn could feel her heart begin to accelerate in her chest at the thought of this scandalous arrangement. The odd moment of augury was temporarily forgotten, but the dire warning would return...and plague the benevolent Queen for the endless life that would stretch before her.

Chapter Twenty One

1

If Arminda was inclined to reflect upon her life, its defining moments and distinct chapters, (an activity to which she'd to her dismay and bemusement...devoted a disproportionate amount of time of late), the astute Jerhia would likely have glean that her life could have been nearly divided into three distinct segments...each possessed of their own unique governing emotions. Her childhood had been a brief span of years coloured now in sepia as she reflected on what her life had been like growing up in her mountainous ancestral home with two doting parents and an older brother who was the jewel of the family. Like many reflection from those years childhood years, Arminda's memories were really little more than disjointed fragments...indistinct recollections of certain defining moments that were not entirely trustworthy as chronicles of the life she'd actually lived then. She seemed to remember that her parents were like an omnipresent light that bathed those years in a syrupy warmth...filled with affection and kindness.

Then Armand had departed for the Capital in pursuit of the promise he seemed to exude...and somehow her memories of those childhood years seemed to change. Gone was that sense of indivisible family that had cocooned her life, replaced by the imprecise first realization that...all things were subject to change...that life, by its very nature, must inevitably move on.

Arminda recalled that her parents, while still incredibly loving, seemed to grow distracted in the years after her older brother's departure for Summergaden, as if, by leaving, he had taken a portion of both of them with him. Only later, did young Arminda come to glean that much of this hovering shadow could be attributed to the spectre of war that now hung over the antiquated world.

In retrospect, Arminda recalled that the young child she had once been was filled by vague, but persistent disquiet by this notion. For children of Jerhia, the obligations of duty to the country and its traditions and ideals were insulated into its children at an early age, without exception given to social standing or affluence. On the contrary, the children of Jerhia's elite were introduced to the nation's proud military tradition early and with greater expectation than any of the nation's other children.

Arminda would be no exception and at the age of ten, a confused and frightened young girl and been sent to a nearby boarding school where she would be indoctrinated into the militaristic culture and traditions that define the CornerStone nation. In these strictly regimented institutions, Jerhia children were subjected to rigorous and incessant testing, meant to inure their spirit and determine the military discipline best suited to their blossoming skills.

Small for her age and shy, Arminda had initially been regarded with contempt...and thus harshness...by the school's other children, but the remorseless regimen of assessment soon revealed that she was gifted with exceptional speed and agility...and more critically valuable still, an accuracy in the wielding of ranged weapons that would have left many veteran Jerhia bowmen envious. This aptitude led Arminda's instructors to direct her education toward the discipline of scout/bowmen and by the time the storm of war broke over the Antiquated World with a fury, thirteen-year-old Arminda had been enlisted in the Scouting contingent of the regular Jerhia military and dispatched to advance training facilities all over the nation.

She saw her parents rarely and her brother less, the close relationship the children had share with their parents and each other now reduced to the exchange of hastily written letters. She recalled taking special pleasure from the news that the fast ascending Armand had been promoted to the role of Adjutant and assigned to the staff of Tier Marshal Rigor, who commanded the Jerhia Expeditionary Force fighting the Emercian Queen's hordes on the Eastern Continent.

Such was the impact of the Jerhia indoctrination into the pride and honour of military service that fifteen years old Arminda was privately envious of her brother's opportunity to test his mettle against the Redian and Emercian barbarians.

This particular recollection never failed to evoke a particularly bitter grin in the woman who now stood as the ruling symbol of this culture. It was then, the brutal realities of war, especially the horrible loss of first her idolized brother and then, when the Emerald Enchantress achieved the unthinkable and exported her war of conquest onto Jerhia soil, her parents, that the middle segment of her life would commence in earnest.

It was a span of tumultuous years defined by soaring jubilation and soul-scarifying despair...and a seemingly never-ending series of dramatic junctures the likes of which had never been witnessed in the Antiquated World's long and often chaotic history. Somehow, this small and introverted girl who had been so terrified and sorrowful over being torn away from her family, would stand at the very eye of this storm...and bear witness to things that seemed scarcely credible when viewed across a span of years. Islena Doraux, Myrhia and Artumas, the Leaders of the CornerStone nation (most prominently, Maroc, who would exert the greatest influence on the life she would lead after this period of flux had run its course), Sygeanor and even an insane goddess named Otaru Ree: Arminda would rub shoulders will all of these virtually mythical giants during the course of the Emerald Enchantress war and the perfect storm of chaos that would follow in its wake. Ah yes, and of course, there had been Lorio and the complex relationship the seemingly incongruous duo shared, every big as turbulent as the era in which it had been forged.

More incredible still, Arminda had exerted a small, but not insignificant influence on the way in which these two calamities had been resolved.

The time of dark turbulence had passed, as all storms must inevitably do, and Arminda had entered this current phase of her life. Fuelled by Maxim Tier Marshal Maroc's unflagging (and to Arminda's mind, unaccountable) faith in her ability to forge a new Jerhia, she had risen to the very apex of the Jerhia military hierarchy, becoming the nation's first female Maxim Tier Marshal. Yet, with this unprecedented accomplishment came a lingering sense of anticlimactic blandness...as if she had come to languish in the doldrums. In an extended period of peace, Arminda's life...especially after Maroc's death, became a grind of often tedious and mundane bureaucratic initiatives. She had devoted herself to bringing a genuine concept of equality to the modern Jerhia sensibility, while working to make the country a more compassionate and diverse place, where service was an aspect of life and not its entirety.

Yet, Arminda now realized that she, herself, was a living contradiction of the very ideals she hoped to propagate. As she came to the tail end of her career, where her continuing to cling to the reins of power would make her a fossilized impediment, Arminda spent more and more time pondering the hollow state into which she'd allowed her life to sink beyond the demands of duty.

She saw before her a lonely void that, thanks to her negligence, she had done nothing to possibly fill once she had dispatched the last of her duties as Maxim Tier Marshal.

She could clearly envision herself traipsing aimlessly about the grounds and halls of her sprawling ancestral home with only the doleful ghosts of past glory and bitter regret to keep her company...fighting valiantly to stave off the madness and despair that such an existence must surely breed.

Then the benevolent Queen had dispatched her plea for information regarding another tragic figure and Arminda had embarked on one final quest, hoping to stave off the inevitable for just a bit longer.

It required only one night in the engaging Opheile Seznoire's scintillating presence for all of those carefully concealed fears to vanish like mist before the most glorious of suns.

2

A mournful dirge filled the great stone hall, its sorrowful tones rising up into the arched gloom like restrained wails of sadness. Attired completely in black, Queen Karosyn slowly ascended the dais and took her place behind the podium from which she would deliver Martriza Odain's eulogy. She had demanded that the entire court be present, without exception, to pay posthumous homage to a woman who had devoted her very heart and soul to seeing the nation she loved prosper.

'And yet, in one brief lapse...one momentary display of ambivalence...or vacillation...all that she stood for would be undone,' Karosyn thought sorrowfully as she allowed her gaze to settle on the beautiful corpse that was surrounded by a virtual sea of blooms that seemed to mock the truth of her sad death. 'You must never allow this to define who she was...how she will be remembered. For her devotion to you and the part that your own uncertainty may have played in her demise, you owe her that much.'

She offered a silent goodbye and a prayer of gratitude to Martriza for her years of devotion and then turned her countenance to the those who had come to Kammlogran's Hall of Mourning, her face becoming a mask of regal composure as she began. Her gaze swept over the assembly and near the rear of the hall, fell upon Lorio and Aeyon, whom she had specifically asked to attend this grim ceremony...if only to provide Karosyn with a foundation of strength in the face of this ineffable tragedy. Seeing him, looking markedly uncomfortable in the muted finery she'd hastily procured for the solemn event, Karosyn was surprised by the degree of comfort...of reassurance...she derived from his presence. As her gaze moved to Lorio, her newly declared Royal Protector...Karosyn experienced a twinge of intense guilt for having succumbed to the immortal's pressure. 'If mishap should befall her in your defence, you will have indelibly stained your soul."

From his perspective, Aeyon watched the astounding woman deliver her dignified eulogy and though her tribute to Martriza Odain was delivered in a firm, affectionate voice, Aeyon could discern the intense pain skirting about the edges of her words. When he had quietly inquired about what had befallen the Seneschal, the Queen had been uncharacteristically terse and evasive in her recounting of Martriza's death...as if the pain it inspired was simply too acute to be given voice.

Even two nights prior, as they lay together in the aftermath of lovemaking, Aeyon could sense the enormity of Karosyn's anguish over the approaching funeral...as if it would make tangible a truth she wished desperately to avoid. They lay together, as she seemed to relish, with his head cradled against her shoulder and her long leg draped protectively over his thighs, while her hand indolently explored the topography of his flesh. Suddenly, she had raised up on her elbow and fixed him with a look that was rife with uncertainty and a vague, yet powerful need. Those great blue eyes seemed to fill the entire range of his vision as she'd asked, "Aeyon, you are under no compulsion to agree, but I would be in your debt...if you could find it in your heart to attend Martriza's funeral two days hence. Seeing you there would be a tremendous source of comfort for me." Hurriedly, she'd added, "I'm also going to ask Lorio if she would attend...and you could sit together."

She had offered this as if it was a manner of inducement. In the short time that they'd made each other's acquaintance, the apprentice and the living legend had become surprising friends...a development that, to Karosyn's bemusement, had inspired a sharp twinge of jealousy as she watched the pair converse so amiably over the suppers the trio now shared.

Aeyon had repressed his fear and agreed. Now, sitting near one side of the great hall, his gaze darted furtively about the assembly of those who had purportedly come to pay their respects to a woman who Aeyon had found tremendously intimidating. What he saw there...or more conspicuously, the absence of what he had expected to see there evoked a sense of deep sorrow in the compassionate young man. A sense of obligation and indifference seemed to hover over the moment...as if not one of those who had come to this solemn occasion had any genuinely felt sense of sadness or regret for the loss of the woman to whom they had come to bid farewell.

Even now, thirteen years after her death, Aeyon could vividly recall the outpouring of tears and anguish...of immense loss... that had swept over those who had come to bid his mother farewell. This stark contrast made Aeyon feel intense pity for the woman who lay before the Queen, the final acknowledgement of her life reduced to an obligatory and ultimately meaningless charade for all but Karosyn.

This furtive observation of the assembly of courtiers aroused another emotion in Aeyon as he swept his gaze over the perfectly styled facades, that revealed nothing of the emotions or thoughts they concealed. His world was a simpler place where the people he lived and worked with...encountered during the course of his life in the streets of Nalosan...wore their emotions on their sleeves. There was a raw and atavistic quality to these people that Aeyon understood...so unlike the complex and often indecipherable men and women who frequented Karosyn's world. Their carefully constructed exteriors were inaccessible...insurmountable, informing Aeyon, who had no faculty for the chameleon, that he would always be at an extreme disadvantage in their midst.

Suddenly Overwhelmed by a suffocating sense of incongruence...as if he was a lustreless lump of coal on a bed of glittering diamonds, Aeyon rose quickly and fled the hall as inconspicuously as he could manage.

He was standing in the receiving area, one arm extended against a fluted column just to keep himself upright...his broad chest rising and falling as he fought to draw normal breath, when Lorio emerged from the Hall of Mourning. She gravitated over to the young man, whose brow was slick with perspiration and inquired softly, "What's wrong, Aeyon?"

His regard snapped to her and in those mild brown eyes, Lorio discern close proximity to open panic and another emotion that might have been disillusionment. He shook his head in negation, but replied honestly, "I don't belong here...with these people. I'm making a jape of myself, aren't I?"

The intense anguish in his voice cause Lorio's heart to constrict, but she affected a crisp, chiding tone when she threw a long arm about his broad shoulders and demanded, "Tell me, Aeyon...do you believe that Karosyn is toying with you...that she sees you as an amusing diversion?"

His eyes grew comically wide and he shook his head in vigorous negation as if she had accused him of the most scurrilous slander. "No...I...she...I've never met anyone who was more sincere...genuine!"

"You're right...you haven't," Lorio agreed sharply. "Just as you are right to say that you don't belong amongst these people...just like I don't belong in this ostentatious, pompous company of buffoons. It was not them who invited you here...it was Karosyn, who as incredible as it may be...loves you...and that is what you have to focus on."

"But how can I not help but disappoint her in the end...I have nothing to offer that makes me worthy of being here...in her company."

'Clearly you are not disappointing her in the bedchamber,' Lorio thought but conjured the tact not to say. Instead, she suggested, "The only way you could ever disappoint Karosyn is by being disloyal...or by becoming like those men and women who frequent her court. Perhaps you're right...and eventually you may not have a place in her world...with its pressures and suffocating demands, but Aeyon, my advice to you is to enjoy life's rare dispensations while they last, because, for people the likes of you and me...they are rare in coming. Karosyn is giving freely what so many covet...her time, her wisdom...her passion and love. Take these things from her and return what you can...and allow this time with her to forge a memory that will never fade."

Even as Lorio offered this dubious advice, she gleaned that she was extolling the virtues of a philosophy that applied as much to her life as it did to his. Being what she was, joy would inevitably be fleeting in a relative sense and she must ferociously embrace and relish it while she could.

The immortal's words seemed to exert a placating effect upon Aeyon as he inhaled deeply and nodded. "I wanted to thank you for agreeing to stay and help the Queen. As much as she wants me...she needs your help!"

Lorio clapped him roughly on the shoulder and embraced him as if she was a big sister. "Don't worry, Aeyon...I'm going to make sure that the vipers coming to Nalosan never have the opportunity to sink their fangs into that adorable flesh of hers."

"She would never admit it, but I think that Karosyn is...is frightened of this Lissom."

Lorio scowled at the mention of the daunting Ascentrix, but returned confidently, "She has good reason, but Aeyon, I've faced monsters of every stripe and to a one, they all have a weakness...and Lissom is no different. I'll find hers and exploit it before the snake ever gets a chance to put her venom to use." She smiled broadly and added, "I am the Royal Protector, after all."

Aeyon regarded her with something akin to awe and nodded, causing Lorio to momentarily regret offering a boast that she could, in all probability, never fulfill. "Okay, let's get back inside before Karosyn notices we're gone and begins to worry. I think this funeral has caused her all the grief she can handle, so let's not add to the burden."

His expression trusting, Aeyon nodded and the pair went back to join the charade of contrived sorrow.

3

On the night of the gala honouring Cortrin's Jerhia guests, a preoccupied Arminda waited for Opheile to make her grand descent. The day had been a hectic one for the increasingly impatient Maxim Tier Marshal, made all the more so by the arrival of two weary scouts, who carried with them a variety of disturbing news from neighbouring Emercia.

She and her Adjutant had been working in Opheile's office when the two exhausted women had stumbled in to deliver their troubling report. Arminda and Marangelies had exchanged identical expressions of incredulity upon learning that there had been a failed coup attempt in the Emercian Capital. The notion that anyone would plot to overthrow arguably the most popular and successful monarch the Antiquated World has ever seen was simply too ridiculous to contemplate...and yet, despite the paucity of specifics, this was precisely what had occurred.

The scouts had reported that the benevolent Queen had quelled the insurrection without bloodshed...and in its wake, she had simply exiled the perpetrators...rather than making the lot of them a blood-spattered example.

'Why am I not particularly surprised that Karosyn would find a way to be gracious and lenient even in the face of open insurrection,' Arminda had thought as she'd absorbed this astonishing detail, experiencing a flare of guilt over her odd disdain for Emercia's Queen. Though, again, the specifics were veiled in secrecy, the Queen's Seneschal had been the only casualty of the coup and though it could not be confirmed, it was rumoured that Karosyn's chief aide had taken her own life.

"A fair indicator that she had been the failed insurrection's chief architect," Marangelies had speculated, but Arminda had not been so certain. She tried to imagine what might provoke a rebellion in a country as unwaveringly stable and prosperous as Emercia...ruled by the most compassionate woman ever to hold a throne...and simply could not. This inability only exacerbated her mounting impatience.

Then the senior scout had withdrawn a folded sheet from her worn satchel and silently held it forth. Brow furrowing, Arminda had accepted the sheet and upon perusing its contents, it seemed that the hand of fate closed tightly about her throat. 'This...this can't be a mere coincidence. Something has brought me to this place...at this exact moment, for a purpose...albeit a frustratingly abstruse one.'

The benevolent Queen had issued a public proclamation to announce that Lorio had been named to the position of Royal Protector.

Even now, as she waited for the shimmering vision to make her appearance, Arminda could conceive of no rational explanation for why the benevolent Queen had taken this archaic measure. 'Why Lorio...and what exactly did Karosyn need protecting from that she would make such an overtly public display of heralding her selection?'

She could produce answers to neither question and her prevailing ignorance only added to Arminda's consternation. She knew only that something of grave consequence must have warranted this appointment...something so drastic that Lorio would accept the appointment, despite her zealous desire to escape all public notoriety.

And then there was the matter of Opheile...the beguiling creature who had opened her home to Arminda...and a wandering itinerant named Driss. Over the course of the afternoon and evening, Arminda had grappled with the complex issue of whether she should share this perplexing news with her hostess, oscillating between the conclusion that she had the right to be apprised of this news...and the certainty that Opheile would be wounded by the discovery that Lorio had forsaken her for an inexplicable obligation that even the worldly Arminda could not comprehend.

Waiting in the reception area for her gala partner to descend, Arminda had still not arrived at a decision, though she was leaning toward being forthcoming.

Then, Opheile Seznoire had made her slow descent down the Glass House's central stairway and all such considerations lost meaning. Her glittering blue eyes were set squarely upon the thoroughly transfixed Maxim Tier Marshal as she made her way down the carpeted stairs with the index finger of her right hand grazing the polished wooden banister and an indecipherable, but luminous half-smile shaping her generous mouth. Her hair cascaded over the shoulders of her silver fox coat, which was opened to reveal a gown of the deepest blue to rival her sapphire eyes.

In Jerhia, the concept of beauty was...incidental and physicality was valued more for characteristics such as agility, speed and strength: features that could be harnessed to the benefit of the collective purpose. Arminda was a pretty woman, just as Maroc had been a ruggedly handsome man, but these attributes were never held in high regard in a culture where capability trumped the random dispensations of birth as they pertained to appearance.

Now, however, as she watched this living vision of feminine perfection approach, her kohl-lidded eyes set squarely upon the Jerhia with a palpable weight that was undeniably...arousing, Arminda found herself effected by the irresistible spell that Opheile so effortlessly cast.

At the foot of the stairs, she stopped and holding her long arms slightly to the side, inquired, "Am I an acceptable escort for such an August gathering...and its guest of honour?"

"I sincerely doubt that anyone will actually notice my presence," a mesmerized Arminda replied and though she wore the impeccably polished and pressed regalia of her station, she felt invisible next to the radiant jewel who would serve as her escort for this gala.

Opheile leaned closer and further unsettled Arminda by kissing her right cheek and whispering, "Oh, believe me when I tell you, Maxim Tier Marshal, that every eye in Cortrin's great hall will be set squarely upon you and I on this evening."

With this, she linked her arm in the shorter Arminda's and the two women had went out to the waiting carriage that the city's mayor had dispatched to convey the guest of honour to the hall.

As Opheile had predicted, every eye was set squarely upon the pair as they made their entrance into the surprisingly lavish hall with its inscribed fluted columns and elaborate web of stone arches. Servants accepted Arminda's lined cape and Opheile's silver fox and it was then that the full weight of her beauty struck Arminda like the fall of a velvet hammer. The gown seemed to have been designed to enhance every contour of Opheile's exquisite body as did the strands of pearls that she had woven into the cascading waves of her lustrous chestnut hair. The light-stepped grace with which she moved on her sequinned heels only augmented this effect and as they were ushered to their designated spots on the dais, Arminda became aware that every eye was focused firmly upon the statuesque beauty beside her.

Once they were seated, Opheile leaned closer, the weight of her full breast conspicuous on Arminda's arm and whispered teasingly, "I do believe you've garnered a host of male admirers, Maxim Tier Marshal...I suspect that striking silver hair and sparkling blue eyes of your have left some positively drooling."

Then she had laughed and again brushed Arminda's cheeks with a kiss that left tongues wagging all about them. Shaking her head in bemusement, Arminda swept her gaze about the room, pleased that most of the Jerhia had deigned to make an appearance. The Jerhia were averse to galas and fetes, which most...women included...considered frivolous. Though she had not made attendance mandatory, she had made it clear to her troops that it would be considered an affront to their hosts if the vast majority of the fifteen hundred women did not attend the gala...which was being hosted in their honour.

Her trained eye informed her that nearly eighty percent of the force had heeded her call and now mingled among the local hosts. Most were in ceremonial uniform, but some had taken this rare occasion to purchase and don formal evening attire. The clusters of local dignitaries around some of the more attractive Jerhia made it obvious that what passed for the Cortrin elite were thoroughly fascinated by the presence of this contingent of elite female warriors.

The regional governor commenced the festivities with an ingratiating speech, concluding this greeting with the not so subtle message that he hoped, on behalf of Galloway, that the Jerhia would enjoy their stay in his country...however brief. Arminda had barely repressed a spate of laughter when Opheile had leaned closer and whispered, "I suspect that this concentration of such strong and daunting women in one place has left the local nobility randy...but thoroughly intimidated."

The mayor of Cortrin had followed, stealing frequent quizzical glances at the mysterious beauty beside the guest of honour as he spoke. Arminda wondered obliquely how Lorio would react to the lustful glances that Opheile was garnering, but then recalled that Lorio's was a pulchritude that would match that of the woman beside her. Still, she had little doubt that the increasingly reclusive immortal would shirk from the notoriety Opheile's lustrous presence was garnering.

When the mayor had concluded his decidedly unenthusiastic reception, Arminda was invited to take the podium and responded with an obligatory expression of gratitude, both sides propagating the charade that the hosts had any real choice in the matter of their guests' presence on Galloway soil.

Once the formalities had been dispensed with, the social event had commenced in earnest. Cortrin's orchestra was one of the finest that Arminda had ever heard, the symphonic strains sweeping through the hall like a delicate breeze, only to crescendo into an invigorating tempest of sound that stirred the heart, even as it shook the viscera.

The feast and wine were perfect matches for the invigorating music and despite her preoccupying concerns, Arminda was swept up in the magic of the moment...though nothing could possible rival the magic of the aura exuded by the scintillating woman who sat next to her.

Despite the palpable and distracting weight of the gaze that fell upon the beauty, Opheile's gaze was focused squarely upon Arminda. With her chin perched atop her right hand, she peered at Arminda as if the Maxim Tier Marshal was the only other person in the hall. Though this frank and unblinking regard made her nervous, like an ingenue amongst refined society, Arminda could not deny that this exclusive attention left her feeling giddy.

She fell completely under the perplexing spell Opheile was weaving when the beauty murmured, "You're going to ask me to dance now, Maxim Tier Marshal...prepared to be swept away."

It required only one elaborate turn about the parquet floor for Arminda to know that this had been no idle boast. Opheile was grace personified and as she subtlety led the less experienced Jerhia, the world about the pair seemed to recede, the faces about them becoming an indistinguishable blur. In truth, the thoroughly captivated Arminda seemed not to notice as she peered up into those deep blue eyes. In the dizzying rush of the intricate dances, all of which Opheile seemed to have mastered...and the exuberant texture of the music that seemed to flow around them in twists of vibrant colour, the aging Jerhia experienced a bitter-sweet epiphany.

'Not an epiphany, love,' the voice of Maroc's omnipresent ghost contradicted rather breathlessly as if he, too, had been swept up in the sweet tempest that was Opheile Seznoire. 'How often have you and I pondered the hollowness of the life we chose to lead in our fanatical obsession to duty...at the tragic expense of all of those things that endow life with its special meaning...its joy. In the company of this vibrant, unapologetically alive creature, this doleful truth has been made explicitly clear. All that we have lost, Arminda...but perhaps...it is not too late to salvage something from this sterile life you've led.'

This scathing repudiation of all they had held sacred...given by a man whom she had loved, but had never marshalled the courage to claim...beyond the ultimately unsatisfying bounds of friendship, lanced Arminda's heart like a rapier strike. Opheile noticed this inarticulate expression of acute pain and chided, "Now tell me if this is too much for you dear," and with a scandalous wink, added coyly, "in which case, we'll simply confine our dancing to the waltzes...which I sometimes prefer anyway...with the right company."

'And am I the right company,' Arminda had almost returned, but had avoided that inexplicable, maladroit stumble by shaking her head and smiling. "As I am...somewhat older, it may take me a while to limber up, but in time I'll keep pace...impertinent brat."

Opheile's eyes had popped comically wide and then she had thrown back her head and laughed unabashedly, while the pair continued to float and spin. Beyond that, time lost all meaning, becoming a dizzying swirl of sound, movement and the inebriating scent of Opheile's perfume...that left Arminda feeling anything but the aging, rigidly constrained woman she was. She was bemused to discover that the racing of her heart was not entirely due to the exerting pace her bewitching dance partner set as she glided the pair about the floor.

Finally, the orchestra paused and a shimmering Opheile led an deliriously happy Arminda back to their seats on the dais. Once seated, Opheile swept a decidedly mischievous gaze about the hall and then, before a mortified Arminda could react, the lovely brunette leaned forward and tenderly kissed the Maxim Tier Marshal on the slightly parted lips. Arminda's first horrified impulse was to disengage, but the shocking warmth generated by the exquisite sensation of Opheile's generous mouth pressed against hers rendered the Jerhia immobilized. After a moment, Opheile settled back into her seat and intoned gaily, "I do so love to be provocative...especially with such a thoroughly delightful co-conspirator. That should set their speculative tongues to wagging."

A crimson cheeked Arminda peered quickly about and noticed that every eye...including those of her troops...were set upon hers. Sensing Arminda's extreme discomfort beneath this scrutiny, Opheile observed soberly, "I didn't mean to unsettle you, Maxim Tier Marshal...or perhaps I did...but in an entirely different way."

"My soldiers expect a certain level of...decorum from their superiors," Arminda returned, more brusquely than she'd intended.

"And do you always do what is expected of you, Maxim Tier Marshal?" Opheile challenged. "It would hardly seem to me that a woman who has attained your rarified position would unlikely have done so by being timid...by meekly complying with expectations. Perhaps, I'm wrong...I know so little about your country's culture."

Arminda pursed her lips, wondering how an ordinary woman, for all of her exceptional beauty, could so easily unsettle one of the world's most powerful women.

'Because Opheile Seznoire is anything but ordinary, dear...and you are far too intelligent not to recognize that,' Maroc observed and she could almost picture his wry grin in response to her bemused reaction to Opheile's puzzling kiss.

Shaking her head, she demanded, "Why did you do that...kiss me?"

Opheile offered a nonchalant shrug, "Why not...you are my escort for the evening and I'm having a truly wonderful time. If you must have a reason, attribute it to over exuberance from the dancing. You really are too hard on yourself, dear...you're a wonderful dancer."

"You were discreetly leading me and you know it...but thank you for not making it obvious that I have two left feet."

Those great sapphire eyes fluttered and Opheile pressed her hand to her substantial chest. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Maxim Tier Marshal...you absolutely left me breathless."

Arminda could clearly picture Opheile weaving this spell on the imposing Lorio and wondered gravely what could possibly have compelled the immortal to leave. This evoked thoughts of Lorio's perplexing new assignment and she averted her eyes, lest the perceptive Opheile glean something of her inner turmoil. Groping for a change of topics, she remarked, "It seems that the orchestra has lost a bit of wind."

"Perhaps, but I would hazard a guess that the waltz portion of the night is about to commence...as a way of stoking the flames of the amorous activities that are likely to follow the conclusion of the night's festivities." When Arminda's smooth brow furrowed, Opheile chuckled and explained, "It is said that dancing is the vertical component of horizontal desire. Being in the vocation I am, I can attest to the fact that...for all of their proper behaviour, these nobles are a randy lot. Orchestra conductors know this as well. Rest while this interlude lasts, Maxim Tier Marshal...as I fully intend to waltz you into a stupor."

To Arminda's incredulous bemusement, she was forced to admit she was keenly looking forward to the prospect. Opheile folded her hands beneath her chin and prompted, "Tell me about your life, Arminda."

The Jerhia tilted her head and returned, "The account I gave about my time with Lorio pretty well summarizes the interesting parts...the time after was little more than an exercise in bureaucratic tedium, really."

Opheile wagged her head vigorously, "I'm not speaking of the Icon...but rather, the life of the woman I see so carefully constrained before me. Do you have a family, a husband...a wife?"

Arminda nearly sputtered at this last query. Though affairs between members of the same sex...especially women, an admitted double standard...were not prohibited...neither were they encouraged. "I'm afraid the answer would be no...thrice over. My family died during the Emerald Enchantress War...my brother and parents fed to Myrhia's dark ambition. As for a spouse...I'm afraid my career took priority...and it was the kind of priority that was all-consuming."

Opheile shook her head, clearing disapproving of this deliberate choice toward emotional isolation. Gravely, she observed, "That is truly tragic. Intimate kinship...especially with one for whom your soul is a perfect compliment...is life's greatest dispensation."

Always disdainful of what she'd perceived as starry-eyed romantic drivel, this remark...espoused by a woman for whom the concept of romantic devotion might well have been conceived...stung Arminda's heart. With a defensive note, The Jerhia retorted, "My career...what I've achieved in guiding Jerhia to a more modern sensibility...has been immensely rewarding."

"No doubt," Opheile allowed calmly, "But I wonder if it is an adequate substitute for the small, but soaring pleasure of having the arms of someone you love around you when the day's light fades from the sky." She shrugged, "I suppose, as you've experienced both...only you can answer that question on your behalf."

Had there been a subtle note of knowing sarcasm in her voice...tempered by a solicitous sorrow, which Arminda could never doubt was genuine? Just then, the orchestra resumed, sparing Arminda the dismal contemplation of the sterile cloister she'd made of her life. Opheile smiled gaily and springing to her feet, gracefully hauled Arminda to the dance floor. As the inn mistress had predicted, the boisterous dances gave way to slow, meticulous waltzes. Opheile drew the Maxim Tier Marshal to her and eschewing the deliberate distance that came with unfamiliarity, she pulled Arminda closer until the two were pressed tightly together, her free hand upon Arminda's neck. In a husky voice, she intoned, "Now dear, let us see who waltzes who to a stupor."

4

It was in the wee hours of the morning, when the complimentary carriage dropped the two revellers on the snow-encrusted sidewalk before the Glass House Inn, the lights within having long since fallen to darkness. Taking Arminda's hand, Opheile unlocked the main entrance door and deftly led the pair through the reception area and up the stairs to the hallway that branched in opposite directions toward their respective suite of rooms. A single arcane light crystal was affixed to the wall at the confluence of the staircase and the hallway. Arminda turned to Opheile, who was peering down at her with a frank, but indecipherable gaze that left the Jerhia feeling anxious. Unable to fathom the source of this anxiety, Arminda bowed to her host and offered, "Thank you, Opheile...I honestly can't recall the last time I've had such an enchanting evening."

"It doesn't have to end...here in this hallway," she returned, her tone even, yet nuanced by an emotion that Arminda could not divine.

Not certain how to construe this not so subtle overture, Arminda shook her head. "I really have an early day of it...perhaps we could take supper tomorrow night."

"Oh, we can do that, but for now..." Opheile gripped the shorter woman's shoulder and maneuvered her into the darkened corridor in the direction of her own suite of rooms. She then firmly pushed Arminda up against the wall and leaned into her. A startled Arminda peered up into large blue eyes that glittered despite the pervasive darkness.

An nascent emotion sprang to life in the pit of her being, but she still sputtered indignantly, "Opheile...what...what are you doing? This...this is not acceptable."

"On that count you're right," Opheile returned, easily holding the smaller woman in place with a forearm pressed across her chest and the other hand on the slight flare of Arminda's hips. "From the very instant you stepped into my office, I could glean your loneliness...the sorrowful emptiness behind this carefully manicured facade of competence...of unwavering power and control you project. It was heartbreaking...and considering what you've given to me...this insight into the woman who is my soul's perfect compliment...I won't have it...do you hear me, Arminda...I will not. I don't know what has induced you to live this way...isolated with this sense of cloying duty...but while you are under my roof, you will set these things aside."

Arminda wanted to reject this frank deconstruction...to push Opheile away and lash her with her indignant outrage. She was the Maxim Tier Marshal of Jerhia...one of history's Iconic figures! Yet, in such close proximity, Arminda was rendered helpless beneath Opheile Seznoire's solid weight, her fragrance...the enormity of her presence.

"I...I don't know what you...mean," was all that she could manage, scarcely recognizing her own voice as she offered this feeble protest.

Opheile pressed closer still and closed her fingers about Arminda's neck. "You've given Lorio to me...and spared her the agony of having to recount the horrors of her life...an ordeal that has tormented her since the day she and I first met. I...we are both eternally in your debt. So now, I am going to lead you down this hall...and into my bed. Now, tell me truthfully, Arminda...have you ever shared a bed with another man since you became this living symbol of duty and honour?"

Rather than emphatically reject this overture...Arminda moaned, "I've never been with another man...not ever...not with anyone."

Tone rife with genuine shock, Opheile demanded, "You've never loved anyone...truly."

Face burning with shame and grateful for the concealment of darkness, Arminda confessed tearfully, "There was a man...Maroc, my predecessor and mentor. We loved each other, but our sense of duty...of propriety kept us apart."

"Then let it be this Maroc that holds you, tonight."

"Please." The words came out in a choked rush, an admission that Arminda had felt certain she would rather die than permit, "I'm old and soft...and frightened."

Opheile huffed, her disdain evident as she replied, "Not so old or soft. You forget...I spent the last several bells with my hands roaming over your body as freely as circumstances permitted. As for frightened...there is no cause. As much as I want to take you to my bed and ravage you, I promise only to hold you...to let you experience what it is to sleep in the embrace of one who cares for you." With a husky growl, she added, "But should you muster the courage to want more, then I'm yours for the taking."

Shaking her head in wretched negation, even as her body began to thrum with an unfamiliar need, Arminda moaned, "Lorio is going to snap my neck like a dried twig."

Construing this as Arminda's capitulation, Opheile firmly took the smaller woman's hand and began to lead her deeper into the darkness, growling, "Lorio will do no such thing...Driss will do exactly what I tell her to do."

Succumbing utterly to Opheile's traducing sorcery, Arminda allowed herself to be led to Opheile's warm bed, where, as a testimony to her repressed nature, it would be three nights before she cast off her inhibitions and let Opheile do to her what she wished.

5

For Arminda, once a humble bow woman, then a member of the greatest epic adventure in recorded history and finally, the first woman to hold the reins of power in a CornerStone nation (mad Sygeanor not withstanding), the week proceeding the Gala was the most peculiar of her life. During the long days, she contrived ways of preventing her troops from falling victim to the pernicious effects of boredom as they languished in Cortrin...waiting for matters to clarify themselves in troubled Emercia. She would then pass her nights in the bed...and arms of a woman who gave all, save her heart, with wild abandon. There was an element of surreal fantasy to these wildly erotic nights and Arminda often felt certain that she would be jolted back to reality, to find herself dozing before a guttering fireplace like a doddering old man emerging from a dream of his distant youth. Instead, as was her custom, she would come awake in the depths of night, to find herself staring into the beautiful countenance of a sleeping Opheile Seznoire, cast in a silver light by the winter moonlight which tumbled through the frost glazed window next to the bed they shared.

In these moments of profound silence, momentarily freed from Opheile's beguiling aura, Arminda came to understand that she was serving as a surrogate for the woman whose conspicuous absence hovered over the Glass House Inn like a diaphanous shroud. In Arminda, the exquisite beauty sought a connection to the Lorio, who had left her bed to serve an incomprehensible purpose elsewhere. Rather than feel manipulated, Arminda felt suffused by a sense of joy...as fleeting as it must inevitably prove to be. She would go to her grave with an understanding of the ineffable contentment that comes in finding oneself in the arms of a soul-fated love...even if, for both, that love was vicarious. As she delved into Opheile's intoxicating flesh, Arminda was obliquely aware of the presence of both Lorio and Maroc, watching their intermingling with what she hoped was approval.

As the Jerhia watched her seductress slumber, she felt a sense of gratitude for being able to offer this intimate comfort to Opheile, who despite her outward veneer of composure and perseverance, was suffering acutely from Lorio's absence. The truth of this was written plainly in the frown that played over those eminently kissable lips as she slumbered. Another part of Arminda, the mercifully small, shrivelled part that had been twisted by envy...wanted to excoriate the flesh from Lorio's bones for provoking this sorrow in a woman who was as wholly undeserving of pain as any the Jerhia had ever met.

As she languished in the hypnotic warmth of this improbable dalliance, Arminda still had not shared news of Lorio's inexplicable appointment as the benevolent Queen's Royal Protector.

Like all improbable fantasy's, Arminda excursion into the simple joy of intimacy came to an abrupt and emphatic end.

A light snow was falling over Cortrin on the afternoon that an Emercian Messenger arrived at the Glass House Inn, carrying a communique from the Benevolent Queen. Arminda tore open the envelope and quickly read the brief message that had been written in the Queen's elegant handwriting. The words assailed her like a horde of Redian berserkers and it was a moment before she could face her Adjutant, who was watching her expectantly. In a hollow, dispassionate voice, Arminda instructed, "Prepare the troops, Adjutant. Insure that we are adequately provisioned for a nonstop dash to Nalosan...we will depart as soon as preparations are complete."

Sensing the Maxim Tier Marshal's disquiet, Marangelies had not inquired as to the communique's specific contents and had quickly departed to commence preparations. The Jerhia were a highly efficient, swiftly mobilized military machine...and once engaged, Arminda had little doubt that the fifteen hundred elite troops would be on the road to Nalosan before dawn.

'And how large a piece of my heart will I forever leave behind in my wake,' Arminda wondered dolefully and then rose to apprise Opheile of her imminent departure. She found the sapphire-eyed beauty labouring over the inn's ledgers in the room they'd shared. Opheile greeted the Jerhia with an affectionate smile that caused Arminda's heart to race even as she could feel her tenuous grip on composure begin to waver. Without preamble, Arminda announced, "I've come to tell you that you can reclaim your office...we'll be departing for Nalosan as soon as the troops have completed their preparations."

An anxious light stole into those limpid eyes and Opheile inquired with discernible reluctance, "What's happened...the snow seems to be intensifying."

Arminda glanced to the window, where, indeed, the snow had begun to fall into more insistent sheets. "The Emercian Queen has requested that I bring my expeditionary force to Nalosan with all possible haste. She did not, however, provide any elaboration on what has motivated her urgent summons."

Opheile shook her head slightly and traced the curve of her lower lip with the tip of her tongue in a rare overt gesture of nervousness. "Do you think this is...is related to why Lorio went to Nalosan?"

Arminda experienced an acute stab of pain, the likes of which she'd experienced only twice prior with the death of Maroc and a Metocan Mage named Emian, who had died at the hands of the very woman after whom Opheile was now inquiring. In the single fraught query, Arminda understood that she had been displaced from the circle of Opheile Seznoire's immediate concern. Somehow, she repressed the agonized grimace this evoked and managed, "I'm not certain, but Opheile...on my life and honour, I vow that I will find Lorio and make her return to you...even if it means having her bound and thrown over the rump of my horse to do it."

Opheile eyes grew comically wide and the improbable image broke the gravitas of the moment and both women burst into a comradely laughter...the kind shared between enduring friends. "Now that would certainly be a sight I would pay a small fortune to see."

She rose and emerging from behind her desk, she drew the shorter woman into an ardent embrace and kissed her. They remained in this posture of nuanced intimacy for several moments, until Opheile stepped back and intoned soberly, "Thank you."

Knowing precisely what it was for which Opheile was expressing her gratitude...this surrogacy which would stand amongst Arminda's most cherished memories, the Jerhia merely nodded and murmured thickly, "And I thank you, Opheile's Seznoire...what ever is to come, I sincerely hope that I can call you friend."

"Of the closest sort," Opheile replied with a conspiratorial wink. Arminda offered her host a deep bow and on legs made wooden with regret, she turned and strode to the door, but before she could make her exit, Opheile queried, "Arminda, you told me that this might be your last adventure...that it is your intention to return to Summergaden and pass the baton as it were...then what?"

Now Arminda could not repress the complex expression of nuanced sorrow that rippled across her face like a fast-breaking storm. "I suppose I'll return to the family's ancestral home in the mountains...perhaps pass the time by writing a musty memoir that can sit forgotten on library shelves."

This decidedly morose quip did not rouse the expected grin. Instead, Opheile tilted her head slightly and proposed, "What if I were to suggest an alternative...to whiling away the last of your years in the company of ghosts and slowly fading memories?"

To hear her greatest fear articulated so concisely caused Arminda to inhale sharply...the sound evoking images of a hissing kettle. Yet, beyond this terrible apprehension, she felt the rush of something akin to hope and managed, "What are you proposing?"

"When this is done...and you've rescued the Emercian Queen from her plight...and brought Lorio back to me...what is to prevent you from remaining here...in Cortrin...in the Glass House Inn...from making this your home. Lorio's rooms can become yours and you can live out your days amongst friends?"

The intensity in those large sapphire eyes made it incontrovertibly apparent that this was an offer given not out of obligation...but sincerity. Feeling that she was tottering on the edge of tears, Arminda instead conjured a brilliant smile and intoned fiercely, "Absolutely nothing!"

Opheile's grin became ebullient and she returned, "Then I look forward to all of us coming together in better days. Be well and be safe, Maxim Tier Marshal."

Arminda again bowed and took her leave...as an unexpectedly new and shining future unfurled before her...rife with the promise of quiet joy and contentment the likes of which she'd not imagined possible as she came to the final chapters of her epic life.

Chapter Twenty Two

1

The week that followed Lorio's appointment as Karosyn's Royal Protector would prove to be a period of anxious calm, yet during its course, three things would transpire that would exert, to varying degrees, an influence upon all that was to follow.

As promised, Lorio became The Queen's ubiquitous shadow, a function that, at times, clearly exasperated the queen as she went about her daily duties. Lorio stood over her shoulder; stoic and impassive, the daunting immortal radiated vague menace like heat from a hearth. At night, however, Karosyn's attitude toward her omnipresent shadow became more indulgent as the immortal facilitated her passionate need for Aeyon Wrey's quiet intellect and deft touch.

During the course of these seven days, As she watched Karosyn effortlessly charm everyone with whom she interacted, Lorio gained a deeper appreciation for the gracious Queen's unique gifts and inherent nobility. She came to see that Karosyn's compassion and grace were not carefully constructed facades...perfect veneers contrived with a mind to manipulate and traduce. The cynical immortal was genuinely shocked to discover that her host was a genuinely caring individual who sought to better the lives of those over whom she'd been given dominion. Her every action was taken with a conscious mind of the effect it would have on those lives...and in Karosyn Nierosean, she discerned no hint of the self-serving presumption and entitlement that characterized virtually every king or queen she'd ever encountered...herself included.

'As you look at the flawed, venal creatures whose lives you aspire to better, how can you not help but be bitterly disappointed?' Lorio wondered bleakly as she watched Karosyn try to instil her passionate convictions into her clearly dubious ministers from the corner of yet another drafty meeting hall. 'How frustrating it must be to see your every heartfelt desire for this utopia you clearly envision be undermined by spite and petulance...to consistently fail to impress upon those who serve you that there is a universal benefit to be gained by making life more bearable for all?'

The immortal grappled with these complex questions as she watched Karosyn, ever serene and patient, deal with subordinates, who Lorio would have thrashed for their petty intransigence. Yet Karosyn never seemed to tire of this passive resistance or become discouraged by the effort and though bemused by this inexhaustible fount of patience, Lorio's esteem for the extraordinarily virtuous woman grew...despite the intense (and ultimately, she now realized, unfair) grudge she'd harboured toward the woman.

When Karosyn became intractable in her insistence that Lorio allow her a small span of solitude, the immortal was rather perplexed to discover that she found herself drawn to Kammlogran's Royal Crypt...a cold and bleak place, deep within the castle's bowels, where those who had died while in service to the Queen were prepared for passage to the afterlife.

As puzzling as her choice of destination in which to pass her idle hours proved to be, it was the catalyst for having come here in the first place that was the most confounding...a mystery that even Lorio could not entirely unravel, despite have spent so many solitary hours in its consideration.

She stood here now, her breath rising in silver plumes even as her flesh was impervious to the bone-deep cold, peering unblinkingly down on the empty vessel of flesh of the perplexing Czefrina as if, in this ice-limed corpse, she could glean the prevailing truths that governed her own tumultuous life.

She reached out and laid her fingertips on Czefrina's rigid cheek, her expression mournful. As a punctuation on the ultimately destructive, obsessed life this tragic creature had led, Lorio had learned from the Queen that her body remained unclaimed...unwanted by her family. Lorio had initially been indifferent to this disclosure, but as time passed and she spent more time in the company of this abandoned vessel of flesh, the immortal came to develop a smouldering anger for those who had so callously discarded their own lost daughter.

She refused to believe that it had been Nayoro who had made this inexplicably ruthless decision, nor did she believe that her one-time regent and successor was even aware of what had befallen her granddaughter. The unflaggingly proper Nayoro would have personally rode across the entire continent to claim Czefrina's body had she been cognizant of this insufferably disrespectful abandonment.

Yet, Lorio also came to understand that there was more to her repeated visits to this dismal place than indignation over Czefrina's posthumous ill treatment. The erratic, tempestuous creature had been a living metaphor for Lorio's own woe-plagued existence...where flux and pain seemed to have been her constant companions.

That Czefrina had squandered her life in pursuit of a laughable myth that bore absolutely no resemblance to the doleful truth of who the immortal was struck Lorio as ineffably sad. Had not Nayoro disabused the legend addled child of her foolish misperception...when it became apparent that they were leading the sadly deluded girl down the slippery slope of obsessive madness? Knowing Nayoro as she did, it was unlikely that she would besmirch Lorio or disabuse the girl of her fantasy perceptions because loyalty was simply too deeply ingrained into her character...but Lorio had come to learn that loyalty could be a grave fault if it provoked blindness to the truth. Perhaps she had attempted to dissuade the girl from raising Lorio to the status of saintly icon and the girl had simply refused to be disabused. The young Lorio's experiences with Islena Doraux...her unshakable conviction in the saviour's innate infallibility...had demonstrated just how powerful and compelling delusion could be. Over the course of her life, Czefrina's fixation had assumed a perverse aspect, coloured by delusions of grandeur in which she would become this mythical incarnation's puppet master, who would bend the immortal to her will and make Lorio her pliable marionette. Eventually, the disgraced Lamish Princess had come to regard Lorio as Czefrina's instrument and gateway to the glory she'd been denied in the course of her normal life.

Lorio shook her head mournfully. After wasting her life in pursuit of a mad delusion, Czefrina had been reduced to this a chilling and unwanted lump of charnel, forgotten by those who had failed her. Grinding her teeth, Lorio knew that if she could put her fingers around Izrin's throat at this precise moment, poor Lamia would require a new king.

That anger was tempered by a nebulous sense of culpability as if she'd unwittingly been partly responsible for Czefrina's demise. The irrationality of this view did little to diminish its accompanying sense of guilt and Lorio came here daily as if seeking expiation...not only for this, but for every other impetuous, spiteful action she'd ever taken over the course of her often wretched existence.

And then there was the confounding mystery of Czefrina's death. Karosyn had claimed that Lorio had not killed Czefrina and on the surface, that did seem logical. The powder which the beaten Czefrina had tossed in her face, had plunged the immortal into unconsciousness, from which she had not emerged until that moment in the Queen's bed. Despite its logic, Lorio's instinct refuted its veracity. Karosyn had claimed that her powder was the likely culprit...that even a minuscule quantity could prove lethal to a mortal...and yet there was an air of prevarication to the Queen's claim of duplicity...as if she was deliberately attempting to deflect the blame onto herself.

'Even if you did kill her, it's not as if the demented bitch didn't deserve it,' the disdainful voice of Myrhia declared. 'Had it been me, I would have peeled the skin from her muscle in thin ribbons and then boiled her alive just for the exquisite pleasure of hearing her scream. That you are expending precious time mourning over her worthless corpse only demonstrates what a maudlin, sorry creature you've become. Prove that you are worthy of the mantle of Hybrid Morticant...urinate on her corpse and banish her from your memory.'

That her subconscious would propose this despicable course of action only confirmed that there was a darkness sequestered in the black pit of Lorio's scarified soul that would never be entirely banished. On impulse, she bent forward and bestowed and tender kiss on Czefrina's cold forehead and murmured, "You and I are sisters...and I will mourn your death...even if no one else will."

Lorio understood that this vow had been inspired by the stark realization that the only distinction been her and the forlorn creature lying on this mortician's slab was one of concern; Czefrina had been without a caring hand to guide her back into the light, while she had been blessed with first Issidris Il and now, Opheile Seznoire to guide her along the razor-edged path to redemption. Had the course of her life been different, it may well have been her lying on such a slab...unloved and quickly forgotten.

When Karosyn had informed the immortal that it was her intention to have Czefrina interred in a local cemetery reserved for nobles, Lorio had assiduously prevailed upon her to delay this decision. The Queen had met this puzzling request with a quizzical frown and had inquired why, to which the immortal had mumbled a convoluted explanation which had fooled the incisive Karosyn not a whit. Clearly troubled, Karosyn, sensing Lorio's exigent need was roused by desperation, had nonetheless acceded to Lorio's wishes and Czefrina remained in a purgatorial limbo.

Like many of the impulsive and inexplicable actions in Lorio's life, this hesitation in seeing Czefrina to her final rest would have dire consequences in the dark days to follow.

2

On the evening that Lorio had passed reflecting on the parallels between her often doleful life and the apparent path of her would-be mistress, Karosyn collected Aeyon from his suite of rooms and led him up to the darkened ramparts of Kammlogran...to the very spot where the darkest drama of the modern age had been resolved. He listened raptly while the Queen recounted the story of how Lorio and the mythical Islena Doraux had so cleverly vanquished Myrhia, thus saving the antiquated world, and possibly all worlds beyond, from the Emerald Enchantress' eternal darkness.

Karosyn noticed his incredulous, slightly puzzled expression as she'd imparted this epic-sounding postscript and laughed. "It's hard to seriously credit the existence of other lands beyond the one with which we are so familiar, much less other worlds. Yet, Islena Doraux...and, to a lesser extent, Stuart Macevey's existence is irrefutable proof that such worlds do exist...as remote and inaccessible as they may prove to be." She lifted her slender arm to the starry firmament and added thoughtfully, "Who can say what might lie beyond the stars, Aeyon...other than to surmise that there are endless possibilities to be imagined, constrained only by the limits we impose on what is and is not possible."

She stopped and smiled, "I'm sorry, Aeyon...every now and then I enjoy waxing philosophical...speculating on what might exist beyond the realm of my immediate concerns."

"I love to listen to you speak...you're like a living version of the archives and there is so much I can learn from just listening to you...watching you," he intoned quietly.

Karosyn laughed and placed an arm around his shoulder, hugging him affectionately, "You give me far too much credit, Aeyon. You and I share the same thirst to understand the way of things, as you once put it...and by slaking that thirst, we gain a small sliver of that understanding."

The young man accepted this snippet of wisdom thoughtfully, gratefully...as if he was being given something of immeasurable value. In the years since she'd renounced her role as Matrium, Karosyn had forgotten how much joy and satisfaction she derived from playing the role of mentor to formative, eager young minds. With her arm still about Aeyon's shoulders, Karosyn led the pair over to the crenelated battlements and they stood in silence, peering out over the Bay of Imerlac.

A chill, the harbinger of rabidly approaching winter, had stolen into the late evening air. In the heavens, a low moon cast a low slanting light over the calm waters of the bay. It fell upon the pair and as he stole furtive glances at the extraordinary woman who had taken him under her wing (and more astounding still, into her bed), it framed her in a blue-silver light that lent the beguiling beauty an oddly diaphanous aspect...as if she was a figment of his imagination. Her embrace refuted this idea as did the warmth that suffused his body, despite the damp chill.

In their time together, Aeyon's had come to understand that Karosyn would surreptitiously employ arcane arts to impart some manner of subtle comfort to those around her when there was a need. He knew, with equal and unequivocal certainty, that she did not do this with a mind to manipulate or control, but rather to provide solace with no debt of gratitude attached. She would quell the anxious...or warm the cold, just as she was doing now, inspired by a selfless concern for the wellbeing of all around her...a quality that, Aeyon's suspected, had never been reciprocated by many who benefited from her secret acts of kindness.

As she gazed out over the Bay or Imerlac, the perceptive Aeyon could clearly see a pensive aspect to her normally serene expression, hinting at a enormous burden that the likes of him could never begin to fathom. He wondered what it must be like to view the world from her lofty perspective, to carry the obligation of tending to the wellbeing of everyone over whom you held dominion...how was it possible to maintain an unwavering sense of compassion and concern beneath such a crushing weight...to not succumb to indifference and self-serving expedience. It was these small gestures of solace that confirmed Aeyon's belief that this was a weight that Karosyn carried with neither complaint nor dereliction.

Groping for a way to articulate both his concern and gratitude, Aeyon began, "This situation with Lissom, I can see how much it troubles you...and hurts you. I wish there was something I could do to help."

She regarded him with a narrowing of those lustrous blue eyes, clearly surprised by his observation. "Every moment we're together, I gain a deeper insight into how...incisive you are." Her tone become slightly chiding and she added, "except when it come to discerning your own nature and worth."

"I don't understand, Karosyn...there is so much I don't understand...that makes me feel ridiculous and out of place," Aeyon murmured, his voice hued in bitter self-recrimination.

She held him to arm's length and kissed his warm mouth, relishing his taste, wishing she could draw his essence into her lungs and hold him there...warded against the bitter disappointments that life would inevitably impart. With some reluctance, she stepped back and disclosed, "In Lissom, I see the living metaphor for my every failure...my every inadequacy. I cannot begin to express how grateful I am that you hold me in such high esteem, but don't let it blind you to the fact that I am all too fallible. To think that I am responsible for her every torment...for her having succumbed to the darkness...as unintentional as my culpability may have been...is well near unbearable. While all who serve me are preoccupied with contriving a way to defeat Lissom, I seek only to save her...to embrace her and provide her with the care and guidance I failed to impart when I served as her Matrium. The fear that I might fail in this endeavour, Aeyon, makes it difficult to even breathe. For the benefit of those who serve me, I must project an aura of unwavering composure. I'm not particularly surprised that you would be the one to see through this illusion."

Aeyon's heart twisted in his chest, contracting painfully in the face of her clear and acute anguish. As always, initiating overtures of affection required a monumental act of courage, but Aeyon summoned the temerity to step forward and, laying a hand tenderly along the angle of her cheek, kissed her mouth before remarking without platitude, "If anyone is capable of leading the lost back into the light...it's you. I hope the day comes when she sees just how fortunate she is to have you looking out for her wellbeing."

Karosyn inhaled sharply in the face of this surprisingly sophisticated articulation of confidence and she could feel her eyes begin to mist with the emotions that this humble young man seemed to evoke so easily. To disguise how profoundly his words had affected her, Karosyn reminded him, "I was also speaking of how you don't see yourself for the astounding young man you are. Indulge my digression, because when I'm with you I tend to gush expansively. There is a specific point to what I'm about to say. History is a malleable commodity, Aeyon...it is distorted, reconfigured to fit the imperative of the moment...softened and hardened for dramatic effect, until its recounting often bears little resemblance to actual events. We were speaking of the epic climax of the Emerald Enchantress wars and there is no example more perfectly suited to substantiate the point I'm stumbling to make. Only the stones and five sentient beings know what actually transpired here that morning. The stones are indifferent to the frenzied antics of we living things. That leaves five living beings to serve as the bearers of history. My husband, King Artumas, is dead. The vile Myrhia is forever imprisoned in stone. Islena Doraux has gone beyond the world and the Goddess, Otaru Ree has returned to her own domain beyond the Land of Shades...or so it is claimed. Even I have difficulty crediting that part of the tale," she confided. "That leaves only Lorio...and historians would have more success prying the tale from these stones than from our irascible guest, who was decimated by what she endured that day. Artumas provided the world with a version that closely resembles the truth...because history requires an account...a picture of events to propagate. Artumas shared the story with me...and tonight, I have shared it with you with only a small amount of selective editing to spare Lorio the possibility of further pain. Yes, even Artumas' account of those events may have been distorted by factors like the anxiety of the moment, or personal bias. Only these stones know for certain and they are forever stoic."

"So despite libraries full of history books and scrolls, it is never really possible to fully understand what transpired at any given moment...even if you were actually there to witness events?" Aeyon asked, his tone an amalgam of thoughtful musing and doubt.

"Precisely, my astute young friend," Karosyn exclaimed, delighted by his quickness in grasping salient points. She leaned closer and with a conspiratorial twinkle in her great blue eyes, whispered, "There are times when the things that exerted a powerful influence on the course of history...never come to the light...remain obscure, but crucial shapers of the course of destiny. I'm going to share a secret about that day, Aeyon...one that will demonstrate my point perfectly...a secret that I've shared with no one else...not even my late husband."

The idea that she would divulge such a secret...only to him...suffused the ingenuous young man with a quiet pride the likes of which he'd never before experienced and he nodded eagerly, transfixed by the spell she cast so effortlessly over his heart.

In the voice of a gifted spell-weaver, she began, "It is commonly held that the Sisters of Esotaria first arrived on these shores during the crisis with the demon-construct, Xhendyn, but in truth, we maintained a steady, but furtive presence in Emercia for nearly seven years prior to that dark period. We came in pursuit of Myrhia...let it suffice to say that there was a fraught history between the vile sorcerous and the Sisters. Someday, I will share the grim tale of that lamentable history, but for now, let's just say that it was her presence that drew us to these shores."

Enrapt, Aeyon nodded, her narrative transporting him back to a time in the Eastern Continent's history that few living today could scarcely imagine...though their parents and grandparents had lived through those bleak times. Karosyn inquired, "Have you read anything about a half-Ulgak named Sygeanor?"

"Only that she was once the Grand Mage of Metocan and that she conducted a horrible war against the Lamish. Emercia was a part of the coalition that helped defeat her if I recall correctly."

Karosyn's expression became mordant and she allowed, "That would be an exceedingly generous assessment of our contribution to Lamia's defence, but yes...Emercia was aligned against Sygeanor's deplorable campaign of cleansing. Sygeanor was a woman who allowed lust for revenge and festering bitterness to warp her perspective to the point of obsessive and evil madness. She was also one of the most powerful wielders of telekinesis to ever have lived."

"Telekinesis?" Aeyon echoed with a frown. There was something unpleasant in the sound of the word...it rang with the clatter of sharp edges and acute angles. "I'm not familiar with that term."

"Telekinesis is the ability to manipulate the physical world...to move or destroy objects...with the power of thought alone. Sygeanor possessed this talent in terrifying abundance.

"Why did Sygeanor despise Lamia so fervently...to the point that she would do something so horrible?"

"The answer to that sad query lies with the woman who is now my Royal Protector and was Lamia's Queen at the time. As I've said, Sygeanor was an irrationally bitter woman...and because of a particular incident from the Emerald Enchantress war, she focused all of her bitterness...her hatred on Lorio. She wanted only to kill Lorio and if that required the genocide of the entire Lamish population, it was an unconscionable extreme to which she was gladly willing to go."

"I've read many...conflicting accounts of how she died..." Aeyon remarked, realizing that this demonstrated the truth she'd being trying to make earlier regarding history's mercurial nature.

"I was not present for the end of this grim tale...I had left the Sisters...in disgrace and was serving my exile not far from Nalosan. King Artumas was present at the end of Sygeanor's failed war and he confirmed that the Goddess, Otaru Ree, cast Sygeanor into the great mother in a cocoon of fire. That seemed scarcely plausible, but my husband was not a man prone to embellishment. At any rate, I've gotten ahead of myself. The Sisters' first encounter with the deranged half-Ulgak came just a few weeks before Islena Doraux vanquished Myrhia where we now stand. Without miring the tale in superfluous detail, let it suffice to say that Sygeanor stole a valuable commodity from one of our sisters, killing her in a particularly gruesome fashion in the process."

"What did she take?" Aeyon asked with a perceptible shudder. Anyone foolish enough to make an enemy of the Sisters of Esotaria was mad indeed, to his way of thinking.

"Crates of clay from the mines of Redia...though this clay could hardly be described as ordinary. Among its other astounding qualities, this clay possessed the power to act as an...arcane amplifier...to vastly augment the power of sorcery. With it, Sygeanor's telekinetic powers would be enhanced to the point where she could turn a forest into a treeless plain...or level an entire city."

Sensing the ominous direction Karosyn's recounting was about to take, Aeyon could feel the hair on the nape of his neck stand forth. The exquisite blond nodded, "Picking up her trail, we followed her to Dizar Kor, where she commissioned a merchant vessel to take her and her precious clay to Nalosan...where it was her intention to level the city in a misguided attempt to destroy Myrhia...and Islena Doraux, whom she had come to regard as a threat to rival the one posed by the Enchantress. Lissom had the Sisters' ships pursue Sygeanor across the Bay of Imerlac. As Sygeanor prepared to unleash her havoc upon Nalosan, just as Islena and Myrhia were engaged in the denouement of their Great War, Lissom intervened and foiled her mad scheme. The Ascentrix had enshrouded the entire Bay in thick fog and so no one was ever the wiser of how close the city, and all who lived within, had come to absolute obliteration that day."

"And yet, Sygeanor survived and went on to become Grand Mage and wage her terrible war!" Aeyon observed quietly, confusion prominent on his handsome face.

Karosyn's expression became doleful. "Lamentably yes. Lissom's only concern was for finding and destroying Myrhia and she subscribed to the notion that it was not our mandate to interfere in the affairs of the Eastern Continent...and that Sygeanor had a...a role to play in its future that we could not compromise. That cold, clinical decision led directly to the horror and misery that would befall Lamia...and poor Lorio, over whom fate had already poured a disproportionate ocean of ill fortune. So now, Aeyon, you are party to a snippet of knowledge that the greatest historians and scholars will never know. My faith in your discretion is absolute, just as is my confidence that you will grasp why it is crucial that it remains a lost chapter of that time's bleak tale."

Aeyon considered this for several moments and then offered tentatively, "If this was to become common knowledge...there would be those who would see the Sisters' presence as meddlesome...dangerous."

"Precisely, Aeyon...and that would be a tragic turn of events...for all of the women and girls, mothers and daughters who will benefit from the Sisters' presence and guidance." When Aeyon signified his understanding with a resolved nod, Karosyn drew him into an embrace and ardently kissed his brow. "There is a parallel I am trying to convey between that snippet of hidden history...and the circumstances in which you and I now find ourselves."

Aeyon's brow furrowed in perplexity and Karosyn murmured, "Should I emerge on the other side of what is to come...this ineffably terrible moment of reckoning with my abandoned daughter, historians and scholars will never know that it was moments such as this one...as the intimate and joyous moments we spend in each other's arms...that will have provided me with the courage and strength to persevere....but we will, Aeyon...and that will be our secret...and I vow that I will never lose sight of the fact that you will have been my salvation."

Not certain how to respond to what must certainly be an effusive expression of gratitude...when it was glaringly obvious that it was he who had been blessed beyond any logical expectation by being allowed into her presence, Aeyon simply kissed Karosyn's inviting lips and caressed the angle of her cheek.

She pushed him to arm's length and regarded him with an incisive stare of appraisal. Evidently satisfied with what she'd seen, Karosyn intoned, "Tomorrow as we train, I am going to impart a particularly...difficult lesson to Lorio. I swear on my honour and life, that it will cause her no lasting harm, other than to abrade her rather massive ego. It is imperative that she comes to grasp certain prevailing realities...if we are to have any hope of overcoming the threat that Lissom may...may pose to my realm. I would excuse you from bearing witness to this lesson, but Lorio knows that you routinely attend my training sessions and she might be alerted that something is out of the ordinary if you fail to attend. I don't want you to be distressed by what you see, Aeyon...and I require your vow that you will make no attempt to intervene."

Despite his burgeoning disquiet, Aeyon returned, "I will do whatever you require of me, Karosyn."

The answering expression of tremendous relief on Karosyn's lovely countenance help placate Aeyon's anxiety and she declared blithely, "Very well...let us go and collect my Royal Protector from her dreary endeavour. The three of us can take supper and then...as I've taken a chill in this wretched cold, you and I can concoct a mutually pleasing way of raising my temperature."

As she led him back into the inviting warmth of Kammlogran's interior, Aeyon's mounting anticipation at the prospect of her ardent touch was tempered by concern for Lorio, a creature, whom he had come to suspect had been scarred beyond his capacity to comprehend.

3

The night was starless, and the ocean tranquil...peaceful as if the deity who held dominion over the water and all that dwelt within had fallen to slumber. The clouds provided the ideal cover for the odious business that was about to be conducted in this secluded cove along the northeastern coast of Emercia. Without visible means of propulsion, a single ship, without mast...its hull and deck painted a black to match the impenetrable heavens, glided into the calm waters of the cove and was deftly maneuvered into a position so that the hull's length ran parallel to the strand of beach. A single figure emerged from the ship's interior and stood near the railing, staring intently at the deserted shore. The figure gestured and a second figure, this one considerably taller than the first, hurried across to join the summoner. Once the tall figure had come abreast of the other, it sank to its knees and settled into a posture of docile subservience...head bowed, shoulders slumped.

Lissom gazed down at her devoted servant and patted him gently on the head...a patronizing gestures suited to affection bestowed upon a pet. With feigned empathy, she cooed, "Poor Tarim...how acutely painfully it must be to kneel in such close proximity to your home...and be unable to reach it. Does my collar chaff your throat, Tarim? If I gave you leave, would you tear it off and jump into the surf...return to whatever ultimately inconsequential life you led before I endowed you with purpose...forget me, except in nightmares?"

"No!" He cried with as much vehemence as he dared. "I live to serve you...to please you...I am yours. I am your Thringan Brauy and nothing more."

She placed an index finger beneath his chin and gently lifted his gaze to hers. "And nothing less...because in the world I will fashion, your position is the highest honour to which wretched men may aspire."

He nodded with as much enthusiasm as he could muster and she favoured him with a scintillating smile. She wore the face of the carnal goddess tonight, fulsome blue-eyed, wheaten-haired beauty personified...just as she had for the previous enactments of this perplexing and troublesome ritual. The gentle breeze ruffled her long blond tresses as they flowed over her armoured shoulders and back. He wondered obliquely why she chose this particular incarnation for the enactment of this baffling ritual the purpose of which continued to mystify Tarim, despite the time he'd devoted to unearthing its puzzling purpose.

She straightened and extended a slender arm toward the shore. In response, a diaphanous blue light coalesced near the gap in the railing where the gangplank would be affixed upon disembarking. The single spark expanded to form a line that spanned the width of the gap and then began to extend toward the distant shoreline as if an invisible presence was unfurling a carpet composed entirely of muted blue light.

Enthralled, Tarim watched as it extended all the way to the distant shore. Despite the atavistic terror this indecipherable and remorseless creature inspired in the cooper's apprentice, Tarim Wrey could not help but regard her astounding feats of sorcery with awe.

'What this woman could accomplish if she would turn this power to the purpose of bettering the lot of those in need,' a transfixed Tarim pondered...a surprisingly sophisticated consideration for a man whose life had been devoted to hedonism. 'Perhaps, but time spent in this manner of company...and circumstances such as mine...can radically alter perspective.'

Lissom seemed to glean his inner bemusement because she again patted the top of his head and murmured, "Don't fret, pretty man...your homecoming is not far off and when it comes, it will be at the shoulder of the most powerful creature walking the face of this world."

She then affixed his leash to the railing and then declared, "Settle back and witness my mastery, Tarim. Once we are again underway, you may express your gratitude...at length."

With this, she strode to the bulkhead that led down into the hold where they would be waiting. The bulk head door flew open in response to a slight gesture from Lissom's small left hand and a pair of the terrifying Decipara Mirhac Ehkar floated out into the night air. Behind them came the first of the legion of the damned, shambling in pairs up onto the lacquered deck. Gone were the rags, cloying body odour and accumulated filth and grime of their ordeal. The men were scrupulously washed and attired in black cotton clothing and black boots of a material Tarim did not recognize. Only their deathly pallor and vacant eyes gave any indication that these were anything but ordinary men.

With two of what Tarim had come to refer to as the ghost guard leading the way, this procession of the damned started down the arcane gangplank toward the shore. Lissom lifted from the deck, rose above the scrolled railing and out over the water as if borne on the breeze.

Two more Decipara Mirhac Ehkar followed in the wake of the procession, though Tarim thought their daunting presence was an unnecessary precaution. The members of the shambling procession had been so thoroughly broken...their wills so absolutely decimated...that any thoughts of defiance or flight were impossible. Upon reaching the golden sands, the men spread out along the shore and stood with their hands clasped before them, staring fixedly upon the approaching woman who had so savagely emasculated them.

As she hovered in the air, Lissom began to glow until she was surrounding in a golden effulgence that cast a ghostly light over the length of the strand. Every eye widened as that golden effulgence flared to a blinding magnitude...but Tarim noticed that not a single eye was averted, despite the intensity of this eruption. Instead, a collective sigh tumbled from every slack mouth, though whether it was a sigh of despair...or gratitude Tarim could not discern.

He was, however, perceptive enough to glean that, in that moment, Lissom had inculcated a powerful compulsion deep into the meat and marrow of each of these utterly ruined wretches...filling their shattered consciousness with an image and a specific set of instructions that they would fulfill or die trying in the effort.

"Go now...dwell in shadow and let no other living thing see your faces...until I give you leave to unleash the full measure of your hatred upon the one whose face burns in your mind's eye!" Lissom roared, her voice cold and implacable. To a one, each man offered their tormentor a deferential bow and spinning, set off at a lope. Soon, they were swallowed by the voracious darkness...moving to fulfil their instilled imperative with a single-mindedness that only death could forestall.

Confounded by the purpose of this emancipation of her broken captives, Tarim watched as the ghost guards dissolved in an elaborate swirl, only to appear on the deck near where he knelt only seconds later. Lissom remained hovering over the water for several moments, causing Tarim to reflect on the shape and inclination of the thoughts that might preoccupy this living hieroglyph.

Finally, the eerie blue gangplank retracted and then vanished and Lissom floated back to the ship, where she came to land on the deck next to Tarim. She collected his leash and slipped it over her small wrist. Her voice was oddly muted, when she intoned, "Come, my Thringan Brauy, these moments of parting always leave me feeling maudlin...like a mother seeing her young out into the world, knowing full well that it may consume them whole...and I am in need of a comforting touch."

She gave his collar a slight tug and he rose obediently, feeling his body stirring to her purpose of its own volition.

While he ardently set about pleasing his mistress, the detached part of Tarim's mind pondered the riddle of the ritual he'd witnessed this night...and for the six nights preceding this one.

4

Yet another tedious meeting and another occasion to propagate the absurd charade that she had insisted playing. Lorio stood in the corner of the chamber, which was cloyingly warm, despite the vaulted ceilings, silently watching the intense discussion between Queen Karosyn, her handsome Regent, Kyrin and Bethany Denay and the senior Stealth Ranger and Battle Mage in Emercia. The Battle Mage, Enyara, Lorio believed she was called, had a flowing mane of fiery red hair and flashing green eyes that evoked images of Islena Doraux...and a decidedly non-deferential disposition to match. She conducted herself with the same arrogant self-assurance that had once drawn a very naive young girl to the saviour and was just as vociferous in stating her opinion with little deference given to either the clearly-bemused Bethany Denay...or the Queen, herself.

To ward herself against the boredom, that threatened to reduce her to a fit of raving over having suffered through dozens of such meeting these last few days, Lorio constructed elaborate scenarios in which she would drag the fire-haired beauty into an empty bedchamber and emphatically wipe that expression of smug self-assurance from her face.

A segment of her mind balked at these flagrant flights of infidelity, but she ruthlessly pushed them back into her subconsciousness...knowing that to entertain them...and their cause, could be her undoing.

While a clearly displeased Karosyn listened, Enyara was engaged in a heated debate with General Kyrin and the Elder Guide regarding the posture The Battle Mages would take once Lissom reached Nalosan.

"The instant the first ship touches the quay, our Battle Mages should emerge and set them ablaze...seize the initiative. Allow me to gather two cadres of mages I trust and Lissom and her murderous whores will never see landfall," Enyara insisted, her tone assiduous and devoid of any hint of deference.

'Now, here is a creature with fire!' Lorio thought appreciatively, even as her exterior demeanour remained impassive. 'She and I would be great friends...or even better enemies. You have an abrasive attitude to rival Islena at her worst...or best...I can't decide...but you, I like.'

Bethany Denay appeared on the verge of apoplexy at her Battle Mage's flagrant discourtesy, while the stealth ranger, whose name Lorio could not recall, wore the slightest hint of an amused grin, perhaps accustomed to Enyara's inflammatory antics. General Kyrin's gaze remained glued to the spread of maps as if he desperately wanted to avoid becoming embroiled in this discussion.

Karosyn shook her head and in an atypically glacial voice, declared, "May I remind you, First Battle Mage, that I have invited Lissom to Nalosan for the purpose of striking what is effectively a diplomatic accord. While it may seem strategically prudent to spring an ambush upon my invited guests upon their arrival, it would be a reprehensible act beyond the pall of any acceptable measure of civility."

Rather than be chastened by this rebuke, Enyara leaned forward, her full bosom straining at her robe as it rose and fell in cadence to her impassioned breathing, and planted her fists on the map. Lorio could not help but smile when she actually fixed the Queen with a glare of disdain, those exquisite green eyes flashing, and retorted gruffly. "My pardon, Matrium...but I sincerely doubt that a guest would require a thousand ship escort. This reprobate is coming here to wage war...and as we have already established that Lissom is a power without equal...our only chance to prevent being obliterated...is to strike first...and strike emphatically!"

"First Battle Mage, that is quite enough...you may leave and find a cloister where you may ponder your flagrant disrespect until I come to retrieve you," Bethany commanded, her complexion a high, hectic red.

"No," Karosyn interjected, her tone flat and uncompromising.

'Oh my, the delight you're going to have with this one,' Lorio thought, wondering if the Queen was regretting her decision to resume her duties as Matrium.

The Queen strode around the table and came to stand directly before Enyara over whom she towered by a full hand. To the flame-haired woman's credit, she refused to avert her gaze and met Karosyn's regard with green-eyed defiance. "I have also made it explicitly clear, First Battle Mage, that it is my intention to extend an olive branch to Lissom, who remains the guiding authority of this order...until Gyzarayne decides otherwise. Our order, Enyara, is founded on the concept of principle and probity. Incinerating women in their ships...women who have come in response to a summons...is the action of an odious miscreant. That you would even propose such a thing raises dire questions about your suitability to hold the station you do."

Enyara shook her head, dismay bleeding into her defiant tone. "I will not apologize for being practical. You would sacrifice our sisters and the people of Emercia in the name of probity and principle. You have asked for my input and so I will tell you...once Lissom disembarks her thousands of ships on your shores...Emercia will become a blood-painted abattoir...all because you could not deviate from your precious principles and do what it is glaringly apparent has now become necessary."

Karosyn's posture became livid and turning to General Kyrin, she demanded, "And what is your perspective on my pugnacious Battle Mage's proposed course of action?"

Lorio could see that Kyrin's discomfort was near excruciating, but he replied, "As you have said, your highness, while such tactics may...may be advantageous, they would sully the honour of those who employ them."

Karosyn nodded and fixed Enyara with a vindicated glare, but then the Regent added, "Still, as the First Battle Mage has pointed out, the size of the Ascentrix' flotilla makes it improbable that she is coming to Nalosan with a mind to seeking an amicable accord."

Karosyn's mouth puckered into a sour frown and she waved a hand. "Enough, I will hear no further talk of barbaric ambushes. My position remains the same...we will greet my guest...and your superior with benevolent intention...while making contingency plans that do not damn our souls." To Enyara, Karosyn growled, "Once this meeting is complete, you and I will speak at length...about your moral compass."

Lorio could see that the First Battle Mage restrained the acerbic retort that was poised on her tongue by the narrowest of margins, but it was evident that she would invite the dialogue. Lorio could almost feel a certain sympathy for Karosyn...wondering if anyone had ever rankled her composure as soundly as this recalcitrant flame-haired beauty.

'I suspect that answer to that question would be...you!' Issidris observed with a touch of irony. 'While this woman's fiery disposition and beauty is appealing, don't let it distract you from the significance of this thousand ships she's mentioned...a fact of which you are conspicuously unaware.'

Lorio blinked, astounded by her distraction in the face of something so alarming. Karosyn had returned to her original position and after lashing Enyara with a baleful glare, invited, "In light of this disturbing development, is there any other action we should contemplate that does not involve wholesale slaughter? Enyara, I do welcome your contribution...asking only that you restrain your bloodlust."

For the first time, the contentious beauty seemed unsettled and responded with a muted nod. It was General Kyrin who spoke next, "You Highness, would this not be an ideal moment to invite the Jerhia Expeditionary Force to come to Nalosan?"

Lorio shook her head, flummoxed by the mention of another incredibly consequential fact of which she'd not been made aware. Anger by this apparent slight, the immortal leaned her quarter staff against the wall and strode purposefully to the table, declaring gruffly, "Enough of this dog-spawned charade." Turning her blazing regard upon the Emercia Queen, whose brow had furrowed menacingly, she demanded, "What is the pretty man talking about...and for that matter, what is this thousand ship flotilla this lovely razor beside me has mentioned?"

"This was not our agreement, Lorio," Karosyn returned, her voice tight and brittle...skirting the edge of eruption.

At the mention of her name, Lorio could feel the contentious fire-haired beauty's blazing regard on the side of her face, which she ignored with some effort. With a belligerent snarl, Lorio spat, "Our agreement be damned, it was insulting and reductive anyway. Tell me what has happened...you laud me as the great icon from a time when crisis such as this were a matter of course...then perhaps it's time you started treating me as if you believe it. Tell me what is happening, Karosyn!"

Karosyn glowered for a moment, but then bowed her head. With a doleful sigh, she disclosed. "Enyara is speaking of the news the Elder Guide received late yesterday...from a chapter house near the coast. A fisherman reported seeing a huge fleet of ships sailing along the coast...that stretched from horizon to horizon, as he put it in his report to the local watch. The watch commander had the foresight to relay the news to the local chapter of the Sisters with a mind to conveying it to us."

"And you think this account is credible?" Lorio demanded anxiously, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Given that the fisherman described the ships in great detail and that they matched the Sisters' arcane vessels...yes. He also made mention of huge Galleons that resembled those utilized by the Majeeri during their invasion of Galloway. It seems that Lissom is coming with an escort."

Lorio shifted her incredulous gaze to Enyara, who pursed her lips and offered Lorio a vindicated flash of those hypnotic green eyes. To Karosyn, she replied, "A naively innocuous way of describing it. What of this force of Jerhia?"

Karosyn's expression became mordant and she snapped, "It seemed that everyone in this room...with the exception of my Regent...has lost sight of who holds authority here!" She shook her head ruefully, but then divulged, "Maxim Tier Marshal Arminda is presently sitting in Galloway, along with a force of fifteen hundred elite female Jerhia warriors, awaiting my permission to enter Emercia. She is coming with a mind to renewing diplomatic ties between our countries and establishing joint initiatives on bettering the lot of women in the Antiquated World. This is why her escort is comprised exclusively of female soldiers."

Lorio shook her head in utter astonishment, "Then why is she languishing in Galloway?"

"I thought that, in light of the delicacy of the situation with Lissom, she might interpret the presence of a foreign military as decidedly adversarial," Karosyn allowed, a slight note of defensiveness in her tone as if she'd already gleaned Lorio's likely response.

The immortal did, indeed, stare at Karosyn as if she possessed the mental acuity of a granite block. In a low, intractable voice, she advised, "Bring them here, now." When the Queen still appeared ambivalent, Lorio slammed her palm down on the table and exclaimed, "Your guilt is like an anchor that will drag us all into the abyss, Karosyn. Enough...think like a Queen!"

The silence that followed this incredibly provocative castigation was profound in its completeness. Even the contentious Enyara was regarding Lorio with shocked incredulity.

'I believe you've gone too far...as is your habit!' Issidris observed warily.

The livid expression on Karosyn's lovely face, when combined with her rigid posture confirmed this lamentable truth. In her haste to assiduously make her point, Lorio had inflicted a incisive wound on the undeserving Queen. Knowing that a sincere gesture of contrition was required, Lorio offered solemnly, "I plead your pardon, your highness...that was despicable."

As if she had not spoken, Karosyn spoke in a voice that was wooden with indignation, "From anyone else, your callous words would have been flagrant discourtesy. From you...they are unconscionable!"

The hall was plunged into a tense silence as the six stood as unmoving as statuary. Finally, setting aside her aversion to gestures of abjection, Lorio moved around the table and coming to stand before the outraged Karosyn, the immortal sank to her knees and taking Karosyn's hand in hers, pressed her forehead to the supple flesh and intoned with all the deference she could conjure, "Forgive me, your highness."

Karosyn, who was all too familiar with Lorio's penchant for ill-considered words and deeds, returned sourly, "Even my patience has its limits, Lorio...and I trust I needn't remind you of what may happen when those limits are surpassed."

Lorio's gaze snapped up to Karosyn, who was peering down upon her with a decidedly imperious grin. A moment of perfect empathy passed between the pair and Lorio nodded and grumbled, "You need not, indeed."

"Very well, then get up from your knees...grovelling does not suit you."

'Ah, so, despite your decorum, you're not above a little petulant payback,' Lorio thought approvingly as she rose to her feet. She turned a sheepish grin at Enyara, who tossed her flaming mane and glanced away in obvious disgust, as if Lorio had shamefully debased herself by expressing remorse for her discourtesy.

"Very well, so if I decide to invite the Jerhia force onto Emercian soil...will the Maxim Tier Marshal be amenable to my terms?" Karosyn asked and Lorio reluctantly shifted her gaze away from the green-eyes firebrand.

"If she can be shown the logic of a course of action, Arminda has an open mind. Reasoning and good judgement are just a few of her many strengths!" Lorio declared with a confidence that she did not feel. She had not passed any considerable length of time in the Jerhia's company for nearly fifty years and so this presumption of understanding and familiarity was baseless, but it was critical that Karosyn be made to see the benefits of have a Jerhia force at her back.

"My greatest fear is that the presence of a sizeable contingent of foreign troops might be construed as threatening by Lissom in the delicate negotiations to come," Karosyn observed, earning a subtle frown of disgust from her First Battle Mage.

"Then have them integrated into elements of the Emercian military. If you credit nothing else, the Jerhia are the most lethally component conventional troops in the known world...and if these women represent the elite of that country's military, they will prove invaluable...should events not unfold as you desire," Lorio remarked evenly.

"Do you really believe that The Maxim Tier Marshal will acquiesce to ceding command of her troops to General Kyrin?" Karosyn inquired, her sharp tone conveying her skepticism.

"Again, Arminda is driven by logic and if you can demonstrate the value of such a course of action...then yes, I believe she could agree. I might be able to help in that regard."

This last remarked earned a sour scowl from the Emercian Queen, who pursed her full lips and turned back to the table. "Very well, let us bring this meeting to an end. I will return to Kammlogran and draft a communique to the Maxim Tier Marshal requesting that she bring her expeditionary force to Nalosan with all possible haste. Regent, you will remain here and finalize your requirements for stealth rangers and battle mages with The Elder Guide. Bethany, I fully expect that you will comply with General Kyrin's needs. Again, discretion must govern your every action...but not at the expense of preparedness."

All present smiled, knowing that the Queen had just made a major concession with this final remark. "Very well, I grow tired of discussion. I will return to Kammlogran." When Lorio turned to retrieve her quarter staff, Karosyn clutched her left bicep and in a voice that left no latitude for discussion, commanded, "You will find your own way back to Kammlogran...perhaps the lengthy walk will provide you with a space of time to reflect on your behaviour and its potential consequences. I expect you in the training hall tomorrow morning at the ninth bell...until then, you are free to do as you please."

Without sparing the others a glance, the clearly vexed Queen strode toward the chamber door. In a voice that was prim and innocent, Enyara remarked, "Matrium, did you not wish to discuss my...attitude?"

Karosyn flung a dismissive hand out and without looking back, rasped, "Another time, First Battle Mage...I've had my fill of impudent subordinates for one day."

Then she was gone, leaving the five to ponder her uncharacteristically overt display of impatience and irritation.

For a protracted moment, no one spoke and finally it was General Kyrin who intoned solemnly, "I do believe that we have profoundly offended the Queen...your Matrium. Considering that she would never treat another living soul thusly, I for one feel deeply ashamed."

The Elder Guide nodded her concurrence and turning to a clearly unapologetic Enyara and the other two, Bethany instructed brusquely, "The General and I will continue this discussion, while you Firsts may return to your duties." To Lorio, she remarked sourly, "You may see your way back to Kammlogran at your leisure."

Lorio glowered at this demeaning dismissal, but nonetheless moved toward the door, the Two Firsts hard on her heels. In the corridor, the First Stealth Ranger offered Enyara a slight bow and ignoring Lorio, strode briskly away.

"Jealous bitch," Enyara muttered mordantly, drawing a shocked glance from Lorio. When the First Battle Mage noticed Lorio's questioning regard, she shrugged and offered, "She thinks that being ingratiating toward the Elder Guide will win her sorry group of inferiors respect. Bah. Speaking of fawning, I had heard tell that you were a hellion with little regard for rankling the sensitive feelings of the likes of delicate Karosyn. I thought you were going to kiss her pert bottom for a moment."

Lorio's eyes grew comically wide at this blatant insult, but Enyara only offered her a disdainful smile and a heart stopping flash of those great green eyes. Then, with a toss of that cascading mane of fire, she turned and began to march away.

Mesmerized by the enticing sway of tight hips, Lorio could feel her pulse begin to race and Issidris, a shocking note of alarm in her gruff voice, cautioned, 'Take a care, Lorio. While both Opheile and I have exerted a...calming influence on your nature...this tempestuous creature will provoke the darkest demons of your soul.'

This came to the immortal as a barely audible whisper heard down the length of an impossibly long corridor. In this green-eyed, flame-haired, wild-spirited beauty, Lorio perceived an incarnation of her greatest weakness...a recollection that occluded all caution and common sense. On impulse, she called, "How are you disposed toward a flagon of ale in an unsavoury tavern and all of the things that might follow such an adventure?"

Enyara came to an abrupt halt and slowly turned, her expression a volatile mix of anger and incredulity. She marched back to Lorio, who stood a hand taller than the slender woman, and when she was directly before the immortal, abruptly slapped her face. To a shocked (an privately aroused) Lorio, she growled, "That was for making such a salacious proposal to a woman of my standing."

She then stood on tip toes and bestowed an ardent kiss on the cheek she'd just struck. "That...is for seeing the woman behind the facade."

She further unsettled an enthralled Lorio by reaching around the immortal's hips and giving her firm bottom an appreciative squeeze. With a wicked grin, she said, "Let me collect my cloak and then the two of us will go off on this adventure of yours."

Chapter Twenty Three

1

"I hope you don't expect me to be in awe of this legend of yours...like some smitten ingenue?" Enyara inquired in her challenging tone.

Lorio took a long draft of her ale to quell her roiling nerves, thinking that she was the one in danger of being awestruck, and then returned, "Something tells me that there is virtually nothing that would hold you in awe."

This drew a genuine peel of laughter from the wild creature, who tossed that great mane and took a long draught of her own ale.

They had left the chapter house and once it had receded out of eyesight, the tempestuous redhead had linked her arm in Lorio's and observed, "Now, when you say unsavoury...just how seedy do you prefer your ale houses?"

Lorio's returned a wicked grin to match the startling Enyara's and replied, "A place where they might be so obtuse as to mistake us for a pair of lost innocents...and try to take liberties with us...where we might crack a few skulls. I assume you're equal to the task...should it come to that."

"Oh, raven hair, you have no idea just how equal to that task I am...my temper is a perfect match for my hair!" Enyara returned with a wild grin that left Lorio wondering how the Sisters could ever have elevated this tempestuous creature to the rank of First Battle Mage. If this woman was as easily provoked and volatile as her behaviour suggested, she might be completely ungovernable under the right circumstances.

'Just like Islena was,' her racing mind offered, making the obvious juxtaposition.

The Battle Mage led Lorio to what passed for the seedy section of the city, though Lorio noted that this was a noble's quarter compared to many of the sties through which she and Issidris had passed during their rambling years together. Still, the ramshackle buildings exuded the expected combination of penury and its inevitable twin, danger, as sly and greedy eyes tracked the two women's passage from every doorway and alley. Enyara displayed no hint of wariness over this scrutiny as if these slums were her natural habitat.

They finally arrived without incident at a particularly decrepit building, with peeling shingles and grime-occluded windows. The inside was very much the same with a low ceiling, and woefully inadequate light that at least concealed the ale house's shocking state on uncleanliness. The barkeep raised his head as the two women entered, his craggy brow furrowing as if their improbable presence might signal the onset of serious trouble. His pig small eyes narrowed when they fell upon Lorio's quarter staff and he grumbled, "You'll have to leave that behind the bar if you wanna drink here."

Before Lorio could raise a scathing objection, the burly man's entire body contracted into a knot and his eyes bulged as if they were about to extrude from their sockets. Enyara leaned across the bar and in a stage whisper, inquired, "Would you consider making an exception for my friend and me? After all, it would be indecent to leave two helpless women utterly defenceless amidst the wolves that inhabit this den."

Lorio pursed her lips, gleaning the crackle of sorcery. It became evident that the fiery Enyara had no scruples about employing sorcery to have her way and Issidris' admonition echoed anew in her mind. Enyara released the barkeep, who sagged and nodded, averting his eyes in the face of this terrifying she-demon. The First Battle Mage smiled and ordered two flagons of ale, which the barkeep quickly fetched. When Enyara doled out the requisite coppers, the barkeep shook his head and pleaded, "On the house...just...just don't make no trouble...okay?"

Enyara pressed her hand to her substantial bosom and chirped, "Why, we'll be the very models of courtesy."

The exchange had not gone unnoticed and when the two women collected their ale and ventured deeper into the busy ale house, its denizens quickly parted before the pair to allow them passage. Enyara led Lorio to a back table that was separated from the rest of the common area by a partial wall. She gestured Lorio into a seat, but before she joined her, a rueful expression surfaced on her lovely, angular face and she stood regarding Lorio with her fists on tight hips. Shaking her head in apparent consternation, she instructed, "Bend your head forward!"

When Lorio only continued to regard her questioningly, Enyara rolled her great emerald eyes and rasped, "Don't be tedious...bow your head."

Lorio continued to peer up at the assertive creature, but finally relented and bowed her head. With deft fingers, Enyara unfastened the clips of Lorio's braid sleeve and removed it. She then undid the cables and running her fingers through the bemused immortal's thick mane, brushed them out over Lorio's shoulders until her tresses cascaded like dark water. Finally, taking her seat, Enyara remarked, "Much better...hiding such beauty to effect the look of masculinity is offensive. I prefer the women with whom I keep company to resemble women...especially when they're as beautiful as you are."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Lorio retorted, "And you predict that I will be keeping company with you?"

Enyara took a healthy swallow of her ale and returned with a grin, "Unless, of course, you prove too boring or tedious to suffer."

With a thin smile, Lorio remarked, "I've known my fair share of Sisters over the years...and I must say that you hardly seem to fit the mould. How did you ever become a sister...and why? You don't particularly strike me as the devout type."

Those green eyes blazed and Enyara challenged, "And you hardly seem like an obsequious bootlicker, but there you were...on your knees and kissing Karosyn's sweet hand like a sycophant."

Lorio started to rise, her eyes blazing, but Enyara waved a hand and spat, "Very well, save the chest thumping for later and I'll tell you how I came to be a Sister."

Lorio continued to glower, but finally settled back into her seat, chiding, "Those who call me obnoxious have never met you."

"And that is why we're going to get along so well," her inflammatory companion returned with a smile. "You asked how I became a Sister and the tale is not so uncommon. Before I joined the order, I lived a rather...checkered life, leaning heavily on the lawless side of the scale. I did what was required to survive on one of the cesspool islands in the archipelagos where the Sisters find their origin. That was perhaps fifteen decades ago...and I was bright enough to see which way the current was casting. The Sisters were embarked upon a campaign of cleaning out the stables so to speak...decimating one criminal undertaking after the other. I saw the way of things and decided that I would prefer to be on the winning side...and so I took the vows."

"And they didn't see that you were joining out of...expedience?" Lorio queried, flummoxed that Karosyn and Lissom could be so blind in not gleaning that this hellion's decidedly mercenary motivations.

"Your Karosyn is the type who believes that everyone can be redeemed and Lissom...who can tell what that hieroglyph is ever thinking. Perhaps she recognized that I would make an effective tool. At any rate, I joined and was given Gyzarayne's Grace." She waved a hand across her face and quipped, "And that is how I came across this face and body that you've been drooling over. More surprising, I proved to have a rare aptitude for wielding offensive sorcery and that helped me ascend through the ranks...though my...unruliness did hamper my climb."

"I can only imagine...the way you challenged Karosyn...a Queen and your Matrium...it's a wonder you've not been flogged."

"Karosyn didn't have the stomach or the mettle to call me to task...and Lissom turned a blind eye as long as I discharged her orders in timely and effective fashion...which I did." Here, Enyara's gaze assumed an atypical nuance of confusion. "Then everything went...sideways."

"Sideways?" Lorio echoed, sensing that the hellion was about to impart something of critical significance.

"I gave you the impression that I held no stock in the idea of Gyzarayne...our Goddess, but that is not entirely true. This Grace and my abilities are more than proof that she does exist."

"Have you...communed with her?" Lorio inquired softly.

"No...but I always gleaned a sense that she was there...a silent presence. Not long after Lissom and her band of conquerors sailed for Majeer...that sense vanished." With unmistakable bewilderment, she added, "And it has never returned...as if Gyzarayne has abandoned her children." She fell silent and after taking another long swallow of the bitter ale, continued her narrative, "The Sisters are slowly unravelling with her inexplicable departure...like a device that no longer serves any meaningful purpose."

"Yet the ranks remain in tact...why do the women stay, if they believe the order is without purpose?"

Enyara tilted her head and her expression became contemptuous. "Don't be a tedious dullard. You may be beautiful, but even beauty such as yours cannot compensate for being obtuse. The answer is staring you in the face."

Lorio scowled mightily, but replied, "The Grace..."

"Ah, the light behind those lovely eyes shines forth at last," Enyara mocked. "Yes, the grace. Who, in their right mind, would risk losing their beauty and innate skills and abilities...which they would if they renounced the Goddess. I'm one hundred and seventy years old and I don't particularly fancy turning to dust in the blink of an eye. I much prefer to have the body and appetites of a twenty-year-old and plunder every treasure I come across...so I make the right gestures and do what is required to preserve the facade...as do all of the women of the order, including that sanctimonious blond bitch, Bethany Denay. Everyone harbours that same hope that Gyzarayne will return and restore the order to its purpose."

"I suspect Karosyn would take a dim view of this cynical perspective of yours," Lorio wondered softly.

Enyara's generous mouth congealed into a sour knot and she allowed, "I have serious reservation about our restored Matrium."

"I think you made that unequivocally clear during the planning session," Lorio observed tartly.

"When you spoke of Karosyn's guilt dragging us into the abyss...what did you mean?" Enyara demanded.

"What do you know about the reason Karosyn renounced the position of Matrium?" Lorio asked.

Enyara shrugged, "Only what was communicated to the rest of the order by Lissom...which was a rather anemic account...with conspicuously few details. Lissom never did see the need for being forthcoming with her daughters. I was stationed in Dortizirian at the time and we were told that First Battle Mage Lyndsyn had died...under vague circumstances...and that Karosyn had renounced her place in the order. It was assumed that this was tantamount to suicide...so imagine the shock when we learned that our pious Matrium had married the King of Emercia...and had become a Queen." She eyed Lorio suspiciously and demanded, "Being that you were a star in that dark drama, I imagine you could give me a far more robust account."

"I can...but you're going to have to content yourself with knowing that Karosyn unjustly blamed herself for Lyndsyn's death...when, in truth, that culpability belongs on my shoulders. Karosyn's compassion and kindness is hard for miscreants like us to fathom, but she sees Lissom's fall into darkness as a personal failing that she is obligated to rectify."

"By burning the murderous bitch to a fucking cinder!" Enyara exclaimed darkly, drawing wary glances from the other patrons. She fixed Lorio with a knowing grin and promised, "As for this posture of evasion you just took, you can be sure that I could ring every last secret out of that stubborn head of yours...if I had a mind to do so."

Lorio inclined her chin and observed, "I'm not sure if that's a foolish threat or an invitation? You seem to have a particularly ugly grudge against Lissom..."

Enyara lovely face contracted into a baleful scowl, an expression perfectly suited to the profanity laden tirade that stunned Lorio with its belligerence. "That motherless whore. Lissom was never easy to fathom...aloof and arrogant...a fucking tyrant really. Karosyn insulated the Sisters from the worst of the bitch's nature, but I doubt that there was a sister alive who would actually profess to care for the frigid bitch an iota. The Sisters instinctively feared Lissom and followed her edicts to the letter because of that fear, but no one held any affection for the jackal...except Karosyn, of course, who would probably find a way to love a venom-dripping viper...and Sandalayne."

"Who's come to a mysterious end in Majeer!" Lorio exclaimed, her voice tight.

Enyara nodded sourly. "Sandalayne was Lissom's stalwart defender...her protector...just as you are Karosyn's," she added with a sardonic twist of the lips that could never be mistaken for a smile. "As you may have noticed, there is a deep rivalry between the Stealth Rangers and the Battle Mages. The rangers feel inferior to the Battle Mages...and rightfully so...while the Mages regard the shadow skulkers with disdainful tolerance. This rivalry is probably as old as the order itself. Despite that, everyone...and I mean everyone...respected Sandalayne. She was the embodiment of what it meant to be a Sister of Esotaria...a paragon of virtue."

"Unlike yourself," Lorio chided, unable to resist the opportunity to rankle the abrasive beauty.

Enyara scowled, but conceded with a shrug, "Yes, unlike me. Whatever tripe might spew forth from Majeer...we know that the glacial whore is behind Sandalayne's death...just as we all know that the rumours about Lissom's exploding depravity came from the First Stealth Ranger's quill." Her expression hardened into a mask of savage ferocity and she vowed, "There are those among us who will never forgive Lissom...and will avenge Sandalayne, however long it takes and whatever it might require to do so."

Enyara took a long draught of her ale and slammed the mug down on the table, causing the dregs to fly. Lorio gleaned that this intention was not a frivolous, anger-fuelled boast...but a blood vow. She knew, unequivocally, that the Sisters of Esotaria where heading inexorably toward a violent rift that only Lissom's death or the eradication of these avengers could ever heal. Karosyn's belief that she could broker a rapprochement between Lissom and the order was a delusional pipe dream. The Battle mage's next passionate declaration only emphasized how dire the situation truly was. "If Karosyn elects to become an impediment to our achieving that vengeance, then she will become a liability that we will not suffer."

Lorio leaned forward, a humourless grin emblazoning her face and growled, "Anyone who moves against Karosyn will have to go through me...and if you find that you are unintimidated by this prospect then you are a fool of epic proportions...because as beautiful as you might be, I'll snap your spine like a kindling if I even think you intend to harm the queen."

The customary expression of supreme confidence and disdain bled from Enyara's face then, giving way to a pallor and she offered, "I have no intention of hurting Karosyn, but you must see that her posture toward Lissom is...untenable. She is offering her throat to a rabid wolf. I'm simply proposing that you and I conspire to find a way to forestall that grim eventuality."

Lorio sat back in her chair and returned gruffly, "I'll consider it...but you should seriously give thought to this; you regard Karosyn as this capricious wall flower and nothing could be further from the truth."

She then provided the intrigued First Battle Mage with an abridged account of her decimation at the Matrium's hands, deliberately omitting what had provoked the Queen's fury. "No one has ever beaten me as quickly or as thoroughly as Karosyn did...and I am resistant to anything less than deity level sorcery. Consider that...and then try to imagine how she might react if, against her express wishes, you moved against Lissom and having achieved the impossible...actually managed to kill her. Karosyn believes that she owes a debt to Lissom...an honour-bound obligation to see her back into the light. This is a matter that the benevolent queen regards as sacred duty. I pity anyone who would come between her and that obligation."

Enyara inhaled sharply and pursed her lips. "You've given me much to ponder, but let's not dwell on grievances and history...instead, let's turn our attention to the matter of you and me." Her expression became sly and teasing. "When you first set eyes upon me in the chapter house, I could sense your body responding to me like a dog drooling for its dinner. Being the sharp dirk that I am, I also gleaned that I evoked...memories of someone else...someone you loved, I would hazard a guess?"

Lorio experienced an internal shiver at the ease with which this volatile woman divined her desires...her long-repressed weakness, which she would gleefully exploit given her mercenary lack of scruples. Desperately, she wanted to deny this observation...to dismiss it as absurd. Instead, she blurted, "Hated, actually."

Enyara rose and came around the table, sitting on the scarred wood so that her left hip deliberately pressed against Lorio's bare arm. "Truly? And if this ghost from your past were to spontaneously manifest right now...and propose spiriting you off to a bedchamber and ravaging you mercilessly...would you refuse...declare your undying hatred."

Lorio said nothing, rendered silent by the realization that she would eternally remain Islena Doraux's distraction, helpless to resist her call. The realization was both reductive and humiliating...but it did little to douse the pyre this temptress was building so adroitly. Enyara nodded her head knowingly and leaned closer. She brushed back Lorio's raven mane from her face and brazenly swirled her tongue around the hollow of the enthralled immortal's left ear, before whispering, "You and I are creatures of the same ilk...privately craving the fire. I have accepted the darker angels of my nature...and I would have you do the same. I am a tempest, Lorio...the only question that remains...is do you have the courage to give yourself to the storm?"

They regarded each other intently for a moment, two enormous wills grinding against each other like millstones, raising a shower of sparks. In that moment, Lorio...daughter of dust...understood that she would never entirely exorcise the demons from her flawed and dissolute heart. Despite the pristine love she felt for Opheile Seznoire and had felt for Issidris Il...there would always remain this wanton desire to give herself to the kind of inducements being held forth by this dark temptress. Hers was an intrinsic flaw that could, at best, be repressed...but never expunged. Gazing into those fiery green eyes...framed by cascading waves of fire...Lorio realized that she had no wish to. She glanced about uncertainly and inquired, "Where would you have me?"

A look of triumph emblazoned Enyara's face and she breathed, "Not in this flea-infested dive. I know just the proper place for conducting the dark sorcery you and I are about to weave. I can promise you that, in short order, you'll give your secrets...and your soul to me as freely as you're about to give your flesh."

With this, she hauled an unresisting Lorio to her feet and pulled the entranced woman after her. Pausing briefly to retrieve Lorio's staff, the pair set out into Nalosan's drizzle-chilled darkness. They stumbled through the narrow streets and alleys, their lust rendering them ungainly as they kissed and groped for each other's flesh. Lorio stumbled toward her corruption, accompanied by a chorus of strident condemnation...which, under the thrall of her own venal nature and Enyara's carnal sorcery...the immortal easily ignored.

2

Lorio came awake in slow increments, like a diver emerging from black waters. Addle-headed and lead-limbed, she lay naked on her stomach...in an extravagant feather bed she did not recognize. With considerable effort, she cracked open an eyelid to find a completely naked Enyara standing unabashedly at the window casement, gazing out the window into the grey pearlescent light that heralded the onset of dawn. She leaned against the casing, her forehead leaning on her elbow in a pensive posture of which Lorio would never have thought the ferocious creature capable.

Her nubile body, while slender...was a erotically poetic construct conjured for sins of the flesh and Lorio found her pulse begin to accelerate. As if sensing that her pillow mate was awake, Enyara grumbled, "I'm beginning to detest this fucking city...in this kind of light, it reminds me of the cesspit where I grew up."

With tremendous effort, Lorio rolled onto her back and kicked the spill of sheets aside, relishing the coolness of the air on her bare flesh. Shaking her head in bemusement, she muttered, "Why do I feel this way...like my body is made of lead and jelly?"

Enyara turned away from the window and crossed the room in a delicious swirl of bouncing breasts and swaying hips. "I would like to say that it is exclusively because I fucked you into a stupor..." she collected an earthen bottle from the nightstand and brandishing it before the bleary immortal, confessed, "but I also drugged you."

Lorio pushed herself to one elbow, causing the room to spin precariously, and spat, "You insane bitch."

"Perhaps...but it's a functional sort of insanity at least," Enyara conceded with a grin. "I wouldn't attempt to get up too quickly...this is my own concoction and there are a few quirks to be worked out...such as playing havoc with balance for a space of time."

"Why...it's not as if I wasn't going willing to your bed?" Lorio demanded, seething at this creature's presumption, which made Islena Doraux seem solicitous by comparison.

Enyara smiled and explained, "The drink heightened the senses to their screaming extreme...making the experience of intimacy a fire storm of blissful sensation...as I'm sure you recall,"

Lorio glowered, but a profusion of intense, disjointed images swept over her then...molten fragment of intertwined flesh and panting cries of titanic release. She eyed the perfectly composed redhead suspiciously, "Why are you upright?"

Enyara bent forward and let her hair spill over Lorio's torso, caressing her flesh with the delicacy of butterfly wings. After her a moment, she kissed Lorio slightly parted lips and murmured, "I don't require any enhancement...especially when I have such an exquisite treasure to plunder. You're going to make a most pliable and pleasing toy, immortal!"

Lorio's expression became mordant and she admonished, "There is another young hellion who would warn you against trying to bend me to your will...or she would, if she wasn't chilling on a slab in Kammlogran's Royal crypt."

Rather than be nonplused by this menacing declaration, Enyara threw back her head and laughter boisterously. Letting a hand settle onto the resilient flesh of Lorio's left breast, she offered, "I predict the world would be in dire peril if you and I were to allow our inner demons to provoke each other's madness...if you could cast off your tedious ambivalence and be who you were truly meant to be."

"You know nothing about me!" Lorio rasped irritably.

Enyara gripped Lorio's chin and shook it briskly, countering, "Don't I now?"

The two women glared at each other for a moment and finally the flame haired beauty, grinned and intoned seriously, "Such fire! You and I would burn the very world!"

'Along with every modicum of goodness I cherished in you,' Issidris remarked dolefully from the shadows of Lorio's frazzled mind, yet of her own perception, Lorio was acutely cognizant of the peril this mercurial creature posed to her scarified soul.

Enyara's expression became sober, like dark ice on a winter's river. "I want you to give unbiased thought to the notion of making a pre-emptive strike against Lissom."

"And I want you to remember what I said about undermining Karosyn...or actually turning on her outright," Lorio retorted sharply, her mouth twisting into a feral grin.

Demonstrating her unique gift for easily unsettling the immortal, Enyara's segue caught Lorio completely unaware...like a dirk beneath the ribs. She allowed her skilled fingers to wander over Lorio's abdomen to the cleft of her womanhood and intoned, "Perhaps you should consider Opheile as you ponder the matter."

Lorio snagged Enyara's slender wrist in a crushing vice and growled, "How do you know that name?"

"You cried it often enough while I was ravaging you last night. If I was a different kind of creature...I would have taken offence," Enyara revealed with a disdainful laugh.

In the blink of an eye, the flame haired mage found that she was lying on her back, with Lorio straddling her torso and powerful fingers constricting her throat. "If her name slides out of your viper's mouth again, I'll snap your fucking neck like a dry twig."

Again, Enyara appeared unconcerned by Lorio's aggression. Grinning, she asked, "I can see you enjoy having me at a disadvantage."

Huffing in disgust, Lorio dismounted the grinning redhead and stormed over to the window, trying to regain her equilibrium. An instant later, leanly muscled arms encircled her torso and Enyara kissed her shoulder. "I am merely saying that it is more than a simple matter of vengeance. We both know that Lissom is a dire threat to...everything...even if Karosyn's delicate sensibilities won't allow her to see it. To demonstrate that I am not toying with you or trying to traduce you into an act of sedition...I will have the Sisters desist in plotting to strike Lissom when she arrives in Nalosan. Still, Lorio...I would ask that we contrive a way of intervening...emphatically...should it become apparent that Lissom had no intention of embarking on a rapprochement with Karosyn or her estranged daughters. Will you at least make that concession?"

Lorio scowled, knowing that this sly creature had effortlessly maneuvered her into a position where subterfuge seemed like the only reasonable recourse. "I'll engage in your bit of scheming, but only as a last-ditch contingency."

"What more could I ask?" Enyara chirped blithely, before reaching around Lorio and throwing open the window, beyond which the capital city was beginning to stir. She then encircled Lorio's waist and allowed her fingers to roam to the confluence of Lorio's hard thighs. "Let these repressed nobles hear the cry of a woman who knows what it means to be alive."

Lorio laid her head back against the flame haired temptress' shoulder, closed her eyes and surrendered to her artistry.

As predicted, Lorio's strident cries soon rang out over the chilly Nalosan streets.

3

As the pair dressed to depart Enyara's private den of indulgence, Lorio glanced about the elegant suite and with a furrowed brow, asked, "Where are my clothes?"

"Oh, I incinerated them!" Enyara announced matter-of-factly, holding up her right hand, the long fingers of which were enveloped in flame.

Lorio shook her head in bemusement and spat, "You crazy bitch, why would you do that? How do you propose I get back to Kammlogran?

Enyara shot the immortal a rueful frown and huffed, "I think we've already established that I'm more or less crazy...and as repetition is tedious, don't belabour the fact. As for those wretched rags you call clothes...I prefer you in attire that displays your beauty to full effect...not conceals it. You will have Karosyn buy you clothes fitting for a beauty of your rarity. As for getting back to Kammlogran...you can submit to being my concubine and laze around this suite, naked, until I come back to have you...or you could take my cloak."

Shaking her head in earnest bewilderment, knowing that this woman could discompose her with the snap of her sly fingers, Lorio collected the mage's cloak and pulled it over her naked flesh...hoping that she would not encounter Karosyn or Aeyon as she snuck back into Kammlogran. Something occurred to her then and she demanded anxiously, "What time is it!"

Enyara shrugged as if time was of no concern to her, but then allowed, "It's coming hard on the seventh bell."

Lorio inhaled sharply. "I have to be back in Kammlogran by the ninth bell."

"Ah yes, your mistress has demanded your presence," Enyara quipped as she affixed the symbol of her station to her simple robe. "Sparring was it? I hope her anger with you has abated...or you might be in for a measure of rough handling." With this, she began to giggle as if she found the matter of Lorio being drubbed thoroughly entertaining.

The pair walked out into the tree-lined streets, where the deciduous trees were ablaze in red and gold. Unmindful and indifferent to who might be watching, Enyara placed her hand on Lorio's hip and kissed her passionately and then disclosed, "Ah yes, I have your quarter staff carefully tucked away...just an added inducement to have you come back and join me for another bit of nocturnal excess."

Lorio glowered, but retorted, "For all of this vaunted confidence of yours...it seems you are not so certain of the spell you think you've cast over me."

"I'm hardly the type to let someone savour my bounty and then dismiss me. You and I will see each other again, even if I have to storm the ramparts of Kammlogran and drag you out by your ankle."

Another flash of that provocative grin and the green-eyed enigma pulled up the hood of her robe and strode away. Lorio watched her until the mage was swallowed up by the stirring morning crowd.

Then she turned and headed quickly back to the castle, fearing that she had been snapped up in an entanglement that would burn her familiar world to cinders.

4

The arcane impact collected a seemingly hapless Lorio and slammed her unceremoniously into the stone wall, though even in her state of consuming frustration, the immortal was aware that her opponent was dramatically curtailing her sorcerous power. The force of the impact dislodged her quarter staff from her grasp and sent it scuttling into the shadows with a clatter of metal and wood. Lorio, herself, landed on her hands and knees, her body beset by a dull wave of pain to which the Hybrid Morticant was entirely unaccustomed. When it subsided, Lorio slammed her palms down on the cold stone and loosed a string of pungent epithets that caused the watching Aeyon Wrey to blush furiously

Unaccustomed to hearing such language from the mouths of women, he turned his concerned gaze to Karosyn, who stood beneath in a cone of yellow light that had no discernable source, viewing Lorio's seething frustration with marked indifference. He shifted his gaze to Garum Tranan and saw that the Queen's weapon's Master and Adjutant was experiencing precisely the same sense of disquiet that presently afflicted Aeyon as he watched Karosyn toy with a shockingly overmatched Lorio.

A moment of perfect empathy passed between the two men and Garum stepped forward and ventured, "Perhaps that would be sufficient for the day, your highness?"

Karosyn shifted her indecipherable gaze to her Adjutant, but it was a clearly unsettled Lorio who growled, "Like the pit's ass, it is. I'm just starting to limber up and she damn well isn't getting off that easy."

Speaking for the first time since the combative session had commenced nearly two bells prior, Karosyn observed calmly, "It seems that your customary grace and fluidity has deserted you this day, Royal Protector...perhaps you are guilty of over-indulgence in whatever prevented you from returning to Kammlogran last evening."

Lorio scowled at the Queen, but climbed doggedly to her feet despite the dull throbbing that radiated throughout her entire body. As Enyara had predicted, Karosyn was subjecting her to a systematic, but controlled drubbing that left the immortal reeling and her ego in tatters on the stone floor of the training hall. 'If the rebellious hellion was here to witness this sorry fucking spectacle, would she still be so eager to defy Karosyn...or think that I could be of any use in vanquishing Lissom? Why did you compel me to come here, Issidris...I'm fucking useless!'

The beloved ghost offered no comment and so Lorio hurried across the floor to collect her staff as the Queen remarked with a touch of irony, "Perhaps the Adjutant is correct...you seemed decidedly unequal to the task this day. It might be preferable if you rest...and I can complete my training session with the sparring drones."

Wounded, Lorio glared at Karosyn and charged with an inarticulate cry. Karosyn remained stationary, with her feet set shoulder width apart and her two short swords held out before her and slightly apart, with the tips pointed toward the stone. A sorcerous glow emanated from the polished wood.

As Lorio came to within striking distance, she veered slightly to her left, dropped to her knees and extended the staff to her right, bending back as she slid across the stones with the intention of upending the smug Karosyn with a strike across her shins. The Queen merely jumped over the outstretched quarter staff, pivoted in midair and delivered a constrained strike to Lorio's right shoulder with the flat of her blade. The golden light erupted upon contact and Lorio howled in pain.

'The Queen is right, Lorio...you've completely lost your composure,' Issidris intoned with a mournful note in her gruff voice. 'Be gracious and heed her advice.'

Unaccustomed to both gracious submission and being bested, Lorio ignored Issidris' sage counsel. Instead, she twisted as quickly as her pain-wracked body would allow and snagged Karosyn's right ankle in a vice-like grip. Though surprised by the immortal's resilience in the face of the calculated beating to which Karosyn was subjecting her, the Queen reacted with her usual calm. Pressing the tip of her sword into the hollow of Lorio's back, she unleashed an immobilizing burst of sorcery that left the immortal paralyzed at her feet.

Lorio's fingers loosened of their own accord and Karosyn stepped back and turned her attention to the two bewildered witnesses and commanded, "Adjutant, Aeyon...give Lorio and I the room please. In fact, let us consider this session done and you may return to the light. Lorio and I have a critical matter to discuss."

Aeyon's expression became openly worried and he took a tentative step toward the Queen, whose mood had been uncharacteristically turbulent since her return from the chapter house the previous day. She forestalled his approach by holding up an index finger. When she spoke, there was no latitude for debate in her tone. "I'm in no mood for discussion, Aeyon...accompany Adjutant Tranan back to the light." When he stopped abruptly and regarded her warily, disquieted by her curt tone, Karosyn smiled and added, "Don't fret, Lorio will be perfectly fine. Once I've made myself somewhat more presentable...you and I will take lunch and spend the afternoon in the Imperial Garden."

Aeyon cast a concerned glance at Lorio, who was still sprawled on the stone floor, her expression vacant, but nonetheless heeded Karosyn's uncompromising command.

When the pair were alone and a suitable space of time had elapsed to insure that they were well out of earshot, Karosyn turned back to the prone immortal, her serene expression nowhere in evidence. Crossing over to the downed immortal, Karosyn wedged a boot under Lorio's ribs and unceremoniously rolled her onto her back. She then straddled the helpless immortal and settled heavily onto her abdomen, those luminous blue eyes blazing. She clutched Lorio's throat in her right hand and rasped, "I've tolerated your infantile antics for as long as I've known you, but yesterday you crossed a very fine line by undermining my authority before those whose obedience is critical in the face of what is to come. I would have your solemn oath that there will be no repeat of this insufferable discourtesy...or we will continue this session until it requires that I heal every last bone in your body so that you can crawl back to your chambers."

Lorio wanted nothing more than to spit her ultimately pointless defiance in her tormentor's face, but by good fortune, the rational part of her personality realized that Karosyn's outrage was both well warranted and surprising constrained. Meekly, she vowed in a stiffly formal voice, "From this moment forth, I will afford you the respect and deference you deserve."

Karosyn continued to glare skeptical daggers at the humbled immortal, but finally sighed and removed her paralyzingly cantrip. Shaking her head, the exquisite blond intoned dolefully, "Why do you feel the constant need to goad me toward behaviour and actions I have no desire to exhibit? They make me feel sullied..."

"Just an aptitude I have, I guess," Lorio quipped and grimaced at the throbbing pain that seemed to find its origins in every part of her body. Always perceptive to the pain and suffering of others, Karosyn's eyes narrowed and she laid her palms along Lorio's cheeks, releasing a constant wave of ameliorating sorcery that swiftly assuaged Lorio's discomfort. The two women regarded each other and Lorio offered humbly, "Thank you...I actually rather enjoy having you atop me like this, but I doubt you want to kiss me...so could you let me up?"

Rather than display exasperation with the immortal's irreverence, Karosyn smiled affectionately. "In time." Her expression became somber and she observed, "You realize from this display...that you can't really protect me, Lorio? I don't mean that to be degrading in any way, but for your sake, you must see that you would be obliterated if you were to confront Lissom."

Lorio shook her head in self-effacing disgust. "Issidris told me the same thing on the day she died...and then her spirit found me in Cortrin and told me that I had to come here to help you...but I'm utterly fucking useless. I know that Lissom would fucking eat me alive...I...I don't understand."

Karosyn considered this with a furrowing of her smooth brow. "Communing with those who have gone beyond is, at best, a nebulous undertaking...fraught with riddles and vague allusions to things we can not grasp. Who can say...but I will not be responsible for your needless destruction. Still, I've given the matter much though...and have come to the conclusion that there may be another way in which you can help me. I just needed to emphatically demonstrate that shielding me from Lissom is not the way that you can give your support."

"But you admitted that you cannot defeat Lissom in a contest of pure sorcery!" Lorio objected.

"It will not come to that," Karosyn returned softly.

"But if it does?" Lorio persisted vehemently.

"It will not come to that!" Karosyn reiterated with a certitude that caused Lorio to frown quizzically. "Now, if you wish to help me...there is a service that I require of you...one that is, for my life, more valuable than seeing me surmount Lissom's threat."

Feeling the desperate need to redeem herself in the face of what she felt was her dire failure, Lorio promised anxiously, "I'll do anything you need, Karosyn."

"I need you to become Aeyon's Protector...to shield him against any harm that might come to him for his association with me. Should this forthcoming encounter with Lissom take a belligerent turn...I need you to squire him and his family as far away from this place as you can go." Her expression became apprehensive and she breathed tremulously, "I have not forgotten the tale of the atrocity she visited upon the first sons of the Patriarchs in Majeer. I would rather be devoured by jackals than see that fate visited upon Aeyon. Will you do this for me Lorio...grant me the peace of mind of knowing that, whatever might come, Aeyon will be safe."

"Do you truly believe that he will abandon you...knowing how desperately he's come to love you?" Lorio returned softly...gleaning Karosyn's terror over Aeyon's safety.

"Then I would have you compel him...by whatever means necessary. I would much rather have him curse your name and mourn my death...than share my grave. Please Lorio...see Aeyon and his family to safety should our most dire fears come to pass."

Lorio surprised Karosyn by declaring, "I will...but on one condition...you will assign Enyara...your First Battle Mage...to the task of helping me...under my authority...not that anyone could ever actually make that virago heed a command."

Karosyn tilted her head, her eyes shimmering with clear bemusement. After a moment, she intoned quietly, "What have you done, Lorio?"

The immortal scowled in the face of this implied allegation, but finally sighed and replied, "I know you have the capability to divine my thoughts...a notion that is pretty unsettling, so why not save time and see for yourself...though what you see might be an affront to that immaculate sense of probity of yours."

Karosyn's generous mouth twisted into a rueful frown, but she nonetheless accepted Lorio's surprising invitation to rummage through her thoughts, knowing that this was an ability with potential terrifying ramifications that she employed with tremendous reluctance. Leaning slightly forward, she laid her index and middle fingers in the prominent hollows of Lorio's temples. Fully complaisant, the immortal inclined her chin and closed her eyes, letting her recollection of the past day unfurl without encumbrance. Somewhere beyond the periphery of her own visceral response to Enyara's devious sorcery, she could hear Karosyn's sharp hiss of either shock or wounded dismay.

When the perplexing, disjointed episode had run its course, Karosyn abruptly withdrew from Lorio's consciousness, stood and strode off several paces. Lorio opened her eyes and raised up on her elbows to find the queen standing with her back to the immortal, her arms crossed beneath her breasts and her posture rigid with disapproval. Quietly, she queried, "Lorio, how could you?"

Misconstruing Karosyn's accusation, the immortal protested, "You saw the entire thing...and know that I held nothing back. I'm on your side...absolutely and unequivocally. That is why I allowed you to see what happened...to understand the position you're in with your own order. Enyara is a dragon about seeing Lissom dead...but clearly she is not the only one!"

Karosyn spun about and marched briskly back to Lorio, glaring down upon the disconcerted woman balefully. "How could you betray Opheile so utterly...so easily? I have been inside your mind...and I know how profoundly you love her. It shines in you soul...resonates like thunder. Yet, with the flash of green eyes and the toss of a flaming mane, you throw yourself into another woman's bed as if Opheile means nothing...nothing at all. How is it possible for a woman who has lived so long...experienced so much...to be so shallow...so dishearteningly venal?"

Lorio averted her gaze, but when she replied, her voice was firm and unwavering...defiant. "Other than Arminda, you are the one living person who knows...who has seen exactly what I'm capable of at my worst. Why pretend...I'm a dissolute, morally bankrupt wretch...it's inculcated into these fucking bones of mine. The only people that were ever able to help me rein in that part of my nature were Issidris Il and now, Opheile Seznoire. Issidris is dead and Opheile is somewhere that I may never get back to...and so the demons are easily stirred. I'm not going to grovel or apologize...as immoral as you might think it is, Enyara incites something in me that I can't resist...so I went to her bed...and have every intention of going there every chance I get. None of that changes the fact that I will rip her beautiful fucking head off if she gives any indication that she wishes to harm you. Please Karosyn, let me worry about my soul's desecration and let us focus on what matters."

Stiffly, Karosyn returned, "Very well...how exactly do you see that shackling this sly viper to your ankle will benefit me?"

Lorio inhaled in gratitude and returned, "If Enyara is worthy of the mantle of First Battle Mage, it can only mean that she is particularly powerful in offensive sorcery...which will help me protect Aeyon and get him clear of the city, should it ever come to that. What's more, I can reverse her sly little game upon her and string her along with the belief that I am amenable to her scheming...essentially taking her out of the equation that is already far more complicated than it should be. As you say, I've experienced enough of this life and I'm a far better player at the game of subterfuge than she will ever credit me for being."

Karosyn stroked her chin pensively and then a harsh light dawned in her eyes and she growled, "You will inform me the instant she gives any indication that there is a concrete plot in place to attack Lissom."

"And I'll drag her unconscious body back over my shoulder when I do," Lorio voiced solemnly.

Karosyn pondered this for a moment and then declared, "Very well, against my better judgment, which is telling me to have this ungovernable virago arrested and slammed into a dungeon in the deepest depths of Kammlogran...I will instruct the Elder Guide to send her to me, where I will assign her to you to use at your prerogative. Take a care, Lorio...because if this goes awry, I shall hold you accountable...and I find myself perilously close to crossing lines that I never imagined I would even approach."

Lorio nodded her agreement. "If Enyara gets out of hand...you can do to me what you want. Still, Karosyn...you have to see that she is not alone in her intolerance of an accord with Lissom. The Sisterhood is in risk of being fractured...perhaps even forced into a possible state of open conflict if you persist on this course you're on."

Karosyn's expression was one of sour weariness and she sighed, "I wonder if the day will ever come when I grow tired of subterfuge and hidden agendas...and simply turn my back on all of this and go forth to find my own tranquility...my own peace...free of the onerous demands that have characterized so much of my life?"

Lorio climbed to her feet and placed her hand on Karosyn's firm shoulder, intoning with absolute sincerity, "For the sake of what decency that remains in this woeful fucking world, I hope not."

The two women regarded each other silently for several moments and then Karosyn placed her hand atop Lorio's.

A short time later, the two women began the onerous climb back to the light and the enormous obligations that awaited them both.

5

It was late afternoon and Lorio was talking quietly with Aeyon in her assigned chambers, when the door to her suite blew open, the heavy ornate handle striking the stone hard enough to raise a shower of sparks. Enyara blew through the doorway like the fast-breaking tempest Lorio imagined her to be. Her blazing green-eyed regard swept the room, settling on a startled Aeyon before finally coming to rest on the source of her consternation.

A moment of pure empathy passed between the pair and Lorio turned to Aeyon and remarked calmly, "The First Battle Mage and I have a rather pressing matter to discuss, Aeyon. I'll catch up with you later and perhaps we'll get out of this dreary pile of stones for a spell."

Aeyon glanced at the ferocious woman, who appeared as if she might commence breathing fire and then regarded Lorio in clear agitation. In a voice rife with the promise of swift violence, Enyara vowed, "If you value your manhood and testicles, boy...I would heed the bitch's advice."

This belligerent warning only fuelled Aeyon agitation, but Lorio firmly gripped his arm and led him out into the corridor, where she assured him, "Don't fret, Aeyon, dear Enyara is one of those dogs whose bark is far more daunting than their bite. You'll be seeing a good deal of her in the next few weeks..."

She then smiled and returned to her chambers, closing the door behind her...leaving a thoroughly disquieted Aeyon in the hall.

Inside, Lorio turned to a fuming, livid Enyara and regarded her with a blithe grin, rife with feigned innocence, "You seem vexed dear?"

"You betrayed me...you miserable bitch!" Enyara seethed, her cream coloured skin a hectic red.

Lorio inclined her chin and offered, "Did I? Or did I perhaps remove you from the Queen's consideration...where you were squarely fixed after your insubordination yesterday? Perhaps I concocted the perfect justification for you and I being together constantly...so that we can continue our scheming without rousing suspicion? If my intention was to betray you...I could have just thrown you to the wolves and smirked from the shadows while they dragged you, kicking and screaming, down into Kammlogran's dungeons."

Enyara continued to glare at the immortal, but now her belligerence was tempered by uncertainty. Finally, she sighed and allowed, "You are a much better player at the game of subterfuge than I ever would have imagined."

"The perils of underestimating those who you aspire to dominate, dear!" Lorio replied sweetly, relishing Enyara's humbled expression.

"What exactly am I expected to do?" the green-eyed tempest demanded gruffly.

"Other than be my fawning, obsequious lapdog...you are expected to do everything in your power to protect the young man whose private parts you just threatened to obliterate. You will apologize to Aeyon for that discourtesy, by the way. He is a sensitive young man and I wouldn't want to permanently jade his view of women."

Enyara shook her head in incredulous indignation, "I am seriously expected to guard a...a commoner, while the most critical juncture of the age unfolds? Why?"

"Because the Queen and your Matrium has decided that Aeyon must be protected...and because I've commanded it and you are my lethal little toy. If you have objections, we can take the matter to Karosyn for arbitration...but I really am not sure that would be in your best interest."

Recalling the Queen's intractable, peremptory manner during their interview, Enyara actually shuddered and averted her eyes.

"I think you've grasped the way of things," Lorio observed blithely. "Now, we have a few bells before we're to squire Aeyon back to his family home...and our last encounter has left me with a ravenous appetite."

"You can't be serious?" Enyara cried to which Lorio responded by crossing the room, burying her fingers in that cascade of fire and tugged back the slender beauty's head to expose her throat....which she kissed exuberantly. The Battle Mage yelped, but nonetheless encircled Lorio's waist.

After a moment, Lorio pushed her roughly away and commanded uncompromisingly, "Take off your clothes...set your sigil on my night table, I'll be keeping it as a token until this is done, and burn your robe in the hearth. From now on, you will dress in the same clothing I do...I like the women with whom I share company to look more capable and less like pampered pets."

Enyara's glare might well have set granite ablaze, but she nonetheless complied, balling up her robe and tossing it into the flames. Naked and holding Gyzarayne's sigil in fingers that trembled with outrage, she rasped "You have no idea what I'm going to do to you in payment for this humiliation. In time, I'm going to do things to you that would make a torturer quail and avert his eyes."

Lorio gripped Enyara's slender wrist and led her toward the door to her bedchamber, intoning mockingly, "Perhaps, but for now, you are going to come to my bed, where you will give yourself to me as if I was the grand passion of your life."

Enyara's glare intensified, but she went without resistance. Lorio tossed the hellion onto her bed and as she began to remove her own clothing, instructed, "Next time you come, you will bring my quarter staff...and a bottle of your lewd elixir...which you will drink from my navel..."

Chapter Twenty Four

1

One of the great prevailing mysteries in the universe (in all universes...because the number of universes was as infinite as the stars each contained, as Islena Doraux would have readily attested) was the perplexing dynamic that governed the pace at which fate's machinations unfurled. The course of fate could unfurl slowly, but inexorably...each individual thread intertwining in a manner so gradual as to be imperceptible to even the most astute of fate watchers...only to explode into a violent frenzy at the prescribed juncture...leaving those who survive reeling and utterly dazed in its chaotic wake. Wide-eyed and bewildered, the world rises to face a new reality it never could have imagined.

For Opheile Seznoire, the time after the departure of Jerhia Maxim Tier Marshal was a long and anxiety-laden crawl...a slow progression of hours divided into two distinct and recurring phases that slowly eroded her increasingly thin veneer of self-assurance. During the daylight bells, she went about her business with a zealous industriousness that bordered on the manic, preoccupying herself with a frenzy of activities that only her employees recognized as being...abnormal. There was a decidedly contrived aspect to her gregarious cheer and the brilliant smile she flashed at all who crossed her path...as if to reassure them that all was well with her...that Driss' (No, Lorio...her name is Lorio) absence was something she had come to terms with.

The nights, naturally, were far worse as the loneliness and pervasive longing gnawed on her bones like a relentless pack of hounds. Outside her window...the window of the room she had shared with this woman who, if the final account be told, was a myth...premature winter seemed to tighten its anomalous grip on Cortrin...imparting a sense of isolation and glacial emptiness to her world.

Driss' conspicuously empty side of the bed mocked her like a void that nothing could fill...and she found herself wishing that Arminda had remained in Cortrin.

The slow and terrible drag of hours would eventually relent to dawn and the same hollow cycle would begin anew. Opheile recalled how it had required several years to recover...to return to a semblance of her old self after the secret agony of Czarin's horrible death...but she was older now...and decidedly less assured about her capacity to persevere...even if she admitted as much only to herself. She could not help but wonder if she would ever truly regain her sense of strength and self-assurance if Driss did not return from this obligation that had compelled her to abandon her home.

She awoke in the depth of one particularly inimical and cold winter night, the storm's wind howling relentlessly about the Inn's eves, awoken by a night terror that held about it the air of augury. Though the room was cool, Opheile was bathed in perspiration. Her breathing came in great, frenetic gasps and her heart skidded painfully in her chest.

The night terror had been a stroboscopic kaleidoscope of disjointed images, all hued in blood red and molten gold. In these rapidly flickering images, Lorio grappled with a demon with iridescent green eyes that blazed like balefire. Around this foul creature's head, writhing flame danced like the sun's corona. As she waited for her terror to subside in the nightmare's wake...it occurred to Opheile that, whatever manner of malevolence threatened Driss...it was her soul that was in peril...not her flesh.

She briefly contemplated the notion of climbing from her bed and journeying to Nalosan...this metropolis to which she had never been...and retrieving Driss, whisking her away from whatever menace stalked her there. Yet, she knew, without equivocation, that it wasn't her Driss that was in danger there...but Lorio, this near mythical figure, whose intrigues and fraught dramas were leagues above the ability of a simple Innkeeper to influence...however absurdly inflated that innkeeper's self-perceptions might be.

So Opheile continued to cower in the dark, knowing that Lorio's fate...her return and their possible future together...was out of her hands. All she could do was wait anxiously by while the game of world-shapers played itself out.

2

The pace of events accelerated rapidly in the days after Lorio revealed the existence of a group of dissident Sisters to a bemused Karosyn. Three days later, the members of the Sisters of Esotaria's Inner Council arrived in the Emercian Capital at the Chapter House, an impromptu ceremony was conducted to elevate Karosyn to the station of Gyzarayne's Matrium...though none present were delusional enough to believe that the appointment carried any meaningful weight without the absent Ascentrix's sanction. Still, the Elder Sisters, many of whom had been in the order long before Karosyn and Lissom had even been born appeared to derive a great measure of comfort from the new Matrium's elevation.

'Placing me in an untenable position, while discreetly sliding from Lissom's sights,' Karosyn thought with a surprising measure of resentment as Bethany Denay had affixed the Matrium's sigil to the rough spun robe Karosyn had donned for the ceremony. Though she chided herself for this uncharacteristically uncharitable thought, a part of her refused to dismiss the idea as anything less than the ungenerous truth. These women had played the game of subterfuge for decades...and now, faced with the moment of imminent reckoning, they had gladly jettisoned the burden onto Karosyn's shoulders.

'I suppose it is only fitting, considering that this present sorry state of affairs has its genesis in your abandonment,' she thought with a resigned sigh before presenting her newly arrived guests with a detailed account of her intentions toward Lissom.

Two days later, Jerhia Maxim Tier Marshal Arminda led fifteen hundred of that nation's finest warriors...all women...through the western gates of Nalosan, a city where many of the pivotal junctures of her astounding life had been played out. Even as she passed onto the Royal Plaza, which was crowded with citizens who had come to witness the Jerhia's arrival, Arminda knew that this would be the last grand juncture of her life. Now, however, after Opheile's surprising invitation, the prospect of what was to follow this last turn about the grand stage did not fill the Jerhia with primal dread.

Her soldiers had changed into their ceremonial regalia for the arrival, their perfectly maintained uniforms, replete with heavy cloaks against winter's first frost, imparted an impression of lethal competence and venerable tradition.

The Queen and her Regent greeted Arminda at the base of the ramp and after a short, impromptu ceremony of welcome, during which both leaders expressed the obligatory commitment to mutual cooperation and betterment, the two leaders retreated into Kammlogran. While Adjutant Tranan supervised the housing of the Jerhia expeditionary force, Karosyn apprised an increasingly concerned Arminda of the situation presently facing Emercia...and potentially, the entire Eastern Continent.

"And you still hold to the possibility that your Ascentrix is coming to Nalosan with benevolent intentions...along with a thousand ships?" Arminda asked once Karosyn had concluded her account, and though her tone was carefully guarded, her skepticism was evident.

"It is the outcome I fervently hope for...but my Regent and I...along with The Elder Guide of the Sisters of Esotaria...have been preparing for the contingency that this forthcoming meeting will be less than amicable," Karosyn allowed with equal composure. "Of course, we would welcome your insight."

Arminda smiled, a humourless grin inspired by the number of times that Jerhia lives had been served up to another nation's need. "Strictly speaking, this force is a ceremonial construct...not a legitimate fighting force." Her smile became a gleaming razor and she added, "fortunately, these women would be a lethal force even if all they had to fight with were barrel staves and pitch forks. I anticipated the possibility that this might evolve into something beyond a ceremonial visit...and my soldiers are well equipped...for any contingency."

Karosyn arched an eyebrow, though she developed an immediate affinity for the diminutive Jerhia, finding that her earnest, forthright manner was...refreshing for her part, Arminda quickly came to perceive why Karosyn was so roundly adored by her people.

Along with the General Kyrin and his aides, Bethany Denay and a host of Sisters...Arminda and Karosyn spent the remainder of that first day cloistered in an intense...and often charged strategy session. At the end of the marathon session, it was decided that the Jerhia contingent would continue south...to the vicinity of the Royal Hunting lodge, which Karosyn had decreed would become the Sisters new administrative headquarters on the Eastern Continent. Both leaders and General Kyrin reached a consensus, after much heated debate...if an act of treachery was to be committed, it would likely occur there...well away from the public eye.

"You do realize, if this is the culmination of a long-standing grievance, you will be serving yourself upon on a platter...waltzing blithely into a trap?" Arminda asked urgently.

"From which your astounding women will promptly rescue me," Karosyn returned blithely, though her perfunctory dismissal of the threat had seemed strained...or perhaps, fatalistic.

Arminda had accepted this with a grave nod and then requested permission to summon a larger force (which was already en route, a fact that she sagely neglected to mention). When the Queen had inquired as to her specific motivation in making this request, Arminda had been bluntly frank. "It would be recklessly irresponsible not to prepare for the possibility that this is a pretext to an invasion. Had it not been for Lissom, as I understand the situation, the Majeeri might well have left the entire Eastern Continent a smouldering barrens. Now, she may play the role of adversary. Add to that the fact that she is bringing with her a huge contingent of women who can wield offensive sorcery...and we find ourselves in a most dire predicament." She smiled...though the expression never touched her polar blue eyes...and concluded with a cavalier wave of her left hand, "Ah, but our two nations have faced overwhelming odds together often enough...and if Lissom has come with the intention of devouring us, she will find that we make a most unpalatable meal."

Karosyn greeted this optimistic declaration with the obligatory grin, though in her heart, she knew that any conflict with Lissom carried with it the potential for the eradication of...everything.

To cast a pall over this session of bonding to common purposes, Karosyn received word that a massive naval armada, composed of black, mastless ships, had entered the Bay of Imerlac just two days prior.

3

Lorio had not attended the reception ceremony for the arriving Maxim Tier Marshal and her escort force...just as she had pointedly not been invited to the subsequent strategy sessions (an omission that had privately hurt and rankled the immortal). Instead, she had escorted Aeyon back to his family home and had reluctantly left Enyara to keep watch over the clearly worried young apprentice, while she returned to Kammlogran to retrieve her scant possessions.

The Battle Mage had been in a smouldering, foul mood since being so skillfully outmaneuvered by the immortal and glowered at Lorio each time their gazes met, but surprisingly, she had complied with Lorio's requests and had even taken to treating Aeyon with fundamental courtesy.

'Ah, but don't be fooled by this docile compliance. When she is not aware that you're looking, she gazes at the beautiful young man as if he's a particularly tasty morsel that she has every intention of devouring.' Lorio grimaced, knowing that the wanton hellion would take great delight in sullying Karosyn's treasure and it would fall to the immortal to make sure she did not. Aeyon was clearly intimidated and bemused by the forward, razor-tongued Battle Mage...but he was still a man and her beauty, should she decide to bring it to bear upon him, would prove difficult to resist.

"Virago-sitting! Did I truly leave Opheile's bed for this?" Lorio muttered to the empty silence of her chamber and at the mention of Opheile Seznoire, her heart was lanced by a pain so acute that it nearly drove her to her knees.

Just then, a knock came at her chamber door and momentarily rescued her from this excruciating consideration. Lorio drew a tremulous breath and strode across the chamber, opening the heavy door...to discover a ghost from her past standing at the threshold.

Other than the beautiful silver hair and the new sense of immutable poise, Arminda was very much as Lorio recalled her. Clear of eye, square of shoulders and straight of spine...the diminutive Jerhia was the very embodiment of vitality and vigour though she was well into her sixties by Lorio quick accounting.

The two women regarded each other for a moment...a perfect storm of empathy passing between them, an epic shared history the likes of which few could claim. Finally, Arminda's reserved melted and she threw her arms around Lorio and drew her into an embrace, which after a moment, Lorio returned with equal ardour.

Still hugging the Jerhia, Lorio ushered the smaller woman into her suite and closed the door with her foot. She was startled and bewildered, when Arminda began to weep unabashedly. "Lorio...I'm so sorry...so ashamed for waiting so long to find you. Please, I...I..."

Lorio lifted Arminda's chin and brushed tears from her eyes as if she was still the same young girl, belittled by insecurity, that she had met during their journey through the Land of Shades. "Don't, Arminda...it's not as if I didn't know where you were either. We both had different priorities that took us in different directions. There is little point in dwelling on it."

Arminda would not be so easily exonerated, "Still, I'm ashamed because I should have reached out to you when I learned that Issidris had died. When I learned of the Queen's effort to locate you, I decided that it was well past time to make amends and that is why I came. It seems that it was an act of providence."

Lorio nodded gravely and then asked, "Can you stay for a time...pass a bell or two with your quest sister?"

"Nothing could pull me away...we have thirty years of catching up to do and the night looks to be a long and cold one," Arminda returned fondly and allowed Lorio to lead her to a chair near the hearth. When the two women were seated, Arminda remarked cryptically, "When whatever this situation proves to be has been resolved...you and I may be spending a great deal more time together."

When Lorio arched a quizzical eyebrow, Arminda returned simply, "I've just come from Cortrin, Lorio."

When the ramifications of this disclosure finally sank in, Lorio's exquisite face contracted into an agitated knot that alarmed the Jerhia. In a brittle, hollow voice, Lorio echoed, "Cortrin?"

"Yes," Arminda confirmed with a smile, "and I stayed at the Glass House Inn and had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with its stunningly beautiful and charming proprietress...Opheile Seznoire."

Lorio averted her eyes and clasped her hands to her taut thighs to prevent them from trembling like frightened birds. "Opheile...is she well?"

"As well as one might expect, considering that she has been abandoned by the woman she loves unreservedly...with not a word of explanation given." Despite her best intentions, Arminda could not restrain the snap of mordant recrimination that lashed the clearly devastated Lorio like a flail. When Lorio lapsed into a miserable silence, Arminda prompted, "Why are you here, Lorio...how could you possibly walk away from someone so precious?"

Expression ablaze with raw anguish, Lorio met Arminda's reproving gaze and rasped, "I was told that I had to come here...had to help Karosyn in this matter with Lissom."

"Told? By whom?" Arminda persisted, allowing the memory of Opheile's bewildered pain to help ignore Lorio's anguish.

"By Issidris...or her ghost. If it was anyone else, they would think I was crazy, but you and I have seen enough inexplicable aberrations to know that I am not guilty of lying or being delusional." Lorio replied, her voice taut and thin. "Just as we both know that you ignore these kind of warnings at your eternal peril."

"Then why didn't you simply tell Opheile the truth?"

Lorio shook her head. "Who could ever seriously accept the notion of ghosts and cryptic warnings. Those times are gone. It was better that she saw me as Driss, a simple labourer with a troubled past that she couldn't bring herself to disclose. You've spent time in her company...you know what a pristinely beautiful soul she is. How could she ever suffer the presence of the ugly, flawed thing I am if I told her the truth!"

"Lorio...Opheile knows exactly who you are," Arminda revealed quietly, bracing for a storm that, surprisingly, didn't manifest. When Lorio continued to stare blankly at the Jerhia, Arminda elaborated, "Opheile is stunningly incisive...and she followed your suggestion and read the history. And before you ask...I confirmed the truth of who you are...and answered her storm of questions...being very selective in what I disclosed."

"Then I'm lost!" Lorio breathed forlornly. "You may well have killed my one chance of finding my way back to her.

Arminda reached forward and gripped Lorio's muscular forearm. "That simply isn't the case. She made me promise that I would find you and send you back to her...which I did. It is a promise that I have every intention of keeping."

When Lorio only shook her head in morose dejection, Arminda demanded, "Lorio, how could you possibly not see how much this woman loves you...or how unremitting and unconditional that love is? Augury of ghosts be damned...what could possibly hold you here with such a rare diamond waiting for you in Cortrin?"

"It's for Opheile that I'm here, Arminda!" Lorio retorted, displaying her old contentiousness for the first time. Her tone softened, became pensive, and she added, "And because of Lissom."

Arminda considered this for a moment and then nodded, her expression conveying a sense of...dissatisfaction. "Lorio, what is your assessment of the situation here? Do you really think we could be facing another full scale Majeeri invasion?"

A shadow scudded across Lorio's smooth brow and she declared darkly, "I think what may be coming is far worse. When Majeer invaded the Eastern Continent all those years ago...they were really nothing more than a massive conventional army of zealots. The black irony of that invasion was that Majeer's greatest weapon was a large force of elite women."

"The Rha-Sheem!" Arminda interjected and though the forces she had commanded had never directly faced the female warriors....their reputation was the stuff of legend.

"Yes...the irony being that these women had been ruthlessly abused by the male patriarchy of this demon god and yet...they had become his most lethal weapon." She paused for a moment and both took a short space of time to reflect on the innate unfairness that characterized the lot of women in the Antiquated World. Finally, Lorio sighed. "At the end of the day, for all of their numbers and ferocity...the Majeeri were simply no match for sorcery...no match for Lissom. Karosyn once told that...if she had chosen to...Lissom quite literally could have obliterated every last Majeeri. She is simply that powerful. Instead, she reduced this prophet, Ekaz Azeer to a helpless jape...and the Rha-Sheem immediately pledged themselves to her and turned on their oppressors...and that was fucking it."

"I'm still rather confused. Lissom effectively ended the Majeeri invasion and then crossed the ocean to liberate the country from its misogynists. Why would she now return...leading the very same army...to invade the Eastern Continent. It's incomprehensible," Arminda offered...her voice tight with perplexed dismay.

Lorio's answering expression was rife with cynicism. "What is the old adage about a woman scorned?"

Arminda's pretty face twisted into an incredulous scowl and she demanded, "You can't be serious...you're telling me that the stability of the entire world is threatened because Lissom...feels spurned somehow."

"It may not be that simple, but yes, that is precisely what I'm saying. Lissom was always a perplexing creature...like a puzzle that defied solution. Aloof and incomprehensible...but grounded in logic." She set her blistering gaze on the Jerhia and disclosed softly, "I tried to kill her once...when she first arrived in Nalosan during the Xhendyn crisis."

Arminda started to rise with a start, her polar blue eye huge with consternation, but then she settled back into her chair and dragged her hand across the jagged slash of her mouth. Nodding with a bitter grin, Lorio recounted the tale of how she had attempted to assassinate the Ascentrix. "You never met her in this incarnation, but at the time, she looked like a seven year old girl...an angel...and even though my instinct was telling me that she was another Myrhia in the making, holding the dirk to the throat she offered, I simply couldn't do it. I ended up weeping on her lap while she consoled me...stroked my hair like an agitated puppy. That Lissom was driven by implacable logic and devotion to her goddess' great altruistic cause. Then Artumas rejected her on the shores of Galloway and everything changed."

Arminda shook her head, hardly able to credit that this current crisis had found its genesis in the banal spurning of affection. Bewildered, she pointed out, "But Artumas has been in his grave for thirty years."

"But Karosyn is not...she sits atop his throne and is universally loved. When Lissom went to Majeer, she began to change. She became harsh and remorseless...some of the things she did to the remnants of Thaz Ekai's army were...unspeakable...even if the murderous bastards deserved it. By the time I left, it was apparent that she was...gravitating toward dark tyranny. I was there the day that Karosyn and Lissom met for the first time since Artumas had rejected Lissom. It was the day of Artumas' funeral. As always, Karosyn was congenial and welcoming...even though she had lost the man she adored so passionately. Lissom smiled and made all of the right offering of sympathy and commiseration, but Arminda, when Karosyn's attention was elsewhere...I could see Lissom regarding the woman, who she believed had schemed to supplant her...with a hatred that could have set granite ablaze. She remained in Nalosan only long enough to meet the most basic requirements of courtesy...and then she went back to Majeer. I can tell you that this evil place only intensifies the worst in people...as if malice has been burned into its fucking sand. Lissom's religion has been perverted into hateful madness and her festering grudge with Karosyn has probably eaten at her like an irrepressible itch you can't reach. My guess is she is taking the opportunity presented by Karosyn to scratch that it...and export her depraved version of her Goddess' religion."

"Not a particularly cheerful assessment!" Arminda growled, but beneath her gruffness, Lorio could sense her anxiety. "Why is Karosyn so adamant in holding out an olive branch to Lissom...even at the risk to her realm...and the Eastern Continent beyond."

"Two reasons, I think. The first is principle and the second pragmatism. Ordinary people are driven by all sorts of motivations...some good and selfless, others spiteful and self serving. We're like saplings in a wind, bending which every way the winds of our wants move us. Karosyn is another creature altogether and she is driven by things that we flawed little creatures can never really grasp."

"I'm not sure I understand?" Arminda remarked with a shake of her head, wondering obliquely when the no-nonsense immortal had developed an aptitude for philosophy and oratory.

"Karosyn believes that she is responsible for Lissom's unravelling by abandoning her during the insanity that swept across the continent those years ago. She feels a grave obligation to guide Lissom back into the light. Unlike the rest of us, Karosyn will not shrug off that obligation just because it's detrimental. The fact that she is, in no way, responsible for Lissom embracing the shadow is beyond her sensibilities to accept. From a practical point of view...she believes that Lissom is invincible and only by mollifying her do we survive."

"So, to adhere to her precious principles, she would see everyone incinerated...the people she is duty-bound to protect. That is a seriously distorted view of principles, Lorio," Arminda objected with seeking consternation. Her brow furrowed, and she inquired, "Do you think there is any chance that she can actually mollifying Lissom...bring her back into the light here in Emercia?"

Now it was Lorio's turn to display open bemusement. "Karosyn could probably beguile a spider, bloated with poison and mad with the need to strike...but the kind of hatred that Lissom bears for the Queen...there is only one way that can ever be appeased."

The room fell silent in the wake of this dismal pronouncement and when Arminda did speak it was to express what every person close to the benevolent Queen was probably feeling. "This leaves the rest of us...Emercia and its allies...in an impossible, vulnerable position. We can only react and against a foe as powerful as this one...that limitation could be our undoing."

Lorio shrugged as if the matter held little interest to her one way or the other and she again displayed that startling new proclivity for giving voice to philosophies that transcended the urgency of the moment. "You and I have been fate's pawns often enough to know that our role in things will be made clear when it matters. As much as I fucking loath fate and being its pawn...I don't see any other option. Karosyn believed that it will not come to a conflict between her and Lissom. That seems to fly in the face of every bit of evidence to the contrary...those thousand fucking ships, for instance...but she believes it fervently. Perhaps we should just have faith in her."

Though it was glaringly apparent that Arminda, proactive by nature, found this notion unsatisfactory, she offered no debate, instead asking, "And you...what is your role in this?"

Lorio smiled, bitterness tinging the expression's edges. "Me? I'm babysitting a irascible Battle Mage and a Cooper's son. The first I am to prevent from setting Lissom's ship ablaze the instant it touches the quay...and the son...I'm to squire him from the city if Lissom has come with a mind to obliteration. Not exactly fodder for epic tomes, but that is my role in all of this."

"Is that truly worth the risk of losing Opheile?" Arminda asked quietly.

"If Lissom runs rampant...I'll lose her anyway...but if I can contribute to stopping her, then maybe I can find my way back to Opheile...and put this burden of being a legend to rest once and for all in the process."

Arminda frowned, but did not press the issue when Lorio appeared disinclined to elaborate. The immortal smiled and then prompted, "Now, should we live to see the other side of this...would you seriously consider coming to live at the Glass House Inn? It's a pretty humble abode for such an august woman."

"Would you have any objections if I did?" Arminda asked, guilt colouring her tone. That guilt welled geometrically when Lorio offered her reply.

"I'd actually welcome someone to torment," Lorio quipped, "and perhaps, should you grow bored with reminiscing on past glories...Opheile could put you to work as a server in the dining room." Her tone became solemn. "There is absolutely nothing I would like more than to pass the time of day in your company with nothing more dire to discuss than how we'll pass our days on holidays and idle times...like the old friends we always should have been."

Arminda nodded, tottering on the brink of tears as guilt assailed her like a rabid wolf. The memory of how the hybrid-Morticant had nearly beaten her to death in the Land of Shades, after she had facilitated Sormias flying off with Islena Doraux, flashed through her mind, but it lacked the power to deter her from confessing her transgression. "Lorio...there's something I have to tell you..."

The gravity in Arminda's tone caused the immortal to arch an eyebrow, but just then an urgent wrapping came at the chamber door. Vexed, Lorio rose and strode across the room, opening the door to find Arminda's Adjutant, Marangelies radiating exigency like heat. Arminda rose on shaky legs and inquired, "Is there a problem, Adjutant?"

Marangelies looked briefly to the imposing beauty who had not moved to grant her entry and then divulged over Lorio's shoulder, "The Queen has requested your presence...there has been a rather significant development, though as to what specifically, she offered no elaboration."

Lorio turned back to the Jerhia and remarked blithely, "Well it seems your duty calls, Maxim Tier Marshal and I suppose I should head out to guarantee that the Battle Mage doesn't devour the cooper's son out of boredom."

Arminda crossed the room and to her Adjutant, instructed, "Await me in my quarters and I'll be there momentarily."

When they were again alone, the two women, who had shared so many of the age's pivotal moments together, regarded each other fondly and finally it was Lorio who offered, "Take care, Maxim Tier Marshal...I'm looking forward to passing many a night sitting before a hearth with a flagon of ale and my oldest friend for company."

Arminda offered the former Queen a deep bow and with a perceptible quaver in her voice, returned, "Fate be damned...if things should take a sour turn, forget your obligations to this wretched place and make your way back to Opheile. Find a place where the two of you can be safe and let this accursed world worry about itself for a change. If luck favours us, we'll be sharing that flagon of ale soon enough."

Then she was gone, leaving a smiling Lorio alone with a renewed hope that her life with Opheile might yet be salvaged. As she made her way out of Kammlogran and into the frosty Nalosan night, she wondered if fate could ever be so kind as to grant her a friendship such as the one she and Arminda has just envisioned.

4

As Lorio hurried back through the comparatively empty streets of Nalosan, she pulled her cloak up tighter about her throat, more by natural habit than need. The unseasonal cold seemed like a harbinger...an ill omen that bespoke the coming of ruin. The citizens of Nalosan were oblivious to the potential calamity that was set to descend upon their normally tranquil city, going about their daily lives in a blithe ignorance that made her envious. As she ventured into the residential section of the lower city, Arminda's incisive query played repeatedly in her mind...a refrain that she could not banish as desperately as she wanted to. There was a distraction that could provide temporary sanctuary...but it held its own perils, sly and nefarious.

'Is your role truly worth the risk of losing Opheile?'

Lorio had been resolute in claiming that it was, but alone in the frosty darkness, she was not so certain...could it be that even spectres could err when it came to interpreting fate's design. As Karosyn had so painfully and emphatically demonstrated, Lorio posed absolutely no threat to Lissom and so what purpose was she actually serving by remaining in Nalosan?

When she entered the Wrey home, Lorio was flummoxed to find Lynon Wrey seated at the dining room table, engaged in some manner of card game with the thorny First Battle Mage, while a habitually nervous Noriza Wrey watched their contest warily, eying the flame-haired virago as if she might suddenly sprout claws and fangs and devour her poor father alive. The unlikely contestants were evidently playing for wooden markers of some kind and the immortal noted that Lynon's pile was meagre, while Enyara...not surprisingly...was a collection of tall stacks that tottered precariously.

"I hope you're not actually playing for coin, Master Wrey," Lorio remarked.

Lynon turned his slightly dazed expression on the raven-haired beauty and lamented, "Thank the Goddess, no...or she would own my Coopery by now."

Enyara further astounded Lorio by reaching across the table and gently patting the old man's calluses hands, smiling as she promised, "Fear not, Lynon...even if I won your Coopery...I would still retain you as manager...though I fervently hope that you're a more skilled tradesman than you are a card player."

To demonstrate her point, Enyara laid out yet another winning hand and Lynon groaned despairingly, forking over the majority of his few remaining wooden markers."

"Don't fret, Lynon...I doubt there is a more skilled cheater anywhere on the Eastern Continent," Lorio informed the old man, drawing a baleful glare from the Battle Mage and a nervous titter from Noriza. Tone becoming sober, Lorio glanced about and inquired after Aeyon's conspicuous absence.

Enyara rolled those exquisite green eyes and reported, "Don't fret, crone...the young man went early to his bed...probably pining over Karosyn, no doubt. Don't look so contrary...I warded his room...to keep unwelcome guests out...and him in."

When the immortal lashed her with a baleful glare, Enyara turned a disarming grin on Lynon, who had begun to frown anxiously at the intimation that Aeyon was somehow enamoured with the Queen.

'Ah, if only you knew how your shy, introspect son has been boldly storming the Royal ramparts nearly every night,' she thought and allowed herself a private chuckle. Taking the immortal's cue, Enyara clarified deftly, "I only mean to say that Karosyn is a scintillating conversationalist and your son is the perfect listener, which I suppose makes them the perfectly matched dinner companions."

Lynon pondered this and then nodded, the world settling back into its comfortable posture for a man who saw certain divisions as insurmountable.

The immortal then settled back and watched as the unlikely pair continued their game. When Enyara had deftly accrued the last of Lynon's tokens, he sighed in resignation, pushed back his chair and conceded, "It seems that you've bested me, good lady."

Enyara offered Lynon an expression that implied that no other outcome could reasonably have been expected. With a crooked grin, she remarked, "There is no more gratifying pass time than relieving a man of his coin, Master Wrey."

Uncertain how to respond to this provocative remark, Lynon merely nodded and declared, "Well I'm worn to the quick and so, I'll say goodnight...thank you for an entertaining evening, Sister Enyara."

Enyara acknowledged this with a graceful bow of her head and Lynon shuffled toward the stairs. Noriza then offered a tentative good night and fled after him.

When they were alone, the razor-tongued Enyara emerged, "That simpering dullard is an embarrassment to women...no wonder men consider us all to be wilting violets." She turned her gaze to Lorio and in a curt tone, demanded, "What news from Kammlogran?"

"Something is afoot with the Jerhia, but the Queen has elected not to share it with me. There was a frenzy of activity in the main staging area, so I suspect her guests are to be deployed elsewhere." Lorio returned with a shrug.

"Imbecile! She seems intent on offering her throat to the viper and would have no one in close proximity to prevent it," Enyara spat, disdain twisting her perfect features into a contemptuous scowl. "This is a travesty...a degrading insult...to be pawned off in babysitting a man-child while the others decide the course of events!"

Lorio grin broadened and making no attempt to rein in her sardonic jab, she offered, "Do you suppose your congenial attitude might have played a part in this assignment...perhaps being an irascible and insubordinate witch with the Queen...and your Matrium...might have been a factor as well?"

"Impudent bitch!" Enyara seethed, the crackle of sorcery gathered around her like a corona...Lorio merely stared back with a bored, impassive expression and the Battle Mage shook her head. After fuming for a moment longer, her demeanour shifted, and she declared, "Lynon has given us use of the spare bedroom across the hall from Aeyon. He even moved another bed up from the cellar...to preserve our dignity, I suspect. Come along, I have something for you."

Though acutely wary of Enyara's sudden amiable shift, she followed the slender redhead up the stairs and into the small room, which scarcely had sufficient room to accommodate a night stand and the extra pallet, which was narrow...even for a slender woman like Enyara. She waved her delicately boned hand and a globe of golden light coalesced in the centre of the room. Lorio looked at the Battle Mage questioningly and she raised a longer arm toward the far corner, where Lorio's quarter staff was propped against the wall. "I had one of my Battle Mages deliver it. I may be shackled with this humiliating duty, but they still jump when I snap my fingers."

Oddly overwhelmed by this simple gesture of courtesy, Lorio felt her throat tighten and she managed thickly, "Thank you."

Enyara huffed and waved a dismissive hand. "If you genuinely want to thank me, you'll give me another opportunity to break you to my will. We both know how close I was to do that two nights ago."

In spite of herself, Lorio smiled at the recollection. The skilled seductress had brought to her the razor's edge of screaming release and held her there until Lorio felt certain that the tether to her sanity would snap for the need to erupt. Not trusting herself to speak, Lorio nodded and Enyara smiled triumphantly and pulled her robe over her head, and stood brazenly naked before Lorio, hands on curving hips and face ablaze with eager anticipation. "Once I've broken you this way, you and I are going to find a private place...where no one can interfere...or hear you scream. There, we're going to fight...my sorcery against your staff and supposed invulnerability. I'm going to do to you what Karosyn did...but I don't have her gentle disposition."

Lorio shook her head, genuinely baffled by this challenge, even as she began to unbutton her tunic and push it from her shoulder. "Why this obsession...what is it you want from me?"

"I want to break you...to divest you of every arrogant presumption, until your insufferable confidence is so fractured that you crawl for my protection like a lost child," Enyara revealed, her green eyes flaring. She crossed the room and moulding her hands to Lorio's breast, roughly pushed the immortal onto the large pallet, where she roughly tugged off her trousers.

Lorio gazed up at her, eyes narrowing and warned, "I think you're actually falling in love with me and it has your hackles up...frightens you."

"Phaw! love is a poet's fallacy. What I want over you is total dominion...and it's what I'll have." With this resolute prediction deliver, the virago settled onto Lorio and began to kiss her. Lorio simply let the exquisite virago do to her what she wished, basking in the sensation of their intermingled bodies. After a moment, Enyara arched her back and demanded teasingly, "So bitch, is it still your intention to go back to your prim Opheile and take up your little provincial life?"

Lorio merely nodded with a slight smile. Enyara glowered and clutched Lorio's throat, snarling, "We'll see."

The night stretched out as Lorio gave herself to a woman who could invoke her darkest demons...in an attempt to momentarily forget another who could save her indelibly stained soul.

5

In the face of darkness, there is, perhaps, a inherent tendency to turn to the basic comforts that come with intimacy...with connection to warmth and humanity through ardent touch.

Karosyn and Aeyon lay naked, bodies contentedly intertwined, in the Queen's vast bed. Though winter held court beyond the walls of Kammlogran, enveloped in the warmth of the hearth and the more effective fire of their desire for each other, the pair were impervious to the chill that had burrowed deep into the ancient castle's stone.

They lay facing each other, their slightly glazed eyes seeing only each other. Karosyn's long right leg was draped protectively over Aeyon's knee as her fingertips played gently over the hard curve of his ass, while he traced the geometry of her hip with his fingertips. She murmured sweet affections to the beautiful man, knowing that these words...sincerely given...served to enflame his ardour. She was surprised that she required no inducement to surrender to her smouldering fire. Those expressive eyes...the tangibility of his hard, perfectly formed flesh...these things compelled her to lay herself before him like a voracious wanton.

She was reluctant to break this slow moment of anticipation, relishing its sweetness...though his considerable length was pressed urgently against her flat belly, declaring succinctly that he was as anxious to enter her as she was to have him inside of her.

'All of my life, I have given myself to duty...to the conviction that such sacrifice would come at the betterment of things more consequential than myself. Now, laying here in the embrace of this beautiful man, basking in the pure love that radiated from his flesh like heat from the hearth, I wonder if I've sacrificed too much. In the end, arrogant presumption aside...what have I really achieved? What would my life have been like had I given myself to the simplicity of this pleasure...had I been a cooper's wife with children of my own?' she wondered as she studied this face she had come to cherish with such astounding alacrity.

Always perceptive to subtle shifts in her mood, Aeyon startled the Karosyn by asked soberly, "Are you...frightened, Karosyn? I see the faces of those around you...and though they try hard to disguise it, they wear their worry like a brand. You seem so composed...so serene...but I wonder if you share their...fears."

"I'm not frightened, Aeyon," she replied quietly and offered him a radiant smile in reassurance. Though Aeyon was young, his exposure to much of the world beyond his family and the Coopery confined to these last weeks, he possessed a keen sense of intuition. He recognized the fey aspect to that beautiful smile...a nuance of resignation that wrung his heart. Her expression became somber and she intoned, "These last weeks...this time with you...delving into this astounding person that dwells behind those lovely eyes...has been the happiest of my life. I know I can have absolute faith in your discretion and because of this passion we share, I will be candid. It is my duty to wear a brave face for those who serve me, but as emphatically as I have declared that my conclave with Lissom will end in a lasting rapprochement...I cannot be sure. This is why I've had Lorio and her obstreperous companion watch over you. Should matters not unfold as I hope, it is impossible to predict what might follow. Should events take an...inimical turn, I have asked them to squire you and your family from the city."

When he began to object, Karosyn silenced him with a fervent kiss. "Please, Aeyon. I can confront anything that I might face, bolstered by the knowledge that you...and those you love are safe."

"I feel as though I would be abandoning you," he returned mournfully.

She shook her head adamantly and pushing herself to an elbow, brought the full weight of her beguiling gaze to bear upon the young man who, susceptible to its power, could do little else but heed her will. "If you remained here and became a victim of any conflict that might arise from this situation...then, Aeyon, then you would be abandoning me...abandoning this glorious beautiful future I have come to envision for the both of us. In this one thing...I would command you Aeyon...as your Queen and as a woman whose love of you has become so complete that her life would be hollow if I were to lose you. If Lorio and Enyara tell you the time has come to flee...you must comply without hesitation or concern for me!"

He studied her face for a moment, misery prominent in those gorgeous brown eyes, and finally signified his agreement with a nod, knowing that everything she had declared about her feelings for him was also true of his love for her. 'Ah, but in this you see the great divide that will always exist between you, Aeyon...should this untenable fantasy persist. You are but a simple man...a cooper's apprentice whose small world has little influence beyond your own petty concerns. In this bed, she is a woman and her love for you may be absolute, but in the world beyond, she bears obligations and duties that you cannot begin to comprehend. This disparity between you will loom large, like a black cloud that will cast its shadow over this improbable dream you have allowed to addle your mind.'

Aeyon did not recognize the voice that offered this ruthlessly pragmatic perspective of his future...perhaps it was the voice of the wiser, more prudent man he would someday grow to become, but it lanced his heart as if a black omen of a future that could not be avoided. Karosyn's next utterance only emphasized how this fantasy could not endure.

"I need you to return home...until I've determined Lissom's intentions. To have you remain here would be to expose you as a target, should Lissom have come to Nalosan with treachery in mind. The unscrupulous would see you as a vulnerability to be exploited and I cannot bear to think that you would come to harm in an odious plot to hurt me. Once this matter is settled, we can discuss you moving into Kammlogran...permanently, if that is your desire. If you can just indulge me for a short span of time...I promise that your future...our future will be blissful."

Young though he might be, Aeyon was perceptive enough to understand that, despite her declaration to the contrary, he would always be a liability to be exploited by those wishing to hurt the Queen...a helpless source of vulnerability. Feeling wretched, he merely nodded and returned, "I'll pack my clothes and be ready come morning. May I ask about Tarim?"

Karosyn could feel the enormity of Aeyon's sorrow...his dejection. It was conveyed to her in those eyes that showed his thoughts to the world so clearly...and in the waning against her belly. She pushed against him with greater insistence and gently gripped his chin. "I will press the matter with Lissom, Aeyon...make it explicitly clear that there will be no accord if I am not convinced that she did not have a hand in his abduction. I have promised that I will do all in my power to find your brother and punish those who have taken him. You know me well enough by now to be certain that my vows are sacrosanct to me. If Tarim can be found...I will do so." She smiled then, an expression that evoked images of a fast ascending sun and intoned blithely, "After all, if the future enfolds as I envision, Tarim will be part of my family."

This was so earnestly given that Aeyon could not help but be suffused by its truth. Karosyn smiled and reached along their bodies to languidly coax his manhood back to full readiness. When he again resembled a piece of curving statuary, she rolled him onto of her and extended her long arms above her head, crossing them at the wrist. Once she had surmounted his shyness with tender encouragement, Aeyon proved to be an ardent lover...though always deferential to her desires...letting the experienced beauty orchestrate their lovemaking. Tonight, she required something more of him...a soothing of her carefully repressed anxiety over the reunion that she knew would await her with the coming of dawn. "Tonight, I would have you take me slowly and at length, Aeyon and then with all the abandon your desire for me can unleash. For this night, let us pretend that we are the only two living being on the face of this world."

Aeyon complied, moving into the Queen with a slow and gentle deliberation that as the bells crawled inexorably toward dawn, became an impassioned frenzy. For a short space of time, Karosyn gave herself over to a possibility that fate was determined to deny.

6

With the coming of dawn, the cold that had clamped down on Northern Emercia broke with a swiftness that was...unnatural. In its wake there arose a nearly impenetrable fog that lay across the Bay of Imerlac and the city of Nalosan. Those earlier risers, who were already about their business, regarded the fog with expressions tinge by supernatural dread. Karosyn knew all too well that this occluding blanket was a deliberate device...one that the Sisters had employed forty years prior to conceal a dark drama that remained undocumented in any history text.

In an oppressive and eerie silence, she escorted Aeyon...and his assigned shadows, Lorio and the contentious Enyara (whose disposition seemed to have mellowed considerably in the immortal's company)...to the main gate at the top of Kammlogran's ramp.

Unmindful of the furtive scrutiny of the guards who manned the portcullis, Karosyn kissed Aeyon and embraced him with a fervour that elicited a gasp from the subdued young man, who tentatively returned her embrace. She inhaled the scent of his hair and held it in as if it might ward her in the fraught hours to come, and then whispered, "I've come to love you are much as anything I've ever loved...you're precious to me. Matters will be made clear in the next hours and then you and I will turn our thoughts to our future. Still, if things do not unfold as I hope...heed Lorio and all will be well in time."

"I will, Karosyn. Thank you for...for everything." He favoured her with that thoughtful smile she so adored and then Lorio laid a hand on his shoulder and gently ushered him toward Enyara, who guided him through the gate and onto the ice-limed ramp.

The immortal turned to Karosyn and inquired, "She's here, isn't she?" Karosyn merely nodded in response and Lorio intoned gruffly, "Let me stay here with you, please Karosyn!"

Karosyn shook her head adamantly. Mantled in a coat of silver fox, with a stylized crown adorning her head and her honey-blond hair pulled into a heavy braid, Lorio thought that she had never set eyes upon a more regal figure than Karosyn Nierosean projected at this exact moment. "This is a debt that has long remained unpaid and it is exclusively mine to settle, Lorio. Aeyon is more important to me than my own life and if you hold any love or affection for me at all...you will see him clear, should Lissom decide that my life is the only appropriate settlement."

A pleading light stole into those great blue eyes and she breathed, "Please, Lorio...see him through this safely."

Profoundly touched by this woman's selflessness, the immortal nodded, struggling to hold her tears at bay. Then, she turned and loped off to join Aeyon and Enyara.

Karosyn stood in the dawn chill and watched as the fog swallowed the trio. She felt a wail of anguish building in her core, but managed to quell its stirring. Then, drawing herself erect, she nodded to her guards and returned to Kammlogran and the collision of destinies that had been so long in coming.

Chapter Twenty Five

and had commenced the trek across the comparatively empty plaza, the opposite end of which was occluded by fog as thick as saturated cotton. Beyond the south end of the plaza, the Royal Park, where a young Jerhia named Melansa had been left as a ghastly declaration of war, was completely enshrouded in the sorcerous blanket.

The three were halfway across the slick expands of cobbles, when Aeyon abruptly stopped. He bowed his head and simply stood there as if suddenly immobilized by sorcery. Lorio exchanged a quick glance with Enyara, whose green eyes seemed iridescent in the peculiar light and now shone with impatience. Lorio flashed the cantankerous virago a plea for indulgence and was actually surprised when Enyara sighed, but nodded.

Knowing that the young man had been decimated by what he likely viewed as his abandonment of noble Karosyn, Lorio placed a hand on his shoulder and gently prompted, "Aeyon, let's get you back to the Coopery and out of this bloody fog. This accursed dampness is eating into my bones...and poor Enyara might wilt, like the delicate bloom she is, if we don't keep moving."

Enyara mouthed a particularly pungent cursed at Lorio, who beamed a scintillating smile in return. She was shocked when a strident voice rasped in her mind, 'We'll see just how delicate I am when I flay you into twitching incoherency...if you ever muster the courage to face me in a duel.'

Unsettled by this new facet of the hellion's sorcerous arsenal, Lorio frowned and again tried to compel Aeyon to resume the journey home. The young man lifted his gaze to hers and in those haunted, expressive eyes she gleaned an intransigence of which she would never had estimated him capable. "We can't leave her like this, Lorio...please!"

Lorio flicked a quick glance at The Battle Mage and was further unsettled to see that she was now regarding Aeyon...not with simmering impatience, but speculative curiosity...as if seeing him for the first time. Adopting a firm tone, Lorio returned, "The Queen has made her wishes in this matter pretty clear. She wants you well away from Kammlogran in case the crazy bitch that is about to disembark has more than a hug and a well-met in mind. I can tell you from personal and painful experience that Karosyn has pretty much reached her tolerance limit for people defying her edicts. If you go back, there is a good chance that Enyara and I won't have a hide by the end of the day...and I'm actually rather fond of my skin."

Aeyon gripped her muscular forearm and squeezed in tightly, imploring, "You're a hero of legend...one of the greatest figures of the age. It was said that you were notorious for never doing was you were told. She's completely alone, Lorio...for all of the bodies that surround her. After all she's done for Emercia...she doesn't deserve this. It is said that you might well have save the world on top of this castle...how could you now simply walk away and let this happen?"

"The pretty man does have a valid point," Enyara interjected solemnly, but the immortal gleaned an ulterior motive in this expression of support for a clearly distraught Aeyon. She would like nothing more than charging back into Kammlogran and confronting Lissom...even if it meant dying in a blaze of arcane glory. The delicacy of this situation made her head spin, but she willed herself to be calm. "First of all, that was a completely different situation...not to mention that history is a blend of truth, distortion and outright lies. I can't help Karosyn...except to see that you are safe. That is exactly what I intend to do Aeyon. It might be true that I've never really done what I was expected to do, but for the most part, that defiance has earned me nothing but grief. Right here and now, I'm going to do the what Karosyn wants because I also happen to believe that it's the right thing to do. Karosyn is the only one who can save us from what might be coming...and if something happened to you...she would lose the will to do what is required. I can't let that happen. Now, please...don't make me throw you over my shoulder."

Aeyon cast a forlorn glance over his shoulder, to where the portcullis appeared like a ghostly construct in the heavy fog. "Then please...take me to the public docks...let me see these people as they land. I might be able to recognize their...their uniforms and then we'll know if they are the ones who took Tarim."

"And even if they are?"

"Then I'll go back to the Coopery, while you find a way of informing Karosyn...I give you my word."

Lorio frowned and Enyara remarked, "Fairly passive defiance...even a delicate bloom shouldn't quail at the prospect of watching from such a safe distance." Her tone became sober and she added, "It's his brother, Lorio...he has the right to know what has befallen him."

The immortal scowled, but after a short, but intense war of ambivalence, she capitulated. "Very well, we'll go to the docks, but if it turns out that Lissom's nasty minions are the ones who took your brother...you go back to the Coopery while Enyara and I find a way to get the news to Karosyn. Aeyon, I have a far better chance of achieving that if Enyara is with me, but if I sense that you won't cooperate...I'll be forced to have her escort you home. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said gravely and Lorio studied him intently for a moment.

Deciding that he was being sincere, Lorio nodded and commanded gruffly. "All right, let's head to the bloody docks...but unless this fog lifts, we won't see a thing past the end of our noses.

As fate would have it, the fog was all but gone by the time the trio reached the quay.

2

A solitary figure stood on the deck of a sleek ship in the Bay of Imerlac. The slight woman stood with her back straight and her hands closed behind her back. Behind her pewter mask, that ghost of a grin played at Lissom's thin lips as she studied the massive seat of power that rose up from the basalt bluff like sentinel.

As the conjurer of the powerful illusion that now hung over the Bay and the city at its edge, Lissom's view of Kammlogran was unencumbered by the heavy fog. She was alone on the deck of the lead ship in this unprecedented armada that waited behind her. They were Gyzarayne's Hammer...her hammer...and at her command, they would fall upon Nalosan...and then the Eastern Continent beyond...like the wrath of the Goddess.

For now, she stood in solitude, savouring her moment of impending triumph...of righteous retribution for the unforgivable slight that had been dealt to her after she had saved this wretched place from obliteration. Though the slight had ostensibly been dealt by Artumas on that quay in Galloway, Lissom knew...knew unequivocally...that it had been that treacherous, scheming cow who had been the architect of her humiliation.

When Lissom had sailed away from Jakar, she knew that she would never return to the sterile land of burning sands and eternally scheming miscreants. She had elevated Gheldazara to the throne and she was welcome to the unenviable task of governing that repository of festering evil. For Lissom...a deity incarnate...Majeer had served its purpose. There, she had consolidated her power, honed her virtually limitless arcane might...and fuelled her immutable hatred.

Then the bitch had actually mustered the temerity...the infuriating audacity to reach out to her and suggest that Lissom come to Emercia and restore their former relationship...Ascentrix and Matrium once more.

"Ah, but I have come to achieve my Apotheosis, you conniving cunt...not Gyzarayne's emissary...but Gyzarayne incarnate. My first order of business will be to carve out your whore's heart and crush it in my fist."

This satisfying image inspired a throaty laughter that sounded like sand scouring gravestones. When that laugher subsided, Lissom waved a slender arm about her head and declared imperious, "Let the birth of a new age begin!"

Then she turned and marched back into the ship's interior.

A moment later, the ship began to glide toward the distant quay...while the massive armada remained stationary...like a hammer poised to fall.

3

After her soul-scouring goodbye to Aeyon, Karosyn made her way back into Kammlogran and summoned her Regent and Adjutant. They hurried to her audience chamber, still bleary-eyed...though her first utterance, offered without their prescribed preamble of deference, roused them from that bleariness. "Lissom has arrived. She is waiting in the fog...along with thirteen hundred and eighty ships. She had come with an escort of perhaps a quarter of a million women. Most will be warriors, but a portion might be sailors on the galleons. My estimate was quickly gathered and there may be a margin for error."

The blood drained from both men's face as they absorbed this horrifying news, though both were astounded by how outwardly composed the Queen appeared in the face of this keen blade poised at her city's throat. "Regent, you may depart to ensure that our...contingency plans are in place and ready to be enacted...but remember...not a single troop will be mustered without my express consent."

The General nodded and offered his Queen a deep bow of deference before hurrying away on legs that trembled slightly. A quarter million troops? If history had been at all correct in the accounting of the invading forces from the last Majeeri invasion, the elite Rha-Sheem had fielded upward of sixty thousand women...who had cleared the field like wheat before a scythe. If Karosyn's estimate was anywhere near accurate, then all of the clever stratagems in the world could not save them.

When the general had taken his leave, Karosyn turned to the steadfast Garam Tranan and with a fond smile, remarked, "Well old friend...it seems the time to prove our mettle is finally upon us. May the Goddess grant that I am worthy to the task."

"Without you, I suspect we would be lost, your highness," the unflaggingly loyal weapons master returned, humbling Karosyn with his unwavering faith in the woman he'd served for so long.

Karosyn could feel tears capering just beyond the corner of her eyes and inhaled to hold them at bay...it was crucial that she display only unadulterated strength now...for the benefit of her those who served her...and those who would be her adversaries. Still, an expression of gratitude was warranted, and the Queen returned with complete sincerity. "It is the desire to prove worthy of such faith that has been my greatest motivator, Garum...and I will do all that I am able to prove myself worthy of yours, old friend. Now, I would have you deploy the Hand of the Way to the receiving dock. They are to don their ceremonial armour...but eschew the ornamental swords and pikes for regular combat weaponry. I will not have them set forth like pretty birds for slaughter should events take a combative turn. Once you have dispatched that duty, send a messenger to the Chapter House and inform the Elder Guide that she is to assemble the council and await the arrival of their Ascentrix and Matrium. Then join me on the quay's receiving dais. As I am Queen in Emercia and these are our guests...the Ascentrix will come to me. I will be courteous, but not fawning or deferential."

Garum nodded, pleased by the firm set of the queen's jaw which spoke of a ferocious resolve. The adjutant then bowed with an air of stiff formality and hurried to discharge her instructions.

Karosyn looked to the chevalier and was relived to note that no trace of her inner turbulence and anxiety was evident on her impassive countenance. She closed her eyes and opened her mind to the arcane field to find the astral map was virtually clogged with star-like dots of light...all of which radiated red light that spoke of long festering hatred. At the southern edge of this horrifying topography of amassed menace there pulsed a massive orb of brilliant red light...shot through with skeins of sleek and perfect black.

A soft, doleful moan escaped her lips and she whispered to the empty silence, "Lissom, what have you become."

Then she set forth to meet the daughter she believed she had so grievously forsaken.

4

Aeyon and his increasingly worried escorts made it to the public docks, where fishermen, seeing that the fog was beginning to thin, if not recede, were preparing to set sail in search of the day's catch. Yet, Lorio noticed that there were others congregating on the protrusions of stone and wood...ordinary citizens who would normally had no place in the docklands...especially at this time of day. Her anxiety deepened when she scrutinized the faces of those who had been drawn here by a compulsion many did not even comprehend. There was an odd vacancy in each gaze...as if their will had been usurped and they had been induced to come here by a voice that only they could hear. When they reached the docks, they simply stood there like automatons, staring blankly out into the gauzy expanse of fog.

She shifted her glance to Enyara, whose troubled expression of bemusement mirrored her own. In the confines of her mind, the Battle Mage spoke, a intrusive faculty of communication that still profoundly unsettled the immortal, 'They are being drawn here...the more intuitive ones...sensing that something of consequence is about to unfold...something that will determine their fate, but over which they have no control.'

This evaluation did little to assuage Lorio's anxiety and she wondered for the dozenth time if she should abort Aeyon's unsanctioned scouting mission and squire him back to the Coopery, collect his family members and flee the city. The young man, under a beguilement of an altogether different nature, seemed oblivious to this odd phenomenon of converging. His eyes were fixed squarely on distant Kammlogran that rose over the Bay like a stoic sentinel...something eternal and otherworldly.

Abruptly, inexplicably, the fog began to fold back upon itself, evoking images of toppling tiles in a game of stones. Even Lorio, who had borne witness to wonders that defied articulation, could not help but gasp in response to what the retreating unnatural fog revealed...the mailed fist of a deity that perhaps heralded the end of the world.

5

Karosyn mounted the steps of the dais, eschewing the hand rail, despite the treacherous slickness of the highly lacquered wood. Even the slightest intimation of weakness could prove detrimental. The lower portcullis was raised and through it now streamed ten score of her Hand of the Way. In their white enamelled armour, gleaming breastplates inset with the gold and emerald symbol of Emercia, they appeared more like characters from a fantasy court than mortal men. In perfect unison, they marched down the steep ramp and spread out along the jutting quay, each man falling out of formation to take up positions at regularly spaced intervals along the entire length of the wide construct that could easily accommodate three massive haulage wagons moving abreast.

When the last of the troops had taken up position at the open waters' end of the quay, Adjutant Garum moved down the ramp and bound up the steps, displaying no outward sign of the vigorous effort. He reminded the Queen, "Your instructions have been dispatched, your highness. Also, the secreted archers and crossbow men have being deployed all along the royal dockyard. Should events go awry, they should provide ample time and cover to squire your highness to safety."

Karosyn greeted this with a vague smile and returned her attention to the roiling curtain of fog, in which she could glean that a single vessel was converging upon the quay. 'Your archers are unlikely to make any meaningful impact on the type of warriors that Lissom would bring to bear, old friend, but what is to be gained by appraising you of this lamentable fact. You must stop characterizing this in terms for conflict and the effectiveness of strategies,' she chastised herself. 'You must embrace the notion of a rapprochement and project it with every gesture...every expression. Lissom was always a rapier incisive creature, who could discern ambivalence and doubt like a tenacious hound. You must be the very portrait of conviction in this reconciliation or Emercia is lost. Most of all...those zealots must remain in their ships!"

As if to gainsay this slim hope, the fog swiftly began to recede. From Karosyn's perspective it appeared as if massive layers of heavy curtains had been cut from their restraints and were falling back into the ocean where they were swallowed as if never having existed.

Behind and slightly to her right, she could hear Garum Tranan inhale sharply. Though she managed to suppress her own gasp of incredulity and dismay, it was impossible not to be flummoxed by the massive array of sailing vessels that were revealed by the vanishing fog. As black as a blight, they spread east to west from horizon to horizon and northward toward Distant Fairmarch...the last of their ranks seeming to roll beyond the point where sky met sea.

Lissom had arranged for a display of power the likes of which the world had never seen and in its disconcerting face, it became virtually impossible to cling to the slender hope that peace could be salvaged from the discourse to follow.

Karosyn could see that every eye of the Hand of the Way was set upon this improbable spectacle, but to their credit, her troops did not issue a single exclamation of shock or amazement. If they were intimidated by this vulgar display of raw power, they managed to conceal it well.

She shifted her gaze to the single ship that glided gracefully through the calm waters. Though it had been forty years since she had last set foot upon one of these seafaring marvels, Karosyn could clearly visualize every detail of its interior design.

Her mind segued to a peculiar philosophical conundrum as she watched Lissom's ship approach the far end of the quay. Though the world teemed with humanity...people of every disposition and inclination spread from pole to pole, horizon to horizon...how often in perplexing flow of human history, had the fate of all been decided...dictated...by the outcome of an interaction between just two people. Inevitably inebriated by absurdly bloated senses of self-importance and arrogant presumption, she wondered how often such people approached these grave junctures with no real perceptions of the ramifications and consequences their posturing might have upon the rest of civilization. It then occurred to her to question why supposedly omniscient beings would ever allow such an obscene amount of power over the course of events...the lives of so many...to be concentrated in the hands of so few.

She was astute enough to know that such musing yielded little in the way of tangible answers, but at times like this they were virtually impossible to avoid.

The sleek vessel touch against the dock with a whisper, but Karosyn knew that no one would come forth to cast a securing line to the dock for mooring. Once positioned where desired, a Sisters' vessel simply did not move as if held in place by inexorable will alone. Though she had experienced this spectacle often enough, it was still difficult not to be impressed by the arcane mechanics of what followed. A section of the vessel's railing retracted and a highly lacquered gangplank slid through the subsequent gap of its own volition...with not a single person in sight to compel it forth.

When the plank made silent contract with the gap in the quay's stone rail, two inset doors opened on the ship's deck and its occupants began to emerge. Karosyn's preternatural vision made it possible to discern every detail of these first arrivals and crestfallen, she could feel her heart plummet in her chest like a sinking stone in the ocean. Faces concealed by inscribed pewter masks and bodies protected by a highly reflective armour, the composition of which was decidedly alien, these emerging warriors looked exactly as Aeyon had went to such detailed lengths to describe them.

There could be little doubt that it had been women, such as these, who had executed Tarim Wrey's abduction. To the credit of her immutable serenity, the only outward manifestation of Karosyn's reaction to this grim discovery was a slight tightening of her generous mouth and she vowed silently, 'I will have answers, Aeyon...on my life, Lissom will reveal why your brother was taken...and he will be returned!'

With a liquid grace that spoke of incredible agility and litheness, the armour-clad battle maidens made their way down the gangplank and out onto the quay. With not a whisper of sound to mark their passage, they quickly spread out along the docks, taking up positions directly in front of and facing each member of the Hand of the Way. With an arm's length between the rival troops, the female warriors stood with their feet spread shoulder width apart and their hands clasped loosely before them. Even from this distance, it was apparent that each battle maiden was staring directly into the eyes of the man before them. Each was equipped with two hooked swords that protruded over their shoulders in a fashion favoured by Issidris Il. Karosyn could feel a quiescent arcane energy emanating from every single woman and knew that they had been selected for their lethal competency...and hopefully their discipline.

"A flagrant posture of intimidation," Garum sputtered indignantly.

"Be calm, Adjutant...and let us hope that our troops are not so easily intimidated...or provoked," Karosyn advised mildly and suffused her weapons master with a subtle wave of placating sorcery.

Garum blinked and then shifted his gaze back to the central quay, where a tense and absolute silence had descended upon the royal docks...an air of expectancy so thick as to be cloying. Then, a single figure emerged onto the deck of the ship and stood stationary for a protracted moment as if surveying her surroundings. Gifted with preternatural visual acuity, Karosyn could clearly see every detail of the woman's stark attire. She was dressed in the same moulded black armour and wore the same unsettling pewter mask as the others, though the woman wore a cloak that was jet black on the outside and blood red on the inside. The cloak billowed slightly in the morning breeze, revealing a body that was whip cord slender and recalling the amalgam of poetic curves and feminine splendour of the woman she'd last seen at Artumas' funeral, Karosyn thought 'That is not Lissom...it can't be!'

And then the woman's gaze shifted to Karosyn and in that distant regard, as incisive as a rapier strike to the heart, Karosyn Nierosean knew, without the slightest equivocation, that this was Lissom...and there would be no rapprochement, no accord between the two. Those blue eyes seemed to settle upon her like the spattering of acid...corrosive and agonizing.

Then, surprisingly, the woman raised a hand in greeting and the moment of dismal empathy was shattered. She started toward the gang plank, and then came to an abrupt halt...as if she'd forgotten something critical. Karosyn watched in puzzlement as Lissom turned in place and crossing the deck, disappeared into the ship's interior. That perplexity became outright horror when Lissom emerged from the ship's interior with a tall figure, similarly armoured, in tow...whom she was leading by a leash...which appeared to be attached to some manner of ring at the figure's groin.

Karosyn could not contain the sharp exhalation that rose up from her chest like burning bile at this deplorable spectacle of servitude. Behind her, Garum cried, "What manner of perversity is this?"

The Queen turned slowly to her Adjutant and instructed, "Return to Kammlogran and send instructions to the day's watch commanders...the southern and western city gates are to be opened...and anyone wishing to leave will be permitted to do so...without encumbrance or inspection. The guards will do everything in their power to insure an orderly evacuation...should it come to this."

"And what of your Regent, your highness...should I inform him to begin putting your contingency plans into motion?"

"Not just yet. Once you have dispatched word that the gates are to be opened...return here." Garum bowed dutifully and started to hurry away, but upon further consideration, Karosyn called him back and added, "Instruct Noriza that she is to return home immediately...and if Ohsrin Wrey is in service today, he is to be sent home as well. Assign guards to insure they comply."

This edict clearly puzzled her Adjutant, but he bowed dutifully and hurried off to comply. Allowing herself a deep and quavering breath now that she was alone, Karosyn returned her attention to the despicable spectacle of Lissom leading the tall figure down the gangplank and onto the quay. Her first impression was that this might be Sandalayne, forced to suffer a humiliation beyond all acceptable behaviour for her defiance of the Ascentrix, but then she dismissed the notion. The figure was too slender to be the living edifice of muscle that she recalled.

The leash at the groin signified a proprietary contempt...which could only mean that it was a man being led along the dock...like an emasculated pet...and Karosyn sank deeper into the bitter waters of dejection. Lissom came to a point halfway along the dock and came to an abrupt halt. She extended a reed thin arm and pointed to the ground. Without the slightest hint of hesitation, the masked figure sank to its knees beside her and bowed its head in total subservience.

Something in Lissom's posture suggested that she had no intention of coming before Karosyn like a petitioner in a position of disadvantage. Thinking that a small gesture of accommodation might grant her a space of time to formulate some way of extricating Nalosan from its plight, Karosyn descended from the dais and began to move along the dock, her head held high, her stride stately and regal.

6

"I can't see...it's too far," Aeyon seethed, a rare plaintive note echoing in his voice, signifying his mounting agitation. Lorio wondered if he had ever displayed this aspect of his personality before the Queen...or any other living soul, for that matter...and decided that it was unlikely.

"This is as close as we can get," Lorio said firmly, fearing that he would resume his insistence that they return to Kammlogran. There was an aura of poised catastrophe hovering in the air that caused Lorio's viscera to jangle. It required only one glance at Enyara's exquisite face, now tight with consternation, to see that she shared precisely the same anxious sentiment.

She regarded Aeyon closely and then shifted her attention back to the stunning sprawl of vessels that seemed to choke the Bay of Imerlac and observed caustically, "Well immortal even your optimistically deluded Queen would have to concede that this vulgar display of raw power hardly suggests a willingness to negotiate."

"A true, but ultimately fucking pointless observation. If Lissom is going to be deterred or vanquished here...it will be by guile...not raw force. Maybe Karosyn is the only one with enough foresight to have actually seen that," Lorio snapped mordantly.

Enyara greeted this rebuke with a slight frown, but offered no repudiation...as close as the contentious hellion was likely to come to conceding that her reckless plan for a pre-emptive strike had been foolish.

Across the expanse of water, figures had began to disembark from the single vessel that had glided up to the quay and again Aeyon expressed his frustration. "I can't clearly make them out!"

Around them, the docks were literally bursting with a wash of humanity, all offering frantic, agitated opinions on the meaning of this incomprehensible armada's sudden appearance out of the fog. Cursing herself for agreeing to this distraction, Lorio was trying to decide how to best lead Aeyon out of the public dock area without creating a spectacle, when Enyara offered quietly, "I believe I can improve your vision significantly...if, in return, you promise to be calm and do exactly what Lorio tells you once you've had an opportunity to view what is unfolding across the water."

Aeyon considered this for a moment and nodded solemnly. Enyara flashed a triumphant glance at a bemused immortal and in her mode of silent communication, chided 'Never let it be said that I have no talent for the subtle art of placation. Oh yes, this is just another mark in the ledger of this swelling debt you owe me, bitch...and you can be certain that my twisted, fertile imagination has contrived a dozen delicious ways in which you can repay me.'

Despite the feigned animosity in her words, Lorio was bemused to realize that they carried a growing affection. What was even more unsettling was that the Battle Mage was thoroughly enjoying this vexing side excursion. Enyara extended her right arm, and with a long index finger, described a circle before Aeyon's transfixed eyes...and the she formed her thumb and index finger into a circle and extended it away from Aeyon as if unfurling an invisible segmented telescope.

Aeyon regarded the Battle Mage in astonishment and she nodded encouragingly, "Go ahead, Master Wrey...you will now see as clearly as if you are standing on the dock at the foot of the gangway."

Clearly dubious, Aeyon turned his gaze toward the distant quay and pressed his eye up against what Enyara indicated was the invisible lens. Aeyon was still young and ingenuous enough to openly express wonder. His gasp drawing a thin smile to the Battle Mage's generous mouth.

"Your really are a chest of surprises," Lorio observed, not succeeding in completely repressing her own amazement at this woman's arcane repertoire.

"You have absolutely no idea," the flame-haired woman returned, and the immortal could feel herself slipping deeper under the virago's complex enchantment.

Aeyon stiffened and turned away from the arcane telescope, his face pallid...and outraged, "The uniforms...they're the same as the ones the women who took Tarim wore."

Lorio gripped his muscular forearm for emphasis and intoned sharply, "Are you sure, Aeyon? There is far too much at stake for uncertainty...so you have to be sure beyond any doubt that those are the same uniforms your brother's abductors wore."

He met her gaze evenly and without any hint of hesitation, replied, "If I lived until a hundred...I would never forget what I saw that night...every detail is burned into my mind. That shiny, moulded armour isn't hard to forget...nor those terrible masks."

Lorio's heart sank...with Aeyon's unflinching certainty...any latitude for doubt was gone. It had been Lissom who had orchestrated the campaign of abductions throughout Emercia. Only her underlying motivations remained a mystery.

Meanwhile, a solitary figure had stepped out onto the distant deck and stood survey its surroundings.

"The murderous whore makes her grand entrance," Enyara seethed, her face set in lines of immutable hatred.

Sensing that rampant emotions would soon make her two companions ungovernable, Lorio imposed herself between the two and the dark drama unfolding across the water. Around her, the immortal could discern that the throng's mood was quickly winding toward open agitation, which would further complicate matters if a hasty retreat became necessary.

"All right, Aeyon...you've seen what you had to see and confirmed your suspicions. We're getting off this dock before it becomes impossible to do without swimming," Lorio instructed, her tone hard and uncompromising. To further forestall protracted debate and objections...from both, she gripped the young man's wrist and quite literally began to haul the indignant young man back toward the city. As she began to force her way through the ever-thickening press of bodies, she lashed Enyara with a warning glance and growled, "You're coming as well...or do I have to throw you over my shoulder and drag you off like a child having a tantrum?"

Enyara's eyes grew comically wide, her lovely face twisting into an expression of outrage that made her appear all the more fetching somehow.

'I'd dearly love to see you try, bitch!' she blared silently, shaking the confines of Lorio's mind with the ferocity of her outrage, but to the immortal's relief, she nonetheless complied and soon the trio were pushing their way out onto the wide thoroughfare that led back to the plaza.

Momentous events seem to emit their own energy...an emanation that can draw witnesses to its unfurling spectacle with its coalescing energy. Lorio was astounded and vexed to see that the sprawling plaza had quickly filled to near capacity in the short time they had been on the public docks. Many of those who had come to bear witness to the flotilla's arrival appeared to be ensorcelled as if they had been dragged from their beds by a compulsion they could neither explain, nor resist. Crossing the plaza, Lorio quickly discerned, would be time consuming...and she was struck by a keen certainty that time was at a premium. She stopped and turned to her two companions, who were regarding her with varying degrees of displeasure.

"We know this conclave is a sham," Enyara observed. "This boy's disclosure confirms as much."

Not wanting to engage in a protracted discussion, Lorio allowed, "You're right, but it gives us no insight into why Lissom has ordered these abductions...or what her game is here."

Enyara's tilted her head and lashed the immortal with a sardonic frown of disdain, "Really? I would have thought that a sea full of ships might declare her intention pretty succinctly."

"Doesn't matter...our priority is keeping Aeyon...and his family safe. I'm going back to Kammlogran to try and get Aeyon's information to Karosyn, though I suspect she already knows as much. Enyara, I need you to get Aeyon back to the Coopery...away from here. This cluster of humanity is going to be bloody fodder if events go sideways."

Enyara's brow furrowed and her generous mouth contracted into a scowl, "I believe you just said that you had a far better chance of reaching Karosyn with me at your side."

Lorio met that green-eyed gaze unflinchingly. "And now I'm ordering you to take Aeyon out of this death trap of a plaza, while I go back into to Kammlogran."

Their gazes locked and Aeyon could almost see the eruption of sparks as two titanic wills clashed. Finally, Enyara inhaled sharply and gripping Aeyon's wrist in a vice, rasped, "Very well. If this storm breaks, I'll lead him and whatever family members I can muster south and out of the city."

Lorio offered the Battle Mage a genuine smile of gratitude and turning to Aeyon, she vowed, "I'm going to try to help Karosyn, Aeyon. In return, I need you to go with Enyara...and heed her instructions. If she says that the time has come to leave Nalosan...you follow her wherever she chooses to lead you. I'll give my life to protect Karosyn, but I need you do give me this one oath in return."

Lorio could obliquely see Enyara's expression curdle in response to this solemn vow, but Aeyon nodded. Lorio kissed his forehead and straightened. Then she shifted her regard to Enyara and in those hard, uncompromising eyes she caught a fleeting glimpse of an emotion that looked suspiciously close to love. "Get him clear of this damnable plaza before it become impossible to move. Don't let anyone slow you down. I'll join you as soon as I've determined what is happening in there."

Enyara shifted an impatient gaze to the milling throng and promised, "Believe me, they'll move for me...like wheat before a scythe."

Lorio felt a huge force brush lightly against her skin and as promised, the press of bodies parted, providing a clear path to the southern edge of the plaza. Enyara fixed the immortal with a smug grin and began to haul Aeyon away. He was watching her gravely as he was pulled toward safety. "Save her, Lorio...please!"

"I'll do everything I can, Aeyon," she returned, knowing that, despite her heartfelt intentions, she was not condign to the daunting task of protecting Karosyn from the dark creature that was descending upon her.

In the frenzied chamber of her thoughts, the First Battle Mage admonished, 'Don't you dare die, bitch. If you do, I'll find your bones and revive you. Then I'll flay you until what Karosyn did to you seems like an amorous cuddle. We have a debt to settle and I'm not a woman to forgive debts...even from the dead."

Lorio smiled with unexpected fondness and raised a hand. Enyara's glowered mightily, but then smiled and led Aeyon away, the throng closing together in the pair's wake.

Lorio turned her attention back to Kammlogran and with a deep inhalation to gather her composure, she began to push her way through the mass of bodies, wondering if this ancient pile of stones was where her long and often tragic life was fated to end.

7

Some ten paces apart, the two most powerful women on the face of the world came to a simultaneous stop and stood regarding each other while a tense silence congealed the air around them. Karosyn imposed a regal calm upon her roiling emotions, knowing that it would be imprudent to reveal any hint of vacillation or weakness before the unfathomable creature she had invited to her shores.

'Is this truly Lissom?' She again wondered as her gaze absorbed the perplexing...and disturbing...truth of the woman's physical appearance. Limbs that were as thin as tree branches, the construct of sinew and bone displayed no hint of the woman's former smouldering sensuality. Instead, she evoked images of jagged glass or the sharp edge of a shard of granite. Upon first glance, she might give the impression of an old woman in the final stages of a wasting infirmity. Only the haughty set of her head and the straightness of spine and shoulders belied this notion.

And then Karosyn met those blue eyes and it required every shred of her tattered serenity not to gasp. A moment of perfect empathy passed between the two women...a flood of discordant, conflicting emotion that...especially from the indecipherable hieroglyph...ran the entire gamut of sentient emotions...though it was hatred that flared the brightest in Lissom's luminous eyes. Then, as quickly as that current had commenced, it was abruptly terminated.

Lissom took two strides forward and offered the Emercian Queen a deep bow that, despite its flawless execution, seemed to ooze disdain. She jerked the tall figure's leash and commanded, "Come, it is custom to bow to a queen."

The tall man offered Karosyn a hasty, ungainly bow and then Lissom pointed to the ground and offered in a kinder voice, "You may kneel."

The man complied without hesitation and bowed his head in abject obedience. Lissom then turned back to Karosyn, who did not bother to hide her displeasure in the face of this deplorable spectacle, and remarked, "I believe that it is customary for a Matrium to kneel before her Ascentrix and kiss her hand when coming into her presence after an absence." She then removed her right glove and extended her slender arm. Karosyn's lips twisted into a frown as she regarded the prominent bones in Lissom's hand. The seething contempt was rife in her tone when she inquired, "Or has the cabal of schemers amended that protocol in my absence?"

Stiffly, Karosyn replied, "I have no response to that particular query. As I am not yet your Matrium...I will not observe this protocol."

Lissom uttered a spate of sardonic laughter, etched with wry amusement. "Come now, your Highness...do you think me so oblivious that I am unaware of your arrangement with those who would conspire to depose me?"

Seeing nothing to be gained in prevarication, Karosyn said simply, "Be that as it may, until you have accepted my oath, I am not your Matrium...and thus I will not observe this tradition."

Lissom shrugged and cast a knowing glance at the distant public docks that were now bursting with curious citizens. Blithely, she observed, "Very well, so that you may save face before your fawning subjects, I can forego this gesture of respect. Still, in the name of our years together and the affection we held for each other, will you, at least, not come and embrace me?"

She dropped her arm and replaced her glove. Karosyn merely shook her head. "Not until you afford me...and the nation over which I rule and to which you have been invited, the appropriate respect. We do not countenance slavery and public displays of humiliation here in Emercia. What you have done to this man is deplorable. If you are sincere in wishing to reconcile our differences, you will release this man from his leash. If not, you may board you ship and sail back to a place where such behaviour is considered acceptable."

Lissom pressed a hand to her wasted bosom and with the grand air of theatre, objected, "You do me a grave injustice. This man is not a slave...he is my Thringan Brauy...and he serves me of my own free will."

She patted the man on the bowed head and inquired of the broken wretch "Is this not so?"

"It is, your Highness," the man confirmed in subdued voice.

Lissom returned her gaze to Karosyn and with a note of vindication, offered, "So there you have it. He has pledged himself to my every need of his free will." She winked through her mask and in a conspiratorial whisper, added, "He served my needs in a most diligent manner...especially the intimate ones."

Karosyn was accosted by a shiver of revulsion at the image of this living skeleton engaged in an act of perverse intimacy. Tone not softening a whit, she persisted, "Whatever depraved games you choose to play are your own affair, but in the public's eye, you will release him and have him stand."

For the first time, irritation emanated from the Ascentrix, but she bid the man to stand. When he complied, she detached the leash from his groin hook and standing on her toes, looped it around his neck. Turning back to Karosyn, she inquired with unconcealed contempt, "Does that satisfy your pious sensibilities?"

"And now, you will command your troops to cease their infantile intimidation of my guards," Karosyn demanded, her tone glacial, wondering how far she could press Lissom before her mask of ceremonial courtesy slipped. She was surprised when the daunting female warriors each took two steps to their right and then to the edge of the dock, where they pivoted in unison and resumed their postures of impassive menace between Karosyn's Hand of the Way guards.

Coldly, Lissom observed, "Your reception would hardly be construed as civil, never mind courteous and welcoming...and yet it was you who bid me to come to Nalosan and mend our broken order...is how I believe you put it in your invitation."

"And in response, you have come to my shore with an army at your back...knowing all too well the impact such a spectacle would have upon those who suffered so horribly during the Majeeri invasion. Such a provocative posture is insensitive beyond all comprehension!" Karosyn retorted.

This recrimination seemed to affect Lissom like a physical blow. She recoiled, those eyes growing as wide a twin moons beneath her hideous mask. Twisting about, she swept her gaze over the vast array of naval vessels before turning back to Karosyn and asking, "Is this how you perceive what floats before you...a horde of barbarians, waiting to be given leave to plunder your precious realm at my command? Has your perception of me really become so jaded...so appallingly hateful?"

Karosyn blinked, suddenly doubtful in the face of Lissom's indignation, which seemed too visceral to be contrived. Still, she countered, "What other conclusion could I reasonably be expected to draw when face with such an overwhelming force?"

Lissom bowed her head in exasperation and then took several brisk strides toward the Queen, which caused her guard to tense. Karosyn lashed the ranks with a imperious glare and commanded tightly, "Remain at ease."

"Wise...my Mirhac Ehkar would see this rabble dead before the first sword could leave their scabbards," Lissom growled and then her tone shifted to one of bristling indignation. "If this was, in fact, an army, perhaps I would be justified in bringing it as an escort. You have invited me to your shores after a thirty-year silence. I discover that you have colluded with women who would see me removed from my Goddess-ordained role...who conduct clandestine meetings and formulate contingency plans...weave webs in shadow like bloated spiders. Still, I came here in the hopes that something could be retrieved from the crumbling edifice of Gyzarayne's order. I have come ashore with only my personal escort guard...thus exposing myself to whatever odious machinations these plotters and schemers might have hatched...and you dare accuse me thusly?"

She stepped closer until she was forced to crane her neck to peer up at the statuesque Queen and dropped her voice. "This is a slight that I will not soon forget." She flung a slender arm toward the bay and seethed, "These are not invaders, Karosyn...they are women who have devoted their lives and souls to our Goddess...Sisters of Esotaria."

Now, Karosyn could not conceal her astonishment. "These ships carry Sisters?"

"Other than the Rha-Sheen-Nakreen who sail the Majeeri Galleons, yes...one hundred and eighty thousand women who have pledged their lives to the Goddess. These are women who have suffered beneath the monstrous hand of the mad misogynist demon...or daughters of such women. They have accepted Gyzarayne and have received her grace. They have forsaken their homeland to come to these shores...in answer to your summons...to find a new home and help raise the lot of women across the world. Should you accept your role as Matrium, these women will look to you for guidance. You promised that Emercia could stand as Gyzarayne's second earthly capital and these Sisters...every one of their own free will...have come in answer to that promise. You would characterize them as invaders...as plunderers; that is odious...when they have accepted the uncertainty of a future in what to them is an alien and forbidding land to help achieve a vision of your design."

Lissom threw up a hand in disgust and grumbled, "Clearly this was a wistful error in judgment on my part. I would ask that you convey to this cabal of conspirators that I will expect them in Dortizirian, where we will establish new protocols for the governing of the order. You have my vow that I will never set foot in this wretched land again."

With this, she pivoted about and began to move toward the ship. Her Mirhac Ehkar again moved in unison, marching quickly toward the gangplank which had slid forth to the quay in response to an unvoiced command. The man that Lissom has described as her Thringan Brauy cast a quick, nervous glance at Karosyn and then rose and scurried after his departing mistress.

Karosyn remained utterly stationary, assailed by a tempest of conflicting emotions as she watched the woman whom she had raised from infancy preparing to depart. 'Was I wrong...did I misconstrue all of the signs...see madness and a predilection for darkness where none existed? Have I allowed women, who are afflicted by envy or petulance, to distort my perception? If I allow her to climb that gangway and sail away...will I have irreparably damaged any hope of reconciliation between us? How long have I blamed myself for Lissom's apparent dissolution? If I abandon her a second time...permit her to slide inexorably toward the abyss, will I have not substantiated my own accusations? Will I not become duplicitous in every act of evil she might commit...now that she has been set adrift by everyone who should care for her?"

Karosyn was accosted by this frenetic gyre of fraught queries in the short space of time it required for Lissom to reach the lacquered gangway and commence her ascent ahead of her escort.

"Ascentrix...Lissom!" Karosyn cried and unmindful of the watching eyes of her subjects...and how they might construe what was to follow...she hurried along the quay and came to the base of the gangplank, where two Mirhac Ehkar imposed themselves in her path. Lissom came to a halt and turned slowly, her mask concealing the triumphant grin that spread across her taut face like oil on water. At the base of the gangplank, Karosyn leaned forward and when she spoke, the cold, imperious edge was conspicuously absent from her tone, which was now more akin to a mother's attempting to reason with an obstinate child. "Please, I implore you...don't allow my surliness to ruin my genuine desire to see us reconciled. You are correct...it was I who invited you here...who entreated you to embrace a new direction for our Sisterhood. Lissom, Ascentrix and earthly emissary of the Goddess, Gyzarayne...I humbly beseech you to accept me as you Matrium."

With this, Karosyn fell to her knees and extended her two hands toward Lissom.

The sleek Sisters' ship occluded the public's view of this spectacle of their Queen's settling into a posture of abjection, but the troops along the quay were mortified that their liege would humble herself in such a humiliating fashion.

Garum Tranan had returned from dispatching his Queen' commands, but he came to a stumbling halt, his heart sinking into dejection when he was confronted by the debasing and improbable spectacle of seeing the woman he admired sink to her knees and extend her hands toward the masked figure like a lowly beggar.

Savouring her moment of triumph...the first of many such moments, Lissom moved down the ramp with deliberate leisure. When she came to stand before the kneeling beauty, it was all she could do not to seize one of her guard's swords and lop off the conniving bitch's head. Instead, she removed her right glove...one finger at a time...and extended her hand to be kissed.

Karosyn accepted it and bestowed a lingering kiss on the skin, which felt as dry as weathered parchment. Lissom stoked Karosyn's abjection by laying her hand on that mass of blond hair and intoned, "Rise my child...and embrace your role as Gyzarayne's Matrium...sworn to the Goddess...and to the woman who is the living embodiment of her will in the world."

Karosyn raised an eyebrow in response to this impromptu deviation from the ancient script, but rose and to Lissom's surprise, embraced the smaller woman...who felt like an armour-clad construct of brittle bones in her ardent embrace. The newly anointed Matrium stepped back a drawing herself to her full height, declared with regal formality, "On behalf of Nalosan and Emercia, I welcome you...and the Sisters of Esotaria...to your new home. If it comforts you, you may have your Mirhac Ehkar accompany you into Kammlogran...though I think you'll find that, unlike Majeer, subterfuge and treachery are not common stock here. You may also bring your Thringan Brauy into the castle. I ask only that you do not leash him or make him kneel when outside of your assigned quarters."

Lissom pursed her thin lips behind her mask, grateful that it concealed her consternation, and signified her agreement with a tight nod. An instant later, the slender man seemed to manifest at her shoulder as if out of the very air.

Karosyn then linked her arm in Lissom's and led her Ascentrix toward Kammlogran. When they had passed into the castle's interior, Karosyn stopped and gently gripped a bemused Lissom's shoulders, declaring softly, "Ascentrix, please allow my Adjutant to show you to your quarters. The logistics of accommodating so many new citizens will be...daunting, but I promise that it is a challenge that I will embrace vigorously. Once you are settled, perhaps we could have a private word in my audience chamber...and then we can meet with the Sisters, who await you at the local chapter house."

Lissom nodded her agreement and followed the doting relic of an Adjutant into the section of the sprawling castle reserved for the most venerable of guests. Though it seemed that she should celebrate the ease with which she had manipulated the wheaten-haired whore into a cowed posture of fawning obsequiousness, Lissom felt dissatisfied and vaguely unsettled as if it had been she who had been somehow out-manoeuvred by the deceitful harlot.

"Play you serpent's games, bitch," she whispered to the emptiness of her opulent quarters, "but in the end, I will brandish your head on the ramparts of this goddess-cursed pile of hateful stones."

Chapter Twenty Six

1

Karosyn maintained her facade of exultant serenity until she had entered her private chambers, where she closed the doors behind and leaned back against the unyielding wood. Closing her great blue eyes, she exhaled...the sound resonating in her ears like deflating hope.

She stumbled across the room, which had been gripped by a deep chill. She glanced at the fire place and recalled that she had ordered her attendant, Noriza, to depart Kammlogran ahead of Lissom's arrival. Consequently, the suite's many hearths had guttered to embers. A wave of her hand and they simultaneously erupted into frenetic twists of flame that quickly banished the chill.

Before her reception parlour's hearth, she sank to her knees and again closed her eyes. She then attempted to compose her discordant thoughts and embark upon what she hoped would be a path that would lead to obtaining the wisdom to extricate her imperilled city from its plight...and save her wayward daughter in the process.

'How long has it been since last I sought the ear of my Goddess? Do you know, blessed Gyzarayne, that I did not seek your guidance...not because I had lost faith in your wisdom...your beautiful vision for this wretched world? I stopped praying to you because I believed...knew...that by failing your daughter so abominably...I had forfeited the right to seek your blessing...to seek solace in your divine regard. In my arrogance, I presumed that I might lead our lost daughter back into the light...but as I gazed into her eyes...ablaze with such hatred, such madness...I know that I, too, have strayed out beyond your light. Despite all that I have aspired to achieve...I still wander in darkness. Still, blessed Goddess...even the unworthy can seek repentance and be granted forgiveness...if they are sincerely contrite and freely admit their failing and imperfections before you. I know that I am unworthy and that my sin is one so severe that nothing can atone...that I have failed to ward the gift you bestowed upon this world...but please, provide me with your guidance...illuminate a path along which I can guide our daughter back beneath your light. If the price of your wisdom should be my life, then I give it gladly. Please, I beseech you, Goddess...show me what I must do to bring Lissom back to your gentle embrace.' Here Karosyn began to weep, her final thoughts distorted by anguish and self-disdain. 'I see not the path...and I cannot fail her again.'

She abruptly ceased what she felt was a rambling, inarticulate entreaty and waited. When no response was forthcoming, she sighed, feeling dejection settle onto her heart like a mountain.

She began to rise, wondering how she would conjure the wherewithal to confront what was to come, when the hearth erupted into a gyre of argent flame, the magnitude of which was blinding. Karosyn raised her arm to shield her eyes, but abruptly let it drop before straightening and turning her unblinking regard into the hearth, where a humanoid shape had begun to manifest.

A ubiquitous voice filled every vestige of her being then, suffusing her with a sense of divinity that banished her every misgiving and doubt. In a gentle voice, the flame construct encouraged, "You, the most beautiful of daughters...have never lost my ear or my light. Come into my embrace and I will reveal unto you my will."

Such was the strength of Karosyn Nierosean's irrepressible faith that she strode resolutely into the flames.

2

Arminda rode at the head of the Jerhia expeditionary force, bound for the Royal preserve, some two days south of their present position. This portion of North Western Nalosan was especially scenic, astounding those who travelled along its well-maintained roads with one breathtaking panorama after the other...yet in her state of disgruntled pre-occupation, the Jerhia Maxim Tier Marshal noticed none of this.

It had commenced not long after they had passed through the western gates of Nalosan and had intensified with every league since then...this immutable certainty that this strategy, to which she had reluctantly agreed, was a grave error in judgment. Arminda had never ascribed to the notion of fate...or even deities (a perspective that she had diligently taken care not to express), but as she moved further away from the Emercian Capital, the Stalwart Jerhia was beleaguered by the unshakable certainty that she was committing a dire error.

The fate of the world would be resolved in Nalosan...she suddenly knew this as certainly as she knew that this moment would be the one that defined her life...perhaps the one to which she had been inexorably guided since the day of her birth.

Though a woman rooted firmly in the soil of pragmatism, Arminda embraced this epiphany without equivocation, abruptly reining her horse to a halt. Like falling tiles, every soldier in the line followed suit. Adjutant Marangelies, her brow furrowed in sudden concern, spurred her horse to join the Adjutant, whose demeanour had been uncharacteristically reticent and distracted since their departure from Nalosan, earlier in the day. That concern intensified considerably upon first glimpsing her superior's face, which appeared stricken. "Is all well, Maxim Tier Marshal?"

Arminda turned her distracted regard to her Adjutant and an odd non sequitur flashed through her mind then. 'I'm genuinely going to miss her doting concern when I leave Jerhia.'

The aging Jerhia shook her head and her customary rapier focus returned, "We will be returning to Nalosan, Adjutant. We will halt briefly. During that time, I expect every soldier to change into combat gear and insure that their weaponry is in battle-ready condition. You will dispatch a scout to General Kyrin, informing him that we will be returning to Nalosan and we will place our force at his disposal as need dictates. That communique will be for General Kyrin only...make that fact explicitly clear to whomever carries it."

Customary composure clearly unsettled by this abrupt about face, Marangelies asked, "May I inquire what has precipitated this change of plans, Maxim Tier Marshal...the Queen may not be pleased with our unilaterally altering the agreed course of action."

Arminda's answering grin was a hard, humourless twisting of lips and she returned, "I fear that we have committed a grievous misjudgment, Adjutant. If I am wrong and things in Nalosan are what they appear to be, I can plead for the Queen's forgiveness. If what I fear is true, then we will help retrieve the situation and Karosyn may thank us at her leisure. Either way, we are Jerhia...and Jerhia do not run from a fight, especially one where the line between good and evil had been so clearly scribed. These women as the best warriors our nation has ever produced...now is the time to demonstrate that fact."

Perhaps infected by Arminda's exuberance, Marangelies nodded resolutely and wheeled about to convey her superior's commands. In mere moments, the female warriors were well into the transformation from ceremonial contingent to lethal, integrated fighting force.

Watching them with quiet pride, Arminda again was visited by the strangely comforting notion that she was about to take her last turn about the grand stage of history.

3

Lissom's disquiet had faded by the time she was led into her decidedly lavish suite of rooms by the Adjutant, who bowed and inquired, "Ascentrix, do you require a specific length of time to settle in before I return to escort you to the Queen's private audience chamber."

Lissom fixed the sycophant with a decidedly peremptory gaze and returned coldly, "I know the way...and I will seek my Matrium out without need of an escort. Now, if you'll allow me some privacy to prepare for that meeting..."

To his credit, the old bureaucrat did not visibly react to this flagrantly discourteous dismissal. Instead, he offered her a formal bow and withdrew without further comment. Gesturing to her body servant, Lissom snapped irritably, "You may remove my cape and be sure to hang it in a manner that it will not be wrinkled."

Tarim scurried forth and did as bid, though in his state of distraction, he failed to notice that his mistress was regarding him with that peculiar expression that often presaged a torrid moment of forced intimacy...or worse still, a flare of sadism...a dark talent for which Lissom's inventiveness seemed without limit.

'You're almost home! If you could just manage to slip away...find Ohsrin or Noriza...they could perhaps whisk you away from this nightmare...and this terrifying creature who calls its tune.' Tarim thought as he took great pains to hang her cloak in an armoire that was as big as his room back at the Wrey home. The thought of his lost home impacted on Tarim in an excruciating eruption of keen images...of smells and sounds of his lost home that were indelibly etched in his mind and heart...and it was all that he could do not to wail in anguish. 'If only I could find away out into the streets..."

As if she'd gleaned his frantic thoughts, Lissom admonished quietly, "I have bestowed upon you the highest honour that a man may aspire to in the world I will soon forge...Thringan Brauy. Should you display such monumental ingratitude as attempting to flee my service...to reveal what you have learned to the whore who holds court in this damp sty...the price I extract will be exorbitant beyond your imagining." She gravitated closed and gripped his chin in fingers that seemed capable of pulverizing bone. "But as I've grown fond of that gifted appendage that dangles between your legs and that skilled tongue...I will extract my payment from your family. Aeyon, I believe that was your brother's name...and the others. Then, I shall anoint you with their blood. So...you would be well advised to be a fawning dog and discard any foolish fantasies of desertion...don't you agree...Tarim?"

It required only one glance into those ineffably terrible blue eyes to know that her threat had not been hyperbole. "I do, Ascentrix."

"You may call me Lissom when we are alone," she returned in a tone suggesting that she had imparted the grandest of egalitarian gestures by permitting him to use her name. "Now, in the trunk that has been placed in the bed chamber, you will find a rough spun robe, slippers and a heavy chain with Gyzarayne's sigil. Lay these items out on the bed and wait for me...in a posture of abeyance...Karosyn's sanctimonious pretensions be damned."

Tarim bowed in deference and then hurried off to comply.

Her equilibrium was returning now and with it, her roiling hatred for the bitch who awaited her. Though she would have been loath to admit it, Lissom had been unsettled by Karosyn's deportment upon the quay...her wild oscillation between bristling affront and then obsequious adjuration once Lissom had threatened to leave. There was a barely constrained desperation in the blond harlot's manner...a anxiety that had nothing to do with the hammer poised over her head.

And then there was the infuriating matter of her scintillating, timeless beauty...her poise and serenity that she had not possessed when she served as Lissom's Ascentrix. "She has no right to either," Lissom snarled her face contorting into a rictus of fury. "It should be me standing in her position...the living quintessence of royalty...basking in the adoration of the beguiled, mindless drones who worship her!"

She closed her eyes and deliberately struggled to subjugate her fury. Cold and methodical...that is the posture she must embrace when the time came to deliver her justice to the scheming tramp. 'How dare she pass her pious judgment on my Thringan Brauy...when every man in this oozing bog gawks as her in moon-eyed wonder....like a pack of starving dogs drooling over a succulent piece of meat that they will never savour. And she pretends to be oblivious to the fact as if such tawdry concerns are beneath her...ah, but they were not beneath her when she stole the man who was fate-sworn to me...no, not beneath her at all!'

She snapped back to cognizance, startled and bemused to realize that her small fists were clenched against her spindly thighs and her voice had escalated in volume and pitch until she was shrieking like a mad woman to the empty parlour. She took two stumbling steps and settled into an ornate chair next to a cold hearth, which she ignited with a distracted flick of her wrist. Though stacked with wood and kindling, the blaze erupted, flared blindingly and was immediately extinguished. She stared uncomprehendingly at the scorched stone for a moment, disconcerted to realize that she had conjured balefire to ignite the blaze...which had consumed the wood in the blink of an eye...further testimony to the degree to which Karosyn had unnerved her.

She blinked again and experienced a strange moment of dislocation...flummoxed to find that she was standing beside herself, peering down on the unsettled amalgam of withered flesh, ropy sinew and roiling hatred who sat slumped in the chair like something infirmed and inestimably ancient. Astounded and dismayed, she glanced down at her diaphanous body to find that she had been restored to the embodiment of feminine splendour she had once been, her vessel again the sensuous well of fertile lushness that could make men melt with a flick of those expressive blue eyes.

'Look What you have become...of your own volition, you have transmogrified yourself into a vitiated, desiccated repudiation of everything you once espoused. Out of spite and loathing, you have flayed the beauty from your own body...just as you have excoriated the humanity from your soul.' There was a doleful nuance to this litany of deconstruction as if the speaker regarded the slumped figure with pity...despite the fact that she was the most powerful sentient being in creation. Balanced against the pity was a note of reproach...as if Lissom was solely responsible for the posture of unapologetic rebellion that she had embraced...as if her grievances were trivial...or even worse, entirely unwarranted.

The slumped amalgam of wasted flesh and simmering hatred shifted her gaze until it selected squarely upon the image of pristine beauty she had once been. Beneath the irrepressible hatred...of murderous ambition...the Lissom she had once been glimpsed a pain and torment that dwarfed her capacity to fathom. That anything this afflicted could actually live...could somehow not burst into flames and be reduced to dust by the intensity of its own despair...left the diaphanous incarnation dumbfounded.

A stark premonition came to her then...shaded in fatalistic shades of black and red...and on the heels of that...a dire admonition. 'This woman you so fervently despise...has extend to you the hand of friendship and will work diligently to reclaim you...if you can muster the courage to set aside your misplaced animosity and embrace the genuine love she is offering. Be forewarned, should you lack the mettle to accept her kindness and guidance...then you are truly beyond redemption. If so, return to you ship, sail back to the Queen, whom you placed upon her blood-drenched throne and content yourself with being a shadow in her dark realm. If you are so foolish as to attempt to destroy what this gracious woman has raised here...your only remuneration shall be obliteration.'

Having delivered this grim admonition, so fraught with implacable certainty that only a deity could presume to wield, the voice fell silent...leaving Lissom trembling and unsettled. Lissom bowed her head and closed her eyes and cleansed her mind of all distracting thoughts save this dire warning. Eventually, her intractable perspective upon salient reality again reasserted itself and she drew a slow, calming breath.

This voice was naught but the manifestation of her own misgivings...because even the most powerful of beings could, on occasion, be beset by doubt. The notion that Karosyn Nierosean could pose a valid threat to her was beyond laughable...it was absurd. Guile and subterfuge were her weapons of choice...her only weapons in the final analysis...and Lissom would crush the blond harlot with the casual ease of someone crushing a nattering insect. There was no living creature who posed a valid threat to her and even without the massive army of fanatics at her back, Lissom could single-handedly create a tempest of sorcery that would leave the Eastern Continent nothing but a sterile barrens of bone and ash.

Feeling her composure return...her immutable faith in the natural order of things, Lissom opened her mind to her environment, letting her consciousness flow out until it encompassed the entirety of this damp, dismal pile of stone. Something tickled at the periphery of her consciousness and bid her to follow it down...down into the lightless depths of the empty chambers beneath the Castle...and there she found the anomaly that had drawn her attention.

Smiling wolfishly, she summoned her Decipara Mirhac Ehkar. They rose out of the very stone of Kammlogran like eddying columns of smoke, before coalescing into the vessels of lethal purpose they had been when mortal.

"There is a valuable lump of charnel about...deep in these ruins...in the Royal Crypt...secure it and bring it to a place where I can examine it at my leisure. If anyone should attempt to prevent your from obtaining it...paint the stones with their blood...but there must be no one left alive to tell the tale."

The dozen bowed in unison and then dissolved just as they'd appeared. Lissom smiled, and though she was uncertain as to just what had inspired her to want to procure this particular corpse, instinct informed her that it would soon prove invaluable...and Lissom had learned to trust her instinct with equivocation.

Just then, Tarim returned bearing the requested items. She rose and bid him to follow her into the bed chamber, where she instructed him to lay them on the vast expanse of the duvet. Lissom then stood with her feet apart and her arms extended to the side, before instructing, "You may remove my armour and clothing. While I am attending the conniving bitch, you will scrub and polish them for my return."

Repressing his revulsion, Tarim set about heeding her command, carefully removing the strange pieces of armour and then the clothing beneath, until Lissom was standing only in her small clothes. With a perverse malice, she rasped, "Everything!"

Trying not to focus on the particulars of her unsettling body, Tarim again did as instructed, but his gaze was drawn to the dissonance of her vessel of flesh...with its skin stretched to the point of rupture, its prominent ribs, collar bones and hips and its ropy tangle of muscles that reminded Tarim of intertwined snakes, writhing beneath taut skin. He was eternally grateful when she bid him to drop the robe over her head. She then extended each leg so that he could slide a slipper over a foot that was little more than barely concealed bones. He was suddenly taken by an image of Lissom disintegrating to bone meal before a howling wind and it was all he could do not to burst into hysterical laughter.

She then reached for the heavy chain belt and Tarim was shocked to see that her fingers trembling perceptibly and paused before she snatched up the belt as if its was something both repulsive and possibly menacing.

As she reached for the symbol of her station, Lissom was assailed by a rapid succession of powerful images and had it not been for the presence of her Thringan Brauy, she might well have cried out in anguish. A sheepish Artumas, his face mournful and his eyes apologetic, slowly extending this very chain to the disbelieving ingenue she had once been, who accepted it with hands that did tremble. There had followed a succession of half-mumbled words about obligation and inadequacy that she now knew to have been nothing more than contrived fabrications. She had little doubt that it was Karosyn's garden he'd wanted to harvest even as he'd given this doleful expression of rejection.

A magnanimous fool, the young ingenue had accepted this chain and its insufferable slight instead of incinerating the ingrate where he stood and then reducing his army to drifts of ash.

'Ah, but the time has come to rectify that error,' she thought with a keen shiver of anticipation.

When she had affixed the symbol around her tiny waist, she lifted her gaze to Tarim and inquired, "How do I look...appropriately spartan and humble?"

Though the robe had been small, the living skeleton seemed lost within the material which looked like a sail on her wasted body. Only that horrible pewter mask imparted the sense that this was more than an infirmed crone. Wisely, Tarim returned, "Absolutely, mistress."

"Excellent! Now, let me go forth and move this charade toward its denouement."

Then she was gone, leaving Tarim alone for the first time since he'd last been taken from his box on the ship. It was then he noticed that she had left the door to her suite ajar...a taunt meant to further emasculate his self-regard.

Cursing himself as a craven, he crossed the room and firmly closed the door.

4

By a twist of good fortune, Lorio did not witness the lamentable spectacle of seeing Karosyn hurry across the dock and debase herself before the Ascentrix. Had she seen Karosyn assume this posture of abject submission, it was entirely possible that she would have been filled with seething contempt and would have collected her quarter staff and returned to Opheile...and the pit could take Karosyn and her twisted adversary both.

Instead, she threaded her way through the press of humanity on the plaza, approaching the portcullis just as it was being raised to allow the carriage carrying an anxious Noriza and an irritated Ohsrin out of Kammlogran. She bid the driver to halt and leaning through the door, informed the two Wreys that their brother was being escorted to the Coopery and that they should join him there...a disclosure which only heightened Noriza's anxiety and Ohsrin's vexation.

Shaking her head over the unfathomable dynamics that governed family life, Lorio made her way up the ramp and into the castle, which seemed to thrum with a tension and energy that could only mean that Lissom had made her entrance.

'Well, at least, she didn't devour Karosyn as soon as she slithered down the gangplank,' Lorio thought with no small measure of relief.

That relief turned to consternation the instant that Lorio approached the corridor that led to The Royal Suite of Rooms. As she approached, Lorio noticed that a brilliant argent light spilled momentarily from beneath the small gap at the base of the heavy doors separating the waiting area from the corridor. Preoccupied with the approaching woman...a known hellion...neither of the guards noticed this anomaly. Expressions severe, they crossed their glaives and the one on Lorio's right declared gruffly, "The Queen is not receiving visitors."

Lorio rolled her great dark eyes as if to suggest that it was her fate-prescribed burden to suffer fools and then pressed closer to the guard, snarling, "If you know who I am, then you'll know that each time your brethren and I come into conflict, your brothers end up bruised and bleeding on the stones. I'm going in to see the Queen...and the only thing to be determined is whether the pair of you are left standing when I go through those doors."

The two guards exchanged harried glances, and both were visibly relieved when a calm voice declared, "Your highness, if we might have a private word."

Lorio spun about to see the Queen's aging Adjutant regarding her with a measured composure. With surly impatience, she snapped, "I need to see The Queen at once."

"I'm afraid the Queen is preparing to receive the Ascentrix and will not be receiving visitors. You may share your concerns with me and I will gladly share them with The Queen upon first opportunity," Garum offered, gesturing to two seats away from the doors.

Lorio scowled and was pondering her next course of action, when another voice declared with false levity, "Now there is a disagreeable countenance I had hoped never to have to gaze upon again...and yet here you are, proving that even the powerful are not immune to the occasional ill fortune."

Before turning to face the flagrantly rude speaker, whom she has already identified, Lorio noticed a mask of perfectly inscrutability slip over Garum Tranan's lined face...but not before she saw the rapid flicker of intense aversion in his grey eyes.

She then turned to confront the disturbing living hieroglyph who had always filled her with such disquiet, only to think that she had been premature in believing it had been Lissom who had cast the barb.

The creature before her wore a hideous and disturbing pewter mask the lower half of which was covered with the same horrific scars that had disfigured Shan-En Naroon's immense beauty. The woman (if, indeed this was a woman and not a stick and cloth construct) wore a simple hooded robe that appeared several sizes too large for her gaunt, skeletal body. Lorio's gaze flicked briefly to the woman's hands, which resembled pallid, bony spiders that were somehow incredibly repulsive.

'This can't be Lissom...it can't be!' Lorio thought uneasily and then their gazes locked, and those doubts evaporated before the candid gleam of pure enmity blazing in those deep blue eyes.

"I am rather astounded that the Queen would stoop to keeping such...dissolute company," Lissom shrugged, "but times change...as do people and perhaps that pristine mantle of hers has begun to crack. And here you are...like an inaccessible itch that can never be scratched. Perhaps events will afford us an occasion to revisit our own rather fraught history." She turned that incisive gaze upon the Adjutant and inquired, "Am I wrong in assuming that a visiting Ascentrix takes priority over a dust-bitten itinerant?"

Visibly unsettled by Lissom's flagrant discourtesy toward the immortal, Garum nodded and allowed, "The Queen is awaiting you in her private audience chambers, Ascentrix."

Lorio could almost feel the burn of Lissom's vindicated grin as she turned back to the immortal and with feigned levity, suggested, "Perhaps you can slink off to the nearest miscreant-infested ale house or brothel and amuse yourself while those of consequence conduct their affairs."

She started to turn away, when Lorio rasped, "I see that the fucking desert sun has burned away the thin veneer of civility...finally exposing you for the miserable cunt you always were."

The two immobilized guards turned a burning shade of scarlet in the wake of this crude vulgarity and Garum exclaimed, "Your Highness, such language is unbecoming of a woman of your renown."

"Ah, that is where you are wrong, Adjutant," Lissom interjected blithely. "It is exactly the language one would expect...from the Queen of whores!"

Then she waved her hand and the doors sprang open of their own accord. She strode through them and they slammed shut. Lorio turned her gaze to a disconcerted Adjutant and growled, "We have to talk...you, me and the pretty man who commands the Queen's army."

It required but one glance into those roiling great dark eyes to know that this utterance had not been hyperbole. Longing for the days of the training floor, Garum nodded and led the immortal away.

5

Karosyn turned away from the hearth, her heart settling into its customary indolent beat as the divine presence withdrew from the room. She could feel her body thrumming with an exuberance that set every nerve ablaze with a sense of well-being...or divine envelopment. She could glean Lissom's approach even before the doors swung open and the Ascentrix strode across the threshold.

She came to an abrupt halt, her penetrating gaze narrowing as she studied the beautiful countenance she had come to despise with such passion. Suspicious of the expression on that lovely face, Lissom observed, "You seem to have regained your composure in record time."

Karosyn titled her head slightly and returned in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Perhaps I'm just euphoric that time has finally brought us together. This separation...this terrible estrangement...it has gone on far too long."

'How can you not see how I despise you with every breath I draw...how can you possibly be so blind...or has your piety finally driven you into the arms of mad delusion?' Lissom wondered upon seeing that the obtuse bitch was being sincere. Instead, she returned, "It is my hope that today will mark the commencement of an era of renewal in our order's history. Though your glacial demeanour on the dock made me fear that this hope would be in vain."

"I'm sorry to have given offence...I was unsettled by the size of your escort and this new penchant for bound men," Karosyn returned with the slightest intimation of disapproval.

Lissom sighed. "Perhaps I was remiss in not advising you of the size of the escort. I genuinely thought to delight you with the extent to which the women of Majeer have embraced the Goddess...though in retrospect, I see now that it is rather overwhelming...and allows room to be...misconstrued. You have my apologies...your highness."

"Your Matrium," Karosyn returned with a tentative smile.

"As for my Thringan Brauy...it is a custom that I acquired in Majeer. Even in all that we have seen in our roles as Gyzarayne's servants, it is impossible to conceive of the scope and depth of the atrocities visited upon the poor women and girls of Majeer by the demon's misogynists. It is only natural that the returning women would extract some measure of retribution from the perpetrators of these unspeakable horrors. I curtailed the worst of these excesses...but the practice of taking men as body servants did strike me as...fitting. Let them experience the abjection of being reduced to chattel. My Thringan Brauy would not leave my side...even if given leave to do so. As you are Queen here, you may put this assertion to the test, but granting him freedom...if you wish."

Karosyn absorbed this thoughtfully. Reprisals did little but set animosity in stone, but she would not debate that with Lissom now. "Be that as it may, Lissom...it is imperative that you understand...that all of the women seeking a home here understand...this practice will not be tolerated on this shore. It flies in the face of the universal egalitarianism I hope to foster. As a concession to me, would you be willing to remove the collar from this man's uniform and that hook from his groin?"

Lissom's posture stiffened, but she allowed, "As you are Queen in Emercia, I will defer to your wishes...just as I deferred to Queen Gheldazara's in Majeer."

"Thank you Ascentrix. Before we go forth to meet with the Council and the Elder Guide, there are two pressing matters that I must broach...to clear the way for this rapprochement I seek..."

Lissom spread her reed thin arms in a gesture of accommodation, "I would gladly hear them, your Highness."

"Your Matrium," Karosyn reiterated with a thin smile that relented to a sober tightening of lips. "Would you please tell me what befell First Stealth Ranger Sandalayne. I have heard much conjecture about what might have happened to her and much of it is...divisive."

"The First Stealth Ranger perished while fighting rebel cabals of misogynists in the Majeeri desert," Lissom returned flatly with no discernible hint of emotion or regret.

"The Sisters inform me that her essence has not returned to the collective...that her cumulative life essence is lost to us!"

"Regrettable, but true. These cabals are comprised of men who are little more than wild beasts. They care little for the sanctity of those they butcher. We did not recover a body. Her head was returned to us as a gesture of contempt. The cabals are a small, but persistent nuisance, but in time, they will be exterminated to a one and the First Stealth Ranger will be avenged." Again, Lissom delivered this vow in a voice devoid of emotion...but then again, there always had been an inaccessible aspect to Lissom's nature.

There was an element of deception in this exclamation, but Karosyn decided to let it rest for the time being, moving to the next query which made her think of Aeyon. His beautiful face blossomed in her mind's eye and she banished it quickly. Instinct warned her that Lissom could never learn of her affection for the young man. Selecting her words carefully, she began, "The other matter is a perplexing one...and I do not want you to construe this as an allegation. I have promised the family that I would seek an explanation and so I am following every venue. In the past weeks, there have been several abductions of men throughout the country. These men were traveling either alone or in twos. I only learned of these serial abductions because a man managed to escape, while his partner was taken..."

Voice becoming glacial, Lissom returned, "And this is germane to my arrival how?"

Karosyn steadied herself and forged ahead. "During an interview, the witness informed me that the attackers consisted of a trio of women...one of whom used a formidable array of sorcery. They were attired in uniforms that, quite frankly, resemble the ones worn by your Mirhac Ehkar."

"Do you accuse me of conducting this campaign of abduction in your realm?" Lissom bristled, her voice becoming harsh and combative.

"I offer this with no judgment...only recounting what I have been told," Karosyn intoned firmly.

Lissom strode closer and demanded, "Bring this man before me and allow me to question him...perhaps his recollection has been addled by the trauma he experienced."

Caught unaware by this, the most unpalatable of possible outcomes, Karosyn scrambled to avoid any turn of events that would expose Aeyon to Lissom's interrogation. "That will not be necessary, Lissom. If you tell me that this is not your doing, then I will readily accept your word and turn my investigation elsewhere."

Lissom glared at Karosyn for an uncomfortable moment, but slowly the anger ebbed from her thin body and she returned, "Whoever has taken your men, it was not done at my direction. Will that suffice?"

"It will," Karosyn replied urgently...even as she knew that virtually every word that this radically twisted creature had uttered thus far...was a bold-face prevarication.

Feeling a sense of debilitating dejection circling her like hungry wolves, she finally beseeched, "Lissom, please...my child...my daughter...will you not remove that terrible mask and let me see your face?"

The raw anguish in this fraught query caused Lissom to blink and despite all of the rancour and resentment she harboured for the woman who had raised her since birth, Lissom knew that Karosyn's desire to see their grievances settled and to lead her back into the Goddess' light were sincere. For the slightest moment, perhaps less than the beat of a jaundiced heart, Lissom felt compelled to surrender to that desperate need...and then she recalled that these were the suite of rooms where she had first seduced Artumas and made love to the aging king in his bed...and that moment of weakness fled. With a perverse measure of satisfaction, knowing the reaction it was likely to evoke, Lissom drew back her hood to reveal her blunt, black hair that was lank after her long journey. Then, deliberately drawing out the act, she reached up and slowly drew the mask from her face, intentionally bowing her head as she did.

Then, slowly, she raised her disconcerting visage to a horrified Karosyn.

The Lissom she recalled...even as a young child...had been possessed of a goddess kissed beauty, her face a perfect blending of poetry and mathematically symmetrical features that yielded a visage that was sublime...it's every aspect, every nuance a perfect compliment to the others. This parody of that face was grotesque by comparison...an unspeakable perversion of Lissom's stunning beauty as if created by a sculptor who reviled beauty as something detestable...abhorrent.

This incarnation's skin appeared stretched over the prominent bones of Lissom's face to the point of screaming torture and gave the impression that the thin skin might simply rupture. The skin itself evoked images of old leather that had been left exposed to countless years in the sun. Lissom's mouth had been a sensual construct like the robust petals of a rose in full bloom...moist and eminently kissable. Now, her face was virtually lipless and what remained of that generous mouth appeared cracked and desiccated.

In this ghastly countenance, Karosyn gleaned the full reverberations of her failure...of her dereliction of her divine duty to ward this once splendid creature.

In the wake of this dismal realization, Karosyn's serenity deserted her like water disappearing down a drain. Her hand fluttered to her face and she stumbled, before collapsing to her knees. She slumped forward and wrapping her arms around her head, began to sob without restraint.

For a moment, Lissom experienced a burst of euphoria that nearly led her to burst into gales of hysterical laughter...as if Karosyn's sorrow was her delight. Yet, as she watched Karosyn writhe at her feet in the full thrall of her genuine despair, Lissom realized that this woman bore the full burden of Lissom's moral unravelling...her inexorable slide to darkness. Her failure to ward her charge was inculcated into the marrow of her bones and despite this facade of serene nobility, Karosyn was beset by the spectre of that failure.

This revelation threatened to undermine Lissom's cynical perceptions of the woman whom she had come to blame for her every twist of inimical fortune. Suddenly irritated by this damnable ambivalence...this attenuation of her precious hatred which fuelled her every ambition, Lissom snapped mordantly, "Truly, would you prefer that I remained a fecund bovine...waddling about like an over-filled water skin. Really, this behaviour is preposterous...and embarrassing. Stop it at once."

Karosyn raised her head and peered up at that horrific visage, made all the ghastlier through the kaleidoscope of her tears...discordant fragments of a nightmare portrait. "How...how did this happen? Gyzarayne bestowed her gift upon you...a pulchritude to surpass all other. How could you just cast that gift aside?" Her gaze became frantic with self-denigration and she rasped, "If I am responsible...if my abandonment has goaded you to this hideous act of self-mutilation. Then please...take my life and heal yourself...please Lissom...I'd rather be dead then face with the truth that you were driven to this by my neglect."

'Accommodate her then...grant her wish and extinguish her spark...how easy it would be,' an inner voice implored, but Lissom vacillated, excusing her ambivalence by thinking that Karosyn's end would come on her terms...and at the time of her choosing. Striding over, she stooped down and gripping Karosyn's right bicep, hauled the much bigger woman to her feet and rasped, "Enough...of this maudlin self-pity. You are my Matrium and I will not have you sobbing like a delicate ingenue who has been rejected by her suitor. You give yourself far too much credit, Karosyn, to think that I have fallen to despondency and self-destruction because you abandoned me. I chose to wear this face because in its hard angles and weathered flesh there lives the face of Majeer. I did what I deemed was necessary to make the women...and to a lesser extent, the men of that sand-scoured country see that Majeer and I were one...each and every time they gazed upon my face."

"But...I have heard it said that the women of Majeer are beautiful by nature...exceptionally so...even without the Goddess' grace," Karosyn offered between intermittent sobs.

"True, but in a land ruled by the ugliest prejudices of the patriarchs...that beauty was a terrible detriment...a thing to be possessed and subjugated. It required but one look in this face to know that I would never be subjugated...especially by a man. As you can see by the bursting ranks in your harbour...the women of Majeer responded to this powerful overture in legions."

Though this explanation seemed plausible enough, Karosyn ascribed it little credence and as she brushed the heel of her hand across her reddened eyes, she pointed out, "Should you accept my proposal and establish Emercia as the Sisterhood's second home...you will no longer be in Majeer. I have wronged you so grievously...please, let me lead you into the waters of Subera and allow me to heal you."

Lissom regarded Karosyn impassively for a moment and then became thoughtful and she remarked, "You were always the most skilled of the order's healers...is this an aptitude you've retained?"

"There is none who could surpass me...especially when motivated by the love that would guide my hand if you would permit me."

Lissom pursed those ruined lips and finally conceded, "Very well...compose yourself and together we will go forth to meet this council. I assume this Chapter House has a fount of Subera?"

"It does," Karosyn allowed, her misgivings diminishing in the face of Lissom's receptiveness to her healing ministrations.

"Then I will allow you to lead me into its waters, where I will consign myself to your healing touch." Karosyn's relief was palpable and Lissom forced down her revulsion and reached up to tenderly brush tears from that loathsome face. "In return, you must stop you weeping...to see such a pristine creature in pain is like a dagger to the heart."

She then drew the taller woman into a protracted embrace and remained in this position until the last of Karosyn's tears had dried and she began to regard what lay ahead with guarded optimism.

6

Both Garum Tranan and Matrick Kyrin's faces grew grave as they listened to Lorio recount her experience on the public dock earlier at the end of which, she focused her regarded squarely upon a disconcerted Tranan and intoned, "You've stood in her presence, old man...you've seen how dangerous she is. She radiates madness and menace like heat from infected flesh. Whatever she spews to Karosyn is nothing but pig shit...she's come here with evil intentions...either toward Karosyn or the whole fucking Continent."

"The Ascentrix claims that the women on those ships are all members of the Sisters of Esotaria," Garum pointed out evenly.

Lorio waved a dismissive hand and barked, "I don't care if she says they're all Gyzarayne incarnate...they are still her trained dogs...and if they come ashore, the streets of Nalosan will be knee deep in Emercian blood. The only fucking question to ask yourself now is just what are you going to do about it?"

The two men exchanged bemused glances and then the handsome General returned, "Let me turn your own question back upon you...what do you suggest I do about it? Before you give your profanity-ladder response, consider this...I have perhaps twenty thousand troops at my disposal...while those ships hold nearly two hundred thousand female warriors, who, if all assessments are even remotely accurate are some of the most formidable on this earth. Still, if they were only conventional troops, I could probably keep them bottled on their ships indefinitely and make landing exorbitantly expensive. All reports suggest that many of these women are Battle Mages. I have also heard that Lissom alone could turn Nalosan to an abattoir. Given that these accounts are true, what would you have me do?"

Lorio scowled and the General nodded, "As I thought. The Queen has decreed that I do nothing without her leave...and I think she has suffered all the defiance she will tolerate."

Lorio lashed the pair with a sour expression of seething contempt and then rasped, "Did Karosyn have your balls removed or did you just surrender them to her keeping of your own free will?"

The two men sputtered at this shocking insult, but before they could muster a response, Lorio turned on heel and strode from the room...knowing that she would have to act alone.

Then thought of the flame-haired, green-eyed virago blossomed in her mind and she smiled. "Not alone."

On impulse, she decided to seek out the spider.

7

Lorio threaded her way through the castle, deliberately ignoring the worried stares of scurrying liveried staff and the barely civil scrutiny of the Kammlogran's guard, of which there were a significantly higher number than was the norm. Clearly, Lorio's reputation preceded her and it was evident that they had no genuine desire to engage her unless absolutely necessary...which suited her purposes perfectly.

'This is impulsive and ill-considered Lorio...like poking a rabid dragon with only a dry stick for a weapon,' the voice of Issidris advised her and then with obvious dismay added, 'What's worse, I can see no tactical advantage in taking this perilous gamble.'

"Then you'll just have to trust me, my beloved," she whispered, attempting to convey a confidence she did not, at all, feel. She understood that provoking Lissom could well be tantamount to suicide, but she had spontaneously decided that it was worth the risk. If the occluding fog of guilt could only be lifted from Karosyn's eyes...causing her to abandon this fatuous notion of redeeming a monster and finally forced her to see Lissom for the grave menace she was...perhaps a way could be contrived to end her. If so...then Opheile would be safe...even the fire-hearted Enyara would be safe...and Lorio's death would have served a purpose.

She rounded the corner and found herself at the head of a corridor that led to a section of the castle she knew all too well. It had been in one of these chambers where a much younger Lorio had made an ultimately futile assassination attempt on what appeared to be a small child. Today, she would have realized that the very fact that no Sisters had been posted to prevent access to this quarter was a sure indication that Lissom was cognizant of her coming...even welcomed it. Though Lorio had found it unaccountable at the time, when she had held the dirk to Lissom's throat, there had been not the slightest hint of fear in those eyes. In no time at all, Lorio had been weeping with her face buried in Lissom's lap as she laid her soul bare before the frightening hieroglyph.

Now, older and far more cynical and scarred, Lorio would not be traduced.

Unlike that prior occasion, Lorio found herself confronted by a wall of armed warriors...all wearing hideous pewter masks and adorned in an armour the likes of which Lorio had never seen. Their hoods were all drawn up and only their eyes...which were ablaze with controlled menace, gave any indication that a living body dwelled behind the mask.

Lorio stopped a pace from the rank of Mirhac Ehkar and demanded truculently, "Where is your mistress?"

When no reply was forthcoming, Lorio shrugged defiantly and settled against the wall, crossing her arms beneath her full breasts and her legs at the ankle. "Stoic bitches, then? Very well, I'll just wait here until she returns."

A small shifting of heads was the only reaction to this declaration, informing Lorio that these women were rigidly disciplined...and likely possessed of a commensurate martial skill, which did not bode well for the Emercian Army if things turned hostile...as she knew they inevitably would.

'You're going to die here...in this city...in this fucking castle. Perhaps you knew that from the very first step you took away from Opheile that night. Maybe that's why I went back to tell her about Lorio...so she would finally know who shared her bed and loved her so ferociously for a time.' She thought as she stared provocatively at the fearsome warriors. 'I wonder if she'll ever discover what became of me...and will she mourn me for a space of time?'

This grimly fatalistic thought had no sooner taken shape in her mind then the Ascentrix came striding around the corner. Upon seeing Lorio, she stopped and placing a hand on a cocked hip, remarked sardonically, "As I doubt it is in your nature to possess enough grace to offer an apology, I can't possibly imagine what you are doing here. As I recall, you did call me a cunt."

Lorio pushed off the wall, but had barely taken a single step toward Lissom when two of the daunting warriors imposed themselves in her path, shielding Lissom. As a further testimony to their discipline, they made no attempt to draw their weapons. Lorio pressed against the pair and thrust her head through the gap between their shoulders. "And you called me the Queen of Whores...which is just as well because this contrived courtesy is putrid. Unlike Karosyn, I bear no guilt or have no wish to see you reclaimed...I see you exactly for what you are...and I know what it is you've come for...and I'm going to stop you."

Lissom threw back her head and brayed derisive laughter. "An audacious little insect with grandiose aspirations...it might almost be charming...if it wasn't so laughable."

"I'm glade you're amused, bitch. I should have slit your throat the last time I had a chance, but that is an error I fully intend to rectify," Lorio rasped belligerently, her lips twisting into a snarl.

"I would turn you over my knee and spank you before my Mirhac Ehkar, like the petulant little brat you are...but the Queen and I have our great rapprochement to conduct." She ventured close until their faces were a hand span apart. With those blue eyes radiating dark promise, she rasped, "Rest assured, I will reach out to you very shortly...and give you my reaction to your clawless little threat...in the most emphatic terms...now run along, little girl."

Lorio met this curt dismissal with a humourless grin and then started to turn away. Before she had taken a single step, the immortal pivoted with the speed of a striking added, driving a knee between the slightly part legs of the nearest Mirhac Ehkar. The warrior sagged, making a whistling sound like a deflating balloon, but before she could sag to her knees, Lorio delivered a titanic clubbing blow to the back of her skull, driving her into the carpeted floor with a muffled thud, where she lay in twitching unconsciousness.

Every hand gripped swords hafts and the slither of steel on leather filled the corridor, but was forestalled by a single bark command, "Hold!"

Without hesitation, the Mirhac Ehkar assumed their original positions and with a smirk, Lorio inquired, "How's that for making an emphatic statement...cunt?"

And then she strode away, fully expecting to be consumed in a ball of balefire at any moment. When none was forthcoming, she made her way out of Kammlogran and through the winter streets, where snow had commenced falling, to inform her virago companion of just what she had set in motion.

Chapter Twenty Seven

1

After the incident in which a member of the Hand of the Way had been attacked and badly injured by a woman from the shadows, Captain Dioral had decided that guards would be assigned to critical access points in pair, thus reducing the likelihood of a reprise of that lamentable attack.

The two men that guarded the single point of access to the lower levels of Kammlogran stood on either side of the single ingress door, which appeared to be nothing more than a section of ordinary stone wall to those unfamiliar with this area of Kammlogran.

Today's pair were Liran and Kyrne, two Hand of the Way guard who had joined the elite order after a long tenures in the Emercian regular army. Both were skilled with an assortment of weapons and fearless, but like the entire Emercian Army, their combat experience had been gained in works of elaborate fiction...training exercises and the like. Neither had ever faced a life and death combat situation...and certainly never been forced to test their mettle against the unprecedented death dispensers that were silently converging upon them.

"What do you suppose the Queen is keeping down in this damp cloister of hell?" Liran inquired with no real interest other than to break the monotony of guard duty.

"Who can tell...mayhaps she had a score of chained men kept to satisfy her womanly needs. That exterior of saintly virtue is just too pure to be real," Kyrne theorized, causing Liran to grimace at this suggestion of salaciousness in a woman he privately idolized.

"I seriously doubt that. Isn't the Royal Crypt down there somewhere...a fitting place for a mortician, I suppose. And those who tinker with gadgets...they work down here I've heard tell."

Still unwilling to let go of the unsavoury thread of the conversation, Kyrne chided, "I'm sure tinkering gets done all right, but of a different kind than cogs and gears. Everyone knows about that common lad that's been following her about like a lovesick puppy...with his tongue cleaning the carpets."

Liran rolled his eyes and cursed his ill fortune at having been stuck with a gutter rat for twelve bell shifts.

All these cursory distractions vanished from their thoughts in the next instant as a single figure stepped from the shadows at the end of a corridor that led perplexingly to a dead end. The figure stood with its gloved hands clasped little before it and its legs spread apart. Over its shoulder protruded the shafts of two swords...but it was the eyes that drew and held the two guards' attention. Those eyes were terrible and seemed to blaze with an iridescent light. There was something in her casual posture...perfectly relaxed, yet unquestioningly ready...that intimated at a terrible lethal competence with those swords.

The two men regarded each other and Kyrne remarked softly, "I think that's a woman."

Liran cast his comrade a dubious glance and then looked closely at the mysterious figure, surprised to discover from the curve of hips and the swell of the fitted breastplate that this was indeed a woman.

"How did you get down here?" Kyrne demanded summoning his most authoritative growl, if only to mask his disquiet. The only way into the depths were down that damnable winding staircase and they had been posted at its bottom. This fact implied a number of things, each more disquieting than the last.

"I truly do believe that is the least of your worries," the woman replied, her voice velvet and smoke...then she was simply gone...blinking out of existence like an apparition.

The two men exchanged puzzled glance, but both had the presence of mind to draw their weapons and start forward in unison, spreading to the edges of the wide stone corridor...that had suddenly taken on the appearance of a predator's gullet.

Neither was cognizant of the column of churning smoke that had spiralled out of the stones directly behind Kyrne. He abruptly stiffened as an unseen force passed through his enamelled armour and then into his core. An argent eruption of pain suffused every fibre of his body and he opened his mouth to bellow his agony, but his cries were smothered by the deluge of blood and minced organs and viscera that exploded from his contorted lips like a raging river. It spattered the walls, ceiling and floor of the corridor as something literally tore the guard's insides to bloody shreds and ejected them through ever orifice in his body. As a transfixed Liran gaped in horror, the horrible spectacle ended when Kyrne's eyeballs were extrude forcefully from their sockets and a wash of grey sludge issued from the empty sockets. Now a hollow shell, Kyrne's body toppled to the stones with a clatter.

A woman materialized just ahead of where the helpless Kyrne had fallen and Liran realized that it had been she who had someone orchestrated his comrade's spectacular demise. Iridescent eyes flashed in his direction and Liran knew that she had lashed him with a gaze rife with derision.

Meanwhile, the second female demon reappeared ten paces from where he stood. To her Sister, she remarked, "Congratulations Sister...you have the honour of scoring the Decipara's first kill." Shifting a emasculating gaze to Liran, she purred, "I will content myself with being second...though I believe I might toy with this one for a brief moment." She raised her long arm to the staircase and inquired, "Do you care to run...or does that shrivelled appendage between your legs provide you with the courage to face me?"

Knowing he was going to die, Liran found the courage to face his death with a measure of honour. He bowed slightly and raised his sword into a posture of readiness.

The entity laughed in delight and came forward, drawing those wicked swords as she did.

Liran struggled to bring his years training to bear, but perhaps a part of his mind was aware that the entity confronting him was no ordinary woman...in fact, no mere mortal. She drew the swords into vertical alignment with her torso and executed a moving pirouette that carried her past the startled guard. As she slid by, the astounded Liran could have swore that her body transmogrified into a writhing column of smoke and then there came an eruption of thought-occluding agony as first one and then another blade bit deep into his hamstrings.

Liran issued an airy gasp and collapsed face first onto the stone...not far from his comrade's empty shell. The entity stalked around Liran's fallen body, casually amputating first his feet and then his wrists. Blood, propelled by a racing heart, expelled great spurts of blood in waves as Liran screamed his torment until finally shock set in and a glazed expression settled over his essentially lifeless eyes.

"Flawlessly done" the one who had killed Kyrne remarked, a note of admiration in her sultry voice.

Placing a foot beneath his torso, Liran's murderer rolled his corpse onto his back and knelt beside him. Tilted green eyes twinkling, she replaced her swords in their guides and withdrew a dirk that gleamed wickedly in the muted lights of the corridor, which was awash with the detritus of death.

"I do believe I'm going to take his cock for a souvenir...perhaps let it be the first in my collection," she informed her Sister Decipara Mirhac Ehkar.

"I believe our Goddess would grant her hearty approval," the other monster observed and the woman, who had once been the granddaughter of a powerful Majeeri patriarch, set about retrieving her ghoulish trophy.

When the grizzly task had been completed, the pair simply walked through the stone walls and into the anemically lit depths of Myrhia's former carnival of horrors. They made their way unerringly through the inadequate light and finally arrived at a large chamber, where bodies of courtiers and prominent nobles were taken in preparation for their journey into the after world...or the bosom of the earth, depending on the corpse in question.

The massive chamber, that served as Kammlogran's crypt, was fitted with a score of large blue crystals that functioned by leeching heat from the air, thus plunging the room into a glacial state that evoked images of the northern mountains of Redia in depth of winter.

A solitary man, wrapped in thick fur that still could not entirely ward against the slow bite of the cold, laboured over the body of a noble who had died not two days before. In the far corner of the chamber, all but forgotten on a stone slab lay the frozen, naked body of a woman who once been a princess...afflicted by a mercurial nature and an unhealthy obsession that had eventually seen her to this lamentable end.

Her exquisitely constructed body was entirely blue and her staring, dead eyes were limed with a crust of frost...a doleful corpse awaiting disposal.

The mortician...a relic who was all too cognizant of his close proximity to occupying one of these slabs...turned away from his labours, thinking that he had heard a subtle sound issuing from somewhere in the darkness. The light was scarcely adequate to the task of illuminating the entire chamber, but the blue eerie glow was sufficient to reveal two churning columns of smoke, from the depth of each glared a baleful set of tilted eyes...one green, the other amber.

He scarcely had time to raise a protest at this intrusion before they raced across the frozen floor in a twin dervishes and reduced him to snippets of glistening flesh that quickly froze in the extreme cold.

Balefire erupted from twin emerald sparks and soon the chamber's crystals simply exploded into smoking shards. The two gyres converged upon the women's corpse, where they coalesced into their normal female forms. After exchanging slight nods to confirm that this was the prize they'd been seeking, the pair left the chamber...with Czefrina's floating corpse in tow...borne through the darkness as if on an invisible current of air. Behind them, every last trace of human occupation had been effaced from existence by the balefire.

The Decipara Mirhac Ehkar led the hovering corpse back into the corridor where they had so efficiently slaughtered the Hand of the Way guards and then down the corridor and into the spaces in between, where, ironically, Czefrina had guided Lorio to engage in a deadly contest that would ultimately see her dead.

As they passed, the two entities flicked their wrists and the gruesome sludge that fouled the corridor was also burned away by balefire.

They guided Czefrina up through the secret corridors that the paranoia of kings and queens had seen constructed...to a place where she would soon meet the woman who would grant her life anew.

2

"You're insane!" Enyara exclaimed, but even as she levelled this judgment, there could be no mistaking the flicker of admiration in those great green eyes. "You've painted a target between your shoulder blades and dared the bitch to hit it."

"You're the one who so vehemently petitioned the Queen to allow you to incinerate Lissom the minute she set foot on the dock," Lorio countered tightly, "Now you may well get your chance."

Enyara shook her head in bemusement, her great red mane swaying like a curtain of fire. "I wanted to take her by surprise if we could...not go head to head with her like a duelist with a death wish."

"It's me she's likely to come for and so you don't have to be here when she does," Lorio pointed out. "In fact, it would be preferable if you took Aeyon and his family elsewhere...maybe even out of Nalosan. I could see it in Lissom's eyes...events are going to unfurl quickly and if we wait, there may not be time to get them clear."

Enyara rolled those astounding eyes in exasperation and then startled Lorio by snapping her index finger in the hollow of the immortal's temple and demanding, "And exactly what benefit do you think will come from taunting this viper?"

Lorio absently massaged her temple, wondering what it was about this tempestuous virago that allowed her to treat Lorio in a fashion that would have inspired a violent reprisal had it come from anyone else. Patiently, she explained, "For one thing, it shifts her focus from her grievance with Karosyn squarely to me...a distraction that might give the Queen time to come to her senses. If she does come for me and things unfold as they most likely will, my death should at least wake Karosyn up to the fact that there is no mollifying this mad bitch. When we were at that flea-ridden ale house, you told me there were a group of like-minded Sisters who wanted Lissom gone. Is there any way you can bring them here if we need them...without attracting the entire city's attention?"

The pair engaged in this fraught conversation in a small room, directly behind Lynon Wrey's office at the Coopery. Lorio had returned to the Coopery just after midday to find the entire family nervously assembled the otherwise empty building. After fielding a storm of queries, most coming from the normally quiet Aeyon, Lorio had provided the Wrey family with an abridged version of her experience in Kammlogran...deliberately omitting her acrimonious exchange with Lissom and the gauntlet she had thrown at the Ascentrix's feet.

Then, she had asked Lynon if there was a place where she and a clearly fuming Enyara could speak without interruption. "There is my office..."

Lorio had glanced briefly at the glass enclosed space that had been built in the upper reaches of the Coopery and allowed the owner to monitor work on the floor from the elevated perspective it provided. Guessing that their conversation might well become...animated given Enyara's volatile temper, Lorio shook her head. Lynon stoked his whiskered chin and after fixing Aeyon with an oddly sheepish expression, allowed, "There is a small space directly behind my office...that has a cot and an old leather chair. When things are slow...I might be known to take a short nap there." To the incredulous Aeyon, who was regarding his father as if he might be a doppelgänger, the old man intoned defensively, "I'm not the young lad I once was...and I get tired on occasion."

"That will do," Lorio said and had led a clearly irritated Enyara up the stairs and into the small space that was accessed by a sliding panel at the rear of the office. It was evident that this small space had been included at the time of the original construction and Lorio had wondered briefly why Lynon had originally conceived this peculiar adjunct to his office, finally deciding that all sentient things had their secrets...to which, perhaps, they were entitled.

This reflection passed through Lorio's frenetic thoughts in the brief span of seconds in which Enyara pondered her query. Finally, the First Battle Mage shook her head. "Under normal circumstances, I could summon them through the tether, but as the murderous bitch is like an enormous spider who sits at this web's centre...and who is probably attuned to its every vibration, that would be improbable. Depending on what is transpiring at the chapter house, it might be safer if I delivered the summons in person...slipped in and hoped that Bethany and her coven from Dortizirian are too preoccupied to notice that a cluster of Battle Mages are stealing away."

A notion suddenly blossomed in the immortal's mind and she asked urgently, "These co-conspirators of yours...are you certain they can be trusted?"

A provocative twinkle lit Enyara's lovely green eyes and she returned seriously, "Certainly the ones I've had to my bed...which, as good fortune would have it, is a rather sizeable portion of the lot. As you can attest...the experience is thoroughly arresting."

Lorio shook her head and rolled her eyes in bemusement. "Are you willing to go and fetch these women...bring them here? Perhaps we can concoct some way to lop this viper's head off before she can poison the entire Eastern Continent."

Enyara's incisive gaze bore into the immortal and she inquired gravely, "You realize that I would be soliciting these women into participating in a suicidal venture that may be both irrational and entirely ineffective?"

"Yes," Lorio returned with equal gravity, "and that is why I don't want you to use any kind of coercion. Be candid and allow them to come of their own volition if that is what they choose." She gripped Enyara's firm chin and shaking it briskly, insisted, "The same holds true for you...you can simply walk away from this and follow the Queen's command...squire Aeyon and his family somewhere safe. In the course of my wretched life...too many decent people have suffered for my impetuousness. I don't want you to be added to the list. I'm the one who kicked the stalking bear...and I'm perfectly willing to face it alone."

Enyara planted her fists on her hips and huffed, "You have the gall to brand me as decent? That may well be the most scurrilous and insulting smear that anyone has ever cast my way." She then surged forward and gripping Lorio's cable braid, jerked the startled immortal's head back and clutched her throat in a constricting vice, roughly pressing Lorio against the wall. Standing on the tips of her toes so that their faces were closer, she growled, "You are either stunningly obtuse or insufferably obstinate...probably an equal measure of both. You're mine! You won't be casting yourself into the pyre, unless I give you leave...which I most definitely do not. It has become plain to me that I will spend a great deal of my time and energy extricating you from one misadventure after the other...and that is exactly what I intend to do now!"

She released Lorio's throat and kissed her, the ardour of her kiss causing Lorio to gasp as Enyara's hands roamed over the immortal's nubile body with a proprietary abandon. Finally, the flame-haired virago broke the kiss and pushed a grinning immortal roughly against the wall. "I will go to the Chapter House and fetch an Arsenal. You will stay put...and stay alive. If Lissom does decide to pay a visit...you grab the Queen's toy and run. I'll find you and we'll figure out what to do next."

"Your skin glows the most fetching shade of crimson when your hackles are up, dear," Lorio quipped.

Enyara's eyes grew comically wide and she abruptly slapped Lorio face, but before storming away, she gently squeezed her left breast and implored, "Just stay alive."

The sound of muffled voice intruded upon the moment and the peculiar fire and honey dynamic that rule the tumultuous pair dissipated. After exchanging concerned glances, they hurried out to investigate its source.

3

Upon Lissom's departure, Karosyn turned and stumbled to a nearby chair and slumped into it as if her legs had lost the integrity to bear her weight. Dejection, fuelled by guilt and self-denigration, raced through her flesh like a vile tide. She could feel a malaise wanting to sweep her up in its numbing embrace and may well have succumbed...had it not been for the thought that Aeyon was out in the city awaiting her...should she survive what was to come.

Lissom had lied...both about the armada, that floated like a poised hammer, in the Bay of Imerlac...and about her culpability in the campaign of abductions that had plagued Emercia.

The eternal optimist in her soul would not capitulate to maudlin despair and admit failure so easily, for Karosyn Nierosean was a woman born with an innate sense of immutable hope that good would prevail and nothing is beyond salvage...beyond salvation. This conviction was to her nature as heat was to the sun...inseparable...immutable.

She seized on an idea then, though there was nothing tangible to substantiate her belief. 'If I can only efface that hideous countenance...restore her to the vision of beauty she once was...perhaps I might liberate her spirit from whatever cage it's been exiled. Perhaps this horrible visage and this ruthless, vitiated thing Lissom has become are inextricably linked.'

Karosyn inhaled. A quavering drawing of breath that, to her own ears, seemed to gainsay this capricious fancy. On impulse, she reached for a quill and quickly scribed two notes...one to Lorio and the other to Aeyon. She carefully folded the single page and kissed it before sliding it into a small vellum envelope, upon the face of which she wrote his name. She then folded Lorio's note and slid it into a large envelope to which she also added Aeyon's smaller envelope. She sealed the envelope with a drop of red wax, but did not emboss the cooling wax with her seal.

She then rose and summoned her Adjutant.

Garum entered the chamber to find his Queen standing next to the window, staring pensively out into the falling snow, which wafted indolently down upon the stones and tiled roofs of her city. When she turned to him, Garum was concerned to see a new aspect to that lovely countenance that twisted his heart. The woman, whom he had privately adored for most of his long and ultimately lonely adult life, appeared...somehow forlorn...her customary serenity having been displaced by muted resignation. When she spoke, her melodious voice was modulated, but her customary note of gaiety was nowhere in evidence.

She crossed the room and extended the envelope to her old friend and something in the deliberate way she proffered it intimated grave importance. "Garum, I want you to personally deliver this to Lorio at the Wrey Coopery. Go alone. Wait until the Ascentrix and I have departed Kammlogran and make sure that you are not being followed. Once you have seen this message into Lorio's hands and determined that all is well at the Coopery, I would have you seek out General Kyrin and instruct him to ready our second contingency. Inform him that he is not to initiate this plan until I have issued him leave to do so...or until it is clear that I am no longer in a position to do so."

Garum offered the Queen a deep bow, but did not immediately withdraw to discharge her commands. She raised an eyebrow and inquired evenly, "Is there something more, Garum?"

The veteran weapons master's face twisted in obvious discomfort as if uncertain how to best broach his concern. Finally, as was his forthright nature, he reported, "There was a rather acrimonious confrontation between the Ascentrix and the former Lamish Queen, before the doors leading to your suite, earlier. They exchanged shockingly vulgar barbs. Lorio wished to speak to you, but as per your instructions, she was not granted admittance. I was attempting to calm her temper when the Ascentrix appeared. Your Highness, it was she who initiated the unfortunate exchange...she seemed to take great delight in goading Lorio...who does not submit to such treatment meekly."

Karosyn, who was all too familiar with Lorio's explosive temper could not help but smile before inquiring, "Did Lorio provide a reason for wishing to see me?"

Again, Garum chaffed beneath the uncomfortable burden of the position his naïveté had forced him into. Deliberately electing not to mention the fraught meeting with General Kyrin, Garum returned, "She wanted to tell you that Master Wrey has confirmed that the uniforms worn by the women who arrived with the Ascentrix were identical to those worn by the attackers who abducted his brother."

Karosyn stiffened, colour rising to her cheeks like gathering thunderheads. In a tight voice, she demanded, "How exactly did Aeyon see the Mirhac Ehkar's uniforms...he was to be well away from Kammlogran before the Ascentrix's ship docked?"

Taken aback by the ferocity of her evident displeasure, Garum stammered, "I...I don't know, you Highness. This was the message the former Lamish Queen insisted that I convey."

Karosyn greeted this with a dissatisfied scowl and then further unnerved her devoted Adjutant by roughly gripping his right bicep and rasping, "When you deliver this envelope, you will impress upon my defiant guest that I have entrusted her with Master Wrey's safety. Should something befall Aeyon as a consequence of her being derelict in that duty...I will hold her personally accountable."

"I...I will make it clear, your majesty," Garum assured her, privately longing for the days when such daunting vehemence was not an aspect of his Queen's nature. Marshalling the temerity, he inquired, "And what of Master Aeyon's message...are there any measure's to be taken, your Highness."

She fixed him with a sharp gaze and replied brusquely, "Other than instructing my Regent as I have bid, no. The Ascentrix is my responsibility and mine alone." Seeing the wounded flicker on his lined face in response to her curtness, Karosyn experienced a flare of shame and again squeezing her old friend's forearm, intoned kindly, "Don't fret, Garum...all shall be well in Emercia...whatever should become of me...all shall be well with our home."

Garum inhaled sharply, disconcerted by the scarcely concealed fatalism in this declaration. Karosyn beamed that scintillating smile that he had come to cherish in the years he had served her and then donning her sable cloak, led her Adjutant to the door.

4

Lorio hurried down the stairs with Enyara in close pursuit, surprised to find Garum Tranan striding across the Coopery floor, brushing snow from the shoulders of his cloak in brisk sweeps of his gloved hand. The Wrey family gathered around the Adjutant in a semi-circle, every eye fixed on Garum expectantly...though in Aeyon's eyes there gleamed an emotion Lorio knew all too well...trepidation and she experienced another pang of pity for this earnest, humble man, whose heart she knew would inevitably be shattered...irrespective of how this present crisis would be resolved.

Garum exchanged greeting with the Wreys, but when he saw Lorio and the indescribably beautiful red head hurrying toward him, he brushed past the group and gesturing them to remain where they were, moved to join the pair.

"What news from Kammlogran?" It had been the green-eyed woman who had posed this query, her imperious tone making it eminently clear that she expected an answer would be forthcoming.

Frowning, Garum managed to drag his gaze from her formidable regard and to Lorio, requested urgently, "If we could speak privately, your Highness?"

"Your Highness...seriously?" Enyara echoed with sardonic incredulity.

Lorio flashed the virago a sour look and to Garum, offered, "You'll have to excuse my rude companion, Adjutant...like me, she is testimony to the consequences of being raised without discipline. Still, whatever you have to report to me, you can say to her...as we are tasked with the same purpose."

Garum cast a doubtful glance at the smouldering beauty and then nodded. Lorio then led the pair back up the stairs to Lynon's office.

'You're going to regret that particular barb, bitch!' Enyara blared in Lorio's mind to which the immortal fixed the hellion with a mocking grin that caused her colour to deepen until it matched her hair.

Once ensconced in Lynon's office, Lorio prompted anxiously, "What is happening in Kammlogran?"

"The Queen and the Ascentrix have departed the castle. They are bound for The Sisters of Esotaria's chapter house, where I believe that they intend to address the Elder Guide and the Council from Dortizirian."

Lorio frowned at this disclosure, exchanging a fraught glance with Enyara. Clearly perplexed by this disclosure, she inquired, "Did you give her my message?"

"I did...though, quite frankly, she seemed more concerned with the fact that Master Aeyon was in a position to observe the Ascentrix's arrival." He then conveyed Karosyn's warning, noting Lorio's grimace upon hearing this scarcely disguised threat.

Enyara rolled her eyes and spat, "Let her simmer, clearly she'd already guessed as much...and the fact that she is actually proceeding with this farce makes it clear that she is blithely unconcerned."

Lorio nodded glumly and then turned back to a bemused Garum, who wondered if most women were such disagreeable creatures. "Is there anything else going on...especially anything suspicious regarding Lissom's escort?"

Garum shook his head and deliberately electing not to share news of his other task, wordlessly removed the enveloped from his leather satchel and handed it to Lorio, who regarded the envelope as if it was something alien and potentially dangerous. "She bid me to personally deliver this to you...along with her reminder. If I have your leave...I would like to return to Kammlogran, your Highness."

Lorio raised her regard from the envelope to the man who had delivered it. In Garum Tranan's earnest and steadfast gaze, she saw intimations of another Emercian soldier who had sported very much the same expression. It occurred to her that, when Garum addressed her with this absurd honorific, there was neither disdain, nor insincerity in his tone. She recalled how she had abused him so horribly earlier and offered contritely, "Garum, I sorry about the way I spoke to you and the General before. I've been plagued by having my temper get the better of my common sense...what little of it I actually possess. As a result, I end up saying horrible things to people who are wholly undeserving of being abused. I'm sorry...I know how deeply you care for Karosyn...and I promise you...on my life, if that is what is required, that I will do everything I can to see her safely out of this."

Garum's blinked at this unadorned insight into the woman who dwelled behind this often irascible exterior. He bowed and intoned thickly, "Then you have my eternal gratitude, your Highness."

Then he hurried out of the office, leaving the two explosive women alone. Enyara was regarding Lorio as if seeing her for the first time. "You truly are a deep well...but the pox can take this gallant pig shit about dying for the Queen because I won't allow it."

Lorio did not respond to this proprietary utterance. Instead, she handed the envelope to Enyara, the old shame naked and raw in her voice as she pleaded, "Would you read this to me? I...I cannot."

Enyara's great emerald eyes narrowed and she pursed her full lips, but accepted the envelope without question. Breaking the seal with a long nail, she withdrew first the letter addressed to Aeyon and then the silky sheet of vellum that held the Queen's message to Lorio.

She scanned the text quickly, her expression becoming rueful.

"Please, Enyara...what does it say?" Lorio implored, loathing the pleading edge in her voice.

Enyara shifted her gaze briefly to the immortal and shaking her head in what might well have been an expression of dismay, began to read the few short paragraphs.

Lorio:

I wanted to tell you how profoundly grateful I am to you for seeing Aeyon to safety. I know that this world has imposed more upon you than it ever had the right to ask. The cruel and unfair burdens that you have been forced to carry have left us all in your eternal debt. I have not forgotten your request...the recompense you would have in protecting the one thing I cherish above all else. In that humble recompense, I glean the horrible weight this life has imposed upon your shoulders and it tears at my heart because you are a proud, majestic creature and your suffering is an indictment against us all. Should I survive to see the other side of this reckoning with Lissom, I vow to roll that weight from your shoulders and give you the chance to eternally live the simple life you so desperately crave, free of this unwelcome myth that has hounded you.

I suspect that, by the coming of nightfall tomorrow, this long festering drama between Lissom and I will have been resolved. Should that resolution come at the expense of my life...please, I beseech you...gather Aeyon and your Opheile...and find a place where the three of you can live free of the shadow Lissom will cast over this world.

You and I have lived long enough to know that even the most complete of darkness must eventually give way to light. Let this knowledge bolster your spirit.

Your friend...in this life and beyond,

Karosyn

Enyara slowly lowered the page and when her large, limpid eyes found Lorio's, the immortal was astounded to see that they glistened on the edge of tears. When she spoke, the Battle Mage's voice was tremulous despite her vehemence. "What does she mean...recompense?"

Lorio shook her head and waved a hand in cursory dismissal, "It's not important."

Lorio was surprised when constricting hoops of invisible energy pinned her muscular arms to her sides. Enyara came closer, until their faces were a hand's width apart, and reiterated, "What does she mean by recompense?"

Angered at being so rudely bound...and surprised by the strength of Enyara's binding, Lorio growled, "It's personal...between Karosyn and I...now let me fucking loose."

Enyara brushed absently at her moist eyes and planting her fists on her hips, challenged, "Only if you admit that you can't break free on your own."

Lorio glared at the infuriating virago for a moment, but with a sigh, conceded, "I can't break free."

Enyara's great green eyes blazed with triumph and with an elaborate toss of her great flaming mane, she proclaimed 'Then you're mine for the taking and now we both know it."

The invisible restrains dropped away and Lorio flexed her arms, privately bewildered by the perplexing woman's power. Enyara gripped the lapels of Lorio's tunic and shook her briskly, "I won't let you die...do you hear me...no matter who it might benefit." her voice became soft and affectionate and she repeated, "I won't let you die."

Their gazes locked in undiluted empathy for a moment and at last, Lorio nodded. Enyara released her and stepped back, asking, "What do we do now...obviously returning to the Chapter House is out of the Question? Also, this letter...should we read it first and decide if we given it to the pretty man."

Lorio gaped at Enyara, taken aback by her ruthless pragmatism, "It's his...and whatever is in it is between them...and he has the right to read it."

Enyara greeted this with a dissatisfied frown and then observed quietly, "She actually loves him, doesn't she? Karosyn Nierosean is actually in love with an ordinary apprentice."

"She does," Lorio confirmed, "which should make him the luckiest man alive...but you and I both know how this is likely to end...irreconcilable disparities are rarely overcome, and I doubt there has ever been two people so far apart in stature...in their place in the world. Despite her best intentions...Aeyon's heart will be shattered. Let him have what joy he can until then."

Enyara pondered this surprisingly sophisticated assessment for a moment and then nodded her agreement. "Then what should we do...do we actually squire the lot out of the city...find a haven for them and come back to lend our aid as we can?"

Lorio shook her head. "Karosyn said this would be over by nightfall tomorrow. That seems like a pretty specific time frame. It also suggests that she knows something that she isn't sharing which makes me...uneasy." She stroked her chin, an pensive gesture that the increasingly enamoured Battle Mage found most fetching. "I think the older brother has his own house. I want you to take the Wrey brood there. Once they're tucked away, return here and we can wait the night out...seeing if Lissom is going to grind her axe with me. If nothing happens...perhaps you can return to the chapter house to see what has happened and I can scout out Kammlogran."

"You seem insistent in sending us in opposite direction...and I don't care for it one bit!" Enyara complained, her tone stubborn and truculent.

"Come back when you're done...and I promise you can pass the entire night with me...doing anything you want to me," Lorio offered hedging that Enyara's obvious beguilement would make her more pliable and that promise achieved its desired affect.

"Oh, that, bitch, is an boundless offer you may come to rue."

"You really do have a way with endearments," Lorio chided, rolling her exquisite dark eyes.

The pair quickly returned to the floor of the Coopery, where Lorio informed the four Wreys of her intended course of action. The father and his eldest son and daughter greeted this with a resigned nod. Surprisingly, it was Aeyon who raised a vociferous objection after he had quickly read Karosyn's note. "No! The Queen has commanded me to stay at your side...no matter what should happen...and that is exactly what I'm going to do."

Trying to master her impatience, Lorio explained, "Aeyon, I've made a rather powerful enemy today...and they may well decide to settle our account tonight...and you can't be here should they come."

Aeyon shook his head...an intractable set to his jaw, "I'm staying with you...and that's it...unless you intended to do what that other woman did and then have me dragged away."

Lorio's brow furrowed in confusion and then she realized that he was referring to mad, deluded Czefrina.

Enyara imposed herself between the pair and glared at Aeyon, who to his credit managed to hold that daunting gaze, "You realize that I can render you unconscious without actually striking you?"

"You can stay," Lorio announced quietly and Enyara spun about and fixed the immortal with an incredulous glare which Lorio met with a flat gaze that would brook no debate.

Shaking her head, the First Battle Mage turned to the glum Wreys and prompted, "All right, let's get you to this one's house before the entire city is buried in snow.

She lashed Lorio with another venomous glare and projected, "You are far and away the most infuriating human being I've ever met!'

Knowing that she had no faculty to reply (and knowing that she was fanning a particularly precarious flame) Lorio thought loudly, 'And that is one of the many reasons you've come to love me...bitch!'

To Lorio's shock, Enyara's eyes grew as wide as saucers and then she beamed a radiant smile, before turning and striding away in a dizzying rush of swaying hips and hair like writhing flame. Lorio watched her, feeling her resistance to the dangerous alternate future the virago engendered weaken another notch.

When they were alone, Lorio turned to the young man of whom she'd grown quite fond and protective like an older sister. He was gazing at Karosyn's letter with a distant look in his warm brown eyes. On impulse, she inquired, "You need not if you don't want to...but will you tell me what she wrote."

He glanced at her hesitantly and after a brief war of ambivalence, read the stunning contents of Karosyn's brief letter.

Aeyon:

I wanted...no, I needed to tell you how sorry I am that I had to send you away...and I hope you understand why. I also needed to make it clear...I love you. I know how overwhelming and preposterous that must sound, considering how briefly we've know each other...considering who I am...but it is nonetheless true. I am not infatuated with you...or smitten with you (though yours is certainly a beauty to have that effect on a woman's heart). No, I am in love with you...as if I have carried you inside my heart for my entire life...and only now, you've been made manifest...mine to have and love as I would.

I also wanted to tell you that all will be well, Aeyon...that this darkness will soon pass...and if your heart feels the same toward me...then you and I can begin to build our life together.

In the meantime, I want you to keep Lorio close...cling to her as a man in a storm at sea would cling to a life preserver. Heed her, Aeyon and let her keep you safe. When this is done, I will come for you...and demonstrate exactly how you have helped me persevere.

With love,

Your Karosyn

Aeyon slowly folded the letter and pushed it into the pocket of his trousers. He shifted his gaze to Lorio and she could see that he was both beguiled and bemused by what he had read. In an uncertain voice, he murmured, "I feel like I'm in a dream...and soon I'll wake up...and everything will be as it was before that night on the highway...only I'll be left with this hollow feeling that nothing will ever fill...as if I've lost something precious...something I can't recall."

Unable to offer any meaningful response to this expression that struck the immortal as one of augury, Lorio simply drew the young man into an embrace. They stood in the silence of the cavernous Coopery, while beyond its walls, snow fell upon the ancient city and the dark drama moved ever closer to its denouement.

5

"Your city seemed much more dismal than I remember it," Lissom remarked as she gazed out of the carriage windows, where a carpet of pristine snow was quickly being turned a depressing grey by pedestrians drudging through the first blanket of premature winter's snow. A mounted escort guard of fifty Emercian cavalrymen kept pace with the carriage and more attention-garnering still, an equal number of Mirhac Ehkar jogged in time with the mounted escort...though the Chapter House was located on the east side of the city. The masked warriors seemed indefatigable as they moved through the already slushy streets and Karosyn wondered what manner of training regimen...or ordeal of sustained horrors...could harden women thus.

Recalling that Lissom had spoken for the first time since they had embarked on their cross-city journey, Karosyn replied evenly, "As I recall, your previous two visits to the city were both in summer...which tends to be lovely. Fall and winter are unpredictable, but not without their own beauty at times. If you choose to make Emercia your primary home, Ascentrix, I predict that you will come to see the seasons in all of their splendour."

"There are no seasons in Majeer...only remorseless heat and life leeching sun. Our new sisters will have a challenging adjustment to make."

"As I've said, I will do all in my considerable power to make that adjustment a comparatively smooth one...but I hope you are amenable to the possibility that some of these woman may have to be assigned to postings in the archipelagos. Emercia is prosperous, but we simply lack the facilities to absorb so many new citizens in so short a period."

Lissom greeted this with a noncommittal shrug, but replied, "The Eastern Continent is a sprawling land...and I would wager that misogyny is rooted deep in its soil. Once the women are settled, it is my intent to dispatch many of them beyond Emercia's border to carry Gyzarayne's theology to oppressed women in every land."

Karosyn greeted this ambitious...and dangerously inflammatory...intention with an arched eyebrow, but did not pursue the matter and the pair again lapsed into a cloying silence.

'After thirty years...how can you not have something to speak to me of...anything...your anger your pain...don't you know that I would gladly hear it?' Karosyn silently implored the indecipherable creature across from her. Lissom had always been an inaccessible woman...even as a small girl, her thoughts were carefully sequestered behind a closed exterior...that made her seem aloof or arrogant. Perhaps it was a manifestation of this hideous mask, but this incarnation of the women she'd raised from infancy, in addition to being impossibly remote...struck Karosyn as sly and cunning.

Lissom turned her incisive gaze on Karosyn and suddenly remarked, "Ah, I neglected to mention that your castle is infested by the most cantankerous vermin...this one on two legs."

Karosyn pursed her lips, but there could be little doubt that Lissom was referring to Lorio. "My Adjutant informs me that you engaged in a rather pungent exchange..."

"She actually called me a miserable cunt," Lissom reported with a note of amusement. "I suffered through a decade of her caustic presence in Majeer and I honestly have no idea why you are willing to tolerate her presence. She's an unsavoury wretch."

"Perhaps," Karosyn allowed, "but she is also the most courageous, ferociously alive woman I've ever met...and oddly, I just happen to like her company."

Lissom shook her head and retorted, "I suspect you would find a redeeming virtue in Thaz Ekai, himself."

Before Karosyn could conjure a logical response to this criticism, the carriage turned into a narrow street at the end of which stood the comparatively humble chapter house of the Nalosan Sisters of Esotaria...a collection of rectangular stone buildings that could house as many as three thousand women when at capacity.

The carriage came to a halt and the driver quickly dismounted to set the portable steps and open the door for its two occupants. Karosyn gestured the Ascentrix out and she lithely leapt to the slick stones, ignoring both the stairs and the driver who had offered her his hand. The queen accepted his hand and gracefully descended to the slush spattered cobbles, watching as her mounted troops took up positions lining the streets. Meanwhile, Lissom's Mirhac Ehkar formed a line along the street and assumed a posture of relaxed readiness. Beneath the falling snow and low ceiling of silver clouds, their masks and terrible hooked swords lent them a terrifying silent aspect. Mercifully, the Ascentrix had elected to leave her Thringan Brauy in her quarters in Kammlogran for which Karosyn was genuinely grateful. She could not envision how the council would perceive Lissom's toy and the session was apt to be turbulent enough without an added provocative element.

Two Sisters opened the massive wrought iron gate and bowed obsequiously to the Queen. When they noticed the diminutive masked figure, both dropped to a knee and bowed their heads...which seemed to please Lissom immensely. She touched each on the head and bid them to rise. There was a tenderness in that gesture that caused Karosyn to experience a momentary flicker of elation, but then she recalled Aeyon's message and that hope faded like the fleeting thing it was.

Then Elder Guide Bethany Denay hurried to meet them, acknowledging the Queen with a solemn bow. Her expressive blue eyes widened at the sight of Lissom's pewter mask and she glanced to Karosyn questioningly, earning a disgust huff from the Ascentrix, who rasped, "Despite this imaginary title you've bestowed upon yourself, Bethany Denay, I believe it is still protocol that you bow before your Ascentrix."

Bethany's eyes grew impossibly wide and she quickly knelt in a sprawl of wet slush. Lissom stiffly extended her hand, which Bethany accepted and kissed dutifully. "I cry your pardon, Mother."

"Rise and escort me into the presence of this other group of self-aggrandizers," Lissom commanded, her tone suddenly glacial and imperious, a demeanour that did not inspire a great deal of hope in Karosyn. Bethany rose quickly, her face pallid. The knees of her robe were sopping and discoloured, and it was apparent that she had been completely unsettled by Lissom's appearance.

After flicking a nervous glance at the Matrium, the Elder Guide turned and stumbled toward the main building of the compound, her gait wooden with anxiety. Lissom made a short, chopping gesture with her thin right arm and a dozen Mirhac Ehkar broke ranks with their sisters and formed ranks on either side of her. Bethany came to a stumbling halt and cast a mortified glance at the ferocious warriors. Coming to her rescue, Karosyn inquired evenly, "Do you truly feel an escort is required, Mother...we have all come here with a mind to reconciliation?"

Lissom stopped and glanced up at Karosyn, who could feel the blistering intensity of the woman's gaze despite the damp chill. "I am going to meet with women who formed secret cabals and who actively schemed for my removal from my Goddess ordained role...and you would question why I feel that a measure of precaution is warranted?"

With this scathing rebuke delivered, the Ascentrix gestured brusquely for Bethany to proceed and the group began to move toward the main building.

After a moment, a grim-faced Karosyn moved to follow.

6

As the returning Jerhia expeditionary force made its way upon the now snow-covered highway, moving quickly toward the South Gate of the city (Arminda having reached the decision that it would strategically preferable to enter through the small South Gate rather than via the West gate, through which the force had departed), a scout came galloping toward the Maxim Tier Marshal and her Adjutant.

The pair reined in their mounts and Adjutant Marangelies gestured to the column to come to a halt. Arminda awaited the scout's report, masking her increasing discomfort...a dampness-induced pain that found its source in the arm that had been injured during her time in the hell beyond the Hiberas.

The mood of her contingent had been damped by the increasingly inimical weather and the fifteen hundred warriors had made the return journey to Nalosan under an uncharacteristic pall of determined silence.

The Scout saluted the Maxim Tier Marshal and then handed Arminda a communique from the Emercian Regent, which she accepted as her shoulder issued a strident howl of protest.

'Let me hold it together just a while longer, please!' she beseeched as she tore open the envelope and attempted to read its contents in the inadequate light. A sharp frown of displeasure twisted her mouth and she handed the single page to her Adjutant, who quickly perused its content, her expression quickly coming to resemble her superior's.

She surveyed their surroundings, which consisted primarily of open expanses of rolling fields, mangled in a blanket of moisture-laden snow across which an increasingly chill wind blew. The prospect of establishing an impromptu camp here was not a pleasant one, but these were Jerhia's finest soldiers and so Marangelies inquired, "Do you wish to establish camp here, Maxim Tier Marshal?"

Arminda glowered, a rare expression of displeasure that informed the Adjutant that something was awry with her superior. Peevish, the aging soldier grumbled, "Since we've been expressly forbidden to enter the city without prior approval...we have little choice...unless I decide to storm the gates, which may become less improbable as my mood darkens."

When Marangelies' bewildered expression conveyed that she might actually think her superior was seriously pondering this option, Arminda clapped her on the shoulder and instructed, "Yes, have the troops make camp and make sure there is sufficient wood to insure that everyone is warm. I want the force ready to move at short notice and this damnable chill has a way of burrowing into bones and muscle. I know we've pushed the troops today, but after we've established camp and the troops have taken the evening meal, I want a contingent of scouts dispatched into the city to determine exactly what is happening there. General Kyrin states that there is a massive naval armada anchored in the bay...I require a report on their apparent numbers...as well as the disposition of any foreign troops that may have come ashore. In the interim, you and I will meet with the most senior member of each discipline...to see if we can devise a loose strategy for fighting on the fly in city streets. We'll wait through the night...but come tomorrow morning, we will enter Nalosan...with or without Kyrin's permission."

Marangelies nodded dutifully and watched closely as Arminda dismounted her horse. Her aching shoulder again issued a shriek of protest when her boots hit the slick cobbles and she could not entirely repress the hiss of pain that escaped her contorted lips.

The Adjutant was beside her in an instant, her large eyes alight with deep concern. Not soliciting permission, the younger woman put a supporting arm around Arminda's waist and held her upright. "Are you well, Maxim Tier Marshal?"

"I am just fine...don't fuss, Marangelies...these old bones are not fond of this dampness," Arminda replied, trying to dismiss the episode as incidental. The incisive Adjutant required only one glance at Arminda's face, which, even in the late afternoon gloom, was visibly pinched and ashen, and her concern would not be allayed.

Still supporting Arminda, Marangelies bellowed, her voice ringing with imperative urgency, "Erect the Maxim Tier Marshall's tent first...in the shelter of that corpse of trees. Have the physician fetch bark of willow...and wine." To a nearby Calvary officer, she commanded, "Give me the blanket and oilskin on my horse."

The officer saluted and quickly complied, apparently taking no affront at being ordered about in such a imperious fashion. When she handed the blankets to the Adjutant, Marangelies quickly and efficiently draped it around Arminda's shoulders, before securing the oil skin in its wake to prevent the dampness from saturating the wool.

"Marangelies, it won't do to have the women I am expected to command to see me as an infirmed old crone...that would hardly command their respect. Stop this fussing!"

Voice grave and solemn, the young woman surprised...and profoundly touched Arminda by assuring her quietly, "Maxim Tier Marshal...Arminda...there is not a woman on this road...indeed, in all of Jerhia...who does not respect you...who does not recognize and appreciate just what you've done for the women of Jerhia. We need your guidance in what may come...and tonight you will rest and let me fuss over you if I choose."

The two women regarded each other as the snow fell about them...a moment of perfect empathy passing between them...a new generation paying homage to the old. Finally, Arminda smiled and nodded, allowing Marangelies to guide her across the field to where her tent was being hastily erected.

In that moment of unalloyed empathy, neither could have imagined that, before the next day had run its course, Marangelies would sacrifice her young life to save the woman to whom she had paid this highest of compliments.

7

As Karosyn swept her impassive gaze over the polished expanse of wood, around which sat the most powerful women on the face of the world, she could not help but feel there was a depressingly adversarial air to the arrangement.

Lissom, hood drawn back, mask glittering with droplets of melting snow, sat at the far head of the table while she had been given the opposite head. The table could easily had accommodated thirty occupants along either of its lengths, but for some vexingly unfathomable reason, the Council members had all taken seats closer to Karosyn. The Elder Guide sat directly to Karosyn's right and the First Stealth Ranger sat on the Matrium's left. Karosyn offered a quick prayer of thanks to the Goddess that she had acceded to Lorio's request to have the tempestuous First Battle Mage aid her in warding Aeyon. This situation was already volatile enough without adding the flame-haired virago to the mix.

Still, Karosyn was dismayed by this arrangement, and its implicit message of disapproval and isolation.

'How small...how forlorn and utterly alone she appears, sitting there, alone, in her too large robe. If I have done this to her...what a monstrous crime I've committed against her,' Karosyn thought and barely managed to stifle the groan this stark thought evoked.

Finally, Lissom leaned forward and slowly swept her gaze about the table, contempt radiating from her small frame in palpable waves. Adding to the repressive air of discord was the daunting presence of the dozen Mirhac Ehkar, who lined the walls of the meeting chamber like lethal sentinels...motionless, but unmistakably deadly. Lissom could clearly see that their presence was had thoroughly disconcerted the already anxious council members.

"Would you not remove your mask...here in this hall where every face should be laid bare to one's fellow sisters?" It had been Zynora...perhaps the oldest living sister, who had posed this audacious question. With long white hair that spilled over her still-square shoulders in lush waves and skin as flawless as alabaster, Zynora had lived through the rein of three Ascentrix...and had fled into the hills of Dortizirian when the false Ascentrix, Myrhia, had decimated the Sisters to near extinction. Her almond shaped pale blue eyes intimated a knowledge and depth of understanding beyond human comprehension and Karosyn could not help but wonder how she perceived this sad juncture to which Gyzarayne's order had arrive.

Karosyn noted the rigidity in Lissom's posture and gleaned that the Ascentrix was incensed by this perceived insult. Hoping to quell any eruption of acrimony, she rose and addressed the order, her voice firm and mildly reproving, "Just as the Ascentrix has commanded your presence here, I have requested her presence in Nalosan...so that we might all reach an accord that would set Gyzarayne's daughters on a united path. The mask she wears is a symbol of solidarity with the women of Majeer, who have suffered so mightily under the hand of false gods and ruthless patriarchs...and we will respect that homage and set aside tradition. I decree this as the sovereign Queen of Emercia...and, should our Ascentrix accept me, as your Matrium."

The women along both sides of the table, the venerable Zynora included, appeared chastened by this rebuke, while Lissom regarded Karosyn with a slight tilt of the head that implied...amusement.

Karosyn settled back into her seat and slowly Lissom rose. "So, this is the assembly of women who decided that I served no further purpose...that they would wrestle control of Gyzarayne's order away from the woman to whom the Goddess gave her blessing to give it direction. You sit so smugly around this table as if you have every right to be here, when, in truth, only the woman at the opposite end has an authority that is not founded in delusion." Here, Lissom's tone became derisive and she added, "though I suspect that my would-be Matrium is not without her own culpability in fuelling those delusions."

The council members stirred and exchanged anxious glances, while the Elder Guide turned her gaze to Karosyn in a silent entreaty to intervene. Again, Karosyn rose and in a congenial, placating tone, offered, "Lissom, on my solemn word, we are not your enemies. Our desire to resolve any lingering confusions and go forward under your leadership is sincerely given...please...take this at face value."

Lissom averted her gaze to the massive oak table and began to absently caress its smooth surface with thin fingers. In an inscrutable voice, she inquired softly, "Is that how you think I perceive you...as adversaries...enemies who pose a legitimate threat to my Goddess-ordained mantle of leadership?"

Slowly, she left her position at the table's head and began to stroll around the table, fixing each woman she came adjacent to with a blistering gaze of contempt. "I can assure you...if I held the slightest conviction that you were my enemies...I would obliterate the lot of you where you sit."

"Please, Ascentrix...this isn't...productive," Karosyn pleaded, wondering it events had carried beyond the point were Lissom's outrage could ever be mollified. "Again, these women are not your enemies...I am not your enemy."

Lissom cocked her chin and regarded Karosyn silently for several moment as the entire room tensed, awaiting the crackle of arcane energy that would herald the onset of murderous madness. Instead, Lissom strode around the table and came to stand before the taller woman, who met her smouldering regard evenly. "When your misjudgment allowed our troubled daughter to take her own life...I did not take your grace. When you abandon me in the name of your misplaced grief...I did not take your grace. When you traduced the man I loved into spurning me after I saved his realm from obliteration, I did not take your grace. When you took him to your bed and beguiled him into making you his wife...to giving you the throne that should, by all rights, have been mine...I still did not take your grace! You dare stand before me and proclaim that you are not my enemy...you, who abandoned me as if my suffering was of no consequence next to yours."

Karosyn, could feel every eye upon her...feel every suspended breath and heartbeat. To hear this allegation laid bare was eviscerating, still she called upon her inherent serenity to modulate her voice when she returned, "Then kill me...here and now...before these witnesses. I acknowledge that some of what you said is true. Preoccupied with my own pain and grief...I turned away from you in the darkest of circumstances. I will attest before these Sisters that your retribution is justified and should go unopposed. If my death is what is required to placate your misery...to soothe this tumult that churns in you...and makes you remorseless and abrasive...then take my life and let this be done."

A cloying silence descended upon the hall as the fraught moment spun out. Karosyn could feel the intensity of Lissom blistering gaze and could virtually feel the enormity of the war raging behind those terrible eyes. Then, the rigidity drained from her posture and she returned quietly, "I do not believe that you are my enemy...if I did, we would not be having this dialogue. Perhaps my years beneath the harsh desert sun has burned away my sense of decorum. That I have exhumed this ancient grievance is beyond flagrantly discourteous...it is heinous. I cry your pardon...your Highness...my Matrium."

She then shocked all present by dropping to one knee and taking an incredulous Karosyn's hand, pressed her masked lips to the cool flesh. She then rose and inquired solemnly, "Will you embrace me before our daughters and let us commence the reconciliation afresh?"

Beleaguered by a storm of discordant emotions, hope warring with skepticism foremost among them, Karosyn, drew the shorter woman into a tight embrace, trying not to shiver in revulsion at the impression that she was embracing a living skeleton, wrapped in serpents.

She bent her mouth closer to Lissom's ear and whispered, "If you are sincere in your desire to inter the past...I will spend eternity making amends for the wrongs I have committed against you, Mother."

Lissom did not reply and when she stepped back, her eyes were alight with an indecipherable emotion.

She then returned to her seat as did Karosyn, cognizant that every speculative gaze was fixed squarely upon her. Lissom's tone had become oddly bureaucratic as she addressed the council, laying forth her vision for the future of the Sisters of Esotaria to an increasingly troubled council, Matrium and Elder Guide. Bluntly, Lissom demanded, "What motivated the formation of this council when this council was first conceived...and the position of Elder Guide?"

It was Zynora who provided an answer as if her age had conferred the responsibility to voice the council's perspective upon her. The other members seemed perfectly amendable to this arrangement. "In your continuing...absence...your silence...the order began to lose their sense of direction...of purpose. We made overtures to reach out to you...but received no reply."

"Do you believe that I have casually whiling away the hours in Majeer...lavishing in its accursed heat, scouring sands and scuttling scorpions?" Lissom retorted, bristling with indignation. "I was engaged in a struggle against the vilest of patriarchies...the most trenchant of misogynists. It was for this specific purpose that I was conceived and empowered by the Goddess. Finally, I have liberated the enslaved women of Majeer and can now turn my efforts elsewhere. The women of Majeer have embraced the Goddess with a zeal that is humbling to witness. The veracity of this claim presently sits in those ships, that have roused such anxiety, in the Bay of Imerlac. One hundred and eighty thousand women who are soul sworn to the Goddess. This is what preoccupied my time...while you were left to grapple with far more...mundane concerns."

Zynora cast a brief entreating glance at Karosyn, who merely shrugged as if Lissom's point was hard to refute. As if offering a stupefying gesture of magnanimity, Lissom waved a dismissive hand. "Let us dismiss the matter of its genesis...and the council's subterfuge. Obviously, with my return, your authority is revoked...however, as a gesture of my sincerity in reaching a rapprochement with my estranged daughters...I will allow this council to continue to function. You shall serve as the instrument of my will in Dortizirian while the Matrium and I undertake the raising of a second seat of power for Gyzarayne's daughters here in Emercia. The position and title of Elder Guide will likewise be perpetuated...though in what capacity, specifically, I have yet to determine."

Her gaze swept about the table, settling on each individual council member, all of whom nodded their agreement with this new arrangement. Lissom offered a brisk, satisfied nod of her head and to the senior sister, declared, "Zynora, you I elevate to rank of Council Mistress...third in authority only to myself and the Matrium."

Zynora greeted this appointment with an blink of surprise, but quickly accepted the title. Karosyn allowed herself a hopeful smile, seeing that Lissom's sudden shift in demeanour...and her seeming willingness to take a conciliatory tone...was quickly winning over women who had plotted for her overthrow only months before. To Karosyn, Lissom declared, "Karosyn Nierosean, you have asked that I reinstate you as Gyzarayne's Matrium...and I will grant your petition. As I know you have the endorsement of all present, there need be no discussion on the matter. Tomorrow, on the Great Plaza at the foot of Kammlogran, I will proclaim this to the citizen's of Nalosan at the midday bell. Good Queen, I would ask that your city criers carry this news to every corner of the city...for it is a day when the Sisters and Emercia eternally join purposes for the betterment of every woman in this land...and the Continent beyond." Her tone darkened and she admonished, "Every Sister in the city will be present at this ceremony...without exception. Any sister who is truant shall be divested of her grace at once...make that eminently clear to all."

"That seems...somewhat extreme, Mother," Karosyn offered. "In Emercia, this brand of harsh justice is not countenanced."

"In this matter, the Goddess' law shall take precedence over that of the host nation. The Sisters will afford you the respect you deserve...and those who would not do so...have no place in Gyzarayne's order...nor are they deserving of her grace," Lissom returned, her tone intractable. Shifting her flat gaze from Karosyn to the First Stealth Ranger, she announced, "As our order is presently without a First Stealth Ranger, you are hereby elevated to that rank for the entire Sisterhood. We shall also proclaim that appointment during tomorrow's ceremony. Now, is there not a First Battle Mage in Nalosan?"

It was Bethany Denay who answered the query, weaving a swift half-truth to explain Enyara's absence. "At my direction, the First Battle Mage is dealing with a complicated matter here in the city...an issue for which she had a particularly keen aptitude."

Lissom's displeasure was a tangible thing, but she accepted this partial fabrication, grumbling, "Very well, but insure that she is apprised of tomorrow's ceremony...and the consequences of truancy."

The Elder Guide nodded, grateful that she had managed this one deception. Lissom again surveyed the woman, her gaze settling upon Karosyn for an uncomfortably long moment. "Elder Guide...how many Sisters are sworn to Gyzarayne in Emercia?"

Again, Bethany glanced at Karosyn visibly leery of this seemingly innocuous query. Sharing the Elder Guide's concern, Karosyn subtlety nodded for Bethany to reply. Soliciting her approval was a habit of which theses sisters would have to be divested...if they wished for this brittle new detente to hold. "The order boasts just over twenty-two thousand Sisters throughout Emercia."

"Boasts?" Lissom echoed, her disdain scarcely concealed. "And how many sisters would you estimate carry Gyzarayne's creed throughout the rest of the Eastern Continent?"

Now, the Elder Guide's discomfort was magnified geometrically, "Perhaps fifteen hundred all told. It is difficult to tell because many operate with a sense of...autonomy."

Lissom made no reply to this comment and instead turned her attention to the council. "Council Mistress...how many Sisters serve the Goddess throughout the archipelagos."

Still unaccustomed to this peculiar new rank, Zynora managed, "Fifteen thousand to conjure a rounded figure."

Lissom lowered her head as if in deep contemplation. When she next spoke, it was in a voice of seething disappointment. "So, all told...after existing for millennia beyond counting...our order can muster less than forty thousand women...in a world of millions of women...where the patriarchy holds sway...and the average woman is accorded no more significance than a well-heeled dog. I see faces exuding smug satisfaction...incomprehensible self-assurance...when these numbers proclaim the account of a complete failure of purpose so woeful as to be beyond understanding. That Gyzarayne has not stripped the lot of us of her grace is a testimony to her infinite patience and compassion."

All of the women at the table exchanged glances of rife with carefully muted indignation at this scathing condemnation of their efforts. It was Karosyn who rose to their defence. "In all fairness, Ascentrix...the archipelagos are scantly populated and here in Emercia, I...as it's Queen...have worked tirelessly to create an egalitarian society. The extent to which I have succeeded may, in part, account why women here have been reluctant to embrace Gyzarayne's order."

"Scarcely occupied, the archipelagos may be, but they are home to a disproportionate number of heavy-handed brutes, who see women as little more than a voiceless outlet for their base lusts and their festering sense of inadequacy. You claim that Emercia is a bastion of enlightenment...but if you set self-validation aside, would it not be more accurate to portray Emercia as a place where women are like pampered pets...well treated and groomed perhaps...but pets nonetheless."

"That would be an unfair and incorrect evaluation," Karosyn retorted stiffly, displaying ire for the first time.

"I will not debate the matter with you Matrium...the irrefutable truth of my contention now sits in the ships anchored off your shore. One hundred and eighty thousand Majeeri women all zealously sworn to the betterment of women. There are fifty thousand more Sisters in Majeer, serving to ensure that there will never be a repeat of the barbaric mistreatment of women that occurred under Thaz Ekai and his deranged prophet, Ekaz Azeer. Nearly a quarter of a million Majeeri women have given their bodies and souls to Gyzarayne and you would dare characterize your efforts in the rest of the world as anything other than abysmal failure?" Lissom silenced the answering clamour of protests with a curt chopping gesture. "I will confess that through distraction and dereliction, the Matrium and I are culpable in this deplorable failure...and rather than cast aspersions at each other...we will accept our culpability and look to the future. As Queen, Karosyn has allowed the order a compound upon which to build our new centre of power on the Eastern Continent...while that is being undertaken, we will focus on integrating our new Sisters into the order." She paused and surveyed the women seated around the table, before announcing, "And then we will focus on a paradigm shift in our Goddess' theology...one that will quickly rectify our past failings."

"What is it you are proposing, Ascentrix?" Zynora inquired, apprehension prominent in her voice."

Lissom held up her hand as if in a gesture for forbearance...then, with a teasing edge, disclosed, "The day has been eventful and I have given you much to reflect upon. There will be time to set forth the particulars once our Matrium has been avowed and the process of integrating our new Sisters has commenced. For now, let it suffice to say that...in the past we have sought parity with the patriarchs...limited out aspirations to being granted an equal voice...as if that was a privileged dispensation...and not our right. Gyzarayne had made it clear to me during my time in Majeer that her patience with this tentative groping for equality is at an end. In the new world we will fashion...the shape and direction of the world will be forged...by the hand and will of women."

This fervent declaration...an open invitation to bloody anarchy that would see the world awash in blood...plunged the room into complete silence. Lissom spread her reed thin arms and offered one final bombastic declaration, "Fear not daughters...and be not faint of heart. Through me and by my example...you shall find your courage and restore your faith."

8

The return carriage ride back to Kammlogran was undertaken in absolute silence. After having delivered a fleeting preview of her new theology of female dominion...of a wide sweeping toppling of the natural order of patriarchy (an undertaking that, Karosyn and all present knew would submerge the world in an ocean of blood), Lissom had ended the conclave. Then, without a further word to anyone present, she had taken her leave, her Mirhac Ehkar following hard on her heels.

Not certain how to conjure the words to mollify the anxiety that this shocking pronouncement of impending change had roused, Karosyn had promised to speak to the indecipherable creature...and had then followed her out into the snowy afternoon gloom.

Yet, since departing the chapter house, the pair had not exchanged a single word.

Finally, unable to endure the suffocating silence...this chasm that seemed to yawn between them...Karosyn attempted to engage Lissom on a more personal level. "You certainty seized their attention, Ascentrix...your new direction has especially unsettled the council."

Lissom regarded her host flatly, her tone harsh and uncompromising, "The Council is an irrelevance that I will allow to exist...on the provision that it recognizes its purpose and serves my will."

"The Goddess' will," Karosyn suggested softly.

"They are one and the same...or do you no longer believe I have her ear?" Lissom demanded.

"As you say, Mother...I'm confident that, once you've presented your revised theology in its entirety, we will be more receptive to seeing it implemented."

Lissom huffed at this equivocating endorsement and remarked, "I see you have mastered the sly art of politics."

Karosyn elected not to respond and instead asked, "Will you take supper with me tonight, Lissom. Please, let us have a space of time where we can speak of these things that lie between us like rank weeds, bristling with poisonous thorns. In truth, I miss your company...and the real reconciliation is between you and me. I would love dearly to resolve these issues, Lissom...to strip them out like the rank weeds they are."

Lissom elected to respond to this heartfelt entreaty with a quip. "As you can see...food is not a priority for me. What little sustenance I require...comes from the simplest of staples."

"Then let us simply sit beside a hearth and lay our souls bare to each other...like the precious friends we should always have been."

This plea seemed to surprise Lissom and Karosyn could hear the quizzical note in her voice as she inquired, "Is that how you perceive us...as friends...do you truly believe that fostering such a relationship is possible...after all that has passed between us?"

This query was delivered more in the colouring of curiosity than acrimony...which made Karosyn hopeful and so she broached the delicate matter of their festering disputes. "Lissom, do you truly believe that I traduced Artumas to forsake you...or that I enticed him to my bed, with a mind of becoming his Queen? Do you really perceive me as such a sly, conniving creature...so venal as to deprive you of a man you loved so obviously?"

"Given all that transpired, I'm not sure how else I might construe events," Lissom retorted, the first stirrings of anger rising in her voice.

"Lissom, when you spared my life...allowed me exile...I genuinely believed that I would serve out whatever days I had left to me being a village healer...living in solitude, with only my grief for companionship. Given your eruption before our daughters...I suspect that you'll never credit this, but before he burst through my door and proposed marriage...I had no intimation that he cared for me."

Lissom shook her head in incredulity and rasped, "Then you are truly the most ingenuous creature on this earth."

The pair fell silent then and Karosyn could feel the void between them yawn wider...like the abyss itself. Still, she knew that this was the salient crux of their dispute and if there was to be any hope of forestalling the grim juncture to come, it would be through disabusing Lissom of this particular distorted prejudice. "Lissom, Artumas did not spurn you for me...you must see that!"

Lissom only continued to glare daggers at the woman whom she felt certain had betrayed her in the most heinous fashion. Karosyn shifted to the plush bench upon which Lissom sat, surprised when the diminutive woman drew back against the carriage wall as if in terror. Resolved to give voice to this insight she'd glean through years of contemplation, she gently took hold of Lissom's left hand. "Despite all that he was...this immortal embodiment that had existed since the very dawn of creation...Artumas was a simple man, with rudimentary sensibilities. He was unflaggingly noble and devoted to the betterment of all living men and woman, but his perception of things was nonetheless...basic...limited. You were this blazing creature, who defied those sensibilities, whose complexity and depth shattered those limits. He spoke of this...with shame, I might add...and when he did, it was in terms of awe. You frightened him, Lissom...like an indecipherable mystery that dazzled his senses...but left him feeling wholly inadequate to ever being your equal...to being worthy of you."

"And, conveniently...you were someone with whom he would feel none of these supposed lacking?" Lissom returned with a mordant snap.

"Which is a testimony to our relative statures...because I readily admit than I am so much...less than you. Don't you see...he was attracted to my comforting mediocrity."

Lissom snatched her hand away and leaning closer, growled, "You should have rejected him...decried him as a knave for spurning me...instead, you spread those long legs of yours for him...like a lust-addled harlot."

Karosyn sighed, the rancour and venom in that hissed condemnation informing her that fleeting hope was all but gone. "You're right, in retrospect...out of loyalty to you, I should have rejected Artumas' proposal...contented myself with being a village healer until the last of my life essence burned away. Unfortunately, I lack the faculty to change the past...and so here we are; we have come to this critical juncture, where I solicit forgiveness that only you may grant."

Karosyn met Lissom's searing regard with her customary serenity and finally the smaller woman allowed grudgingly, "I will reflect upon all you've said, trying to set my distorted prejudice aside as I do."

Still, Karosyn did not relent. Leaning over the clearly unsettled Ascentrix, she persisted, "If you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me, Lissom...and if it is this festering bitterness that has vitiated your soul and caused you to stray to tyranny...rather than name me Matrium...take my life on the dais tomorrow. I will declare my crimes against you and proclaim that your retribution is warranted. All I ask in return is that you do not make Emercia the next Majeer...let its people live as they do and return to the woman you once were...before I inflicted these wounds. Guide our daughters with wisdom and compassion. Take my life and be appeased...the alternative is too horrible to contemplate.

Something in Karosyn's quiet vehemence seemed to unnerve Lissom because she shrank into the corner of the carriage and in a tone that was meek and almost pleading, she whispered, "Enough Karosyn...I...I will reflect on all that you have said...please, allow me space to breathe."

Karosyn continued to regard in Lissom in silent appraisal and then gracefully slid back to her own seat. Lissom shuddered and then straightened. In a thoughtful, distant voice, she allowed' "I have a matter I must attend to, but perhaps later, we could stroll on the ramparts. After years of dry, unyielding heat, I am actually enjoying the cold and damp. Perhaps you and I can muse on happier times."

"Come and collect me when you are ready," Karosyn said, unable to repress the sorrowful smile this wistful utterance evoked.

Lissom fell silent for a moment and then offered softly, "I have not forgotten your offer to heal me in the waters of Subera. Tomorrow, once I have elevated you to Matrium, you may carry me into the waters and do to me as you will. It wouldn't do to have me be a wizen, shrivelled crone next to your shimmering beauty."

"Lissom...no woman ever lived who was more beautiful than you were...and will be again," Karosyn vowed.

Behind her pewter mask, Lissom's harrowing visage constricted into a twist of pure hatred and she thought, 'The hateful bitch...she actually means it!'

Chapter Twenty Eight

1

While the fate of Nalosan, and very possibly the entire world beyond, was being decided, oblivious to the imminent peril hanging over it, life in snow-mantled Cortrin proceeded much as it had since time our of mind.

The same could almost be said at the Glass House Inn, where, if one was not familiar with the woman who gave it life and exuberance, it would seem to be a pleasant, well-maintained establishment, where the charming and convivial proprietress had a ready smile and a charming word for all who passed through its doors.

Only those who knew her well could attest that the woman who tended to the Inn was but a pale facsimile of the vessel of contentment she had been but a short time before.

'Before Driss decided that she had obligations greater than the one she held for this love we shared,' Opheile thought with a flare of bitterness that had afflicted her all too often since Driss' excruciating departure...where once, that particular emotion had found no purchase on Opheile's heart. 'You were never a gullible child, prone to fanciful caprice...don't be one now. Driss was an illusion...a contrivance. If the woman who you loved so fervently ever returns to you...and these nightmares that have plagued you without surcease make that prospect less and less likely...it will be Lorio, a living myth who strides though your door. Despite this charm and beauty you possess...do you actually think you're condign to holding the love and devotion of such a creature?'

Opheile sat in a chair by the hearth in the dining room of her Inn. The flickering dance of the flames cast her exquisite face in a strangely doleful light. Across from her, Emon Yar regarded the sublime beauty closely, his old heart twisted by her pain. Softly, he inquired, "Are you truly okay, Lass? to see you like this makes this old man's heart ache."

Opheile turned those breathtaking sapphire eyes upon Emon and his heart began to race...as it did each and every time that gaze touched upon him. She appeared to consider his query in a distant, thoughtful way that had become her fashion since Driss' absence...a departure that still left Emon flummoxed and angry a moon-cycle after Opheile had first informed him of this scarcely credible turn of events.

As Opheile pondered his question, heard the genuine concern reverberating in his gruff voice, an epiphany came to her. She would be well, despite the acute pain that burned her heart like acid. Inculcated into the marrow of her bones was an inner strength...the ferocious will of an irrepressible survivor...and it would not permit her to slide into maudlin despair, irrespective of the enormity of her pain. In time, she would, pick up the tattered threads of her life and mend them...and carry on. She would cherish Driss and the memory of their time together and though she might never find another upon who she would lavish this boundless love she felt...Opheile would derive joy from the other things that life offered...her beloved Inn and the friends that flowed through her life...such as Emon Yar...with whom she had developed the habit of taking supper on at least two days each week.

'And blessed with this enormous beauty and a commensurate appetite, you believe you would truly be content to let your bed remain unfilled...to forego the pleasures of an intimate touch?'

Opheile pursed her full lips and the image of the Jerhia Maxim Tier Marshal blossomed in her mind, cast in hues of gold and silver. Despite all that she had achieved, the astounding role she had played in shaping the world, the older woman was still, in many aspects, an ingenuous young girl. It had been an easy matter to seduce the ultimately lonely woman to her bed...there, to serve as a bizarre substitute for Driss...for Lorio. Opheile had been pleasantly surprised to find, once Arminda had surmounted her reservations, her virginal inexperience, she was a gentle and submissive lover...an ideal compliment to Opheile's orchestrated intimacy. She wondered if the Jerhia would serious consider her not so subtle invitation to return to Cortrin when she had taken her final turn on the great stage of affairs.

If she did, would Arminda let Opheile take her under her wing...let her nurture her as she had with first Czarin and then Driss? The prospect was not without its attraction and would help ameliorate the pain and anguish of losing a love she had cherish so absolutely.

She favoured Emon with a scintillating smile that seemed to set the Inn's dining room alight and returned, "I'm perfectly fine, Emon. I've been thinking...since you seem to adore my thoroughly charming company and you're not the stag you once were...you might consider moving to the Glass House Inn. Rambling around in that big house of yours is more of a burden then you should have to bear...and Eryth and I could keep an eye on you...if you were close at hand. Is it something you'd consider...I could set you up quite comfortably here...with the added attraction of having an engaging dinner companion at your disposal each night?"

His watery eyes widened, and a thoughtful expression spread across his jowly face. "I...I wouldn't be imposing on you, Lass...or takin' up premium space?"

"If it eases your sense of fairness...we can work out a mutually agreeable monthly rental rate for your lodgings...as for being a burden, if you live here...then I won't have to fret about you making it safely back home on nights like this one."

Emon gazed to the dining room's bank of frost-limed windows, where the early snows continued to fall upon Cortrin. "Then if it truly isn't a burden...it would be my delight to call the Glass House Inn my home."

Opheile clapped her hands with her old exuberance and Emon felt his heart soar.

Thus Opheile Seznoire, as was her penchant, began to gather the things she cherished closer to her heart.

2

Lissom returned to her assigned suite of chambers in the castle she had come to despise so utterly. Once she had flayed the skin off Karosyn's body and crushed her heart before her dying eyes, perhaps she would reduce this wretched sprawl of stones to dust and have the wind scour it into the sea.

As they had disembarked from the carriage, Karosyn had linked her arms in Lissom and guided her into the castle...as if they were the closest of friends...as if she had not stolen everything from Lissom and left her heart irreparably broken. They had parted ways at the corridor to the Queen's chambers and as Lissom had watched moved away in a beguiling sway of hips...feminine perfection personified, she had gritted her teeth and thought, 'Those chambers, this castle...all of it should be mine!'

And yet...there could be no denying the sincerity...the genuine and poignant remorse in Karosyn's voice as she had solicited Lissom's forgiveness in the carriage...as she had offered her life as a form of compensation for the ills she had inflicted upon her. Lissom clenched her jaws and swore, 'I will take your life, bitch...but not in a manner that will cast you as a tragic martyr...whose selfless sacrifice garners the eternal admiration and sympathy of the mass of idiots over whom you rule.'

She entered her suite of rooms and immediately, two figures coalesced out of the stones and manifested in the form of two exquisite Majeeri beauties...granted new life and power by Lissom's corrupted deity sorcery. The green-eyed Decipara Mirhac Ehkar bowed in deference and disclosed, "We have located your prize, Goddess...it awaits your inspection in a chamber between these walls."

"Show me," Lissom commanded her voice husky with mounting anticipation. The two entities transmogrified into more ephemeral forms and moved directly to a section of bare stone wall in a small inner chamber, which Lissom surmised was used for storage. One of her constructs gesticulated and the section of wall swung open with a grating screech and a rush of stale air filled the confines of the small room.

"Intriguing," Lissom remarked and snapped her fingers. In response, a floating globe of muted yellow light manifested in the air and as the Ascentrix enter the corridor between the walls, the globe floated ahead of her illuminating the way. The three made their way through the twisting labyrinth, eventually coming to a rectangular space at the centre of which, for some unfathomable reason, had been set a rectangular stone table.

Lissom stopped, a smile spreading beneath her pewter mask like oil across water. Atop the table, the corpse of a woman lay cold and blue in death. Yet, this was a woman the likes of which Lissom had never set eyes upon...a fascinating amalgam of female splendour and granite-like muscle that spoke of explosive physical power and capability...or had, when this had been an occupied living vessel.

Lissom strolled around the table, allowing her gloved fingertips to play over the massive thighs, over the striated abdomen, the full breasts and finally the angular pretty face. She traced the lips that were now so blue as to almost be purple and in this exercise, Lissom gleaned the slowly fading intimation of what this beguiling creature had once been.

"I divined something astounding...and you have not disappointed. Truly, you are deserving of a chance to walk the earth once again...though this time, you shall do so without the human frailties that saw you to your lamentable end," Lissom cooed blithely.

As her Decipara Mirhac Ehkar, blasphemous perversions of living beings in their own right, bore impassive witness...Lissom gave birth to an even greater abomination. Using her knowledge of Lorio's arcane heart design as a blueprint, Lissom plunged her hands into the cold flesh and wrapped her small hand around Czefrina's once powerful heart. Then Lissom focused a staggering amount of power through the lens of her unparalleled essence...drawing on subtractive sorcery to grant it further potency.

All through Nalosan, the resonating effect of this expenditure could be felt...a leeching of vital energy that left most dizzying and staggering. An unfortunate few...a score across the city...were not equal to this leeching of their minimal amount of life essence. These unfortunates...mostly elderly and seriously infirmed... collapsed into lifeless heaps...their life force expended to fuel Lissom's perverse reanimating.

In her chamber, Karosyn felt this unprecedented leeching...though only obliquely. Her smooth brow furrowed and she shook her head, but when she opened her mind to the arcane field, there was no hint of this massive expenditure of energy. Being subtractive in nature...it was like a lightless void that resisted all detection.

At the distant Wrey Coopery, Aeyon was passing time speaking with Lorio, whose company he was coming to enjoy immensely, when suddenly the air was sucked out of his lungs and he staggered dropping to one knee. Lorio experienced this anomaly very much as Karosyn had...a remote prickling of the senses. She rushed over to a gasping Aeyon and assisted him to his feet. The two exchanged puzzled glances and though they could not say how, both seemed certain that this peculiar incident did not bode well for either.

The force was concentrated through Lissom's incredibly resilient flesh and into the muscle, suffusing it with a power that would have made Myrhia's Morticants seem like fragile as delicate glass figurines by comparison.

Czefrina's body arched until only her heels and the back of her head remained on the table. A titanic gasp escaped her discoloured lips and her body settled back to the stone with a meaty thud. Lissom continued to massage the transformed organ until it began to beat on its own. Swiftly, colour returned to the pale flesh and Czefrina's lips were restored to their customary shape of enticing pink. Her eyes flew open like broken shutters and at first, they were vacant. Then, as a smiling Lissom watched, a iridescent orange fleck bloomed at the edge of each polar green iris and spread around the perimeter of each until the polar green was delineated by a band of glowing orange...and then the eyes flooded with a terrible sentience.

Czefrina sat up on her elbows to find a masked woman regarding her intently...and more astounding still, her hand was buried in her chest up to the wrist.

"Who are you...and what's happened to me?" She seemed to take quick stock of herself and exclaimed jubilantly, "I feel so fucking alive...like I could tear this fucking castle down with my bare hands."

"You very probably could," the woman disclosed. "As for who I am...I am your new Goddess. I gave you your life and this power you feel coursing through this magnificent body of yours." Lissom contracted her fingers around Czefrina's heart and rasped, "You would also do well to never loose sight of the fact that I can take that life away just as easily."

Those terrifying eyes flared, but then an indolent grin spread over Czefrina's face and she remarked, "My Goddess...I'm perfectly okay with that. What am I?"

"Invincible!" Karosyn returned! "A weapon the likes of which this world has not seen...and now that I've given you life...I will give you purpose. The one who took your mortal life...I would have you reciprocate...crush her like the vexing insect she is."

An intense ripple of unmitigated hatred rippled across Czefrina's pretty face, but her strange eyes glowed with avarice. Lissom watched in admiration as her creature's massive thighs contracted, each nuance standing out in sharp relief, and then came together like grinding millstones. "I'm going to do to her exactly what she did to me, but I will not kill her. Instead, I'll feast on the terror in her eyes as if it is the finest of delicacies. Will you let me have her?"

Lissom tilted her head, privately concerned by this display of ulterior desire. It was possible that by raising this unstable creature, she had inadvertently created an ungovernable rogue that could wreak havoc on everything if left to run amok.

Czefrina met her gaze with a sly smile and asked, "You're her...Lissom...the one that has Karosyn so concerned?" She nodded knowingly. "You are...and I know what you want. Let me have Lorio...I promise you she'll be too busy pleading for a mercy I'll never show her to ever trouble you again. In addition to being your hammer, who will pound your enemies to dust...I will deliver a gift to you...one that will destroy Karosyn Nierosean like nothing else can...even your hatred."

Intrigued despite herself, Lissom demanded, "Tell me!"

And so Czefrina did.

3

They stood on the ramparts of Kammlogran, gazing in silence out across the city of Nalosan, which was eerily quiet on this first day of premature winter. The snow had relented to little more than a light dusting and the indolently drifting flakes struck the pensive Karosyn as at once lovely and sorrowful.

'Ah, but isn't that exactly how you feel each and every time you gaze out at this doleful edifice that holds all that remains of the man, whom you cherished so ardently,' she thought sadly as she peered the distance mausoleum that was lit by crystals which, by her Royal Edict, could never be allowed to be extinguished. 'What burden of guilt did you carry that you would want to be interred behind a wall...unseen and isolated as if your memory was best left forgotten?'

How often had she flayed herself with this particular query? In the end, she could only conclude that it had been the unbearable cumulative burden of an eternity of perceived failures that had driven Artumas to insist that he be buried thusly. As she pondered this scouring query anew, she wondered how the woman beside her perceived the dismal circumstances of Artumas' final resting place.

Concealed behind her mask and her insurmountable mantle of inscrutability, Lissom's emotions were...as always, indecipherable. "I'm glad we have finally come together, Lissom...to begin the perhaps long and painful process of healing. I sincerely hold to the idea...that together you and I can reshape the world. If you can ever find it in your heart to truly forgive me...I will labour for the rest of my life to be worthy of your generosity...and to the mantle of your Matrium." When Lissom only regarded her with an indecipherable light twinkling in those blue eyes, Karosyn gripped her piteously thin wrist. "They will listen, Lissom...these men who are misguided by habit and custom...they can be made to see that all shall benefit if we embrace the idea of equality between the genders. The process may seem torturously slow, but in my years on the throne...I have seen the progress. I believe that the two of us, working toward a common purpose, can surmount any resistance...and forge a new society...on a foundation that is not saturated in blood!"

"Lofty egalitarian ideals do not often forge seamless unions with harsh realities...but we shall see. You are, after all, my Matrium...and it is Gyzarayne's will that I should heed your counsel," Lissom allowed without enthusiasm. "You are also Emercia's rightful monarch and as guests, we are obligated to respect your laws and ethical structures."

A discernible shift overcame Lissom's mood then...a wistfulness that Karosyn had never witnessed in the two hundred years they had spent together. The diminutive woman turned her gaze back to Artumas' tomb and she recalled softly, "It was on this very spot where I first suggested to Artumas that I could be his recompense for all of the sorrow and pain he had suffered through his many tragic lives. He gazed upon me as if I was something from beyond the stars...a beautiful vision. I was two hundred years old or so on that morning, but even so...I was like the greenest of ingenues when it came to matter of the heart. I saw that he was enamoured by my beauty...by my aura of power and mystery." She shifted her gaze to Karosyn and that wistfulness curdled to bitterness. "Because of my naïveté...my woeful lack of experience in matters of love...I did not see the complete implications of his beguiled expression. He regarded me as a beautiful vision from beyond the stars...but one that he could never trust...with whom he could never truly forge an enduring connection. So, you see wise Karosyn, when you articulated this very fact earlier...a part of me already knew that you were correct."

"I'm so sorry, Lissom!" Karosyn breathed.

"It matters not now...I have divested myself of the need for this fallacious notion of love. I have my Thringan Brauy to satisfy my body's urges and lusts...and the Goddess' purpose to bring meaning to my existence...and I need nothing more."

The terrible sterility of this repudiation of what Karosyn perceived as life's greatest dispensation raked her heart with bitter claws. Seemingly unaware of Karosyn's fraught reaction, Lissom clapped her hands and inquired with a peculiar mirth, "And what of you? The demand of rule...and the new burden of serving as Matrium...especially at a time of radical transition, as this will prove to be...will leave little latitude for personal concerns. Knowing you for the pious woman you are, I know you would never casually take a lover to your bed to satisfy the needs of this exquisite flesh. Yet, you are compassionate woman with an innate need to nurture...can you truly eschew love for the long years that stretch before us...that will require our absolute devotion to Gyzarayne's vision?"

Karosyn's eyes narrowed in the chilly darkness and she felt a glacial cold within her heart that rivalled the one that presently held sway over her city. Had there been an intimation to this query...a subtle suggestion in this seemingly casual query? Karosyn feared that there had...a teasing implication of foreknowledge. 'Aeyon...somehow, she knows about Aeyon!'

Bringing the full power of her serenity to bear to disguise the panic this horrible thought provoked, Karosyn returned. "In the thirty years since Artumas' death, I have devoted myself to the betterment of Emercian society...an endeavour that has left little time for romantic entanglements. As for the needs of this exquisite flesh, as you put it...those I have learned to satisfy with a fertile imagination and skilled fingers...when alone in my bed or a perfumed bath."

This declaration of a penchant for self-satisfaction was so utterly shocking coming from the regal bastion of decorum that for a long moment, Lissom could only gape. Then she threw back her head and laughed unabashedly. When the laughter subsided, Lissom clapped Karosyn on the right arm and chided, "Karosyn Nierosean...a closet wanton...there truly is no end to life's surprises."

Karosyn managed a thin grin. 'Please, Lorio...protect Aeyon from this monster...just for a short while longer.'

4

Night had descended long before Enyara finally returned to the Coopery. Though she maintained a composed demeanour for the sake of Aeyon, whose quiet agitation seemed to mount with every bell of the First Battle Mage's continuing absence, the immortal was beginning to feel her own anxiety whittling at the edges of her composure.

They passed the time sitting in his father's office, which overlooked the cavernous and now darkened Coopery. As they spoke, Lorio gained a deeper understanding of the nature of Karosyn's apparently inexplicable attraction to this admittedly handsome, but nonetheless ordinary young man. Beneath his projected exterior of quiet normalcy, Aeyon Wrey proved to be anything but typical. His very desire to understand things...to seek meaning without the typically arrogant male presumption, that had been all too common in the men that Lorio had encountered during the course of her long life, set him apart. So, too, did his innate kindness...his empathy for the plight of things that stood outside of the circle of his own limited concerns. As she listened to him speak...to pose thoughtful questions about the experiences she chose to share...Lorio could discern a uniqueness that she had encountered in perhaps two other men....Artumas...and Esuruban.

The thought of her handsome Emercian Captain wrung Lorio's heart...and she knew that the lost opportunity he represented would be the agonizing secret that she would conceal...even from Opheile...if fortune ever saw her back to the beauty's arms and heart.

In Aeyon Wrey, Lorio glimpsed the formative stirring of attitudes and convictions that, if the majority of men would hold to the same, would make this world an infinitely kinder, less troubled place.

'With Karosyn to foster...to nurture these qualities...there might be no limit to what this humble man might become.' Even as this thought germinated in her mind, she knew that it was a beautiful possibility that petulant fate would contrive some way to undermine.

Finally, Enyara stormed into the Coopery, uttering a particularly pungent epithet as she did. Lorio and Aeyon hurried down the stairs to greet her. It required only one glimpse into those stormy green eyes and that mottled expression of consternation to know that Enyara was in a particularly foul temper. She took off her thoroughly sodden cloak and cast it onto a nearby bench before turning to the unsettled pair and spitting, "That miserable bitch!

"What's happened?" Lorio prompted.

"Is my family safe?" Aeyon demanded simultaneously, his voice edge with anxiety.

"Your family is safe, Aeyon," Enyara responded, choosing to ignore Lorio's query for the moment. The immortal was pleased to see that, despite her sharp edges and often abrasive manner, Enyara had taken a liking to the youngest Wrey and her voice grew softer, her tone less brusque, whenever she addressed him. "Once they were all tucked in your brother's house, I warded the building...anyone attempting to gain entry before morning with be in for a particularly nasty surprise. Then, I surveyed the streets around his house. No one was monitoring your brother's house...so you can rest easy for the time being...at least, on that matter."

She turned those luminous green eyes on Lorio and her rancour erupted like oil fed flames. "I then decided to risk visiting the chapter house...and don't give me that withering glare, I'm not in the mood and you really don't want to see my annoyed side. At any rate, Karosyn and Lissom paid their visit to the Chapter House. The Ascentrix accepted Karosyn's reinstatement as Matrium. In a bold egalitarian gesture, she's even permitted that the council may still exist and the blond wind bag, Bethany Denay can remain as Elder Guide...a conciliatory gesture that was entirely unexpected."

"That...is cause for...optimism, isn't it?" Aeyon inquired, glancing questioningly at the immortal.

"If we weren't dealing with a murderous bitch, perhaps!" Enyara seethed, causing Aeyon to grimace. "I believe these are hollow gestures meant to mollifying the council...to lull them into the false comfort of believing that she truly is here to embrace Karosyn's great rapprochement. She then declared that there would be a public ceremony on the plaza at the noon bell tomorrow. She has required every Sister to attend to witness Karosyn's reinstatement." Here, she paused, and her face contracted into a rueful knot. "She has further decreed that any Sister who does no comply and attend the ceremony will have their grace immediately revoked."

It was Aeyon who murmured, "I'm not sure I understand...what does that mean exactly."

"Most of the women in the Sisters...especially the ones who came from the archipelago...are older than a normal human life span...some several times older. Gyzarayne's grace permits them to far exceed the normal limit of mortality, while maintaining their beauty, agility...mental adroitness. If that grace is removed, the full weight of their years would drop upon them with immediate and devastating impact. Most of us would literally turn to dust in the blink of an eye."

"Is this an ideal threat...or is she actually capable of revoking the Goddess' grace en masse?" Lorio asked, beginning to discern the direction of Enyara's disquiet.

Enyara glowered, her mouth curdling in fury. "Oh, she is more than capable. My absence at today's conclave was noted and Denay made it clear that my presence on the plaza is expected. As I don't fancy being reduced to a pile of bone meal, I have no choice but to be there." She gazed directly into Lorio's eyes, her misery raw and glaring, and intoned dolefully, "I'm sorry, Lorio...but I was expected at the chapter house by the ninth bell tomorrow. The Sisters will assemble there and then march through the streets to the plaza...a display of solidarity and commitment to a common purpose is how the blond-haired monkey phrased it."

Lorio, who was nonplused by Enyara's acrimony toward Bethany Denay, absorbed this worrisome news in thoughtful silence, before the First Battle Mage disclosed, "There's more...Lissom hinted at a new direction for Gyzarayne's daughters...one that privately mortified many of the Sisters...especially the older ones. In this new theology, we will no longer seek parity with men...equality with the patriarchs...we will strive for dominance."

"Which is exactly what Lissom has wrought in Majeer...a tyranny exclusively administered by women!" Lorio remarked, her brow furrowing. "I have no love for men as a gender...and given what they've inflicted upon women since the dawn of time...I supposed reciprocal treatment is well warranted...ironic justice. Still, life in Majeer is merely a reverse image of what it was under mad Ekaz Azeer...and that is a life that is hardly worth living...for anyone...man or woman."

The two women exchanged glances and Lorio could clearly sense that Enyara was entertaining precisely the same thought; the Sisters of Esotaria would be gathered in one place like cattle in a pen...laid conveniently forth for Lissom to obliterate in one ruthless strike.

Aeyon disrupted this unnerving moment of empathy by turning to Lorio and insisting assiduously, "We have to be on that plaza tomorrow."

Lorio saw Enyara roll her great green eyes, clearly in no mood for debate, and returned, "That is the last place that Karosyn would want you to be...and we both know it. She made her expectations explicitly clear in the letter she wrote you."

Aeyon started to reply, but closed his mouth with a dissatisfied huff. In the confines of her mind, a clearly perturbed Enyara broadcast, 'You promised that we would have this night together...and considering what I might now be facing tomorrow...I have every intention of holding you to that promise. We both know that, when it comes to his beloved Karosyn, Aeyon is going to dig in his heels...and I'm in no mood for a fucking protracted debate. Let me usher him into slumber...it will be absolutely painless and there will be no lasting effects."

Telling herself that she was motivated by the desire to spare Aeyon a sleepless night of fretting over something about which he was powerless to doing anything, Lorio gave Enyara the slightest nod. Almost instantly, Aeyon's eyes appeared to grow heavy, his lids settling together as if beneath an unbearable weight. His knees buckled and he pitched forward into Lorio's powerful arms.

She shifted her gaze to Enyara, privately disconcerted by the incredible scope of this creature's power. She then effortlessly scooped the muscular Aeyon into her arms and began to carry him up the stairs to Lynon's office and the small cubby hole beyond.

As she followed Lorio up the stairs, thoroughly enjoying the sway of the immortal's tight hips, Enyara observed, "You really are as strong as an ox."

Lorio flashed a grin over her shoulder and returned, "Fortunately, I'm not built like one."

She carried Aeyon, who looked so content and innocent in repose, into the cubby hole and laid him on Lynon's pallet. She gazed down on his beautiful face for a moment and then, on impulse, kissed his smooth brow. She then stood and gestured for Enyara to accompany her back to the office, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.

When the two women were again alone, Enyara seized Lorio's chin in fingers made clumsy with need and kissed her passionately. When she broke the kiss, the creamy skin at her neck had gone a high, hectic red. Anxiety resonated in her voice, when she observed softly, "I suspect that, whatever odious scheme the bitch has hatched, it will come to fruition tomorrow."

"I agree," Lorio said, a note of fey acceptance in her voice. A sad smile lit her face then and she added, "that is why we should take advantage of the rest of this night. I suspect that I might not see another, so I want you to hold to your promise and ravage me tonight...in any way that suits that wicked fancy of yours."

Enyara's astounding eyes flashed and she growled, "Oh, rest assured, I will...but listen bitch...you're not dying tomorrow...because you're mine and I hoard the things I own...like a miser hoards gold."

She started to reach for Lorio, but the immortal held her at arm's length for a moment. "Before you make good on your vow...I have something I want to give you."

She crossed the room and took a wrapped item from her worn pack, returning to an intrigued Enyara. She extended the item to the battle mage while she explained, "I had no right to take this from you...just as I had no right to burn your robe. I know you were playing a provocative game with me when you took my staff, but my actions were motivated by something far less generous. I wanted you to have this...because it's yours by right...and you should be wearing it come tomorrow and whatever awaits on the plaza. I wish I could return the robe, but I'm certain you have others."

Enyara unfolded the cloth and as she stared down at the symbol of her station, she lovingly caressed the sigil, the pride and affection in her eyes informing Lorio that she held her place in the Sisters of Esotaria in far higher regard than she would allow. She glanced up at the immortal, who was surprised to see tears glistening in those inexpressibly lovely eyes, and murmured, "I told you that you were the most infuriating woman I've ever met...and that holds true. You are also the most intriguing, the most beguiling and endearing woman who I've ever had the good fortune to meet...and yes...as incredible as it is for me to fathom...I'm falling in love with you...which scares me as nothing ever has."

She drew a tremulous breath and shook her head, as if perplexed by her display of earnest emotion. A flexing of her will and everything on Lynon Wrey's desk was swept to the floor in an unceremonious clatter and Enyara announced, "I want to have you right there...and at great and indolent length."

To this end, she began to divest Lorio of her clothing, while peering unblinkingly into the infinitely deep well of the immortal's dark eyes.

When Lorio was gloriously naked, Enyara led her over to the desk and bid her to lay supine upon the worn wooden surface. She then took Lorio's wrists and raised her arms above her head, positioning her in a way that only augmented the allure of her enticing body. Then the Battle mage retreated several paces and without taking her gaze from a thoroughly enrapt immortal made an erotic choreography of removing her own clothing. She tossed her red mane and with a feral light burning in those great green eyes, Enyara nimbly mounted the desk and settled onto Lorio's hips. She was again delighted by the contrast between Lorio's olive skin and the rich cream colour of her own. "Gazing down on you like this...drinking in your perfection...I feel like a starving woman who's been ushered into a seat and given leave to partake in the most decadent of feasts...I want to devour you...and at the same time, savour you oh so slowly."

Lorio grinned, "I never would have taken you for a poet...but beneath that prickly exterior beats the heart of an artist."

Enyara pursed her lips and lightly slapped Lorio's face, which prompted the immortal to laugh and remark, "Now that's more like the virago I know." Her dark eyes glazed with erupting need and she breathed, "Where are you from...I can't decide if you're a demon or my salvation."

Enyara offered Lorio an evasive smile and returned, "Perhaps both. As to where I'm from..." She first touched the hollow of Lorio's left temple and then her left breast. "I'm from here and here...or perhaps I'm just a figment of your imagination, conjured to evoke the inner wanton...and all those dark proclivities you work so hard to repress...to free your true nature from this tepid prison you've constructed for yourself."

Lorio's face contracted into a rueful knot and she intoned grimly, "Trust me when I tell you that this is a side of me you never want to see."

Enyara laughed dismissively as her right index finger began to describe elaborate patterns around Lorio's turgid left nipple. "I'm familiar with the myth...and more so with the woman behind it...and you don't frighten me a whit." Her expression became perplexed and she said mournfully. "I can enflame your flesh until it seems that you will erupt into flames...and I can touch your mind...but your heart is warded against me...against my every effort to claim it for my own."

She suddenly collected the two keepsakes that dangled on a simple leather lash between Lorio's full breasts. She tenderly caressed the earring and smooth stone, her gaze enthralled as she inquired, "Will you tell me about these...their significance...the story of how you came by each?"

Lorio merely shook her head and declared in a tone that offered no hope of equivocation, "No...they are symbols of an old life...that may be lost to me thanks to what awaits us tomorrow. I can't speak of them...because it...it would destroy me."

Enyara heard the quavering Lorio's voice as she offered this refusal and tilted her head, tenderly laying her hand along the angle of the immortal's jaw. An intensity flared in those mesmerizing green eyes and she again collected the tokens. As Lorio watched, Enyara became enveloped in a cocoon of pure emerald light that evoked images of another powerful magic wielder. The thought of Myrhia caused the immortal to stiffen, but Enyara placed a restraining hand on her shoulder and held her to the desk, as she explained, "I'm going to infuse these with as much sorcerous energy as their structures will allow. Because they are tokens of enduring love...that capacity will be enormous. Now, bitch...lay still and let me work my magic."

Reluctantly, Lorio complied and as Enyara drew her arcane energy into the two keepsakes, Lorio could feel her flesh rise into hackles. Gradually, the iridescent light in those astounding green eyes waned and Enyara inhaled deeply as if the effort had been enervating. To a transfixed immortal, she explained, "It seems inevitable that we will be forced to confront tomorrow alone. If you find yourself in a situation where you seem hopelessly beset...press the index and middle finger of your right hand to these tokens. By doing this, you will release a radial blast of arcane energy that will utterly decimate anything around you...while warding you in an enduring protective cocoon. This will give you sufficient time to run...and find your way to me."

She again gripped Lorio's chin and shook it roughly. "Do you understand...no heroics...you flee and find your way to me?"

Profoundly touched by this complex, indecipherable woman's undeniable affection and concern, Lorio nodded and promised, "I will...thank you, Enyara."

Enyara grinned and rasped, "If you really want to thank me, I have a much more meaningful method."

With this, she gracefully moved up Lorio's body and gripping the immortal's crossed wrists, surrendered herself to the other woman's carnal sorcery.

5

It was the deepest recess of night, when Lorio, naked beneath a coarse wool blanket, followed Enyara to the side door of the Coopery. Enyara, wearing her simple robe over Lorio's uniform and the sigil that declared her rank, paused at the door and turned her gaze to the immortal. Lorio was surprised by the depth of the sadness shimmering in those lovely green eyes...eyes that reminded her of another living hieroglyph. 'Perhaps, but Islena's feelings for you were conflicted, unknowable. This woman's affection for you is beyond dispute.'

Enyara shifted her gaze to the floor of the Coopery, which was shrouded in silent darkness. "I haven't forgotten our duel, bitch. The thought of flogging you with my sorcery until you plead for me to stop is like a firestorm of lust and I won't have you deprive me of it by dying. If things turn as hostile as we fear they might, you come and find me...forget oaths...forget everything. Find me and we'll face them together. If the farce runs its course without incident, I'll return here tomorrow afternoon and we'll decide what to do next."

Lorio, who had already decided that, should events not come to ahead by nightfall tomorrow, she would leave Nalosan and return to Opheile, letting fate and its unwanted obligations be damned, merely smiled fondly and nodded.

Perhaps sensing this, Enyara smiled sadly and after kissing Lorio with a ferocity that bordered on madness, opened the door and strode off into the night, where the snow had again started to fall.

Wondering why fate had imposed this beautiful, mad and unpredictable creature in her path, Lorio smiled and made her way back up to the office. She crawled atop the desk where she and Enyara had made such passionate love and pulling the blanket over her shoulders, settled her head onto her folded arm and closed her eyes.

6

Some time later, Lorio snapped awake, compelled back to awareness by a grinding pressure on her lower back...and pain...something that she only experienced when being assailed by deity level sorcery. Her first panicked impression was that Lissom had come to settle their festering grievance, but the sight that confronted her upon opening her eyes, caused her to gasp in horrified incredulity.

Two polar green eyes, now rimmed by rings of blazing iridescent orange, regarded her from an improbable face from which beamed an amiable grin that did nothing to hide the hatred behind those terrible eyes. Czefrina bent down until her muscular torso lay along the leg that presently had Lorio hopelessly pinned to Lynon Wrey's desk. "I would imagine that you're rather shocked to see me again, your highness."

"How are you here?" Lorio demanded in a tone that implied self-doubt...that intimated that the immortal believed she might yet be dreaming.

To disabuse Lorio of that notion, Czefrina pulled back her right fist and drove in into Lorio's face. The eruption of pain was explosive and from beyond it, Lorio could hear the clearly deranged princess proclaim, "Hurts, doesn't it? Don't fret...I can't actually damage that beautiful face of yours, not that I would want to." Her grin became a scowl and she snarled, "Oh, but how I can make you suffer, bitch."

She struck Lorio again, the pain causing the immortal to gasp despite herself. Czefrina then patted her offended jaw and explained, "A mutual acquaintance summoned me back from the realm of the dead...and employing the same sorcery that animated you...created me in your image, so to speak. So, you see...I can't kill you or inflict permanent damage...but I can make you suffer in the most delicious ways."

"What do you want?" Lorio managed, her head spiralling madly from the shocking impact of Czefrina's punches.

"You, of course. Nothing has really changed...except now, I don't want to re-install you upon the throne. That, I'll take for myself...after I've slaughtered the bastards who denied it to me. You...well, it will amuse me to have you as my court jester...and training dummy, when I require an outlet for my nearly infinite frustration," Czefrina announced gaily.

"You're fucking crazy!" Lorio spat.

"Much to your chagrin," Czefrina agreed.

Something occurred to Lorio then and she demanded hoarsely, "Where is Aeyon?"

"My four friends have him neatly trussed. There is someone who is most anxious to meet the pretty man who seduced the pious Karosyn...most anxious indeed." She suddenly allowed a thick rope of saliva to dangle into Lorio's upturned face. "Now, if you ever wish to see him again, you will come to the plaza and we will reprise our little tussle...except this time, the playing field will be even. Those blows you walked through with such disdain!" She shook her head in feigned sorrow. "This time you'll feel them to the marrow of your bones. Oh yes, I might even let my thighs provide you with a taste of how you took my life."

Lorio blinked in confusion, "What are you babbling about...I never killed you."

Czefrina tilted her head and narrowed her demon's eyes, "You're being truthful. Well, it matters not...I'll demonstrate everything in loving detail tomorrow...a battle that this city will never forget...should it survive Lissom's wrath. Now, rest and gather your strength."

With this, she struck Lorio with a rapid succession of precise blows that sent her spiralling into the void.

Chapter Twenty Nine

1

Leenan's Corner was so named because it sat at the corner of a rural cross road some two days journey from the southern coast of Emercia. Who Leenan might have been was a detail lost in the relatively uneventful history of the region. On that otherwise nondescript corner sat a squat, equally unexceptional five room stone building with a tiled roof...which served as the Sister of Esotaria's Chapter House in the remote, sparsely populated coastal region of the country. The local chapter of Gyzarayne's order consisted of precisely two Sisters.

The two Sisters were, physically at least, diametric opposites. Aurella, a Battle Mage with an appreciable aptitude for healing sorcery was a statuesque, willowy blond, while Nagreet, the Stealth Ranger, was a lithe, compact woman with raven hair and arresting amber eyes. In terms of personality, the pair were a perfect compliment and in the thirty years they had spent in the isolated chapter house, they had developed a harmonious rapport, enjoying each other's company as a ward against the solitude...and being attuned to the other's need for solitude should one require a span of time to be alone and reflect on their circumstances.

In the three decades they had spent in The Leenan's Corner chapter house, the pair had also come to develop a amicable accommodation with small villages and rural communities that ran along the roads that stretched out from the corner. The two woman had slowly won over most of the locals by performing deeds that helped alleviate the simple, but arduous burdens that characterized life in this corner of Emercia. When healing was required, Aurella would mend broken bones or cure the typical diseases that plagued the rural folk. When local children went missing, Nagreet would employ her considerable skills as a tracker to locate lost sons and daughters. Though the occasions had been blessedly rare over the course of their decades here, should miscreants bring darkness to the area, the two Sisters employed their combined talents to help the local constabulary bring ne'er-do-wells to justice. In performing these communities service, the pair had gradually earned the trust, if not the overt respect of the locals...and time moved slowly along as it is apt to do in these secluded corners of the world

Aurella and Nagreet thoroughly enjoyed their quiet lives...a far cry from the drudgery and misery both had faced when they had lived on the islands around Dortizirian...before they had embraced the Goddess and her bountiful blessings.

In the three decades since they had arrived, the Sisters had not managed to convert a single Emercian woman to the Goddess' way, but though both would have been loath to admit it, neither was concerned by this dismal record of conversion. Each served the Goddess in their own way and they had found theirs...deriving joy from the simple services they provided to alleviate some of the burden of the rural citizens' lives. They also found a measure of perfect synchronicity...with each other...and their idyllic surroundings.

They had heard whispers of dark clouds gathering in Nalosan...and an unimaginably terrifying place called Majeer...but those places and their troublesome concerns seemed to be as distant as the stars that emblazoned the firmament on glorious summer nights. A moon cycle back, there had come a request from along the tether to determine if there had been any abductions reported in the area. Being the dutiful Sisters they were, the pair had made the necessary inquiries of the local constabulary, but as they had expected...nothing so nefarious had been noted anywhere in the vicinity of Leenan's Corner and life continued at its placid pace.

As both should have known, but had forgotten beneath a calming aura of perfect tranquility...complacency is the enemy of vigilance.

The morning that Karosyn Nierosean was to be re-instated as Matrium in distant Nalosan dawned in perfect splendour over Leenan's Crossing where summer still held sway. As was their custom, Aurella and Nagreet were up at first light and set out at random along one of the four roads that branched out from the corner. Aurella conducted these daily excursions to collect herbs and local plants for her unguents and Nagreet accompanied her for the fresh air and the quiet pleasure of watching the other woman become so animated when she came across a rare specimen.

They were walking slowly along a section of roadway that was delineated by a low stone fence on either side and beyond which rolled green pastures that were presently deserted. Preoccupied as they were by their conversation, neither noticed that they were no longer alone until the attackers boiled over the walls on either side of the narrow road.

The attackers wore identical black uniforms that had no visible adornment. When they spilled over the low walls, they began to bellow inarticulate cries of primal fury and something that might well have been desperation. They were armed a motley array of impromptu weapons that ranged from barrel staves, to iron bars for levering stones, to pitchforks.

Nagreet deftly avoided a clumsy swing from a barrel stave, noting that her attacker's eyes appeared glazed and vacant. She struck the man in the neck and he dropped like a stone into water. Before she could turn to face her next assailant, a stocky man wielding a levering bar struck her across the back of the knees, driving her forward. Like a pack of starving jackals, ten men fell upon her, raving insanely while they rained wild blows down upon the fallen stealth ranger, who would have easily dispatched the pack before complacency had dulled her reflexes.

Meanwhile, Aurella was blindsided by a glancing blow that nonetheless carried with it sufficient force to send her careening along the road and onto her back. She raised her head, vaguely aware of the sheet of blood that was cascading down her torn cheek, and was confronted by the terrible sight of an unmoving and bloody Nagreet being savagely beaten by her frenzied attackers.

This horrible spectacle of violence roused a rare eruption of rage in the Battle Mage, who was placid by this discipline's standard, and she unleashed a radial wave of arcane energy that was a very pale facsimile of the one which Enyara had bestowed upon Lorio. The impact struck eighteen of the nineteen remaining assailants and sent them hurtling through the air like bales of hay. The fortunate ones were sent flying over the walls, where they landed in twisted sprawls and lay peering dazedly up at the blue sky. Those who were less fortunate struck the walls with titanic impact, shattering bones and snapping spines.

One, however, was inexplicably resistant to Aurella's sorcery. Approaching her from behind, he darted forward and drove the tines of his rusted pitchfork into the battle mage's slender back with enough force to pierce her body and pin the shocked woman to the dirt road...which quickly became sodden with life's blood.

A terrible quiet descended on the road then. In time, those who had not been badly injured rose and stared about in the way of a man emerging from a lucid dream that he cannot recall. They gazed about in bewildered confusion and when puzzled gazes fell upon the bloody corpses of the two women, those expressions of confusion became ones of dawning horror.

They gazed at each other questioningly and almost in perfect unison, they turned and fled in different directions...every man striking out on his own with no clear notion how they had come to be in this unfamiliar place or what had just transpired.

And with this one shocking incident of savage violence, Lissom's machinations began to unfurl like a deadly carpet, rolling across Emercia...destined for Nalosan, where it would see fruition.

2

Like a raging tide that surged along a once placid river, gaining momentum as it went, Lissom's nefarious scheme unfurled and was re-enacted in towns and villages all up the length of the normally tranquil country. Had one been able to view these abhorrently brutal episodes from the lofty perspective of a deity, they would have recognized the shape and essence of Lissom's diabolical intent as she'd assembled and forged her army of mindless automatons...moulded in crucibles of torture too horrible to imagine.

The groups of men attack Chapter Houses in a disorganized frenzy and with a few notable exceptions (Leenan's Corner being among their number), these forays were quickly and efficiently repulsed by the Sisters, the ranks of charging, raving men quickly obliterated before disciplined storms of steel or rolling waves of offensive sorcery. The ensorcelled men displayed little imagination in their attacks and most of the beleaguered sisters escaped this sudden frays with only minimal casualties...if any. There were mournful exceptions to this pattern.

In the town of Isling Fair, the local Chapter House consisted of eight Sisters, who lived in a two-storey stone dwelling on the edge of town. In the early hours of the day on which Karosyn was to be elevated, a group of mad zealots, barred both entrances to the building, doused the doors with oil and then set them aflame before pitching torches through the building's windows. The sisters had managed to douse the flames thanks to the resourcefulness of the chapter's Battle Mage, but as they exited the building, they were swiftly cut down in a hail of crossbow bolts.

Other than this notable exception, the attacks on the Sisters were conducted in a pell-mell fashion that saw the torture-addled victims of Lissom's machinations decimated in quick order.

Had this air borne witness absorbed this tragic farce unfold, it might quickly have occurred to them that Lissom's intent had not been to destroy the Chapter House's. Hers had been a far more nefarious and subtler objective...one far more inflammatory and potentially disruptive.

To those under attack, the only possible interpretation was that the long dormant misogyny in the Emercian male had final awoken...emphatically demonstrating that Emercian men were no different than the ugly patriarchal misogynists that had driven most of these women to embrace Gyzarayne in the first place.

In the bitter soil of this new discord, Lissom would plant the seeds of her remorseless theology.

3

Unaware of what was presently besetting their Sisters through the nation, fifteen hundred women assembled in the forecourt of their Chapter House and with the Elder Guide and the Dortizirian Council at their lead, began to make the mandatory march toward the Great Plaza where what was being heralded as the Ceremony of Reconciliation would commence come the midday bell.

Slowly, the citizens of Nalosan left their warm hearths to come and silently line the sidewalks, standing in the swirling wind as this unprecedented procession passed. Most faces were blank, their reaction to what they were witnessing inscrutable, yet every mind and heart was deeply troubled by the shadow that loomed out in the Bay of Imerlac.

First Battle Mage Enyara walked next to the First Stealth Ranger, directly behind the Council members and the Elder Guide. Though her beautiful face was impassive within her deep hood, her mind reeled beneath a fire storm of conflicting emotions...the foremost of which was a near paralyzingly dread for the woman who was exerting such a shocking impact on her normally hardened heart.

She had immediately regretted her decision to return to the Chapter House before the coming of day and as the hours had passed, that anxiety had escalated. Finally, she had reached out to Lorio along the tether she'd surreptitiously planted in the immortal's mind on their first night together...only to find a disturbing void where Lorio's consciousness had been. Her first instinct was to race back to the coopery, but the gates of the Chapter House had been sealed upon her arrival and a ward erected around the ground...though with what exact intent, Enyara could not fathom. She had spent the remainder of the morning fretting over the apparent disruption of her tether and what it might imply.

As they marched toward the square, that anxiety reached insufferable levels. Pushing past indignant council members, Enyara drew abreast of Bethany Denay, who walked beside the stately Zynora. Setting aside her natural aversion toward the blond, Enyara gripped her slender right wrist and shaking it for emphasis, whispered, "Something has happened...something inimical. We're lambs being led to slaughter here."

Bethany rolled her eyes at what she assumed was yet another of the contentious woman's flights of hyperbole, while Zynora eyed the First Battle Mage curiously. Sensing that she had no alternative, Enyara laid forth her concern. Bethany frowned upon learning that Enyara had employed a tether on a woman who was not a sister...an action that was strictly prohibited by the Order's laws. "There could be many reasons for her failure to respond, the foremost being that she is simply choosing not to."

Discerning this as yet another example of Bethany being both insufferably obdurate and incredibly obtuse, it was all the tempestuous First Battle Mage could do not to unleash the fully weight of her sorcery upon the stubborn woman. Instead, she growled defensively, "She wouldn't do that."

"As we saw during our strategy session, there is nothing this ungovernable woman wouldn't do if in the right frame of mind. We will discuss your unsanctioned use of the tether once this ceremony is concluded...now, return to your place." The two women glared daggers at each other for a moment, but seeing that the Elder Guide was intractable, Enyara huffed in frustration and fell back.

'I won't let you die, Lorio...but if somehow, you still manage to anyway...I vow before this indifferent Goddess we serve, I will extract hell in the name of your vengeance!' Enyara vowed as she frantically struggled to contrive a way to save the mercurial creature who had so thoroughly shackled her heart.

4

The citizens of Nalosan began to move toward the Royal Plaza, drifting along the icy streets of the city like wraith's in the mist. Customarily, especially during the reign of the benevolent queen, all public ceremonies and Royal gatherings were occasions for much gaiety and were characterized by exuberance and boisterous animation. On this day, a strange pall seemed to have descended upon the citizens of Nalosan as they began to make their way toward the plaza. There was little conversation, as most huddled against the cold winds that had begun to scour the icy streets.

Access to the Royal Plaza was gained via five converging access roads, the larger of which ran along an east-west tangent that led to the Sisters of Esotaria Chapter House and the Eastern Gate of the city. A steady trickle of curious citizens flowed into the plaza ahead of the arriving Sisters, but traffic through the other access roads was surprisingly sparse. It was here that the first of Karosyn and Kyrin's contingencies was furtively implemented. At intersections of streets away from the plaza, small squads of Emercian cavalry and infantry began to intercept the citizens approaching along these roads and direct them back to their houses.

The indignation this heavy-handedness normally would have garnered was conspicuously absent on this day and though some grumbled, the would-be ceremony goers simply turned about and did as instructed.

Consequently, when the access gate immediately adjacent to the portcullis at the base of the ramp, opened and the official procession flowed out onto the dais, the great plaza was less than a third full. The midday bells began to ring out across the city just as the Sisters of Esotaria arrived. Bethany and Zynora exchanged puzzled glances over the dearth of people on the plaza, but made their way to the designated assembly area just next to the dais, which had been erected at the base of Kammlogran's towering southern wall. As instructed, the Elder Guide and Council members ascended the dais and spread along its length to await the arrival of the Ascentrix and her soon to-be-restored Matrium.

When the interwoven gate opened, the first to pass out into the Plaza were Lissom's Mirhac Ehkar. Attired in their customary regalia, they quickly spread out along the periphery of the plaza, where each stood facing the plaza, with their hands clasped before them and those daunting swords looming over their shoulders. Next came the Queen's Hand of the Way guards...appearing resplendent in their ceremonial armour as they took up positions at the foot of the dais, turning watchful eyes toward the crowd.

The Ascentrix then strode purposely through the gate and mounted the steps in three crisp, efficient bounds. At her appearance, a subdued gasp ran through the assembly like ripples in a pond and every neck craned to catch a better glimpse at the diminutive woman in the pewter mask who had cast such a deep shadow over the city.

Finally, Karosyn entered the plaza and in a slow, stately gait, made her way to the base of the steps. She turned and raised a hand of greeting to her subjects, who greeted her acknowledgement with a thunderous cry that seemed to shake the very stones and set Lissom's teeth to grinding beneath her hideous mask. 'Relish this idolatry, you covetous bitch...it is the last occasion you'll ever hear it!'

Dressed in only a rough spun, humble robe the colour of clay, Karosyn's only other adornment was a simple gold circlet that sat atop her head and declared her to be the reigning queen. Her thick, honey-blond hair had been styled in a long cable braid which she had favoured for her entire tenure as Matrium. Slowly, she mounted the stairs and crossing the dais, accepted Lissom's deep bow, before stunning the crowd by dropping to a knee and kissing the Ascentrix's extended hand. As the two women turned to face those who had come to witness the ceremony, Lissom grumbled irritably, "I imagine your adorning citizens were otherwise preoccupied and couldn't spare the time to acknowledge your return to the order?"

"The day is bitterly cold, Lissom and the concerns of their small lives are fixed upon sustenance and survival...which take precedence over titles and the games of power played by the likes of us," Karosyn returned, her voice at once placid and distant.

Lissom's eyes narrowed in suspicion at this desultory response, but when Karosyn only gazed back, her thoughts unfathomable behind her normally expressive eyes, Lissom merely frowned and the ceremony began.

First the Ascentrix addressed the citizenry, speaking about her delight that she and the Queen had come together to strengthen the bonds of their common purpose. Karosyn had then stepped to the fore, and in her serene, thoughtful manner, had extolled the value and virtues of her returning to the order with whom her country's goals and desires were so perfectly aligned. She then went on to assure the people that Emercia would remain the beacon of enlightenment, inclusiveness and tolerance that it had become during the rule of Artumas. This pronouncement was greeted with a cheer that lacked its customary enthusiasm. The entire ceremony exuded the sense of an uninspired stage performance in which the participants could barely muster the effort to project the impression of genuine interest. A murmur of disquiet again swirled through the assembly as Karosyn again knelt before the Ascentrix to accept the sigil of Matrium, which would officially confirm her reinstatement as Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria.

It was then that absolute pandemonium usurped control of the moment.

5

Lorio's lurching return to cognizance was accompanied by a dizzying sense of disorientation and a chorus of throbbing pain that seemed to accost every part of her battered body. She uttered a deep groan and attempted to roll onto her right side, but instead managed to roll right off Lynon's scarred wooden desk. She landed on the equally scuffed boards of his office with a meaty thud and simply laid there until the symphony of throbbing pain abated to manageable levels.

As she waited, the memory of how she had come to be in this wretched state came back to her in slow, murky waves.

'Czefrina did this to me!' That was impossible...Czefrina was an unclaimed, frozen corpse lying in the Royal Crypt...and even if she lived still, the skilled fighter never could have inflicted this painful beating upon Lorio.

' _A mutual acquaintance summoned me back from the realm of the dead...and employing the same sorcery that animated you...created me in your image, so to speak.'_

Czefrina's explanation, delivered in a tone of gleeful madness, came back to her then and Lorio uttered a groan of dismay. There could be no questioning the veracity of this claim. The very fact that she was lying sprawled on the floor, body wracked by waves of rolling pain, confirmed that the engine of carnage had spoken the truth.

"Lissom, you crazy bitch...do you even know what you've unleashed?" Lorio inquired of the empty space. This evoked the full recollection of the painful episode and Lorio cried out, "Aeyon?"

As expected, there was no reply forthcoming and the immortal knew that Lissom now had in her depraved possession the means to utterly eviscerate Karosyn.

'Which means...I've failed...like so many other things in my life, I've bungled this one task I was given.' Lorio though, sinking dejection falling upon her like a collapsing building.

'Now, if you ever wish to see him again, you will come to the plaza and we will reprise our little tussle...' Mad Czefrina had offered this inducement to Lorio, just before she had literally battered the immortal into the void. The pragmatic, worldly part of Lorio knew that this was a blatant lie...Czefrina would do as Lissom bid and turn the young man over to her new mistress. Another part, the part that clearly wanted to redeem herself for this failure, refused to surrender the fleeting hope that the mad woman's desire to humiliate and possess Lorio was stronger than her dubious loyalty to the woman who had returned her to the living.

Being who she was, Lorio seized on this possibility and moved to act upon it. She sat up, waited for her spinning head to settle and then pushed herself to her feet...where she promptly tumbled backwards like a fallen tree. Her body fell upon Lynon Wrey's desk like a massive block of lead, shattering the heavy wooden construct as if it was dried kindling. She lay at the centre of the pile of detritus, staring up into the darkness...gasping like a fish out of water.

'She's going to destroy you...thoroughly and easily...if you go to the plaza, this engine of carnage will beat you to a quivering pulp. She'll make your eternal torment her greatest source of joy...and Lissom will have Aeyon anyway,' a somber voice informed her and there could be little disputing the fact. With the skills the diminutive blond had displayed beneath Kammlogran augmented by sorcery, Czefrina would lay waste to Lorio in short order...and then the immortal would spend eternity as an outlet for the insane creature's every depravity.

"Ah, but haven't I always been a fool for lost causes?" She inquired with a bitter grin. Moving with deliberate slowness, Lorio turned onto her hands and knees, steadied herself and then climbed to her feet, where she swayed precipitously for several moments.

When she was confident that she would not collapse again, Lorio left the office and carefully made her way down the stairs. Daylight poured through the upper windows of the Coopery and she offered a fervent prayer that the issue had yet to be decided.

Before exiting the building, she projected a desperate entreaty to her improbable lover and friend. 'Enyara...if you can hear me...they've taken Aeyon...please come to the plaza...and bring as many battle mages as you can muster...I need your help!'

Then she pushed out into the clear, cold daylight and began to hurry toward the Royal Plaza as quickly as her battered body would allow.

6

In the two days prior to the ceremony of reinstatement, they had begun making their way into the city...guided unerringly by an imperative they neither understood, nor resisted.

By the time that Lissom and Karosyn mounted the dais, seven hundred of these sorrowful, ensorcelled drones had found their way into the plaza. Gone we're the black uniforms they'd been given as they'd exited the ships along the coast to begin their disoriented trek to the city. The men had purloined rags and clothing all throughout the city and were indistinguishable from any of the other members of the gathered crowd...except perhaps for the woeful state of their clothing.

As the event unfolded, the fog of disassociation that had kept them relatively sedate began to dissipate and when Karosyn knelt to receive Gyzarayne's sigil, it vanished completely...and in unison every torture-addled victim beheld the face of the woman who was responsible for their heinous abuse and suffering...Karosyn Nierosean!

Seeing their tormentor ignited the full measure of Lissom's beguilement. Bellowing inarticulate cries of hatred and rage, they surged forward and rushed the dais, sending confused citizens flying in all directions as they did.

The men closest to the ranks of Sisters, who were turning toward the source of the confusion, tackled startled women and fell to the cobbles, clawing and punching wildly at the women as they fell.

Karosyn rose from her knees, gazing out at the swiftly spreading chaos with mortified horror as she watched citizens fall to the cobbles, where they were trampled by the frenetic rush of berserkers.

Lissom gripped her wrist and spun her about, her eyes blazing furiously behind her horrible mask. "So this is your great bastion of enlightened egalitarianism?"

As if to punctuate this seething contempt, a massive explosion shook the city...sending a tremor rumbling through the ground. Somewhere to the east, a massive column of churning black smoke rose into the midday sky. Without releasing a momentarily transfixed Karosyn's wrist, Lissom turned to the chaos before the dais and in a fulminating rumble, commanded, "Mirhac Ehkar...defend the dais...protect the Queen!"

Before the dais, the Hand of the Way was attempting to form a protective barrier between the dais and the pandemonium on the plaza. Lissom unleashed a burst of arcane energy that struck the rank in the back and sent them sprawling onto their faces, where they lay in dazed heaps. As the nearest of her drones reached the fallen soldiers, they bent to collect their weapons and then continued their mad charge toward the dais.

Before the first could reach the elevated platform, Lissom snarled and unleashed a rolling wave of blue fire that set each attacker ablaze. Harrowing cries of agony filled the plaza as the dying drones beat futilely at the flames and danced a death jig about the cobbles.

The Mirhac Ehkar entered the fray, wielding their swords with deadly efficiency that made no distinction between the assailants and the fleeing citizens and soon the cobble plaza became a bloody abattoir.

A glacial calm descended over Enyara as she watched this violent insanity seize the moment.

A bellowing attacker converged upon her, but she lithely sidestepped his clumsy lunge and sent him sprawling with a controlled burst of arcane energy. She quickly surveyed the pandemonium around her and saw that the sisters had formed a protective circle around the Elder Guide and Council and were unleashing sorcery on the attackers, who refused to relent and flee despite the rapidity with which they were being decimated. Enyara stepped to the front of the perimeter of Sisters and then beyond. Employing her exceptionally powerful sorcery, she literally seized the nearest attacker in an invisible vice and lifted him from the cobbles.

As madness continued to unfurl around her, she ignored the chaos and stepped closer still to examine the suspended man, whose face was contorted into a rictus of hatred and rage...but whose eyes were curiously blank.

An apparent non sequitur blossomed in her agile mind then. 'There have been a series of unsolved abductions all throughout Emercia...men travelling alone or in pair...like Aeyon and Tarim Wrey.'

And in the blink of an incredulous eye, the mystery of this campaign of abductions resolved in Enyara's mind and she bellowed, "Don't kill them! They've been ensorcelled...immobilize them! Immobilize them!"

Many of the Sisters...especially the battle mages...glanced quickly at Enyara and seeing what she had done to her assailant, quickly changed their tactics...employing various forms of sorcery to immobilize or incapacitate the wave of men charging toward them. Soon, four score of these poor wretches either hovered in the air or lay immobilized on the cobbles.

Near the dais, the few remaining assailants were quickly obliterated by the Mirhac Ehkar and soon an eerie calm descended upon the plaza. Karosyn attempted to disengage her wrist from Lissom's shockingly powerful grip just as members of her guard were coming to their senses. Before she could free herself, Karosyn found that she was completely immobilized by a sorcery, the enormity of which defied reason in its magnitude. Lissom stepped closer and peered directly into the Queen's eyes and rasped, "I said I would protect you and so I shall."

Turning back to the plaza, which was quickly emptying as citizens fled through the arches into the surrounding side streets, she commanded, "Sisters of Esotaria, our chapter house is under assault...return and see that it is secured and the attackers routed. Mirhac Ehkar...you will accompany the Sisters and aid them in their efforts."

The Sisters exchanged puzzled, uncertain glances and then looked to the Elder Guide for confirmation. Seeing this reluctance, Lissom roared, "Go...now!"

The very stones of Kammlogran seemed to shake with the immense power of this imperative, but in truth, Lissom had issued this angered command only along the tether that connected all of Gyzarayne's daughters.

"The Ascentrix has spoken...let us make haste." It was the venerable Zynora who had added her voice to Lissom's command, though in the long years that remained to her, she would never be able to grasp what had compelled her to do so.

It was at the exact moment of Lissom's blared imperative that Lorio's plea touched Enyara's preoccupied thoughts, but it was a feeble thing that was completely occluded by the force of Lissom's furious command.

As one, the Sisters turned and forming ranks, hurried through the eastern exit, with the Mirhac Ehkar flanking them as they raced through the snow-carpeted streets.

Karosyn remained utterly stationary, entrapped within Lissom's sorcerous device, she could neither speak, nor move. Lissom returned her attention to the last of the milling citizenry and the Hand of the Way Guards, many of who were exchanging quizzical glances over the fact that their Queen had not moved or issued a single command despite the pandemonium that had held sway about her. Sensing that their inquisitiveness was about to evolve into concern, Lissom smiled and unleashed a second wave of sorcery...this one a radial blast of narcoleptic sorcery that plunged everyone on the plaza into unconsciousness. That was easily permeated the walls of Kammlogran and soon every occupant of the massive castle had collapsed into boneless sprawls along its carpeted halls or in its many chambers.

Karosyn's eyes grew wide with horror at this staggering display of ruthlessness, but then Lissom chuckled and observed, "Don't fret, Karosyn...I've only rendered them unconscious...after all, Empress Gheldazara will require subjects over whom to rule and it wouldn't do to annihilate them all before she arrives to survey her expanding empire. Now, let us go back inside...there is something I must show you...something I'm sure you'll find most interesting."

With this, she gripped Karosyn's forearms and began to drag her back toward the access gate, which literally was blasted from its hinges by a slight gesticulation of Lissom's left hand. At the threshold to the ramp, she roughly pushed the inured Karosyn against the stone wall and turned back to the Plaza. "Interference won't do...so let me create an obstacle to ensure that we can conduct our business without interruption."

She held her two arms straight out before her, with the palms facing the ground and the thumbs of either hand pressed together. Karosyn could feel a low vibration building deep in her viscera and knew that this mad creature was drawing on the life energy of everything around her and was about to conjure an especially powerful feat of sorcery.

When the precise form of Lissom's shocking magic was revealed, Karosyn saw that her supposition had been correct...Lissom had aspired to literally tear a hole in the very fabric of the world. The fulminating rumble that shook the entire city rose in pitch and volume until it became a deafeningly shrill scream. The massive cobbles split apart and the fissure quickly expanded in both length and width until it created a seemingly bottomless chasm that stood at least fifty paces wide and ran along the northern edge of the plaza and along the foot of Kammlogran's southern wall...insuring that no conventional rescue force would reach the castle before Lissom had concluded her affairs within its walls.

She stepped to the very edge of the precipice and peered down into its lightless depths. Then, to Karosyn's surprise, she pulled the pewter mask from her head and casually tossed it into the void. Turning that terrible visage back to Karosyn, she rasped, "I want you to see every expression...every nuance of joy and satisfaction that crosses my face as I finally dispense the justice you deserve for all you've inflicted on me."

Seizing Karosyn's heavy braid, she began to pull the helpless Queen up the ramp, occasionally glancing back to beam a jubilant grin at her hated adversary.

When all was silent across the body-littered, blood and gore spattered plaza, a single figure slid from the shadow of one of the side roads and drifted lazily toward the centre of the plaza. Czefrina then shrugged off her hooded cloak and assumed a relax stance. Attired in a clinging body stocking like the one she had worn on the day she had humiliated Karosyn's weapon's master, she spread her legs, bowed her head and loosely clasped her hands before her...waiting for her own adversary to arrive with a sense of keen anticipation.

She had no doubt that Lorio would heed her summons, despite the debilitating beating she'd inflicted upon her. Czefrina knew that, in spite of her feckless, erratic nature, Lorio possessed a core of nobility that simply would not allow her to serve her best interest and flee...even at the cost of her life...or in this case, her soul.

Patiently, she waited...a quality she had never possessed as a mortal.

7

As word of what had transpired on the plaza began to be disseminated from one nervous citizen to the next, out in the Bay of Imerlac...the first rank of ships began to sail slowly toward the docks.

8

The Jerhia Expeditionary Force was in sight of the Southern Gate when a massive explosion tore the morning tranquility asunder. Arminda exchanged concerned glances with her Adjutant and the Maxim Tier Marshal reined in her mount. Turning back to the ranks, she bellowed, "Form into the predetermined squads. We will enter the city and converge upon the source of that column of smoke. We will assume we now find ourselves in a hostile environment...but be sure to identify who you are facing before engaging...we don't want to mistakenly confront Emercian forces."

The fifteen hundred women, who were already essentially engaged in the planned formations, made the minor positional adjustments and the column began to move toward the city.

Soon after, A horrifying rumble seemed to shake the very foundations of the world, followed by an ear-splitting whine that suggested that the very earth was been subjected to some form of horrendous torture...which, indeed it was.

Every troop in the column exchanged nervous glances and though their composure and courage were beyond question, all but Arminda, who had strode through the fields of hell, realized that they were about to enter their first legitimate hostile confrontation.

9

When the Sisters and their escort reached the Chapter House grounds on the Eastern edge of Nalosan, they were confronted by a writhing curtain of black smoke, occasionally illuminated by a flare of fire as flames feasted in the flammable bits of rubble that now littered the sprawling grounds.

Zynora and the Elder Guide strode resolutely into the courtyard and stood surveying the damage as the rest of the Sisters filed in and spread out around them. Unnoticed by the preoccupied Sisters, the Mirhac Ehkar also entered the courtyard and spread out along the western wall and across the western entrance through which the two groups had just entered.

Enyara watched the two senior Sisters survey the substantial damage, which was comprised of the total destruction of two of the compound's buildings. The library and academic building appeared to have imploded, while one of the large dormitories seemed to have exploded, the detritus of its cataclysmic destruction spread across the entire compound.

The volatile Enyara heard the Elder Guide lament, "All this knowledge...all of those invaluable scrolls and books...lost."

This doleful mourning over bits of wood and paper was more than Enyara could suffer, striding toward the pair, all sense of deference to authority lost, the First Battle Mage exclaimed, "Surely you must realize that this," she flung an encompassing arm across the tableau of destruction, "is nothing more than a distraction...a pretext to allow that insane bitch to direct us away from the castle?"

The two women shifted their gaze to the tempestuous redhead and though Bethany's expression was predictably furious, it was Zynora's reaction that vexed Enyara the most. She was regarding the First Battle Mage as if she was a pet dog who had suddenly exhibited a faculty for speech. Not waiting for either to respond, Enyara forged ahead. "The men who attacked us on the plaza...they had been ensorcelled...the imperative to attack Sisters implanted in their minds. Who do you think would be capable of such potent sorcery?"

The implication of this strident query was obvious. Bethany scowled and retorted angrily, "That is a dangerous and baseless presumption."

Enyara shook her head and regarded the Elder Guide as if she might be mentally enfeebled. As restraint was not one of her fortes, she blared, "Even you can't be this obtuse! By allowing ourselves to be drawn off like gullible children, we have left Karosyn vulnerable and exposed...alone with the deranged bitch."

Bethany's lovely face contorted into a knot of apoplexy and she stuttered, "How...how dare you speak..."

Ignoring this strident protest, Enyara turned to Zynora and beseeched, "I know you're cut from a finer cloth than this simpering imbecile...you know I'm right. The abductions that had plagued Emercia...the missing men...you have to know that Lissom orchestrated all of this. We have to get back to Kammlogran...we have to save the Matrium and stop Lissom."

Zynora pursed her lips and after flicking a brief gaze at the mortified Elder Guide, she glanced back toward the gate, where the Mirhac Ehkar had drawn their hooked swords in perfect unison. A sibilant hiss filled the courtyard and the three women spun about to see eight churning columns of smoke manifest out of the slick cobbles. They watched in transfixed fascination as these columns resolved into more or less tangible beings...that resembled the other Mirhac Ehkar, though the Decipara Mirhac Ehkar exuded an aura of arcane might that was daunting to ponder.

With a surprising degree of composure, the eldest of the Sisters, who had survived the scourge of Myrhia, remarked, "I suspect your scathing assessment is unerringly correct, First Battle Mage...just as I further surmise that we will not be leaving this courtyard without an epic fight."

Enyara fixed the shimmering entities with a truculent grin, etched with madness and violent promise, and growled, "Finally, something to vent upon..."

10

An eerie silence had enveloped the nearly deserted halls of Kammlogran...a tomb-like absence of sound that had not been heard within its walls during the entirety of the ancient castle's history. As a precaution, Karosyn had ordered her Adjutant to quietly dismiss as many of the castle's liveried staff as possible without attracting her perceptive guest's notice.

Now, As Lissom dragged the woman, who had raised her from infancy, by her long braid, through its empty hall...the few people they encountered lay sprawled where Lissom's narcoleptic cantrip had struck them.

Karosyn attempted to probe Lissom's sorcery, but her immediate layer of will power had been effectively usurped by the Ascentrix, who stopped on occasion to administer a petulant slap to Karosyn's face, jerking her head forward so that she could easily strike the statuesque blond. They reached the base of a stairwell that led up to the castle's rampart and Lissom abruptly slammed the defenceless Queen into the wall, pressing against her until their faces were less than a hand's width apart. Those cracked lips spread into a horrible parody of a grin and she rasped, "I haven't decided if I'm simply going to dissect you...or turn you into my Fey Thringan Brauy and derive an eternity of sadistic delight by subjecting you to every degradation my perverse mind can conjure. I can begin by watching as my Thringan Brauy ravages you without restraint. I do believe Tarim would find this body of yours immensely satisfying...and being given leave to sully it without respect for any manner of decency...well, that would insure his unending fealty!"

Karosyn had suffered this abjection impassively, much to Lissom's vexation, but at the mention of the enslaved man's name, her eyes widened in horror. 'Tarim...it can't possibly be...surely even fate is not that malicious.'

Lissom tilted her head, those luminous blue eyes narrowing into speculative slits and she inquired, "You recognize the name I see...interesting. How would a woman of your rarified standing possibly come to know a simple tradesman? A decidedly sordid mystery...and one that I'll unravel at my leisure."

She again slapped Karosyn's face and propelled her toward the stairs, barking a spate of derisive laughter when the Queen, made ungainly by the effects of Lissom's sorcery, stumbled on the stairs. An arcane burst ripped the heavy oak door from its hinges and sent it spinning across the stones of the rampart like a child's toy. Lissom delivered a viscous punch to Karosyn's right kidney. Augmented by sorcery, the blow drove the helpless woman out into the sunlight and onto her face.

She lay on the cold stone, struggling to master her pain. In the deepest presence of her being, she could feel an infinitely powerful presence stir in the face of this ugly spectacle of abjection and she pleaded silently, 'Please, just a short moment longer...grant me my voice and allow me to make one final plea!'

When the pain began to subside, Karosyn was surprised to find that Lissom had return volition over her body and she could move freely. She pushed herself to her knees and stood. Lissom was watching her intently and something in Karosyn's demeanour must have unsettled the other woman, became her grim countenance became somber and she inquired mordantly, "Do you actually expect I will be merciful...is that why you cling to this absurd posture of serenity? Will you not beg for your life...for the life of these mindless geldings and obtuse sows that hold you in such divine regard?"

"The offer of my life was sincerely given, Lissom," Karosyn returned with that infuriating composure. "If my slaughter will cleanse this darkness from your soul...your heart...then I will gladly surrender it."

"It won't be that simple, bitch...not that simple at all!" Lissom barked, struggling to repress the urge to obliterate that maddening mantle of calmness with a burst of balefire. She had waited too long for her moment of vengeance to see it extracted so swiftly. She would savour it...relish the cries of agony and the pleas for the cold mercy of death she intended to extract from this wailing whore's bursting throat as she carved her to bloody ribbons.

"Will you tell me truthfully, Lissom...all of this dark drama...this needless horror and misery...is it truly because you are convinced that I traduced Artumas...can it really be attributed to something so depressingly tawdry?"

Lissom's face constricted into a hideous knot and she swiftly closed the distance between the pair. Seizing The sides of Karosyn's head, she jerked it closer and spat a great glut of saliva into that loathsome face, before savagely pushing the taller woman away as if she was a living disease. "How dare you trivialize the torment I've endured!"

Ignoring the saliva that trailed over a prominent cheekbone, Karosyn calmly returned, "Gazing at you, I feel your pain as keenly as if it was my own."

Lissom clutched the sides of her own head as if on the verge of apoplexy and roared, "Fuck your commiseration! Fuck your preposterous piety...fuck you...you manipulative whore!" Karosyn was swept up in a powerful vice and jerked into the air, where she was shaken like a rabbit in a blood-addled hounds jaws. She then found that she was propelled out beyond the parapet and turned upside down. She glanced down to see the distant cobbles at the base of Kammlogran's walls and then back to Lissom, whose face was contorted with fury, her blue eyes bugling with a desire to incinerate Karosyn where she hovered.

The piteously desiccated woman bowed her head, and Karosyn could see her thin chest heaving and her bony shoulders rising and falling as she fought to regain her composure. When she raised her head, all rage had bled from that terrible visage. Slowly, Karosyn was guided back over the ramparts, turned upright and gently deposited onto her feet. There was a weary, distant quaver in Lissom's voice when she spoke. "You always were an exceedingly clever one. Everyone else feared me...or were leery of me as if I was something beyond their comprehension...their myopic sensibilities. But you...you, I always felt could see beyond my mantle of aloofness...divine my every thought...and it frightened me. You're right, this is more than simple retribution for taking something from me that should have been mine. During those excruciating years in that desert hell...I arrived at a terrible epiphany. Gyzarayne had abandoned us. Why? I could not say...perhaps she was disappointed with how little progress we've actually made in lifting her daughters from the chains of subservience and repression. Perhaps, it is simply that the time for deities in this world has passed and she and her ilk have moved on to a world more receptive to their inherent need of idolatry. Who can say. In the end, I arrived at the conclusion that her motivations for turning away from her daughters were...irrelevant. All that truly mattered was accepting this unpalatable truth and coming to terms with its aftermath."

Lissom began to circle Karosyn, though her tone intimated that she was no longer speaking directly to her. "I decided that I would serve as her surrogate...after all, I had the power....which had grown at an astounding rate, as you could readily attest...and there is none who walk this earth that could boast a greater resolve. I refuse to see my daughters slide back to complacent acceptance of subjugation and enslavement. I will not allow women to become resigned to the status of chattel and dependence on patriarchal benevolence. In Majeer, I have drawn the map on precisely how this can be achieved...and it is a map that I will follow unwaveringly in carrying my new theology to the world...beginning here." She came to a halt directly before Karosyn and peered up into those limpid blue eyes that were regarding her so mournfully. "That is yet another reason why I must destroy you or break you...because we both know that your delicate sensibilities will compel you to oppose me at every turn...which I will not tolerate."

Lissom extended her thin arms and opened her palms. In response, two long knives, with decidedly lethal blades coalesced into being. She twirled both on the outsides of her index fingers, informing Karosyn that she possessed a frightening proficiency in their use.

Another slight gesticulation and two similar weapons appeared on the stones at Karosyn's feet. The statuesque blond glanced from the weapons to Lissom, who informed her, "in deference to the two hundred years we spent together...during which it seemed that you genuinely cared for me...I will provide you with the chance to defend yourself. I will not employ sorcery. We will fight like the barbarians I intend to obliterate. Should you win, the women on those ships will swear fealty to you and this world will carry on in its current tepid state, while you delude yourself into believing that you are making progress in raising women to a equal place in the world. Should I drive one of these knives through your heart...this world will see the dawn of a new reality...in which women stand on the rubble of the demolished patriarchy. Now come, Mother...let us test our mettle...our resolve."

Karosyn sighed and stepped over the two weapons, her expression doleful. "I will not fight you." She extended her right arms and beseeched, "Please, Lissom...even after what has happened here today, it isn't too late. Give yourself to me...let me heal your body...your soul. I can find a requiem for you and together we can purge this malice that has corrupted your mind. I will devote myself to your reclamation...and in time, you can resume your role...with a clear mind and a compassionate heart. If you cannot...then take my life...because I will not fight you."

Lissom hesitated, regarding Karosyn's extended hand with dumbfounded disbelief. "You still believe that Gyzarayne will lead us to this great egalitarian paradise. In addition to being a conniving whore...you are a credulous fool. You say that you will not take up the blades and fight me...perhaps I can provide you with the correct inducement."

She raised one of the long knives in the direction of Artumas' memorial. Feeling the nascent stirring of dread creeping up the length of her spine, she followed the sword even as the air seemed to congeal and the distant mausoleum was dragged into sharp focus...as if it was only a short distance away.

She was only vaguely aware of the keening hiss of negation that escaped her lips as her frantic mind absorbed the horrifying truth of what was revealed. Two obviously unnatural entities held those terrible hooked sword across the throat of a kneeling man, whose head was pulled back so that Karosyn could clearly identify who was in such dire peril.

A single word, tremulous with despair, escaped her lips in a gasp.

"Aeyon!"

11

The two adversarial forces faced each other for a moment and an eerie silence, rife with lethal anticipation, filled the courtyard. The Sisters of Esotaria held the large numerical advantage, but the stealth rangers had gone to Karosyn's reinstatement ceremony with express instructions not to carry their weapons...which gave the Mirhac Ehkar a tremendous advantage. What's more, a significant portion of Lissom's personal guards were proficient in the wielding of offensive magic. When the eight Decipara Mirhac Ehkar were taken into account...the Sisters of Esotaria found themselves at the disadvantage despite their numbers.

"Battle Mages, form ranks around the council and elder guide...we must fight out way out into the streets!" It was Enyara who bellowed this command. As First Battle Mage, it was her generalship that rightfully dictated the flow of battle and she was grateful that the council or the vacuous Elder Guide did nothing to undermine her authority. Stepping forward, she unleashed a wall of repulsion sorcery and chaos seized the moment.

Knowing that they were facing deadly opponents and without the proper means to engage the black-clad warriors, the Stealth rangers divided into squads of four and moved in unison to confront each individual Mirhac Ehkar. Enyara cast a quick glance over her shoulder and immediately discerned the crackle of arcane power around many of the advancing Mirhac Ehkar. "Shield the Rangers...now!" She bellowed and several of the Battle Mages immediately complied in time to deflect a volley of arcane missiles that were launched at the clusters of stealth rangers.

The odd ephemeral entities remained essentially stationary, shimmering and rippling in place as Enyara's wall of repulsion simply passed through them without effect.

Then, in unison, each of the eight flared to a blinding magnitude, just as Enyara roared, "Raise a ward!"

Again, the disciplined battle mages complied without hesitation, enveloping Enyara and the council in a iridescent dome of yellow light. Before the advancing horrors hit the arcane wall, they appeared to dissolve into the cobbles...only to appear inside the dome and behind eight of the council members, whom they promptly impaled with their lethally tangible swords. Before the nearby Sisters could fully digest what had just transpired, eight dying Sisters fell to the cobbles and the eight abominations had again dissolved, only to immediately manifest on the other side of the ward.

Though their strangely indistinct faces were inscrutable, Enyara felt certain they were gazing directly at her with smirks of contempt.

Zynora was beside her then and though her face was pallid, her voice was tightly composed, yet exigent when she spoke, "What ever these entities might be...and there can be little doubt that they carry the sign of Lissom's odious handiwork...they are impervious to destructive magic. If we do not conceive a way to discourage them...they will slaughter the lot of us like sheep."

Enyara turned her blazing green-eyed gaze on the white-haired sister and rasped, "I'm certainly amenable to suggestions!"

Zynora's thin answering smile made it implicitly clear that the First Battle Mage was unlikely to enjoy the prospect of what the elder sister was about to propose and that suspicion was not to be disappointed. "You are an incredibly powerful sorceress, but I have been blessed with the wisdom that comes with having lived through so many centuries...and I may have a trick or two with which you're...unfamiliar."

"Skip the patronizing preamble and get to the point!" Enyara's urged, her tone acerbic.

"We can't destroy them, so we have to send them away...displace them. I have the arcane spell, but not the requisite arcane puissance. Allow me to take control of your vessel and enact the spell employing your power...it may well be our only chance."

The pure logic of Zynora's exigent request surmounted Enyara's instinctive repugnance to the notion of surrendering her volition and she nodded her agreement. In the next instant, an alien presence swiftly and gracefully insinuated itself into her mind and she found that she was suddenly a bystander in her own flesh.

"Ah, such power!" Zynora sighed, avarice worryingly prominent in her tone.

"Do this thing...and give me back possession of my body!" Enyara's rasped and she could feel the full extent of her arcane capacity being gathered...concentrated as a peculiar pattern of arcane expression manifested in her conscious thoughts. It burst from her like the eruption of a volcano and Enyara bellowed a primal howl of triumph.

There followed a moment of disorientation and she staggered drunkenly, staying erect only because Zynora gripped her right bicep with particularly powerful fingers. When Enyara recovered her senses, she saw that three of the eight entities had vanished. The remaining five were circling at the foot of the steps to the main building, their contempt having given way to disquiet as they watched the two battle mages nervously.

Lips twisted in a predatory grin, Enyara turned to Zynora and prompted, "Do it again...let's send these she-demon bitches to the void!"

Zynora shook her head. "We can't...the spell is particularly enervating and it will be a span of time before you can muster the arcane energy to cast it again."

Enyara uttered a pungent curse and flicked her gaze back to the Decipara Mirhac Ehkar, who were beginning to recover a measure of their confidence.

While this intense conflict was being fought, all through the yard, sorcery crackled and women engaged in a hypnotic ballet of martial violence that might have been beautiful in its grace and precision had the wet cobbles not been littered by the corpses of women who had fallen in yet another sorrowful enactment of ultimately futile human conflict.

The Sisters fought a determined battle against the Mirhac Ehkar, but we're slowly being decimated as blade and spell fell one sister after the other. When it seemed inevitable that the Sisters would be ground down and vanquished by the coordinated effort of their remorseless enemies, a rank of crossbow wielding women appeared atop the stone walls and a fulminating voice cried, "Target the ones in black!"

Two dozen bolts flew across the yard, the majority of which found their target as the Mirhac Ehkar wheeled about to confront this new threat. An answering wave of sorcery blasted many of the Jerhia bow women from the walls, but three score of heavy cavalry charged through the gates, their lances dispatching several of Lissom's zealots. There followed a swell of Emercian and Jerhia heavy infantry and soon the Mirhac Ehkar were fighting a slow retreat in which they were being pushed inexorably toward the north wall of the compound.

Seeing this swift and stunning reversal of their sisters' fortune, the Decipara Mirhac Ehkar uttered a harrowing shriek and ignoring their two adversaries, began to move toward the beleaguered cluster of survivors, their diaphanous forms flaring blindingly...when suddenly, they too vanished.

More Jerhia crossbow wielders topped the wall, when a voice commanded, "Hold!"

The voice carried such undeniably authority that every warrior in the blood-spattered yard came to an abrupt halt and glanced toward its source. The ranks parted before the Maxim Tier Marshal, who strode resolutely toward the clustered Mirhac Ehkar, her Adjutant and Regent Kyrin on either side of her. She came to a halt before the terrifying group of women, all of whom seemed unperturbed by the swift turn of events and seemed quite willing to fight to the very last woman.

Arminda gestured for her two companions to remain where they were and stepped forward, raising her arms in a gesture of placation, though her voice was hard and intractable when she spoke. "I am not certain you understand me...but I know you understand that this battle is lost. There is no honour in dying for a futile cause. Lay down your weapons and you have my personal assurance that you will be treated fairly and that your dead will be given the respect they deserve. There is nothing to be gained in further loss of life here today."

Arminda could feel the cumulative weight of every foreign gaze upon her and when it seemed that they might actually comply and end this bloody madness, the Mirhac Ehkar drew themselves erect, raised their heads to the heavens, looked to the west and in unison...uttered a keening shriek of sorrow and negation that made Arminda fear for her reason.

12

"Indeed," Lissom confirmed. "I must admit that this sordid dalliance with a such young man...and a commoner at that...really speaks of a distinct lack of decorum that I never would have foresaw...but you always did know how to disguise yourself...like a malevolent chameleon. Now, you can pick up those knives and face me...or your paramour will have his hands removed...and then his feet. I wonder if you would find a disfigured cripple quite so arousing?" Lissom purred in her ear.

"I will not fight you...I've given you every chance to stop this insanity, Lissom...but I've failed!" Karosyn intoned glumly.

This doleful utterance caused Lissom's lined brow to furrow in puzzlement, but her momentary hesitation quickly passed and she turned back to the Aeyon's distant captors and silently commanded, "Take his right hand!"

One of the Decipara Mirhac Ehkar raised one of its terrible hooked blades, while the other extended an unresisting Aeyon's right arm. A glacial calm descended over Karosyn as the blade was raised...but before it could fall, the entity abruptly vanished, as did its comrade, and the blade clattered to the stones behind Aeyon, who appeared frozen in shock.

Lissom bellowed a cry of surprised negation and turned to Karosyn and demanded shrilly, "What have you done?"

Only the entity before her was no longer Karosyn Nierosean...or more succinctly, it wore her exquisite vessel of flesh, but the being that peered through argent eyes was infinitely more than the vessel she'd commandeered. In a serene voice, rife with sorrow, the entity declared softly, "Come my daughter, let us end this tragic misadventure and I will grant you the peace which, in this life, you have been denied."

"Gyzarayne...is...is it truly you?" Lissom murmured, her voice tremulous with awe...and terror.

"It is...come and embrace me." The Goddess lifted Karosyn's right arm and in response, Lissom was lifted from the ramparts. The amour was swiftly torn from Lissom's body and vanished in swirls of acrid smoke...leaving the horribly wasted form of Gyzarayne's emissary twisting naked in the cold air. "You are not this awful, wizened thing that my neglect and your rancour has allowed you to become...return to me in your true form."

As Lissom floated languidly across the space between the pair, her body was enveloped in a cocoon of pristine golden light that flared to blinding magnitude as a process of transmogrification was conducted within this globe of translucent golden light. As the globe reached the open arms of the Goddess, that cocoon dissipated and an incarnation of Lissom, that had last strode the world in the days when Lissom had once saved Nalosan from the demon Xhendyn, settled into the Goddess' embrace.

As Gyzarayne held her lost emissary, Lissom's mind was radically reconfigured, divested of its memories and the requisite emotions they inspired. The Goddess kissed Lissom's brow, which was again flawlessly smooth, and tenderly ushered her into a kneeling position on the cold stones. The golden skinned beauty bowed her head and allowed her long golden hair to cover her face as she seemed to settle into a slumber with her hands resting lightly upon her smooth thighs.

Karosyn came back to herself to find that she was staring at a naked, golden-haired woman who was achingly familiar. 'Lissom!'

"Before you is the living corroboration that every sentient being is intrinsically flawed...unavoidably fallible...even those who would presume to name themselves deities."

Karosyn turned her head to find that she was in the presence of a construct that was vaguely female in shape and composed of glorious golden light. "Gyzarayne...my...my Goddess...What has happened?"

The entity inclined its head toward the dormant young woman and in a voice that resonated with unimaginable sorrow and melancholy, explained, "I have rectified my great misjudgment. When I gave Lissom over to your keeping as an infant, I believed that she would be the pinnacle of the evolution of what an Ascentrix was meant to embody. I was wrong...in my preoccupation, I failed to discern that it was...you...who was the perfect personification in this long process of apotheosis. You, Karosyn, are the living embodiment of every virtue I wish to foster in my daughters: serenity, wisdom, compassion and a determined resolve to see the world strive to reach its full potential. It is you upon whom I will lay this onerous burden of carrying my message to the world. Still, there is much I must reflect upon...and as I do, it will allow you a space of time to ponder the ramifications of this burden I will impose upon you...and to make peace within this realm that Lissom's malice has damaged...and with the state of your own life. Once I have made an accommodation with my own culpability in this mournful tragedy...I will come to you and offer you a choice...a commission that you are free to accept or reject as your pristine heart and conscience would dictate."

With this intriguing, but cryptic message delivered, Gyzarayne began to disseminate and Karosyn conjured the temerity to inquire, "And what of Lissom?"

"Lissom, I have granted eternal life...she shall dwell in this perfect vessel of flesh...feminine beauty in all of its glory. Within this temple of perfection there shall dwell the mind of a seven year old...eternally innocent...the enduring ingenue upon the fabric of whose mind malice and all of the base urges and qualities of the sentient mind shall find no purchase. That will be her penance for the misery she has wrought...and mine. Her eternal care and comfort will be yours and the Sisters of Esotaria's burden...and should any attempt to extract retribution against Lissom...they will know my wrath. Now attend to your city and daughters, Queen and Matrium...I will return to you soon enough."

Then she was gone, that infinitely vast presence withdrawing in the blink of an eye.

"A daughter...I have a daughter!" This thought suffused Karosyn, filling her with euphoria.

As if to substantiate this astounding revelation, a small voice whimpered, "Where...where am I...I'm cold...I'm afraid!"

Feeling the heart constrict in her chest, Karosyn, who was the living quintessence of a mother, quickly went to the kneeling woman and drew her into a tight embrace. Lissom, the eternal child in the body of carnal perfection, clung to Karosyn like a terrified girl.

Whispering words of encouragement and soothing placation, Karosyn gently guided Lissom into Kammlogran, where the dormant were only now beginning to stir from their torpor.

13

When one has devoted his or life to the pursuit of an ideal...or to an endeavour for which it seemed they had been born or had come to at the behest of the guiding hand of fate, it will often require a cataclysmic event to turn them from that pursuit...for to set aside such a purpose is akin to setting aside the very reason for one's existence.

Arminda had been a forthright, determined young woman...and then fate had placed in the path of a living juggernaut named Islena Doraux...and from that juncture of intersecting destinies, Arminda's life had been irrevocably changed...its direction veering off to heights that she had never imagined...even as a girl who had been filled with wonder and possibilities.

That path had carried her to a pinnacle to which no woman in the Antiquated World had ever aspired and though she had sensed that the time was soon in coming when she would be forced to set her great endeavours aside...had even taken the first tentative steps in that direction...the prospect was still a theoretical possibility...that could be delayed...if not put off completely.

In two actions...taken without contemplation or consideration for the consequences...Arminda's ambivalence about relinquishing place in the world...and her role in shaping its future...evaporated like mist before the sun.

The keening that arose from the Mirhac Ehkar was a terrible thing and when it seemed that every eardrum within the courtyard would burst beneath its sonorous assault, it abruptly ceased. Ignoring their would-be conquerors, the vanquished Mirhac Ehkar turned their backs upon their adversaries and in unison, reversed their grips upon those wicked swords so the lethal tips were trained upon the taut flesh beneath their chins.

The Sisters, Jerhia and Emercian allies gaped in horrified incredulity at the imminent prospect of this mass act of self-immolation, but all remained stationary...as if transfixed by this terrible spectacle.

Only Arminda, who was a veritable engine of composure and resolute action (though she might have been genuinely shocked to realize as much), was not paralyzed by the grim drama unfolding before her. She surged forward, intending to restrain the nearest female warrior, while bellowing, "Don't...there is no need!"

She had taken but a single step, when the woman she had been intent on saving, drew a small onyx throwing dirk from her belt and cast it in the approaching Maxim Tier Marshal's direction without even bothering to turn her head from her poised instrument of suicide.

The blade flew with uncanny accuracy and would have taken the stunned Jerhia in the right eye had a figure not imposed itself between Arminda and the lethal projectile. A gurgling exclamation of pain and surprise resounded in a transfixed Arminda's ears like thunder...and in the next instant Marangelies was lying at her feet, her lean body convulsing wildly, while life blood spread about her a rapidly expanding pool.

The Mirhac Ehkar fell upon their weapons without uttering so much as an audible sigh, joining the intrepid Jerhia Adjutant in her spastic death jig.

In a few accelerated heartbeats, the desperate drama on the Chapter House grounds was over.

Marangelies went utterly still, the black dirk protruding from her throat as the blood, without a heartbeat to convey it, continued to flow...though now more indolently than before.

A thin hiss of negation escaped Arminda's contorted lips. She had borne witness to as much horror and death as any woman alive and yet with this single pointless, tragic death her resolve and purpose deserted her...a stunningly swift and final repudiation of everything she had ever been. Instinct, honed over the course of a lifetime, usurped control of her actions then and she conducted herself like an automaton...issuing terse instructions even as she knelt to confirm the horrible truth of what her sundered heart already knew.

With one desultory fling of a dagger, Arminda's connection to all she had been was severed. She might well have fallen into a dolorous malaise then...but thoughts of the sanctuary Opheile Seznoire had offered kept her from succumbing to that inviting temptation. Even as she went about securing the situation...imposing some semblance of order on the bloody aftermath, Arminda was already calculating how much time might be required to finalize her affairs in Summergaden and slip off into obscurity.

Enyara stood with hands on hips, surveying the bloody carnage with clinical detachment. Death, she knew, was the violent and bloody consequence of human fallibility and all the most sublime rhetoric and philosophy in the world could not change that lamentable fact. The best one could hope for was to be amongst the living when the next storm of violent madness had run its course. Making no apologies for this ruthlessly pragmatic perspective, Enyara turned to a pallid Bethany and a thoughtful Zynora and announced, "I think it's over...that's why these bitches took their useless lives." Without soliciting permission, she added, "I'm going to the plaza to find Lorio...follow or not...I don't particularly give a fuck!"

Then she was gone, sprinting through the gates and out along the streets where the curious were beginning to make their tentative way out into the city in search of news.

'I'm coming, Lorio...don't you dare do anything but wait for me,' she blared and increased her wild sprint toward the Royal Plaza where the final element of this day's dark and tragic drama was presently being played out.

14

As Lorio raced through the oddly deserted streets, she caught glimpses of churning columns of smoke rising into the cold midday sky somewhere to the east. The very fact that the streets were nearly empty at what should have been the busiest time of day in commerce-frenzied Nalosan did not bode well for the state of affairs in the city.

At one point, a fulminating rumble seemed to shake the very bones of the world, causing Lorio to stumble mid stride. The pain for her pummelling had all but subside, confirming Czefrina's disturbing theory that the pair could hurt each other...but could inflict no lasting harm on the abominable vessels each now inhabited. What was to follow would this be a sadomasochistic spectacle of ugly...and ultimately pointless violence...where the remuneration for physical conquest would be psychological dominance.

'It's poor, gentle Aeyon who stands to be the only real victim of this madness,' Lorio thought as she resumed her frantic charge through the wind-scoured streets. 'And if something were to happen to Aeyon...Karosyn could well be destroyed by extension...and that is something I have to prevent...even if it costs me my life.'

The immortal was surprised by how little regret this grim prospect inspired. Other than her life with Opheile...a life which, as a consequence of her desertion, she may had squandered...her life held little meaning for her and if she could help see Lissom undone...then her death was a small fee to pay.

She raced into the plaza, which was also deserted, save for a single figure who stood at its centre with her head bowed and her hands clasped loosely before her. Lorio came to a halt and swept her horrified gaze around the vast cobbled expanse, where the bodies from the earlier ceremony lay where they had fallen. Blood and gore mired the cobbles in every direction. Near the dais, a line of soldiers lay, unmoving, upon the cold stones. Their white-enamelled armour identified them as members of Karosyn's Hand of the Way guards and the dearth of blood suggested that sorcery had been the cause of their current unconscious state.

Whatever Lissom's nefarious scheme might be...it had clearly been set in motion."

'I'm coming, Lorio...don't you dare do anything but wait for me.' Enyara's fraught instruction detonated in Lorio's mind with enough force to cause her to grimace and grit her teeth, but then Czefrina raised her head, those orange-green eyes twinkling with mirth, and all possibilities of awaiting aid vanished. Still, she raised two fingers to the ensorcelled tokens between her full breasts.

"So, you come...though I must confess...I never doubted that you would," Czefrina purred as she stalked toward Lorio, the muscles in her astoundingly powerful body dancing hypnotically. "I could sense that you have the same need...the same irrepressible itch to dominate...when you come into proximity of someone who challenges you."

"The only thing I want from you is to know what's happened to Aeyon." Lorio growled as she began to converge upon Czefrina, who evoked such powerful reminders of Islena Doraux...a hieroglyph who had destroyed Lorio every time their paths thrust them into conflict.

Czefrina stopped and offered Lorio a shrug of feigned regret. "It seems that my new mistress has no scruples about not honouring bargains made. She took Aeyon for her own purposes...which I suspect will be particularly nasty."

Lorio spat a vile curse in disgust and gazed beyond Czefrina to the castle, which appeared completely deserted. It was then she noticed the gaping chasm that stretched across the access road and ran along the base of Kammlogran's walls. She turned back to Czefrina and rasped, "I have no interest in fighting you...none. If it's a matter of assuaging your enormous ego, let's just say that you're the superior fighter...and let me by."

Czefrina beamed a wicked grin and waggled her right index finger. "Oh, I'd don't think so. You toyed with me for bell after bell...hurt me in ways I never thought I could be hurt. I've come to extract retribution...in spades. If you wish to save Aeyon, you'll have to go through me. Even if you can achieve that improbable feat and span that daunting chasm...I predict that Karosyn will have long since been deposited in the coal bin of history. Now, shall we begin...I have such delicious ways I want to hurt you..."

"Earlier...you said I killed you...but that isn't possible. The last thing I remember is you throwing Karosyn's vile powder in my face...a fucking cowardly act, considering I'd accepted your submission."

Czefrina stopped and tilted her head, her puzzlement genuine. "You really don't remember...after I threw the powder in your face...I decided to take a few liberties with my prize...depraved perhaps, but I've never claimed to be anything but. Once I had that glorious body of yours exposed and ready for the plundering, I found those delectable thighs around my neck. Oh, the power, it was exhilarating to feel such strength...even though I knew I was going to die. I will hear that resounding final snap if I live for eternity...which I most definitely will. Evidently your flesh has a strong will to live...even if the soul that occupies it sometimes does not." She laid her splayed fingers along those shockingly dense thighs and sighed, "Once I've broken you to my will, we are going to reverse and reprise that particular moment...again and again...in an infinite variety of scenarios...it will become our personal intimate fantasy."

Lorio shook her head in bewilderment, but before she could digest what she had just been told, Czefrina attacked, uncoiling like a striking serpent. With rapier precision, the incisive blows...delivered with the tips of three fingers...found the hollow at Lorio's neck, her sternum and her left armpit. She hissed in pain and staggered, but did not fall, though the pain was enormous...like spikes being driven into the deepest recesses of her flesh.

"I believe I have your attention," Czefrina declared lithely and then reprised the elegant spinning kick that had no effect on Lorio during their previous battle. Now, however, the heel struck Lorio's jaw with the force of a Redian war hammer, driving her flat on her back, where she lay gasping like a mortally wounded animal. Czefrina floated around the other dazed immortal and lightly placed the toe of her right boot on Lorio's left breast and peered down at the battered Lorio, along her muscular body "I imagine that must have hurt, but in the spirit of fairness...I will allow you a moment to recuperate...to gather your composure."

She stepped back and offered Lorio a disdainful bow of mock deference. When the spinning stopped, Lorio turned onto her hands and knees, but remained in this position, head bowed and breathing coming in ragged gasps.

"I think I've been accommodating enough," Czefrina growled and seizing Lorio heavy cable braid, she jerked the immortal's head back and drove a thunderous knee to the side of her face. The statuesque beauty slumped onto her side in a tangle of limbs and lay utterly still. "I'm sorry...that wasn't particularly sporting. Like you, I tend to let the darker side of my nature have entirely too much leeway. Come, let me help you up and dust you off. When you've shaken out the cobwebs...we can begin again."

Czefrina then easily hauled the thoroughly dazed Lorio to her feet, supporting her around the waist until she was able to stand under her own power. She gently patted Lorio's slack cheek and proposed, "Very well...let's try a variation of this game. You try your best to hit me...and I will simply avoid your blows...striking only a single time, when I sense you're not giving it your best effort."

Head swimming, pain pushing through her battered flesh in nauseating waves, Lorio attempted to focus upon her tormentor. To her chagrin, Czefrina seemed to shimmer as if enveloped in a haze...and then quite literally blinked out of being. Before Lorio's addled mind could grasp precisely what had transpired, she was struck from behind by an open-handed slap that, nonetheless, sent her reeling across the plaza.

Czefrina then appeared directly before her...manifesting out of thin air. She gripped Lorio by the shoulders and kept her upright, encouraging, "Come now, concentrate. Come at me in that same plodding fashion you employed in the training room. It isn't likely to do you any good, but who can say..."

Lorio flicked a bleary gaze over her tormentor's shoulder and saw that the chasm, while still a fair distance away, was closer than it had been. Without being fully cognizant of her intent, she decided to heed Czefrina's advice and attempted to bear directly down upon the evasive creature, who gave ground, while delivering the occasional debilitating blow to Lorio's rapidly failing body. Czefrina bent at the waist to avoid an ungainly right cross, catching Lorio's wrist as she did. Pivoting in place, she drove her granite bottom into the taller woman's thighs and sent her flying over a muscular shoulder. Lorio slammed into the cobbles with bone-jarring force, a guttural grunt bursting from her compressed lips, but rather than release Lorio's arm, she jerked it straight out and along her powerful body before draping her heavy thighs over Lorio face and chest. Czefrina then raised her hips and hyperextended Lorio's trapped arm and despite her boundless courage, Lorio loosed a shrill screech of agony. Czefrina continued to wrench the arm to and fro, a sadistic grin emblazoning her face, while the immortal bellowed in argent pain and finally, shockingly, cried a plea for mercy.

Czefrina blinked and shook her head, her bizarre orange-green eyes growing wide with first astonishment...and then disgust. "You are actually going to beg me to stop? You're the fucking heroine of legend...who fought Islena Doraux to a bloody stand still, who stood up to Otaru Ree...a mad Goddess...and you're actually going to debase yourself by begging me for mercy."

"I'm none of those things anymore," Lorio moaned, "I'm just a woman who wants to be left in peace."

Czefrina shook her head in incredulous contempt and releasing Lorio's arm, rolled to her feet, staring down on the defenceless immortal, whose arm felt as if it had been transformed to lead. "My whole life...I've dreamed about you...obsessed about you...worshipped you, if the truth be told...only to find that you're nothing more than a weak, pathetic fraud...it's as if I've thrown my whole life away in pursuit of a pitiful lie."

She reached down and again pulled Lorio to her feet, spinning her about and hauling the taller woman over her right shoulder so that Lorio's legs hung down the blonde's broad back and her lean arms dangled loosely before the Lamish Princess. Czefrina then marched over to the very edge of the crevice and stood peering intently into the seemingly infinite darkness. "Maybe I should just toss you into this abyss and be done with it...it would be a far more merciful ending than allowing you to live on as this pale shadow of the ferocious beast you once were."

"Go ahead...do it!" Lorio encouraged frantically. Her voice dropped to a whisper and she added, "I don't give a fuck anyway."

Czefrina's body appeared to contract into a livid knot, every muscle standing out in shape relief. She remained in this posture for several moments, while Lorio resigned herself to this ignoble end. Then, the rigidity drained from Czefrina's flesh and she spun away from the precipice and retreating several paces from the edge, tossed Lorio to the cobbles. She uttered a papery chuckle and shook her head as if emerging from a torpor. "I really do have to learn to keep a tighter rein on your temper. Your performance is...is not your fault. Nor is our contest fair. I'm simply a vastly superior evolution of what you are...which doesn't diminish all you have been. Let us end this pointless exercise. Submit to me, swear fealty and let us move on to bigger conquests. I promise that I will treat you well...a velvet collar and a gentle hand. A simple gesture of capitulation...kiss my foot and your pain and torment can be done."

Lorio lifted her head, scarcely able to speak, much less muster her customary irreverence in the wake of her stunning physical deconstruction.

Abruptly, Czefrina's demeanour changed and her body tensed as if she'd been struck by invisible lightening. Her expression became confused and then apprehensive as she shifted her gaze up to the crenellations of Kammlogran's rampart.

"Lorio," a voice urged and with tremendous effort, she lifted her head to find the diaphanous form of Issidris regarded her gravely...as if taking advantage of the mad woman's momentary distraction to reach out to her. In a low voice that was composed, but etched in shades of grim exigency, her beloved ghost observed, 'You can't best her, Lorio...she's too powerful...and more significantly...too skilled as a fighter. I need you to step back and permit me to take control of your body.'

Lorio shook her head uncomprehendingly, the beating she'd just absorbed making her normally incisive mind slow and ponderous. "I...I don't understand."

Issidris placed a hand on her throbbing right shoulder. 'Do you love me?'

"You know I do!" Lorio returned, vaguely irritated by the question to which the answer was so readily apparent.

' _And do you believe I love you?'_

"Yes," The single word a sigh rife with wistful regret.

'Then trust me and let me save you...save us...submerge your thoughts and let me take control,' Issidris implored...and Lorio complied, receding into her subconscious as if sinking into warm waters.

"Who are you talking to?" Czefrina demanded, her tone becoming manic and suspicious.

Rather than answer, Lorio pushed herself resolutely to her feet and raised her head. Czefrina's eyes narrowed as the woman, whom she thought had been utterly broken, invited, "Come then...give me one last demonstration of why I should submit to your keeping."

Czefrina tilted her head, momentarily hesitant, but then sprang forward, intending to bludgeon the impudence into dust. Before she could land a strike, Issidris delivered a precise reprise of Czefrina's opening salvo...adding a savage thumb thrust to the entity's exposed throat that had Czefrina clutching her neck and stumbling backward...toward the bottomless tear in the world.

Issidris then jabbed two fingers between Lorio's deep breasts, unleashing Enyara's arcane device...the force of which swept the detritus of death from the plaza and seemed to shake the very fabric of the world. It also collected the startled Czefrina and tossed her across the chasm, where she struck the wall of Kammlogran with enough force to gouge huge divots from the ancient stone. The entity's eyes rolled back in her head and she slid down the wall in a boneless sprawl...vanishing into the absolute darkness.

In the chambers of Lorio's mind, Issidris intoned affectionately, 'Only one last thing remains to be done, old friend...and then the peace you've craved so fervently will be yours.'

Enveloped in a muted golden light...Enyara's ward against the concussive radial blast...Lorio walked to the edge of the void. Standing with her toes jutting out beyond the precipice, she glanced down and falling forward, she consigned herself to the open air.

15

By the time Enyara reached the edge of the Royal Plaza, she had gathered an escort of a thousand Emercian and Jerhia troops...not to mention, the two score of Battle Mages who had ignored Bethany Denay's strident command and followed their First Battle Mage.

They thundered through the streets and as they reached the edge of the Plaza, Enyara lithely dismounted the charger she had commandeered and hit the cobbles at a run...only to come to a skidding, horrified halt.

Enveloped in a mantle of muted light, Lorio stood at the edge of a massive rent in the world, gazing down into the darkness as if hypnotized. Suffused by horror and panic, Enyara screamed her name and started forward at a dead run...just as Lorio pitched forward and vanished from sight.

As if waiting for this turn of events...the massive rent slammed shut with heart-rending finality.

Enyara sank to her knees and as her impromptu escort spilled into the plaza around her, the hardened woman bowed her head...and for the first time since she had been a small child...began to sob, indifferent to who might witness her grief.

Chapter Thirty

1

Her return to consciousness came in slow, syrupy increments, like someone emerging from the depths of a viscous lake. After the initial wave of disorientation abated, she found herself staring up into limpid blue eyes that evoked images of calm ocean waters.

The expression on the beautiful face that greeted her was one of concern, but quickly traversed to relief. With considerable effort, surprised and disturbed by how leaden her body felt, Lorio raised her head and gazed about the unfamiliar, dimly lit chamber.

"Where...where am I...and how did I come to be here? I...I..." She faltered as disjointed fragments of memory defied her futile attempt to integrate into some manner of coherent recollection.

"Where you are...is in a little-known corner of Kammlogran," Karosyn informed her. "This ancient castle has many such corners and nooks...some that it has all but forgotten...such as this one."

Lorio again glanced about the small chamber and saw that it was little more than a monk's cell, furnished with a single pallet upon which she was presently sprawled, and a pale yellow Metocan lighting crystal...whose glow was barely condign to the task of illuminating the small space.

"As to how you came to be here," Karosyn continued, "What do you remember?"

Lorio's brow furrowed as she applied herself to the task of answering this query. The recollections seemed to dance around the periphery of her memory as if taunting her from the shadows. Haltingly, she replied, "I...I remember confronting Czefrina on the plaza...she was...was changed somehow...by Lissom. This new version...destroyed me...and then...then Issidris was there. She asked that I let her...take control of my body...which I did and then Czefrina was thrown into that hell pit. I...I remember looking down into it after...and seeing the most beautiful light."

Lorio's great dark eyes widened in horror and she whispered, "I...I let myself fall in...didn't I?"

Karosyn placed a placating hand on her shoulder and the immortal sighed as her sluggish body was suffused by a comforting warmth. Lorio's anxiety, however, was not so easily mollified. Gripping Karosyn's wrist, she asked, "How am I here...did...did Issidris compel me to throw myself into that chasm?"

Karosyn sat on the edge of the pallet, but did not remove her hand from Lorio's shoulder. "It was Enyara who told me that you had plunged into the chasm...she was utterly distraught...broken in a way I would not have suspected she was capable. I was able to glean that you were enveloped in her warding spell as you fell, and the chasm closed as you plummeted. That night, Issidris came to me...told me of the bond that you and she had forged on that night behind the Inn. You and she share a relationship that is unique in this world's history...perhaps the history of all worlds...and I hope you never lose sight of the good fortune fate has bestowed upon you." She paused to allow Lorio a moment to absorb this and then continued her incredible tale. "She explained to me why she had induced you to give yourself to the void and then beseeched me to complete what she had set in motion. The arcane energy of Enyara's ward helped me locate you beneath the earth...and mine allowed me to extract you, unharmed. I suspect that, wherever you were, it was a happy place...because your body has stubbornly opposed my efforts to draw you back to consciousness. Tonight, that resistance eroded...and here you are."

"How long have I been...unconscious?" A flummoxed immortal asked.

"Seven days," Karosyn returned and the slight quaver in her voice informed Lorio how much anxiety this had caused the compassionate woman.

"And what about Enyara...does she know what's happened to me?"

Karosyn shook her head slowly. "The First Battle Mage was utterly distraught when she apprised me of what had befallen you...but she is a remarkably resilient woman. When I spoke to her three days later, she conveyed the impression that the matter was incidental." A pained expression rippled across Lorio's angular face and Karosyn smiled in reassurance. "Don't fret, Lorio...as difficult as it is to credit, have no doubt that Enyara loves you well enough. I have come to glean that she is a woman who prefers to hide her true emotions behind fortifications of surliness and obstinacy...but beneath is a pure heart that will do the noble thing when it is most desperately required."

As improbable as this assessment seemed, Lorio suspected that it was the unfettered truth. "And what of everything else...the city?" Her tone darkened and she asked, "Lissom?"

"That is indeed a tale for the ages," Karosyn returned with an elaborate sigh...and as if gathering her strength to give it voice, the Emercian Queen recounted all that had transpired on the course of that momentous morning and afternoon, concluding by observing, "It is difficult to fathom how so much drama could be compressed into such a small space of time."

Lorio was momentarily left speechless by this account, though she had witnessed the monumental juncture of the Antiquated World's tumultuous history often enough. "And the ships on the Bay?"

"Dispersed...some to Dortizirian, some back to Majeer...and the rest to ports throughout Emercian. All have sworn fealty to the Goddess and will serve her with devotion, her gentle mantra inculcated into their consciousness." Karosyn replied, clearly pleased by Gyzarayne's elegant resolution of this particular facet of the crisis.

"And Lissom...you trust that she is not...a threat? You really mean to assume her guardianship?" Lorio asked, shaking her head.

Karosyn's expression hardened perceptibly, providing the immortal with a glimpse of her immutable core of resolve and strength. "I will care for Lissom and love her with all of my heart...she will be the daughter that I've always privately yearned to have."

"You really are a saint!" Lorio returned with a shake of her head, though whether this had been delivered in admiration or disdain, Karosyn could not determine.

The pair fell into a thick silence for a moment and suddenly Lorio's brow furrowed in consternation and she inquired softly, "Why was I brought here, Karosyn...I mean to Nalosan? When Issidris first came to me and divulged that I would be drawn into this crisis...she seemed to imply that I might somehow save you...or this city. Yet, all that I managed to achieve was to discover that I may be immortal, but beyond that...I'm all too ordinary. You proved that...and Czefrina proved it...obliterating my every last arrogant presumption in the process. So, I can't help but wonder what purpose my being here served?"

Karosyn's great sapphire eyes assumed a thoughtful cast and she offered, "Fate is an indecipherable commodity, Lorio...one that eludes our every attempt to divine its mysteries. Still, in your case, it could be that its intent was not to have you save me or my city...but to save yourself!"

"I...I don't understand?" Lorio stammered, but on the periphery of her cognizance, she could feel the tickle of an epiphany.

Karosyn smiled and tenderly caressed Lorio's prominent right cheekbone. "In the years that I have known you, I gleaned in you a desperate desire to be free of this unbearable burden that history had imposed upon you...to be free of the myth and all of the unwanted consequences and notoriety that had came with being the heroine of the quest. Your consuming desire was only to live a life of quiet contentment...in happy obscurity. Here in Nalosan...you have been granted that wish."

Lorio sat up, elation spread across her lovely face even as she asked, "How?"

"To the world...to all save me...Lorio, heroine of the quest and one time queen of Lamia is dead. I have commissioned that a statue be fashioned in your image. When it is complete, it will be erected in the Royal Plaza to commemorate the woman who saved our city...not once, but twice and gave her life on this last occasion. I have dispatched an army of messengers to every corner of every land to carry the sorrowful and solemn news of your death to the world...and thus the cloying burden that you have struggled to bear...has been rolled from your shoulders." Eyes blazing with delight, Karosyn gripped Lorio's shoulders and shook her briskly, encouraging, "From this day forth, you are free to be whoever you choose...to return to Cortrin and the other gift that fate has bestowed upon you...and live only for each other. That, Lorio, is why you were drawn here."

Thought of Opheile caused Lorio to bow her head. Morosely, she intoned, "I may well have burned that bridge to cinders."

To the immortal's surprise, Karosyn gripped Lorio's chin and shook it briskly. "You must learn to see yourself for the rare and precious thing you are...and when you show yourself to Opheile...in all of your radiance and splendour...she will embrace you."

Karosyn stood and then assisted Lorio to her feet. She gestured toward a full winter cloak and a pack, along side which stood Lorio's quarter staff. "You should make a start of it before the coming of dawn. In that pack, you will find a considerable sum of coin. I would not have you sleeping in barns and ditches as you make your way back to Opheile."

Sensing that this was to be their moment of parting, a deep sorrow stole into Lorio's heart. "I suppose it will be a good while before I can return to Nalosan."

Karosyn's own smile held the same sadness, "it would be best that you not return while all within the city draw breath...yours is a beauty that is not easily forgotten."

Karosyn crossed over to a seemingly unbroken section of wall and gestured. In response, a door swung open through which poured a glacial wind. Lorio rose and crossed over to the provisions she'd been given. She donned the full-length black cloak and swung the pack over her shoulder, but when her gaze settled upon the quarter staff, she shook her head and in a voice etched with melancholy, remarked, "I don't believe I'll be needing that anymore."

Karosyn's answering smile was one of satisfaction. Something else occurred to Lorio then and she asked, "And what of Czefrina...she had become like me...though far more evolved. Could she not be retrieved from the earth?"

Without elaboration, Karosyn merely shook her head. Lorio inhaled slowly, surprised to find that she was tottering on the verge of tears for the unfortunate, fractured creature. "She was me, Karosyn...had I not had Issidris and Opheile to ward me against my dark proclivities and flaws...I would have been Czefrina...she was a lost soul for whom no one cared enough to guide her from her darkness."

Karosyn greeted this with a nod of concurrence and returned, "Sadly Lorio, there are some doleful creatures who are simply beyond reclamation."

Again, they lapsed into a protracted silence, each contemplating the tragedy of Czefrina's sad life. Karosyn's demeanour grew grave and she remarked, "Lorio, given all that has happened and my duplicity in those events, what I'm about to say next may seem laughable. Still, I would like to impart a snippet of wisdom...acquired through many hours of contemplation on the matter."

Lorio was surprised by the degree of effort it required for her to grant her leave for Karosyn to proceed. When the Queen began to speak, the reasons for her reluctance became evident. "As a consequence of the unique nature of your existence...the life that stretches before you will be characterized by periods of joy...followed by inevitable moments of grieving and sorrow. If you ever wish to make an accommodation with this extraordinary life you've been given...to not perceive it as a curse...you must derive every last measure of contentment from the periods of joy...enough to sustain you through the dolour of grief and sorrow...knowing that, given your beauty, both of body and spirit, another period of joy will inevitably follow."

The immortal drew a quavering breath...knowing that Karosyn had given voice to the salient and often terrifying truth of her nature. Seeing that these sage words of counsel were the irrefutable truth, Lorio merely nodded resolutely.

Lorio frowned and stepped to the doorway to find that she was gazing across the vitrified expanse of black glass that surrounded Artumas' tomb...peering through a narrow secret doorway at the base of Kammlogran's east wall. Over her shoulder, Karosyn explained, "There is a short wall that runs along the back of the mausoleum...one that you will be able to scale easily enough. From there, you can make your way through the city and out through the South Gate once the dawn comes and the portcullis is raised."

Lorio turned back to the statuesque blond and now tears did begin to fall. "There were times when I despised you...blamed you for letting Issidris die. I have come to realize how unfair that was...how unjust. You have suffered the worst of me and always treated me with compassion and kindness...and only now, when I've come to a point when I might not see you for so long...do I realize how much I love you and treasure your friendship."

Karosyn smiled, that radiant expression that could melt glaciers with its warmth, and drew Lorio into an embrace. "While it may be true that you can't return here for many years...who is to say that, while I am travelling on Emercia's business, I may find myself weary and in need of rest. Should that occur when I am in the vicinity of Cortrin...perhaps I will seek shelter at a certain Inn...where you and I can while away the evening without the spectre of crisis hovering over our heads."

"There are few prospects that would delight me more!" Lorio replied, her voice tremulous.

"Goodbye, old friend," Karosyn said affectionately.

"Goodbye, Karosyn," Lorio returned, she stepped out into the cold night and then offered the surprised Karosyn a deep bow of sincere deference. "Goodbye, your Highness."

With a final smile, Karosyn slowly gestured the door shut.

Lorio stood in the near total darkness for a moment, trying to regain her composure.

Though the lives of both would span the ages, this moment of parting would be the last occasion that Lorio and Karosyn would ever stand in each other's presence.

2

A strange sort of melancholy descended over the immortal's mood as she turned away from the monolith, atop which she had once saved the world from evident catastrophe...only to have her own torn asunder by a woman who was, when the final accounting had been tallied, beyond all understanding. She made her way across the bizarre sheet of glass, upon which neither rain not snow could find purchase. She recalled how this peculiar aberration had come to be and grimaced against the painful memory...yet another reminder of her inherently flawed nature.

Several Sisters of Esotaria had perished on this very spot, fighting a sorcerous construct that had been laying waste to the city; a horrific distraction against which Xhendyn had struck at Lorio, who had been foolish enough to believe that she was invincible at the time. That foolish presumption would eventually lead to the death of a woman named Azidara...who it was later discovered was the truant heir to the throne of Fairmarch, Zarida Saremond.

She wondered why this restive old ghosts would stir to accost her now and realized that she had come to yet another juncture of transition...the ending of one thing and the moving on to...something else. Whatever form her new future might assume, there could be no disputing that old doors were being permanently closed behind her and thus this moment of reflection was to be expected.

She came abreast of Artumas' lonely tomb and stopped to lay her fingertips upon its cold stone, saying a farewell to the memory of the man who had shown her such care and kindness over the time she had known him...who had wanted only to see her happy.

Smiling, she moved on to the east wall of the enclosure, which stood nearly twice her height. Bending slightly at the knee, she leapt vertically and landed lightly atop the wall, quickly hopping down into the shadows of the deserted street that ran along its length.

She started along its snow-encrusted walk and came to an abrupt halt, a notion manifesting in her mind that reduced her intentions to tatters in the blink of an eye. She bowed her head and gave consideration to this unanticipated imperative and the complex emotions that had inspired it. All through her life, she had been an often venal and feckless creature, who had often capitulated to her weaknesses or her own self-absorbed priorities.

Opheile and the promise of the life they might share together called out to her like an irresistible siren's song...but Lorio realized that there was one remaining obligation here that she could not shirk...a simple debt of courtesy...of decency...that she could not abdicate.

She realized that to honour this obligation, she would have to delay her departure from the city and thus her return to Opheile and the hope that the Inn mistress might still hold a place for the wayward immortal in her heart and bed. To linger might also jeopardize the charade that Karosyn had perpetrated, but as a concession to the woman Lorio hoped she might aspire to become, the immortal decided to take the risk.

She made her way to the east side of the city and sequestered herself in the shadows of the badly damaged Chapter House, where the only significant battle of this last crisis had been waged...and there she settled down to wait.

She waited for the next three days and nights, not daring to approach the compound, where frenetic efforts were underway to clear the rubble of the two ruined buildings that had been destroyed during the battle. It was late morning of the third day of Lorio's lonely vigil, when a slender figure in a hooded cloak emerged from the main building and with hood drawn up and head down, made her way out into the courtyard and then into the street beyond.

Stiff from remaining in one position for such a protracted length of time, the immortal drew up her own hood and as quickly as her knotted legs would permit, set off in pursuit of the solitary figure. The day was grey and the air damp, thus leaving the normally teeming streets mostly deserted and Lorio was able to pursue the figure at a distance. Several blocks from the Chapter House, the figure abruptly veered into a narrow lane. Lorio hesitated at its mouth, wondering what might have inspired the figure to take this sudden detour.

Suddenly an impatient, brisk voice issued from the deep shadow. "You've been following me...so if there is some business you believe we must conduct...step into the alley and let us be about it."

Lorio smiled, relishing the obstreperous tone and the ferocity of the speaker. She ventured into the alley and found Enyara standing at its centre. The hood of her cloak had been drawn back and those great emerald eyes were alight with bristling impatience. Her mane of red hair had been gathered in a cable braid that was held in place by several ornate copper sleeves, each adorned with an emerald. Lorio came to within arm's reach of the slender beauty and slowly drew back her own hood. Lorio regarded the tempestuous First Battle Mage as a full spectrum of emotions shaped her expression from relief to anger and finally to joyful vindication. She virtually leapt forward and drew Lorio into a crushing embrace and rasped in typical Enyara fashion, "I knew that sly bitch was lying...you're far too bloody obstinate to die so easily. Where have you been...why didn't you come and find me?"

Feeling a sharp twist of guilt at this flurry of reproachful queries, Lorio provided Enyara with a brief account of her conversation with Karosyn...and the elaborate ruse the Queen had facilitated...and its purpose, concluding by saying softly, "I could not bring myself to leave without you knowing that I was alive...without having said goodbye."

Pain, raw and visceral, flared in those inexpressibly deep and beautiful green eyes...there and gone in the blink of an eye. In its place came the sardonic smirk of disdain that Lorio had come to enjoy. "So, you've decided to go back to your provincial little life and your paragon of virtue then?"

Lorio offered Enyara a crooked grin. Thinking of Czarin, she retorted, "She's not so virtuous as you might imagine, but yes...I'm going back to Opheile...if she'll have me."

Enyara's brow furrowed in vexation and she growled, "She's an obtuse, unappreciative bitch if she doesn't!" When Lorio stiffened, Enyara held up a hand in a rare gesture of placation and then sighed. "Well, if that's the case...then I suppose I'll just have to stay here and serve as Karosyn's chief flame caster...not that I'll have much to keep me occupied now that she's charmed the world into fawning subservience."

"I have no doubt you'll find endless ways to cause her consternation," Lorio observed affectionately.

Enyara's smile became wicked and she murmured, "I suppose I will at that." She then gripped Lorio's right forearm and jerked her closer. "Should the day ever come...perhaps a century or two from now...when you decide that you've had your fill of tedious domesticity in that provincial backwater and wish to revive your inner fire for something more...exotic...come and find me...or easier still, speak my name...while holding the charm that dwells between those delectable breasts of yours...and I'll come to you."

Lorio made no move to prevent her, when Enyara undid the button of her cloak and the tunic beneath. She drew out Lorio's precious keepsake and her eyes narrowed in intense concentration. Lorio could feel the hair at the nape of her neck stir as Enyara wove her arcane construct into the earring and stone. When the process was complete, Enyara pressed the keepsake back into place and fastened Lorio's buttons with fingers that trembled perceptibly. She then kissed Lorio's mouth and the immortal returned the kiss with equal ardour. With a low moan, the slender beauty broke the kiss and roughly pushed the immortal away. In a brusque voice that did nothing to conceal her true feeling, Enyara grumbled, "All right bitch, be off with you...before I cast a spell to bind you to me that even the Goddess couldn't break."

"Goodbye Enyara...and thank you...for giving me my life." Lorio said and then drawing up her hood, made her way back to the street and at the next intersection, turned southward...her obligation fulfilled.

"Good bye, Lorio," Enyara murmured to the empty alley and offered a fervent prayer to her Goddess that fate might someday carry the immortal back to her.

3

Despite the blustery weather and the ominous clouds that promised fresh snow, traffic through the South Gate was sufficiently brisk that the guards' inspection...especially of those exiting the city...was cursory at best. Lorio passed out onto the southbound road unnoticed and then turned along the wall and perambulated the city back to the outside of the west gate.

As the road veered suddenly north, toward Fairmarch, Lorio stood at its edge, her pensive gaze set on the walls of the city where some of the most significant...and devastating junctures of her extraordinary life had been played out. Though many of the moments had been characterized by pain and emotional torment, the immortal was surprised by the degree of sadness she felt in realizing that it could well be a lifetime before she strode back through its gates. This melancholy musing then took the most unexpected of segues and thoughts of her father...nearly fifty years in his grave...bloomed in her mind for perhaps the first time in a decade. More surprising still was the perspective from which she now viewed the man whom she had long regarded as a despicable traitor. This change of perception spoke eloquently about the metamorphosis that she was undergoing...the transition to this new person she would become...now that Lorio was interred beneath the stones of Nalosan.

For years, she had regarded Gregor with revulsion and her mind conjured his memory only to excoriate her with a brutal lash of self-doubt and denigration. He had become the metaphor of her self-loathing. Now, however, as she gazed back at the distant walls of Nalosan, Lorio realized that this personification of her dead father as the lens for all her inadequacy and failings was grossly unfair. His attempt to exchange Islena for Myrhia's sufferance of his people, whom she despised and wished to eradicate, had been horribly misguided...but it had been undertaken not out of avarice (as Lorio had always believed), but desperation. True, Lorio had been the unintended victim of this foolish gambit, but while she had branded him as the worst kind of miscreant...Gregor had come to Perdwick to plead for her life...to offer himself as a substitute...an overture that had cost him his life.

Finally, after fifty years, Lorio's intransigent loathing of her father crumbled, giving way to the understanding that this sacrifice...though ultimately futile...had been proof of his absolute love for his only daughter. Like sun breaking through dark clouds, Lorio's memories of her childhood spent in her father's company were cast in a kinder, sepia light...restored to the precious possessions they were by the simple, but often most excruciating act of forgiveness.

Like the identity she had left in Nalosan, this jettisoning of old bitter resentment felt like a massive weight rolling from her shoulders.

Smiling exuberantly, Lorio turned to the north and Nalosan quickly passed out of view. She accelerated her pace along the snow swept roadway. For an ordinary person, the foot journey to Cortrin might take the better part of a moon cycle, but for the immortal...who required neither rest nor sleep...she could make the trek in five or six days, depending on the extent of the snowfall.

Doubt and guilt...the dual destroyers of resolve...would make Lorio's return journey a much more circuitous and prolonged undertaking.

4

Opheile lay in her bed, now a seemingly vast, empty expanse, staring up at the oddly ominous dance of shadows across her ceiling. In the dead of a winter's night, the world seemed like a cold and sterile place...devoid of joy, resigned to the drudgery of existence. Normally irrepressibly optimistic and energetic, Opheile loathed these maudlin thoughts, but found that she was helpless to hold them at bay...especially since Arminda had brought her the news that Lorio had perished during the grim battle for Nalosan.

The Jerhia had appeared wan and somehow diminished as she'd delivered this soul-eviscerating news...and Opheile had learned that it had been one death in particular that was responsible for the ebbing in those once luminous polar eyes.

Sensing that the Jerhia's agony might rival her own, she had led the dejected woman...who suddenly seemed to have been burdened by the full weight of her years...up to her room, where they had passed the night in a silent, mournful embrace. In the morning, Arminda had resumed her doleful procession back to Jerhia, after offering Opheile a promise that she would return once she had handed off the reins of power in Summergaden. It had required only one glance into those oddly vacant eyes to know that the mantle of leadership held no interest for the distraught Jerhia.

With Arminda's departure, Opheile had passed the next two moon cycles struggling to regain her customary zeal for living...her passion for the things upon which she had laid the foundations of her life. Above the grief and the suffocating sense of loss, one thought battered relentlessly at Opheile's resolve...she would pass what remained of her life never truly knowing just who it was that had captured her heart so completely. This realization made her feel both insufferably gullible and ineffably sad...a state from which she could not seem to rouse her spirit.

So she laid in her empty bed and watched at the shadows of a nearby tree's branches danced across her ceiling...waiting for the coming of dawn, where she would again resume this pale facsimile of living.

As she watched, the shape of every branch indelibly etched in her mind, a long shadow imposed itself on the shifting pattern...deep and unmoving. Opheile blinked and on impulse, if only to relieve the monotony, rose quickly from her bed and hurried to the window. A figure was standing in the knee-deep snow in the rear lane, nearly lost in the darkness.

There was something achingly familiar about the figure's posture and Opheile could feel her heart began to accelerate. She closed her eyes tightly, wondering if this was a new manifestation of her despair, but when she opened them, the figure was still there. Though partially obscured in darkness, Opheile could sense the figure's gaze was riveted squarely upon her.

Opheile back away and ignoring her first instinct to go back to bed and pull the covers over her head, she retrieved her cloak and boots and hurried down the back stairs and out into the hall that led to the rear lane. Hesitating briefly, she threw opened the door and leaned out into the frigid darkness. Her excitement dissipated quickly as the lane appeared deserted and she was about to retreat and chastise herself as a fool, when a figure emerged from the shadows and began to march swiftly through the snow.

Opheile retreated slightly into the shadows, prepared to shut the door should this be a simple prowler with hostile intent.

The tall figure stood before her and with a lavish swept of its left hand, drew back its hood.

Lorio, was unchanged of course, though to Opheile's hungry eyes, it appeared that her exotic beauty had become even more beguiling during her absence. Opheile's anger roused then...a fury the likes of which she had not felt since the day she had beaten her father bloody on the day she and Czarin had fled the family estate. Surging forward, she slapped Lorio's face with as much force as her slender frame could muster. The immortal seemed to raise her face to the blow as if welcoming it. In a voice quavering with fury, Opheile demanded, "Where have you been...why did you not come home?"

In a soft voice, fraught with doubt and misery, Lorio returned, "I...I've been lost, Opheile...like a runaway child that sees the lights of its home...but is afraid to go back...afraid they will no longer be wanted."

"That's...that's preposterous...how could you ever think such a foolish thing...I don't even know what to call you?"

This frantic query caused Lorio to begin to weep. "My name is Driss...Lorio is dead and buried in Nalosan...and I've come back to see if I still have a place in your home...in your heart."

Opheile greeted this petition with a strident hiss and folded her arms beneath her full breasts, but remained silent. Lorio shook her head...and fell to her knees before the woman she'd abused so horribly. Tentatively, she reached for Opheile's right wrist and though the other woman stiffened, she did not draw it back when Lorio took it in her hands. "I know Arminda told you about who Lorio was...or at least, what she believes she knows. I want to tell you everything...every damning detail...every odious sin I've committed...and show you every scar this life has inflicted upon me...if you still have any desire to hear it."

The sheer desperation in this plea caused Opheile facade of indignant anger to crumble and she grumbled, "Get up off your knees, Driss...I have a mountain of laundry to deal with...without having to coax the stains from your trousers."

The immortal's eyes grew wide, a flicker of optimism blooming in their great dark depths, but then she shrugged morosely and insisted, "It's more than just who I was, Opheile...even if you toss me out of your life like the garbage I might well be...I have to tell you everything...about everything that happened in Nalosan...about...how I betrayed you with someone else."

Opheile's emitted a thin hiss. "You've been with...with someone else...while I was here...mad with worry and then grief?"

Now, she did jerk her hand free and Lorio could feel her spirit plummet in the wake of this symbolic disengagement. Hanging her head, she articulated the full truth of her self-loathing. "Opheile, at my core...I'm like a feral dog...whose only loyalty is to itself...its base needs...and I don't know if I'll ever overcome that ugly truth. Issidris made me something more...bestowed what little humanity I could claim upon my miserable existence. You did the same...you made me a better human being than I ever could have expected to be...but...but I know that isn't a fair burden for you to bear. Still, I needed to hear you say it...to tell me that you had no desire to carry my worthlessness like a millstone...then I'll go."

The two remained in this position for a long time as the winter wind howled through the lane.

To her shock, Lorio felt Opheile grip the folds of her snowy-sodden cloak and jerk her to her feet, before drawing her into the hall and unceremoniously slamming the dumbfounded immortal against the wall. Clutching Lorio's throat, she leaned her full weight against the stunned immortal. Even in the inadequate light of the rear hall, Lorio recognized that she was seeing the Opheile who had once beaten both of her parents into whimpering abjection. Bringing her lips to Lorio's ear, she growled lowly, "You are going to do exactly that, Driss...you're going to divulge every petty, malicious detail of your past life...and then you will tell me about this other woman...and the things that drew you to her. You will paint a portrait for me, Driss...every sigh she evoked...every moan of pleasure you drew from her. You will describe them all. Then, we will never speak of them again...ever."

"You'll...you'll take me back?" The immortal breathed, scarcely able to credit that fate would give her a second chance...of which she knew herself to be undeserving.

"Entirely on my terms. You claim that mine is the power to grant you salvation...very well, but only if you agree to let me shape you...this Driss you wish to become...as I would have you."

"Yes...anything, Opheile...whatever you ask of me, I'll do," Lorio...no, Driss agreed eagerly. Whatever pretension of pride she had once harboured had been thoroughly bludgeoned out of her by first Karosyn and then Czefrina.

"Driss will be the clay that I can mould as suits my need. No more labouring like a dray horse in the yard...no more androgynous clothing or calloused hands. You will enthusiastically give yourself over to my care...those are my conditions...and now you'll decide...knowing that, should you reject these conditions...then I will cast you from my life." Opheile rasped, her tone making it eminently clear that there was no equivocation in these terms.

"I'll be whatever you would have me be, Opheile...and I'll spend the rest of our lives together, proving that I'm worthy of this second chance."

Opheile stepped back and smoothed Driss' cloak and in an altogether blithe tone that left the immortal speechless, allowed, "Then all is forgiven. As for your grim history, you may tell it to me in the morning. My bed has been empty far too long...and you can start you penance in a far more intimate fashion."

Those blue eyes twinkled in the darkness and a feral smile spread over Opheile's generous mouth. "Ah yes, I will tell you of my own infidelity and what it has wrought...which you will not only accept...but embrace fully."

Then Opheile gripped a bemused Driss' wrist and led her up the stairs and into the bed the pair would share for the rest of Opheile Seznoire's long life.

5

Cortrin was revelling in the early days of summer, greeted so happily in the wake of one of the most difficult winters on record, on the day that an elegant gilded carriage, pulled by four magnificent black stallions, and escorted by four Jerhia officers in ceremonial regalia, reined to a halt before the Glass House Inn. Immediately, two porters dismounted the front bench and began to remove the binding that held the passenger's luggage in place at the rear of the exquisite conveyance.

Arminda sat forward and glanced through the window at her new home and felt a lump begin to form in her throat at this with this poignant confirmation that her old life was irretrievably over. She glanced down to see that her hands were shaking, and she tugged at her civilian clothing, which still seemed somehow alien. 'Which is only naturally considering that you were a small child when last you wore anything but a uniform of some sort.'

She hoped that she could retain her tenuous grip on her roiling emotions and not embarrass herself until she had dismissed the official escort that had accompanied her on the long journey from Summergaden, where she had surrender the reins of power just two weeks prior.

She tried to imagine what shape this new life might assume here, but found that she could not. Much would depend on how she was received by the Inn's mistress. She leaned forward again and noticed that a solitary woman was standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Inn's main entrance. The woman was tall and wore a linen dress of pastel green, trimmed with a light pink at the hem, short sleeves and neckline. She stood in matching shoes with the spiked heels that had become the fashion. Her head was bowed and her face concealed by a wide brimmed white hat that was a perfect match for the fashionable white gloves she wore. A heavy braid of raven coloured hair hung over one shoulder and down between the valley of her breasts. Though the dress fell to the mid point of her calves, its cut and length did nothing to hide the shapeliness of her legs. The woman's olive skin shimmered in the sun, evoking images of a ghost.

Puzzled, Arminda opened the carriage door and waited while one of the porters placed a small wooden step to help the diminutive Jerhia dismount from the big conveyance. The woman remained in the same posture...like a mannequin in a pose of feminine perfection. Then the woman spoke, her voice like velvet smoke, and Arminda froze. "Leave the bags and cases over by the steps. I'll carry them inside."

The porters exchanged dubious glances, knowing how heavy the cases were after struggling to place them on the carriage. Shaking her head in disbelief, Arminda intoned. "Do as she asked...it will be fine."

The porters complied with a deferential bow as the escort slid nimbly from their mounts and marched briskly over to Arminda. They bowed and offered Arminda a crisp Jerhia salute, which Arminda returned with equal gravitas. Their duty discharged, the disciplined Jerhia returned to their mounts and waited for the porter to complete unloading Arminda's bags and case...the sum material total of her extraordinary life. Once the task had been completed, the porters returned to their place on the carriage, which then pulled away to commence the long journey back to Jerhia.

As quickly and simply as that, Arminda's transition from legendary leader to ordinary civilian was complete. 'I wonder if this is how Gillian felt when he arrived in Brexiter?'

Feeling anxious and doleful, she turned to the woman, who still had not stirred from her original position. "Lorio...is it truly you?"

She raised her head then and Arminda gasped. Before her was a Lorio the likes of which she had never seen, her beauty augmented by subtle makeup that raised it to magnitudes that were almost painful to gaze up. That astounding face curdled into a frown and she gripped a nonplused Arminda's shoulder. "Lorio's is dead...my name I'd Driss...and it would be unwise to forget that fact."

She released Arminda's shoulder and the flummoxed Jerhia blurted, "How did you come to be here?"

Lorio offered the Jerhia a crooked grin and growled, "That's history...and it is best left where it belongs...in the past." She drew closer and brought her mouth to Arminda's right ear. "I know what passed between you and Opheile."

Arminda drew back, the painful memories of her past confrontations with Lorio swirling in her mind like a gyre. She glanced nervously along the street, wondering if Lorio would settle their grievance right here on the sidewalk. Thus, she was shocked when Lorio merely smiled and announced blithely, "Rest easy, Arminda. Opheile and I have made an accommodation with your shared moments. What's more, should she decide, for some unfathomable reason, that she would have your bony backside in her bed on occasion...that is also well and good."

For several moments, the Jerhia could not speak and Driss drew her into a prolonged hug. Pushing her to arms length, the tearful immortal whispered, "I said that we should never speak of the past, but I will tell you...after years of crossing paths for fleeting moments, it will be a joy to pass the years in the company of my quest Sister."

Arminda attempted to respond, but the storm of emotions defeated her efforts. She nodded her vigorous agreement and Driss prompted, "Go in and I'll bring your belongings to your new suite of rooms, though I hope you don't mind that I have yet to remove some of the silly ornaments I acquired over my time here. Opheile is anxious to see you...she has a request to make of you and I will tell you, Arminda...if you would grant it...you'll have my eternal gratitude."

Intrigued and overwhelmed by this astounding beginning to her new life, Arminda smiled and then hurried up the stairs to find the Inn's mistress.

6

If one is inclined to measure lives by their great junctures...the definitive moments that shape their course, they would discern that the immortal, once known as Lorio, commenced her new life as Driss on a glorious summer morning some two weeks after Arminda arrived at the Glass House Inn.

In a secluded clearing, not far from Cortrin, she stood beside Opheile, while Arminda, attired in the one Jerhia uniform she had kept as a souvenir, used the authority of her former rank to join the pair in the bond of matrimony, while Eryth Nyr and Emon Yar, looking dapper, if a uncomfortable in his only suit, bore witness to ceremony. In truth, Arminda's sanction held no authority in Galloway (which, thanks to the sanctimonious morals of the day, would have frowned upon the union), but it symbolized the cementing of a bond between Opheile and Driss Seznoire that was stronger as any that had ever been forged beneath the infinite sky.

The five lingered in the clearing basking in the couple's euphoria for a while and then they prepared to begin the short walk back to Cortrin.

Just as she was about to leave, Driss felt a whisper of cool air caress the nape of her neck. She glanced over her shoulder to find Issidris standing in the shade of an elm tree. The beloved ghost wore a radiant smile that bestowed an aspect of beauty on her blunt features. She raised a hand in greeting and Driss returned the gesture. Opheile raised an inquisitive eyebrow and Driss met her eyes...a moment of perfect understanding passing between them.

Opheile beamed a radiant smile at the place where Driss had been looking and then taking her hand, led the immortal over to their three friends.

Enveloped in a glow that comes with perfect contentment, the five began the slow walk home.

Chapter Thirty One

1

On the day following the thwarted invasion of Nalosan, Karosyn began her tireless campaign to heal her city and to broker a reconciliation between factions that might see each other as responsible for what she, in her heart, believed was her fault. The Sisters, in particular, she set to task...wanting to make it explicitly clear that they had in no way been responsible for the crisis that had pushed her city...and nation beyond...to the brink of catastrophe.

She prioritized the restoration...and then expansion of the Chapter House. She let it be know that she fully expected the five thousand new Sisters to be made welcome and provided with proper accommodations by the coming of summer...an imposing task that set the badly shaken order to purpose.

As Queen of Emercia, Karosyn applied herself to the mournful task of consoling the families of those who had lost their lives on the Plaza that morning. Thanks to the contingencies she'd established...that number was astoundingly low...but she felt the pain of each lost life in her soul...manifesting as an indelible scar she had no desire to see fade. She also took this grim occasion to solidify her court...naming Matrick Kyrin as her permanent Regent and Garum Trajan as her Adjutant, with the responsibility of managing Kammlogran's affairs. Garum was particularly pleased when Karosyn had informed him that he could still take an active hand in weapons training as he saw fit. His first duty would be to conduct a census of those who had lost their lives on the Plaza, where...in addition to Lorio's commemorative statue...a plaque would be set in stone so that the names of the fallen would be preserved for posterity.

Karosyn was indefatigable in her determination to see her city recuperate and rise above this mournful tragedy, but even as she laboured, Gyzarayne's parting words resonated in her thoughts...filling her with a dread chill that she was at a loss to define, but which, nonetheless, assailed her without surcease.

' _I will come to you and offer you a choice...a commission that you are free to accept or reject as your pristine heart and conscience would dictate.'_

There had been an aura of terrible finality to this declaration and Karosyn had little doubt that the Goddess' offer would have grave implications that would shake her world to its foundation...irrespective of which path she elected to follow.

As tirelessly as she laboured to heal her broken city, Karosyn faithfully made time to spend with Aeyon...and her new charge, Lissom. She approached the newly raised sister Enara Hafey, whose compassion for the plight of children had been exemplary, and after explaining to her every nuance of what Gyzarayne's penance for the fallen Ascentrix had entailed, had asked if she would accept the responsibility of serving as Lissom's ward, whenever Karosyn was engaged in her duties as Queen and Matrium. It had required but one glimpse into those beautiful blue eyes, now so pristinely innocent and full of wonder, for Enara to readily and enthusiastically agree.

Without an Ascentrix, the remaining council and the Elder Guide quickly agreed to defer to Karosyn in all things. Granted this uncontested authority, she decreed that decisions regarding the order's future direction...and leadership...would be held in abeyance until the new ranks of Majeeri Sisters were fully integrated into the order.

In Aeyon, Karosyn found her own private joy...her recompense for the devotion and boundless effort she expended while striving to heal her wounded city. Be it in her bed or simply strolling through the Imperial Gardens, conversing quietly, Karosyn derived immeasurable happiness from his company...his quiet, forthright nature and curiosity to learn...to understand. As he watched Karosyn apply herself to the endless challenges confronting her realm, while working to stabilize her order of Sisters, Aeyon's respect for the astounding woman grew geometrically. He basked in her presence, absorbed her wisdom and tried to learn the lessons her serenity and grace imparted. Though she was a woman at the pinnacle of power, whose stature made Aeyon feel infinitesimally small, she spoke to him as equals, soliciting his opinion on the things they discussed and giving thoughtful consideration to his attempts to articulate his burgeoning perspective on...the way of things. Never once was she dismissive or condescending and in the six weeks after that grim day, Aeyon Wrey garnered a thorough understanding of just how fortunate the people of Emercia were to have come under the rule of this genuinely inimitable woman.

As he lay naked in her embrace, Karosyn would caress his face and tenderly kiss his brow. They spoke, between bouts of slow, exquisite lovemaking, of how Aeyon might see his future in her company. "I have no desire to deter you from your passion, Aeyon...because I admire the love and zeal you hold for your craft...and for your family." Her mood turned grave then, but she smiled as she promised, "Tarim has suffered mightily beneath Lissom's sadistic hand...but he is reunited with those he loves...and as improbable as it might seem, Aeyon...it will be that love that allows him to find his way back to the light. The trauma he has suffered will remain with him for the rest of his life...but surrounded by a family as close and caring as yours...he will learn to cope."

Her smile had become ebullient and she had pressed her index finger to his cheek. "And then there is the matter of what will become of you...and on that matter...I have a great many well-considered notions. While I sense that you crave understanding...enlightenment, I also see that you have a strong aversion to the working of a royal court...which I entirely understand. Though you need not make a decision any time soon...I would like you to ponder the idea...of becoming my Royal Consort."

Aeyon could not conceal his shock at this incredible proposal of marriage. The excited gleam in those ineffably beautiful eyes made it readily apparent that this offer had been sincerely given. He shook his head in bewilderment, feeling the keen daggers of doubt and inadequacy prick away at what should have been soaring euphoria. "I...I could never be worthy of you...deserving...I'm just a simple commoner."

Karosyn's tone became uncharacteristically stern. "I will decide if you are worthy of me." She rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips, taking him into her in one fluid motion. As she began to move her hips in slow, gentle undulations, she caressed his face and murmured, "I have decided that you are worthy of me in every way...and so all that remains to be pondered...is do you love me enough to stand at my side...and do you believe I love you with equal ardour?"

As he succumbed to the delicate poetry of her lovemaking, Aeyon breathed, "Yes...yes to both...and though I may not be deserving, I will accept you on any terms you would have me."

Karosyn's smile became mischievous and she cooed tartly. "That is just as well...a Queen does not care to be denied...especially on matters of her heart." She lay upon him and began to nuzzle his neck, luxuriating in his warmth. "Think upon my offer, love...at your leisure. You and I have time."

Through the long years that followed, Karosyn would have occasion to reflect upon this sentiment, expressed in the height of passion, and she would wonder if, by giving it voice, she had rankled fate.

2

On that day that all of Karosyn Nierosean's wistful fancies and daydreams were to die and desiccate to mournful dust, she returned to Kammlogran in high spirits. Her city was showing astounding resilience in the wake of Lissom's thwarted invasion. More satisfying still was the success her efforts to assuage the sectarian fears of Emercia's other religious orders had met. She had made a point of visiting each order's temple and there she conferred with that order's spiritual leader and had carefully detailed her role as the Sister of Esotaria's Matrium. She had assured them that she would work ceaselessly to preserve the environment of tolerance for all faiths...provided that those faiths reciprocated. She had further succeeded in demonstrating that Gyzarayne's creed was more of a social philosophy than it was a religion...one that she had advocated and worked to propagate since coming to the throne. Though there had been grumbling, her reassurances had managed to mollify the fears and concerns of the sectarian clerics.

In addition to this unexpected success, Karosyn had made great inroads in defining the future structure of the Gyzarayne's order on this day. She had declared that the Elder Council in Dortizirian would be preserved and would be led by the venerable Zynora. She was further pleased when Zynora had discerned the wisdom in filling the eight vacancies of the council with three of the Majeeri Sisters...as tangible proof that she was serious about giving these women a voice in the order. She had created a similar council in Nalosan and had decreed that Bethany would continue as its Elder Guide. Again, she had raised three Majeeri Sisters to the Nalosan council...without a murmur of opposition.

The day had been one of astounding progress toward laying the foundations for her future vision for both her country and the order she served. Feeling weary, but intensely satisfied, she wanted nothing more than to pass the evening with a hot bath, supper and a long, indolent night with Aeyon in her arms.

Karosyn had dispensed with the need for concealment and now took the young cooper's apprentice to her suite of rooms without the need for subterfuge. Theirs would be a deviation from Royal Protocol that her subjects would simply have to accept...as a compensation for the tireless efforts she made on their behalf. 'Besides which, was I not a simple village apothecary when Artumas made me his Queen?' She knew this logic was facile, but it pleased her nonetheless.

As she came upon her Adjutant, she inquired, "Has Aeyon returned to Kammlogran, Garum?"

"He has, your highness...I believe he went directly to the Royal Archives."

This pleased Karosyn. His hunger for enlightenment was one of the many things that drew her to the young man.

She thanked Garum and returned to her quarters with the intention of stowing her silver, winter cloak before going to join him in the archives.

As she entered her suite of rooms, Karosyn discovered that an unfamiliar woman was standing before the room's central hearth, staring into the dancing flames with her back to the Queen. There was a contemplative aspect to her posture that, inexplicably, filled Karosyn with primal dread.

As the woman didn't seem cognizant of her presence, Karosyn briefly considered retreating from the room and summoning the Hand of the Way, but quickly discarded the idea. With Lissom's fall, she was arguably the most power being on the face of this world. To cower behind guard was as foolish as it was unseemly.

In a firm voice, she demanded, "How did you come to be in the Royal Chambers?"

The woman turned slowly from the hearth and Karosyn could not repress the gasp that burst from her lips. Slender, beautiful beyond accounting, the woman's flowing green hair and gleaming silver eyes declared her identity.

"Gyzarayne!" Karosyn breathed and fell to her knees and bowed her head in supplication.

The Goddess floated over to where Karosyn knelt and gently pulled her to her feet. "You need never bow to me, Karosyn...you, who are the apotheosis of all I have sought to achieve in this world." The goddess' beatific expression grew somber as she revealed the purpose for this unprecedented manifestation. "I have pondered the debacle of Lissom's tenure as Ascentrix...and have concluded that I am primarily accountable for her downfall. I have also decided how best to rectify this error...to make certain that there is no recurrence. When last we spoke, I told you that I would soon present you with a choice...and that you could chose your path of your own volition. That moment has come and before I present you with your choice of futures roads over which to stride, I must tell you that, which ever path you chose, there will be no returning to this juncture."

Feeling her primal dread growing geometrically, Karosyn managed to conjure the courage to bow in deference and prompt, "Then I would hear your words, Goddess and give them grave consideration."

"The salient heart of my error was that I did not select you to be my Ascentrix. You are the living embodiment of every virtue and characteristic I wish to inculcate into my daughters. Yours is the gift of amelioration...the power to sway the minds of even the most intransigent...to guide them into the light. What you have done in Emercia is testimony to that truth...and I would have you carry that message of egalitarianism and its universal virtues to all. To that end...I will name you Ascentrix in perpetuity...and bestow upon you eternal life." A distant, mournful light crept into those luminous silver eyes and Gyzarayne intoned, "The time of deities in the world is rapidly drawing to a close...and before the pantheon moves on...I would plant a seed to carry on my work. You, Karosyn Nierosean...will be that seed...and thus I may leave knowing that I have given my daughters hope for a better future."

For a protracted moment, Karosyn could not conjure a response. The notion of a world without deities seemed incomprehensible...monstrous. "Don't fret, daughter, before I depart, I will bestow upon you more power than any living being has ever wielded...without the constraints of restrictive magic...such is my faith in your purity. You will become my presence in this world...my legacy and gift." Here, Gyzarayne paused and then presented the second choice and its consequences...and in doing so, ripped Karosyn beautiful heart to twitching shreds. "If you do not wish to bear this burden...you may eschew this offer...because it does not come without what I have come to see may be an exorbitant price you cannot pay. In accepting this gift, you must set aside your every personal concern...your every private passion...and devote every fibre of your eternal being to propagating my creed. You may, however, retain your crown...as Emercia may serve as a glowing beacon for all that could be. I have sensed your growing love for this humble and forthright young man, but should you become my eternal presence in the world...he must be set aside. Should you decide that it is a price you are unwilling or unable to pay...you may serve as Matrium and lead my order until the last of your essence has vanished. Then a new Ascentrix and Matrium shall be raised...and the order will carry in much the same tepid fashion it has since its creation. Know this Karosyn...should you decline...millions upon millions of women, for generations eternal, shall continue to languish in the chains of misogyny, oppression and terror...their potential and joy left unrecognized...their suffering shall be the cost of your refusal to accept a destiny for which you were born. Again, yours is the choice to make."

Karosyn felt the world open beneath her feet and she plummeted into the pit of absolute dejection...for the Goddess knew that this was no choice at all. She loved Aeyon with a fervour that could light a sun...but her nurturing soul and heart could never bear the guilt of knowing that her refusal would come at the cost of a lifetime of abject suffering for daughters beyond accounting. Wanly, she bowed her head and declared, "I will humbly accept your offer, Goddess...and devote my eternity to seeing your vision become a universal reality."

Gyzarayne gently laid her fingertips on Karosyn's pallid cheek. "One lifetime is but an immeasurably small flicker over the course of eternity."

Though Karosyn knew this had been offered by way of consolation, it filled her with a rare flood of bitter resentment and she thought, 'Perhaps, but the cherished memories that lifetime might birth...these can endure for eternity...these memories that I have now been denied.'

With the gravitas of the Goddess she was, Gyzarayne declared, "Now, Karosyn Nierosean, Ascentrix of the Sisters of Esotaria, I bestow upon you immortal life and the power to shape this world's future!"

With this, she embraced Karosyn...and literally passed through the statuesque blonde's flesh...inculcating her with the promised gifts. As Gyzarayne emerged behind Karosyn, she declared, "I will inform my every daughter of this commission."

This given, she disseminated into a swirl of golden light that vanished up the chimney.

3

As she watched Gyzarayne's diaphanous form dissipate into air, an immobilized Karosyn felt as if she'd been eviscerated...her every emotion, save acute and ineffable agony, scooped from her soul. All that remained was a hollow vessel that only sorrow would ever fill. When her beloved Artumas had died, Karosyn, in her grief, had believed in was not possible to suffer more pain than she had felt at that exact moment. Now, however, faced with an action that would rip something so precious asunder and leave them both indelibly scarred and broken...forced to endure a living separation every bit as permanent and irreversible as death itself, Karosyn was brutally disabused of that ingenuous conviction.

Understanding that her intractable fate was set in stone and that to delay what was to come would only increase their agony exponentially, she summoned her adjutant. Garum strode into the Queen's audience chamber, but his purposeful stride faltered with his first glimpse at Karosyn's forlorn countenance. "I need you to remove all guards from this section of the palace. Post them in the hallway beyond the royal quarters. In a bell, you will summon Master Aeyon and escort him to me. Absolutely no one is to enter the royal chambers...even if Kammlogran erupts into flames. Do you understand, Garum? No interruptions until I grant permission!"

Beneath the Queen's curt tone, which bordered on frantic, Garum could discern a despair that was heart rending in its magnitude. "I will see it done, your highness."

Karosyn moved into her personal suite and without being conscious of the fact, changed into the very gown she had worn on the day that Aeyon Wrey had first come before her. Later, she would come to see that there had been a terrible symmetry in this choice and in a rare fit of rage, she would cut the gown into ribbons and burn it in her hearth.

The Queen was standing by the hearth when Aeyon quietly slipped into her chamber, her exquisite visage turned away from his as she stared absently into the dancing flames. He stood by the door and when she divined his presence, Karosyn turned slowly to face him.

It required only one glance into those luminous blue eyes, now glazed with misery, for Aeyon Wrey to realize that this improbable, beautiful fantasy they'd shared had come to an end...and that his would be a life of solitude and memories from the other side of this moment forth. When she spoke, her voice was cool and aloof...a tone that she had never employed when addressing him. "The time has come for you to return to your family, Aeyon...to your life. I have obligations that I must meet and you...have a future that you must look to," her voice came perilously close to breaking when she intoned, "without unrealistic distractions."

The light seemed to gutter in those thoughtful brown eyes then and the enormity of his sorrow resonated in his quiet voice when he inquired, "Have I...have I disappointed you...my Queen?"

That doleful query...the honorific that made a mockery the joyful intimacy they'd shared...shattered Karosyn's brittle composure. Sobbing, she was across the room in four brisk strides, drawing him into a tight embrace that caused him to gasp. Still, she held him tighter as if she could absorb him...draw him into her until they became one indivisible entity that nothing...not even the remorseless demands of destiny and obligation...could separate. Finally, feeling as if a part of her had shrivelled and died, Karosyn pushed him to arm's length, holding the shoulders she adored firmly. Peering into his bewildered eyes, she gleaned that he had suffered the same scarifying emotion, and both would come away from this excruciating moment of parting horribly diminished. "You could never disappoint me, Aeyon...you are the thing that I have come to love more than my own life. Still, now we are both forced to learn the cruelest lesson than any two living souls can learn...there are times when fate crushes us beneath the weight of obligations that are greater than ourselves...our grand passions...our great loves...they must be sacrificed to serve purposes of greater consequence than our misery. My Goddess has given me the chance to raise the lot of every daughter, of every mother...of every wife to a level where life is worth living...is more than drudgery and servitude. She has made it clear that...to be given that chance...I must set aside my own passion...even as it rips the heart from my chest and grinds its to dust. Can you understand, Aeyon?"

"I...I do," he returned softly, his voice distant and doleful, but accepting.

She touched his face with fingers that trembled like saplings and shivered when he turned his face into her touch. "I vow, on my life that I will never come to love anyone else as I have come to love you."

On impulse, she removed the sapphire and gold sigil that was pinned to her gown and pressed it into his palm. "Keep this as a reminder of our time together. When the sadness seems suffocating, hold it and I will know you are thinking of me."

Eyes glistening, Aeyon nodded solemnly, "I will keep this with me until the day I die...and other than my memories, this will be my most precious possession."

She kissed his lips and then ushered him to the door, where they exchanged a long gaze that eloquently expressed their shared joy and sorrow. Then he bowed his head and took his leave, knowing that it was the final time he would ever stand in her rarified presence.

Karosyn, turned away and after taking three faltering steps, her legs betrayed her and she collapsed to the carpeted floor, where she threw her long arms around her head and curled into a tight ball.

She remained in this position all through the long and agonizing night that followed.

4

In the years that followed that devastating moment of uncoupling, Karosyn Nierosean devoted her life to the attainment of her husband's ideals and to Gyzarayne's creed to see women elevated to a equitable place in the world. Emercia became synonymous with the concepts of enlightenment, the radical (and to some, profoundly frightening) idea of social responsibility and rule by compassion: philosophies that noble Artumas had held so sacred. Though she made great strides in fulfilling her second mandate...the broadening of horizons for women in Emercian society...Karosyn realized that these inroads were comparatively small and that it may well require centuries to overcome the deeply engrained sensibilities that kept women repressed and confined into roles dictated by patriarchy.

Karosyn, however, was supremely confident that she would not falter...would be both Gyzarayne and Artumas' inexorable engine of purpose...indefatigable in her commitment to seeing their visions brought to fruition. She had, after all, sacrificed the intimate, personal dreams and desires of her soul to the cause of serving both and it was inconceivable that she would relent before they had been achieved. To capitulate would be to render that sacrifice meaningless.

Karosyn returned to her status of object d'art...an indescribably beautiful thing to be admired or coveted...but never to be touched or granted access inside the cloister beyond her public persona. Had anyone managed that feat, they would have been astounded and dismayed to discover just how barren that personal space truly was.

Through the twenty years after she had banished Aeyon from her world, the benevolent queen surreptitiously monitored his life. She grieved after having learned that his father had died. Karosyn took measures to ensure that the Wrey family would never know want...that theirs would be an affluent life. She made certain that the Wrey Coopery received a steady flow of royal commerce and took every opportunity to encourage those foreign and domestic merchants, who came to Kammlogran to curry favour with the Emercian Queen, to consider contracting with Aeyon's Coopery if they had need of his wares. Such was her esteem and influence that her advocacy insured that his venture flourished, seeing his Coopery through two expansions and an increase in apprentices and staff.

Karosyn had developed another penchant (one which earned the exasperation of her advisers and those assigned to keep her safe). On days when the obligations of her reign allowed, she would don a hooded robe and thus disguised, would strike out from the castle on her own. Her time with Aeyon had made her grasp the invaluable benefit of seeking to understand her subjects...to put her finger on the pulse of their everyday concerns...their sorrows, disappointments and joys. By immersing herself in the flow of everyday life for a time, Karosyn found that she could gain a sense...if only a distant, pale one...of what it might be like for the average citizen to live in her realm.

She would wander through the stalls and bazaars of the lower market like a wraith, intoxicated with the dizzying blend of smells and the undercurrent of raw vibrancy that was the life blood of the city over which she presumed to rule.

It was on one such excursion that she caught a glimpse of him...this beautiful creature that she had set aside in the name of obligation...of service to things supposedly greater than her own small desires. He was still as beautiful as she remembered, but as she trailed after him like a spectre, Karosyn felt a keen stab of remorse to notice that there was a wistful and sad aspect about him...a furrowing of the brow and muting of his once bright, inquisitive eyes...and she had no doubt that she was its source. She knew that she should turn away...that this furtive shadowing could only cause her further pain, but still she followed him through the crowded labyrinth of stalls. She found that she was enthralled by his every action...his every ordinary gesture and interaction...and of course, she noticed that he was alone, though whether she felt sorrow or relief at this insight, she could not say.

When he stopped to purchase a small bag of pears and peaches from a vendor, eating a peach as he continued on, Karosyn was suffused by a spontaneous desire to reject every demand, every cloying obligation and to go to him, seize him by the wrist and lead him far away from this place...to some place where only this delicate, exquisite light they shared was the all that mattered.

She resisted this impassioned exhortation only by the tiniest of increments. She clutched the awning pole of a vendor's stall and closed her eyes. When again she dared to look, Aeyon Wrey had vanished from sight.

Karosyn retreated quickly back to the sterile cloister that was Kammlogran and it would be decades before she would resume her solitary excursions into the city.

5

It was Karosyn's discreet largess that eventually broke the silence that existed between herself and the last man she would ever love.

She had been working at her writing desk in her private audience chamber, composing yet another of her endless edicts designed to redress one of the many inadequacies she perceived in Emercia's already exemplary societal structure, when her new Seneschal entered her chamber, carrying the customary burden of daily correspondence for her perusal.

She thanked the young woman, who, in many regards, evoked images of a softer Martriza Odain, and accepted the bundle...grateful to take a respite from the cloying language that characterized the composition of royal edicts.

She returned her quill to its holder and replaced the cap on her inkwell, before taking up the pile and skimming quickly through the stack. A small, pewter-coloured envelope caught her eye, notable for its distinct lack of adornment...of stamps and seals and the like that was typical of the correspondence she would normally receive.

She withdrew the envelope and set the stack aside on a far corner of her meticulously organized desk (another occasionally vexing attribute of her new Seneschal). As she collected her stylized letter opener, inserted the tip into the small gap between the flap and the envelope proper, Karosyn became cognizant of an quickening of her pulse...and acceleration of her heart beat and the cadence of her breathing.

She withdrew the single sheet with fingers that trembled slightly and unfolding the page, confirmed what her body seemed to have divined intuitively...the letter was from Aeyon.

The script was neat, firm and competently executed. The prose was simple but in the flow of words across the vellum, Karosyn experienced the soul shaking awakening of every emotion...every memory she had worked so hard to deprive of their potency to wring her heart.

My Queen...Karosyn...

I know that by writing this letter, I have violated the unspoken agreement that passed between us on the day I returned to the life I now lead. I hope it does not cause you undue distress. Still, should this letter reach you and should you choose to read its contents, I truly hope that it finds you well...just as I hope that, beneath the light of Emercia's unprecedented prosperity and wellbeing, the weight of obligation upon your shoulders has eased.

I know, as does every candid Emercian fortunate enough to be alive in the age of your rule, that the affluent life we live can be attributed to your compassion...your desire to see every Emercian lifted to a better life. Actually, my Queen, it is for this very reason that I have decided to write this letter. I know that you have played a hand in seeing my humble Coopery to its present state of prosperity, just as I am aware that you have discreetly worked to see my family...my brothers, my sister and their children...to a place where they are not plagued by worries over their future. Recently, I was visited by a prominent vintner, who confided that it was your personal recommendation that convinced him to enter into a contract with my Coopery...a contract that will secure its future for many decades to come.

I vowed that I would not bore you with the tedious details of my small life...let it suffice to say that it is my intention to pass the business to my brother's son someday...when the march of time demands a changing of the guard. He is a thoughtful, introspective lad, who has a quiet passion for our craft. Thanks to all you have done for the Wrey family, he will have a place where he may give expression to that passion.

For that (and so much more), I felt that I must reach out to you...to express my profound gratitude for all that you've done for me.

As for my life, I strive diligently to follow your example and devote my passion to my life's work and I have found fulfilment in the effort.

Still, Karosyn, there are times, more frequent of late, when I wish that our time together had lasted longer...that I had been gifted with more time to absorb your serenity and wisdom...more time to bask in that special radiance you exude...a light that somehow makes all upon whom it shines a better person.

As time goes by, I have learned that one should be grateful for the gifts one receives, and I am eternally grateful for the time you allowed me into your company...into your heart.

You have my solemn vow that I will not reach out to you again.

I am old enough and pragmatic enough to understand that the paths of our lives will never intersect again...and I have made my accommodation with this truth.

Still, my Queen...Karosyn...I want you to know that our time together, as brief as it may have been, has provided me with boundless joy and an enduring sense of contentment. Enough to see me through the rest of my days.

Your loyal subject...

Your eternal friend,

Aeyon

Karosyn carefully set the letter on her desk and then submitted willingly to the storm of emotions that it provoked, her nubile body wracked by convulsive sobs that shook her like a tree in a tempest.

When, after an interminable time, her tears had been expended and she had regained enough of her equilibrium to undertake the task, Karosyn drew out a sheet of stationary. She deliberately eschewed the royal letterhead and selected a sheet of pale rose vellum. She wanted Aeyon to know that this was a personal outpouring of pure emotions from the woman who loved him and not the Queen who had been forced to set him aside.

My beautiful Aeyon...

I am glad that you found the courage to do what I could not and reach out to me. I want to start by telling you that you need never express gratitude for the small acts of kindness I have imparted. They are scant compensation for what you...what we have been forced to forgo. I have been lauded as a wise queen, but I will tell you, my love, that I have long since begun to question the veracity of this praise...especially when it comes to how I have treated those I've loved over the course of my long life...none more so than you.

Aeyon, if you believe nothing else, have faith in this...there is none that I have ever loved more than you.

There were so many things I should have told you before you left that day...before the inescapable commitment to my fate tore you from my side. The bleakness of that grim day rendered me numb and inarticulate. Though your absence is a lightless void and a constant ache in my heart, time has helped me gain some small measure of perspective and I will tell them to you now. If there is a debt of gratitude to be expressed between us, Aeyon...it is exclusively mine. It was your understanding...your quiet acceptance...that permitted me to survive that day. Yet, it was this pristine and exquisite love that grew between us that allowed me to surmount the horror of my conflict with Lissom. Knowing that you awaited me on the other side of that ineffable nightmare gave me the courage and wherewithal to persevere. And so you see, Aeyon...you deserve the lion's share of the credit for the humble accomplishments I've managed to achieve in the years since.

On the day you returned to your life, I promised that I would never love another living being in the way I came to love you...and I renew that sacred oath. I will admit, there was a time when I had hoped that the small gestures of aid I might provide would benefit your sons and daughters...and it saddens me to know that you have lived your life alone. Still, I am all too aware that the perfect love we share...that blossomed between us with a speed and totality that defied reason...could make no allowance for a pale facsimile.

I want you to know that, though callous fate has decreed that we cannot be together, you are cherished beyond the capacity of words to convey.

Finally, I thank you for your understanding...your resolute acceptance of our circumstances. I am not certain if what I am about to write will be a consolation or tearing open of old scars, but if this is to be the last sentiment that passes between us, let it be this...

I believe the day will come when you and I come together in a different time...a different world, where the shackles of obligation and duty to higher ideals have no claim upon either of us. There, Aeyon, my beautiful heart, you and I will bask eternally in the love and togetherness we have been denied in this life.

Your Karosyn...

Karosyn set aside her quill and slowly read her letter...this missive to an impossible love. Then, on impulse, she copied the letter again...knowing that she would treasure both sides of this sorrowful, but lovely dialogue that she knew would inevitably be their last. She drew a leather bound folio from her desk and after reverently inserting the two letters...his beautiful overture and her imperfect reply...into its sleeves, Karosyn locked them in her desk drawer, certain that, in the depth of the endless procession of lonely nights to come, she would seek solace in the poignant text recorded there.

She then dispatched her bemused Seneschal to personally deliver her letter to Aeyon.

Though it would be another twenty-seven years in coming, there would be one final and inevitable letter that would eventually join these cherished expressions of a perfect love that could never be.

6

Death...the inevitable, unavoidable culmination of all mortal life...the assured darkness that comes to all living things with only an infinitesimally small number of exceptions. Yet, for those extremely few number of individuals who had been blessed (or perhaps cursed, depending on one's perspective) with immortality, the concept of death becomes nebulous...an unpalatable concept that the subconscious deliberately compartmentalizes or represses.

Lorio, who had been bludgeoned by the death of her beloved Issidris Il (a death for which she had been wholly unprepared, despite its slow, inexorable approach) could have apprised Karosyn of the inherent perils of losing sight of this withering truth. For those whose life will know no end, the loss of those they cherish is as inevitable as the blowing of the wind...the waxing and waning of the tides.

Yet, despite this immutable truth, the sage Karosyn Nierosean was unprepared for the news she was about to receive.

Another spring had come to Nalosan, bringing with it the welcome prospect of another glorious summer. Blooms crept tentatively toward the kiss of the warm sun and exuberant smiles lit faces that had been muted by the prevalent rains that characterized winter in Northern Emercia.

Another morning and another new Seneschal, dutifully carrying the day's correspondence to her Queen. Karosyn accepted the bundle with a distracted smile and as had become her habit, rummaged quickly through the pile as if seeking the one piece of correspondence that would prove...intriguing, a departure from the daily routine of rule that had grown...monotonous.

In the midst of the pile, she discovered a lilac coloured envelope that felt oddly oily beneath her thumb. She extracted the envelope from the pile and examined the face. In a thin, narrow script that hinted at infirmity or old age, was written...Her majesty, Queen Karosyn.

She ran her thumb over the envelope and noticed that it contained an unyielding object. Its shape evoked the resonating echo of an acutely painful memory and she gasped, her heart palpitating wilding in her chest.

The normally graceful Karosyn became horribly maladroit in an instant and it took several tries before she could open the letter. Cupping her palm, she allowed the object to slide from the envelope and inhaled sharply, recognizing the gold and sapphire sigil she had given to Aeyon on that terrible day.

It winked up at her and its very presence confirmed the worst. She knew, without having to read the accompanying letter that now...and eternally...she was truly alone. She closed her long fingers around the sigil as if occluding it from sight could change the truth it conveyed. Finally, feeling dejection in the marrow of her bones, Karosyn slid the letter from the envelope and slowly read its contents.

Your Majesty, Queen Karosyn:

I am writing this letter to inform you that my brother, Aeyon, has passed. He died peacefully, surrounded by his family, all of whom loved him dearly. Before he died, Aeyon bid me to send this sigil to you...informing me that you would understand its significance. Near the end, there were moments when Aeyon seemed lost in reminiscences...or perhaps imagined events. He was a happy man, but there was a melancholy about my brother at times and I fear this pin might have held more significance for him than was warranted. I was uncertain if I should comply with this wish, but decided that, as you were always kind to our family...especially during that dark time so many years past...I would honour his dying wish.

While in your kind employ, I witnessed firsthand the burden your station imposed upon you and hope that this letter is not an unwelcome nuisance. If this pin has no sentimental meaning, I would beg that you return it to me and I will see that it is buried with my brother.

I would have you know that Aeyon adored you through all the years of his life. He would regale the family, especially his nieces and nephews, with tales of your kindness and munificence. It seemed very important to my brother that we all understood how extraordinary you were...of how your presence enriched our lives...which we most definitely did.

Aeyon Wrey will be buried three days hence in the cemetery just beyond the south wall.

Your humble subject,

Noriza Wrey

Karosyn allowed grief to consume her and when its cutting edge had been dulled, she rose and summoned her Seneschal, making no attempt to disguise her sorrow. Circumstances had forced her to subjugate her love for Aeyon, but she vehemently refused to allow them to repress her grief at his loss.

A carriage carried the grieving Queen to the home of her former attendant. Once there, she waited with a clearly flummoxed Noriza while her guards were sent forth to squire Tarim Wrey to join them. The elder brother, Ohsrin, had predeceased his brother by a decade. The two remaining Wreys were both in their eighties and their rheumy eyes and frail postures informed Karosyn that it would not be long before they joined their brother in eternal slumber.

When the trio was alone, Karosyn shared every detail, every beautiful, delicate and tragic emotional nuance of that precious time she and their brother had shared, now nearly fifty years gone by.

"I wanted you both to understand Aeyon's devotion was not given to a sad delusion...to know that I loved your brother and will cherish his memory eternally. Most of all, I wanted someone to understand the sacrifice we both made and the toll it extracted upon both of us." Karosyn concluded softly. "If you will give me leave, I would like Aeyon to be buried in the royal mausoleum...next to my late husband, King Artumas. I will decree that any member of the Wrey family is given perpetual and unfettered access to the mausoleum so that they may come to commune with Aeyon whenever they see fit. It is a fitting honour because your brother embodied the best of the Emercian heart and spirit."

Both agreed, and three days later, Aeyon Wrey, the humble Cooper's son, was laid to rest next to King Artumas, a legend of the antiquated world.

Karosyn remained in the mausoleum well after the others had departed...passing that long night in the company of the two ghosts of the only men she would ever love.

7

Though nothing could ever fill the void of Aeyon's loss...a loss exacerbated by the terrible fact that she had surrendered him of her own accord, Karosyn came to perceive her supposed penance of caring for Lissom...was her personal salvation. She even arrived at the astounding conclusion that Gyzarayne had been aware of this...even as she'd charged Karosyn with her eternal care.

Lissom was a living incongruity...an eternal child in the body of perfect feminine womanhood. In the years she spent in Lissom's company, Karosyn came to glean the salient mechanics of the existence, the Goddess had imposed upon her broken daughter. Lissom was eternally curious, constantly turning her inquisitive mind on the endless discoveries that roused her childlike interest. Karosyn would devote a portion of each day to answering her torrent of queries. Lissom would absorb these things with all the concentration her seven year old mind could muster...but these explanations simply could not adhere to the fabric of her reconfigured mind.

Karosyn had wept when she gleaned that this denial to all but the most rudimentary knowledge had been Gyzarayne's way of insuring that Lissom would never regain full awareness...and thus, the power to perhaps become a scourge anew.

As time went by, Karosyn also discovered that Lissom's memory capacity did not exceed the prior seven years...a span of years commensurate with her intellectual age. The sum total of her memory retention was confined to the seven years immediately prior to the one in which she found herself...and while all of the experiences and people from before that span of time were lost to her...so too were the cumulative weight of her past sorrows...her horrible transgressions.

The tragedy of this penance scarified Karosyn's compassionate heart, but she was grateful that Lissom, herself, was blissfully ignorant of the nature of her existence. She was irrepressibly happy and basked in her innocence...never once demonstrating the petulance or avarice that normally children might show. So, too, was she oblivious to the pitying stares her condition garnered from the Sisters who would care for her on the few occasions that Karosyn's duties required that she be elsewhere.

Thankful for those small mercies, Karosyn poured her infinite capacity for love and compassion into the happy woman-child and in this way, both became the mother and daughter that they had always been destined to be.

8

Karosyn would rule as Emercia's Queen for the next thousand years. She watched as nations rose and fell, as first light and then gathering darkness held sway beyond Emercia's borders. She came to see that the ebb and flow of world events was very much like a pendulum, swinging slowly back and forth between extremes. Thanks to her benevolence, her serenity and wisdom garnered from centuries of living, Emercia remained the one enduring constant...a beacon of stability, enlightenment and progressive sensibilities in a world that moved into the future in slow, grudging increments.

Yet, as her reign entered its ninth century, a notion germinated in the fertile soil of Karosyn's serene mind...an unthinkably radical concept that had first been described to her by Artumas during the brief time that the pair had ruled Emercia together. It had been the mythical Islena Doraux who had explained the notion of A Republic to Artumas...a political concept that was predicated on the idea of self-determination and a voice for every adult in the matter of who would lead the country.

Once this intriguing concept had germinated in her conscious thoughts, it had preoccupied her incessantly and though it took a full century of elucidation and convincing, eventually Emercia became the antiquated world's first republic. Her ministers, fearing uncertainty and craving an unwavering anchor to the prosperous past, had beseeched Karosyn to remain on the throne...if only as a symbolic monarch, but the ageless beauty had been intractable in her insistence that she would abdicate and allow the new republic to grow without distraction.

On the day of the official transition of power...the people of Nalosan flooded the streets to bid farewell to their beloved Queen. A Statue of Karosyn was unveiled on the western plaza, but the celebration was oddly muted and as Karosyn had scrutinized the faces of those who had come to pay her tribute, both noble and commoner alike, she gleaned their anxiety...that nervous fear that the prospect of uncertainty evokes.

After the festivities, Karosyn made her way to the Mausoleum where she had spent so many quiet hours of introspection over the past thousand years. She wept, knowing that she would not be returning to this cherished place...this repository for all that remained of her two lost loves.

The next morning, she bid farewell to the assembly of castle staff and courtiers, each facing their own period of uncertainty and change, and made her way out of mighty Castle Kammlogran for the final time. On the Quay, before boarding Sisters' ship that would carry her to her new home in Dortizirian, she waved goodbye to the throng that had come to see her ship off despite the cold weather and the early hour. Their tears and doleful faces evoke an acute sadness in her heart, but she was wise enough to equate this with the sadness a mother in the wild must feel when finally sending its children out into the world to forge their own way.

As she stood near the ship's railing and watched her beloved city recede over the horizon, Lissom had tugged her hand and in an uncharacteristically somber voice, inquired, "This place where we're going...is it beautiful?"

"As beautiful as anything you've ever seen," Karosyn promised her with an affectionate smile.

"Will I make friends there?"

"More than you could possibly imagine," Karosyn promised.

"And you'll stay with me." Lissom asked, a pleading edge in her small voice.

"Always and forever!" Karosyn vowed and drew her into a hug. The pair watched in contented silence as their past vanished over the horizon.

In Dortizirian, the Ascentrix's arrival was greeted with constrained ambivalence by the waiting Sisters...a sentiment with which Karosyn could empathize. Suddenly, after a millennium, Dortizirian would now play home to the woman who many considered just as divine...and thus, perhaps just as unfathomable...as the goddess, herself.

Her senior advisers and the First Battle Mage and First Stealth Ranger we're visibly disconcerted when Karosyn instructed them to assemble the novices in the great hall. She further disquieted them by declaring that, as these young women represented the order's future, it was only fitting that they be the first to receive her vision for the order's charter.

Later, alone in her new quarters, which were spartan compared to her former lavish royal accommodations in Kammlogran, Karosyn removed her last remaining gown and carefully folded it onto her narrow pallet. Gone were the finery and jewels that were the standard regalia of the Queen she had once been. These exquisite trappings would have no place in her future.

She then dressed in the simple earth coloured robe and slippers that every sister, both novice and Ascentrix alike, was required to wear. To this, she added the stylized intaglio of the Goddess and the simple chain belt that declared her rank as Gyzarayne's Ascentrix.

Karosyn then made her way over to the large mirror that was the chamber's only concession to vanity. Her gaze shifted to a point in the mirror, where over her left shoulder, she could see Artumas' shield and sword, which had been mounted on the wall immediately over her small writing desk. On the desk sat the worn leather folio that contained the three letters that served as a chronicle of her immutable love for Aeyon Wrey. Even from this perspective, she could clearly see the sapphire and gold sigil she had pinned to the cover. Together, this humble collection of cherished items defined the woman she had been.

She then straightened, adjusted her rough spun robe and peered directly into the mirror. The timeless reflection...beauty, serenity and wisdom embodied...defined the woman she would be for the eternity to come; Karosyn Nierosean, Ascentrix of the Sisters of Esotaria, Emissary of the Goddess, Gyzarayne.

Finally accepting of what had been and happily content with what would be, Karosyn left her chambers to embrace her unending future.

Epilogue

Six years had come and gone since the woman now known as Driss had returned to Cortrin...returned to the home which she had been seeking through the course or her long and turbulent life.

Today was the Fall Festival and the entire world seemed to be ablaze in gleaming golds, vibrant oranges and burnished reds.

In those six years, Driss had come to live a life of perfect contentment, surrounded by the four people who provided her small world with its depth and colour.

Arminda, too, had embraced her life in Cortrin with a zeal that had characterized her tenure as Jerhia's most powerful citizen...though if she longed for any aspect of her past life, she concealed it well. At seventy-one, Arminda...Minda, as she now liked to be called...embraced the simple life that the Glass House Inn offered every bit as thoroughly and enthusiastically as Driss did. She hiked in the surrounding forest, even helped at in the Inn's Dining Room when business was especially frenzied and plunged into Cortrin's cultural and social life with a zest that made the immortal smile.

On the rare occasions when a shadow would lay across her brow, Opheile would glance at Driss, a moment of perfect unspoken empathy passing between them, and then Opheile would go to Arminda's suite of rooms. When the pair would emerge on the following morning, Arminda's shadow had been banished. After all the torment that Driss had inflicted upon Arminda in their former lives, the immortal did not begrudge the Jerhia these interludes.

Emon Yar eventually sold his haulage yard and moved into the Glass House Inn and upon his arrival, Arminda seemed to take his wellbeing as her personal responsibility. Perhaps sensing the feeling of emptiness...the loss of purpose....that had come with Emon's forfeiture of his old life...a painful concession to the inevitable...she had taken every opportunity to engage the curmudgeonly old man...to buoy his spirits and keep him occupied. They took long walks, dined and talked endlessly. Arminda had even taken to reading to her new neighbour when she saw that his vision was beginning to falter. As the two grew closer, Arminda's moments of wistful sadness vanished completely...as did Opheile's overture of solace.

Between Driss and Opheile there evolved a relationship as solid and inviolable as the very foundations of castle Kammlogran. Driss surrendered herself to Opheile's serenity, to her tenderness and care without reservation...and as she had once done in the company of Issidris Il...the immortal flourished. Unlike what had been the case with Issidris, however, Driss was attuned to the mercifully slow march of time and its effect on the woman she cherished. While still beautiful beyond words as she turned forty, Opheile, at the end of a particularly arduous day in the Inn, would show a weariness that had been nowhere in evidence when Driss had first arrived on her doorstep. Rather than succumb to melancholy at this first intimation of the inevitable, Driss loved Opheile with even more ardour.

Driss, whose life had been beset by suffering, by an insatiable need to be anywhere but the place where she was at any given moment...found perfect contentment...in the familiar, in the mundane...in quiet conversation or holding hands as the sun set on another ordinary day.

This reverie...these happy musings all flashed through her mind as the five inseparable friends came together for a holiday feast beneath the roof of the Inn that had come to encompass their world...their lives.

At the opposite end of the table, Opheile sat with her chin propped on her folded hands, gaze set squarely upon the woman she loved, a twinkle in her great blue eyes and an indecipherable smile set on her exquisite face. Arminda and Emon were seated across from each other, engaged in their customary chiding banter that did nothing to hide the fondness each held for the other. Eryth, whose husband had died and who had since taken up residence at the Inn to which she'd devoted her life, sat next to the curmudgeonly yard owner, watching the pair trade witticisms in her thoughtful manner.

By unspoken agreement between Lorio and Opheile, a sixth chair was placed next to Arminda...reserved for the spirit of Issidris Il.

As her affectionate gaze swept the table, Lorio knew the day would inevitably, inexorably come when she would find herself alone with five empty chairs. Yet, over the course of her often painful life, Lorio had finally learned to live and find perfect joy and happiness in the here and now, with not a thought given to the past or her unending future.

17-10-17 to 15-09-18

Key People and Places in this Tale

Karosyn Nierosean: Queen of Emercia, Former Matrium of the Sisters of Esotaria, wife of deceased king Artumas.

Garum Tranan: Queen Karosyn's weapons master and Adjutant.

Kammlogran: a castle located in the city of Nalosan, Kammlogran is the seat of power for Emercian Kings and Queens.

Fairmarch: A country located along the eastern shore of the Eastern Continent, situated immediately to the north of Emercia.

Sisters of Esotaria: A religious order comprised exclusively of women devoted to the worship of the Goddess Gyzarayne. Upon initiation into the Sisters, women are assigned to the Stealth Rangers or the Battle Mages, depending on their physical prowess or intellect.

Dortizirian: An affluent Island State in the Sea of Permanent Departure. Home to the Sisters of Esotaria.

Matrium: Selected for her wisdom, the Matrium is the Mother of the Sisters of Esotaria, whose function it is to raise the Ascentrix from birth and then serve as her advisor until she has ascended to her full power.

Majeer: A single nation, continent-sized island located leagues south of the Antiquated Lands, across the Sea of Prevailing Mystery.

Anangrast: A nation on the eastern continent of the Antiquated Lands.

Vorn: A former Redian mercenary and leader of a band of brigands that terrorizes the northern region of Anangrast.

Lake Sonier: A massive lake located in the Nation of Anangrast.

Nieran: A village in Western Anangrast along the shores of Lake Sonier.

Galloway: A massive nation that spans the entire breadth of the southern edge of the Eastern Continent.

Tretcher: A town located in Eastern Galloway.

Azik Nar: The Captain of a merchant escort guard that briefly employs Lorio. The company is located in the town of Tretcher.

Larrin Crossing: A city on central Galloway where Lorio briefly finds employment as a server as a local Inn.

Cortrin: A major shipping town located in Northeastern Galloway, where Lorio passes several years working as a labourer in a shipping yard.

Emon Yar: The Shipping Yard owner who hires Lorio upon her arrival in Cortrin.

Issidris Il: Lorio's deceased traveling companion and greatest friend. A former gang leader and assassin, who becomes Lorio's closest friend and guide. A native of the Island of Ciprite.

The Glass House Inn: An Inn that becomes Lorio's home in Cortrin.

Arminda: Maxim Tier Marshal of the CornerStone Nation of Jerhia.

Summergaden: Capital of the Nation of Jerhia.

Hiberas River: A river imbued with sorcery to separate the Land of Shades from the world of Men. Located at the western edge of the Western Continent.

Marangelies: Arminda's Adjutant.

Land of Shades: A realm of purgatory, located across the Hiberas River.

Sandalayne: First Stealth Ranger of the Sisters of Esotaria...stationed in Majeer.

El Sharom: The capital city of the Nation of Majeer.

Majeer: A nation/continent located south of the Eastern Continent across the Sea of Prevailing mystery.

Nayoro: Former Queen of Lamia who once served as Lorio's regent.

Czefrina: Princess of Lamia...second in line for the Lamish throne.

Morticant Hybrid: A combination of a human immortal and a golem. Lorio is the only living Hybrid Morticant in known existence, raised to this state by Myrhia's sorcery during the Emerald Enchantress War.

Thaz Ekai: A demon that assumed the mantle of a false god and corrupted the spirit of the men of Majeer, leading to create a theology of misogyny that saw the women of the country degraded and thoroughly subjugated.

Shan-En Naroon: A citizen of Majeer. The Matron of the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen (formerly, the Rha-Sheem).

Opheile Seznoire: Proprietress of the Glass House Inn in Cortrin.

Czarin Seznoire: Opheile Seznoire's deceased twin brother.

Tarim Wrey: A cooper's apprentice in Nalosan.

Aeyon Wrey: A cooper's apprentice in Nalosan.

Lynon Wrey: Owner of Wrey's Coopery in Nalosan. Father of Aeyon and Tarim.

Noriza Wrey: Daughter of Lynon, sister of Aeyon and Tarim. Personal Attendant to Queen Karosyn.

Izrin: King of Lamia, brother of Czefrina.

Martriza Odain: Seneschal to Queen Karosyn.

Gheldazara Eram: Matron of the Rha-Sheem-Nakreen and eventually, Queen of Majeer.

Jakar: A port city along the Southern Coast of Majeer.

Tower of Zharanka: The seat of power for both the Ascentrix and the Majeeri Queen in Jakar.

Ohsrin Wrey: Eldest son of Lynon Wrey.

Mirhac Ehkar: Meaning cold shadow in the Majeeri tongue, an all-female contingent of elite warriors assigned to Lissom's personal guard.

Goreshran: An unsavoury labourer in Emon Yar's haulage yard in Cortrin.

Bethany Denay: Elder Guide of the Sisters of Esotaria serving in Emercia.

Port Lyring: A town along Emercia's Northern coast.

Tribune Egan Vyrol: A Tribune of Trade in Queen Karosyn's court

Tribune Niehan Meer: A Tribune of Commerce in Queen Karosyn's court.

Tribune Enara Hafey: A Tribune of Women and Children's' Welfare in Queen Karosyn's court.

Tribune Birick Fol: A Tribune of Coin in Queen Karosyn's court.

Tribune Matrick Kyrin: A Tribune of Military Affairs in Karosyn's court and later her Regent.

Eryth Nyr: A woman employed at the Glass House Inn.

First Hand Dioral: Captain of the Hand of the Way, Karosyn's personal guard.

Thringan Brauy: A Majeeri phrase that translates to bed toy.

Decipara Mirhac Ehkar: Ascendant incarnations of Lissom's personal guards.

Aurella: A battle mage of the Sisters of Esotaria stationed in Leenan's Corner in Emercia.

Nagreet: A stealth ranger of the Sisters of Esotaria stationed in Leenan's Corner in Emercia.

Enyara: First Battle Mage of the Sisters of Esotaria.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I presently divide my time between Northern Ontario and Quebec City with my wife Louise and our family of oriental dogs and a few cats for good measure. If anything distinguishes my approach to creative fiction it would be my perspective on crafting a work of fiction. I labor in the fantasy and horror genres, but I subscribe to the notion that writing fiction within a genre yields a superior product in contrast to writing genre fiction. I have tried to let humanity and empathy serve as the foundation upon which my novels are written...and though I still scrupulously respect the mechanics of both genres, it is my first and foremost ambition to weave a tale that is written as much by the character as the situation in which those characters find themselves. The difference may seem nothing more than a semantic distinction, but for me...it is the essence of writing...the attraction that bestows poignancy and meaning upon a story.
